Dogra Magra (25/47)

by Hisashi Yumeno

Even when my exam results were good, my mother didn't look particularly happy. This had been the case for a long time. My mother never said anything about me studying and improving my grades, but she seemed to genuinely dislike it when my grades were announced or when my name appeared in newspapers or magazines. I understood her feelings, so when school rules required grades to be posted, I sometimes took my mother with me to ask the teacher, "Please post them in an inconspicuous corner if possible." The teacher praised my mother, saying, "You are quite a modest person," but my mother seemed genuinely uncomfortable.

When I was going to high school, I suggested to my mother, who was worried about my name appearing in the Fukuoka newspaper, "Then why don't you apply to a private vocational school far away, like in Tohoku, and move there? That way, your name might not appear in the Fukuoka newspaper." After thinking for a while, my mother said, "You absolutely have to go to university, and it would be a shame to abandon all these students," and so she decided to apply to Fukuoka after all. However, she still gave me various warnings, such as, "There are many delinquent boys and girls in Fukuoka, so don't leave the dormitory unnecessarily," and "Even if a stranger talks to you, don't speak to them unnecessarily." Looking back now, what that teacher from Mamiana said might have been accurate. I think my mother was anxious about being targeted by someone, so she tried to hide their whereabouts as much as possible and worried about many things.

While I was at school, I lived in the dormitory, but I always came back to Nogata from Saturday evening to Sunday. During vacations, I stayed home all the time, waking up a little earlier every morning to help my mother, and in return, I went to bed around nine or ten at night. My mother was a very strong-willed woman, and despite living in the unpopular Nogata, she slept alone in this room when I wasn't there. She often said, "Students come from around half past eight in the morning, and I don't get a break until around eleven at night, so I don't feel lonely at all. You don't have to force yourself to come home if you're busy with your studies."

Nothing particularly unusual had happened recently. However, last summer, my mother brought me an American newspaper that had been used as wrapping paper for embroidery materials and asked, "Who is this person?" When I read the article, I found out it was a clown played by an active actor named Lon Chaney. My mother said, "Hmm, is that so?" with a bored look and went downstairs. At that time, I thought that my father was a man with such a face and was in a foreign country, and I remember that photograph in great detail. At first glance, his face looked like a large silkworm, so I quietly went downstairs, stood in front of my mother's dressing table in the six-mat room, and looked at my own face, but it didn't resemble him at all.

That night, nothing particularly unusual happened either. I went to bed around nine o'clock as usual, but I don't remember what time my mother went to bed. If it was as usual, she probably went to bed around eleven o'clock.

After that, I didn't tell the police, but that night, I woke up in the middle of the night. This rarely happened to me, so I thought it would be troublesome if I told them and they suspected me. I don't know what it was, but I thought I heard a loud thud. When I suddenly woke up, it was pitch black and I couldn't see anything, so I twisted the light I had placed near my pillow before going to sleep and looked at my wristwatch under the book I was reading. It was five past one.

Then, as I was about to get up to go to the bathroom, I casually looked at my mother's face, who was sleeping soundly facing me. Her mouth was slightly open, her cheeks were bright red, and her forehead was as white and translucent as porcelain, making her look strangely young. She looked no older than the older students who came to our house. Then I went downstairs to relieve myself and turned on the lights in the six-mat and eight-mat rooms, but nothing seemed out of place. I wondered what the initial thud was, but I thought it might have been my imagination, so I went back upstairs and looked at my mother's face. She was already facing away, tucked under the futon, and only her comb-rolled hair was visible. I then immediately turned off the light and went to sleep, but I didn't see my mother's face after that.

After that, as I told the teacher at the police station, I kept having strange dreams. I rarely dream, but that night was truly peculiar. I don't think I dreamt of killing anyone, but a train derailed and roared as it chased me, a giant black ox with a long purple tongue stared at me with bulging eyes, the sun in the middle of the blue sky spewed black soot and tumbled around, and the peak of Mount Fuji split in two, with bright red blood flowing out like a flood, crashing towards me in huge waves. It was incredibly terrifying. But for some reason, my legs wouldn't move, and no matter how much I tried to escape, I couldn't. Amidst all this, I thought I heard the crowing of chickens from the landlord's poultry farm two or three times, but still, such terrifying dreams kept appearing vividly one after another, and I just couldn't wake up. So, as I struggled and writhed with all my might, I finally managed to open my eyes.

