Eighteen to twenty

by 芥川龍之介

As the fire blazed fiercely, I covered the car's lid. The purple tassels adorned on the eaves swayed gently in the wind, and from beneath them, thick white smoke spiraled up, as if the curtains, sleeves, or the roof's fittings were all shattering and scattering at once, with sparks of fire dancing like rain. Its intensity is beyond words. No, even more so, the flames entwining around the sleeve lattice, flickering with a fierce tongue, seemed as if the sun had fallen to the ground, and heavenly fire was bursting forth. I, who was about to scream earlier, was now completely drained of spirit, left only to stare in a daze with my mouth agape at this terrifying sight.

However, my father, Yoshihide—his expression at that moment is something I still cannot forget. He instinctively tried to rush toward the car, but as the fire flared up, he stopped in his tracks, reaching out with his hand, staring intently at the flames and smoke enveloping the car. His wrinkled, ugly face was clearly visible in the firelight, and in his wide-open eyes, around his twisted lips, and in the trembling flesh of his constantly twitching cheeks, fear, sorrow, and astonishment intertwined. Even a thief before being beheaded or a criminal dragged before the Ten Kings would not wear such a tormented expression. Even that powerful samurai could not help but change his complexion and look up at the lord's face.

The lord bit his lips, occasionally laughing eerily, and fixed his gaze intently on the carriage without looking away. And inside that carriage—ah, at that moment, I do not have the courage to describe in detail what kind of girl I saw. The whiteness of her face as she lay back, choking on smoke, the long hair disheveled by the flames, and the beauty of the cherry blossom-colored garment that was turning to fire before my eyes—what a tragic sight it was. Especially when the night breeze momentarily swept through and the smoke drifted away, she emerged from the flames that looked like red sprinkled with gold dust, biting her hair, writhing as if the chains binding her were about to snap, it was as if I was witnessing the agony of hell, and even the powerful samurai, including myself, naturally felt a chill run down our spines.

Then, the night breeze swept through again, passing swiftly through the treetops of the garden—everyone must have thought so. As the sound echoed through the dark sky, suddenly something black, neither touching the ground nor flying in the air, bounced like a ball and leaped straight from the roof of the palace into the blazing carriage. Amidst the painted red sleeves burning and falling apart, it embraced the shoulders of the girl who had arched back, and with a voice sharp enough to tear fabric, it let out a long, painfully desperate cry that flew out into the smoke. Then came two more cries, three cries—we unconsciously shouted in the same voice. Clinging to the girl's shoulders against the wall of flames was that monkey called Yoshihide, who had been tethered at the Horikawa residence. No one knows how that monkey managed to sneak into this palace. However, for the sake of the girl he had been fond of, the monkey must have jumped into the fire as well.

The sight of the monkey was only for a brief moment. As sparks like golden pear blossoms suddenly danced into the sky, both the monkey and the girl disappeared, hidden beneath a layer of black smoke, and in the middle of the garden, only a single fiery cart was burning fiercely, making a tremendous noise. No, rather than calling it a fiery cart, it might be more appropriate to refer to it as a pillar of fire, given the terrifying flames that boiled up, piercing through the starry sky.

Standing before that pillar of fire was Yoshihide—how strange it was. The Yoshihide who had been tormented by the pains of hell just moments ago now wore an indescribable radiance on his wrinkled face, a glow akin to ecstatic bliss. Had he forgotten even the presence of the lord? He stood there with his arms firmly crossed over his chest. Yet, it seemed that the image of the girl in agony did not reflect in his eyes. The beautiful colors of the flames and the figure of the woman suffering within them appeared to infinitely delight his heart—it seemed like such a scene.

Even more mysterious was that Yoshihide was not merely watching his only daughter's death throes with joy. At that moment, there was an inexplicable, strange severity about Yoshihide, reminiscent of the anger of a lion king from a dream, making him seem almost inhuman. Thus, even the countless night birds that fluttered about, startled by the sudden flames, seemed to avoid coming near Yoshihide's cap, as if sensing something. Perhaps even the mindless birds could see the mysterious dignity hovering above that man's head like a halo.

Even if birds are like that, let alone us servants, everyone held their breath, filled with an unusual joy that made their insides tremble, staring at Yoshihide as if they were witnessing a Buddha awakening. The sound of the burning cart echoed across the sky, and there stood Yoshihide, frozen in place, captivated by it—what a magnificent and joyous sight it was. Among them, only the lord appeared pale as if he were a different person, foaming at the mouth, gripping the knees of his purple trousers tightly with both hands, and gasping like a thirsty beast.

That night, rumors spread from nowhere that the lord had burned the cart at the Snowmelt Palace. Various criticisms seemed to be flying around regarding this. First of all, there was the question of why the lord had burned Yoshihide's daughter. The most common rumor was that it was out of resentment from an unrequited love. However, the lord's true intention must have been to admonish the painter's mentality that would go so far as to burn a cart and kill a person to paint a screen. In fact, I have heard the lord say so himself.

After that, even as Yoshihide watched his daughter being burned alive, his desire to continue painting the screen seemed to become a target of criticism as well. Some even cursed that man, saying he was a twisted individual who would forget the bond between parent and child for the sake of art. The monk Yokokawa often agreed with such thoughts, saying, "No matter how skilled one may be in a single art, if one does not understand the common sense of being human, one can only fall into hell."

However, about a month later, the folding screen of "Hell Transformation" was finally completed. Yoshihide immediately brought it to the mansion and respectfully showed it to the lord. At that moment, the monk was also present, and upon seeing the painting on the screen, he must have been astonished by the terrifying firestorm raging in that world. Until then, he had been glaring at Yoshihide with a bitter expression, but he couldn't help but strike his knee and exclaim, "It has come out!" I still cannot forget the wry smile of the lord when he heard those words.

Since then, there have been hardly any who speak ill of that man, at least within the mansion. When anyone sees that folding screen, even if they usually despise Yoshihide, they are mysteriously struck by a solemn feeling and can vividly feel the great torment of the fiery hell.

However, by that time, Yoshihide had already joined the ranks of those who are no longer in this world. The night after the screen was completed, he hung a rope from the beam in his room and took his own life. Having lost his only daughter, he probably could not bear to continue living in peace. His body is still buried at the site of that house. The small stone marker has been exposed to the rain and wind for decades, and before long, it must have become covered in moss, indistinguishable as anyone's grave.

――April of the seventh year of Taisho――