At that moment, seeing the window lattice brighten, I felt a sense of relief. The instant I tried to get up, my head throbbed, my mouth had a strange odor, and my chest felt nauseous. I thought I must have fallen ill and went back to sleep. Although I intended to sleep only for a short while, this time I slept soundly without dreaming, drenched in sweat.

After a while, someone suddenly dragged me up, firmly held my right hand, and tried to take me somewhere. Still half-asleep, I thought I was dreaming and tried to shake them off and escape, but another person appeared, held my left hand this time, and pulled me forcefully towards the ladder stairs. It was then that I finally realized what was happening and looked back to see a man in a suit and a police officer with a saber examining something by my mother's bedside.

Seeing that, I thought my mother must have contracted some serious illness. And because I had the same illness, I was feeling so unwell, half-dreaming, half-awake, as the two men pulled me along. The suffering I felt then is still unforgettable. My whole body was so heavy it felt like it was melting, my bones felt like they were about to fall out, and with every step I descended, my vision went black, and my head ached as if it were sloshing with water. When I tried to stop and endure it, I was suddenly pulled by one hand from below, and I descended the steps as if throwing myself down. As I looked up along the way, I saw my mother's faded obi hanging in a loop from the stair railing.

However, at that time, I had no room to think about why it was like that. Pulled again, and severely prodded by the man until I almost became dizzy, I arrived at the back entrance. When I stepped out onto the side path wearing the red-strapped geta that my mother usually wore, I suddenly thought, "Perhaps Mother is already dead?" and stopped abruptly. Looking left and right, the men holding my hands were a detective and a police officer from the Nogata Police Station, whose faces I only knew. They glared at me with stern expressions, pulling my hands forcefully. I couldn't ask anything.

Outside, the sun was dazzlingly bright, and a large crowd had gathered in front of the house. When I came out, they all looked at me at once. Those nearby retreated, but seeing their yellow, shining faces, I felt dizzy again and thought I might collapse. At the same time, my head began to ache with a sharp pain, and I felt nauseous. I tried to press my forehead, but with both hands restrained, I could do nothing. It was then that I realized my mother was not sick, but had been killed or something, and I was being suspected. I was gently led away just like that.

At that moment, I must have lost my mind. I felt no sadness or fear at all. However, my entire body was drenched in sweat, and I was only wearing a single white yukata nightgown, which was soaked around my back and waist, so I felt an unbearable chill. Furthermore, the sunlight shining down from above felt strangely yellowish and suffocating, and I almost fainted. My mouth tasted fishy, and I felt like throwing up, but I occasionally opened my eyes to stare at the glittering ground, spitting as I walked. Then, as expected, I turned towards the police station instead of the doctor's. My heart suddenly pounded, but as I climbed the steps to the police entrance, I became completely calm again. It felt as if I were reading a detective novel about myself, or dreaming, and as I stared at the dirty floorboards, I suddenly heard a loud voice behind me. Startled, I turned around, and it was the detective who had brought me, shouting and scolding the large crowd of people who had followed us and were trying to enter the police station. I think I recognized some faces among them, but I don't clearly remember who they were.

After that, I was made to sit on a wooden bench in a narrow room further inside, and was questioned about various things by a police sergeant and a detective. However, my head was throbbing as if it would split open, so I completely forgot what answers I gave. I only remember insisting, "It's not a lie, it's not a lie," because they kept saying, "It must be a lie, it must be a lie."

Then, soon after, Inspector Tani, known as "Inspector Crocodile," whom no one in the town of Nogata didn't know, entered and suddenly said, "Your mother was murdered." At that moment, my chest tightened, and no matter how much I tried to hold back, I felt an overwhelming urge to cry out loud, but I desperately endured it and wiped away my tears. Inspector Tani, who had been silent for a while, said, "You couldn't possibly not know," and threw something onto the dirty wooden desk in front of me. It was the obi-jime of my mother's everyday clothes, which she always kept on her futon when she slept, a purple braided cord with an iron eggplant charm attached. Apparently, it was very old, something my mother had worn since she left her hometown, but I didn't understand what that had to do with anything. As I looked down, Inspector Tani roared in a thunderous voice, "You strangled your mother with this, didn't you?" The words were so cruel that I became furious and instinctively stood up to glare at Inspector Tani, but then my head started to ache as if it were splitting again, and I felt nauseous. I put both hands on the desk and trembled, enduring it, but I was so frustrated and regretful that tears streamed down my face, and I couldn't stop them.

Inspector Tani pressed me with various accusations. He was said to be a figure feared as "Oni" or "Crocodile" by the villains in the coal mines around here, but I felt no emotion towards him. I just listened silently as he spoke. Around 8:30 this morning, two or three students came for their lessons as usual, but they noticed that the back door was closed, which was unusual. So they informed the landlord in the back, and the old landlord called out loudly through the gap in the kitchen door, but no one woke up. Eventually, in the dim light, they saw two white feet dangling from the top of the stairs leading down to the kitchen door, and the old man turned pale and rushed to the police.

When the police arrived and investigated, the first thing they found was that the prop holding the back door shut had fallen. Then, when they went upstairs, they discovered my mother, dressed only in her nightgown, with a thin sash tied to the handrail at the top of the stairs, her neck caught in it, and her limbs hanging down. I was sleeping soundly, half-out of bed and spread-eagled, as if I knew nothing of it. However, upon examining my mother's body, it was clear that the marks around her neck did not match the thin sash, and her bedding was disturbed. This indicated that she had clearly been strangled first, and then made to look as if she had hanged herself. Furthermore, there was no sign of anything stolen from the house, nor any trace of anyone having entered from outside, leading to the conclusion that there was no one suspicious other than me.

Detective Tani continued, "It seems your mother suffered considerably when she was strangled in her bed. The strangulation marks are double and triple. There's no way you, sleeping next to her, wouldn't have woken up. First of all, why did you sleep for more than three hours longer than usual? Perhaps you were pretending to sleep to cover up the strangulation. Do you have another woman you like? Or is there a girl among your students whom you like, and you argued with your mother about that? Have you ever extorted money from your mother? How much allowance do you get each month? Is that really your true mother? Were you passing off a mistress as your parent? Confess everything..." He began to say one outrageous thing after another.

As I listened to his words, my head felt numb, and I wondered if it was truly possible for a person to kill someone without even knowing it themselves. As I vaguely thought that perhaps I had killed my mother in a dream-like state and forgotten about it, and was looking down, he said, "Then think about it here," and I was put into a detention cell.

That day and night, I spent without eating, sleeping and waking. The next morning, my head hurt too much to eat, but I became so hungry that when I had lunch, it was delicious and completely cured my headache. In the evening, a woman who looked exactly like my mother came to visit, which surprised me, but it was my aunt. I had met her for the first time in my life. At that time, my aunt said the same thing as the doctor: "Didn't you have a dream or something?" However, I couldn't remember anything at the time, so I replied that I didn't know anything. I had no idea that I had been given an anesthetic.

The next day, the doctor visited, and my junior high school homeroom teacher, Mr. Kamouchi, also came to see me. The day after that, people from the court also came and kindly asked me various questions, which made me feel like I might be forgiven. I desperately wanted to go see how my mother was, but when I returned the day before yesterday, her body had already been cremated, which disappointed me. There isn't a single photo of my mother at home, so I can't see her face. However, my aunt says she will take me to her home in Hamano tomorrow, and I hear I have a cousin named Moyoko, so I don't think I'll be too lonely.

My favorite subject is language, and among languages, what I find particularly interesting is reading foreign novels. I especially like Poe, Stevenson, and Hawthorne. Everyone says they're old, but... I'm also thinking of studying mental illness when I enter university. I originally wanted to go into the humanities, learn various languages, and go with my mother to search for my father, but my mother passed away after only speaking a little about my father, so I'm disappointed. Other than that, I haven't thought about what I want to become for now. I don't dislike Japanese or classical Chinese, but after graduating from junior high, I didn't feel the need to study them specifically. My next favorite subjects are history and natural history, but what I found boring were geography, physics, and mathematics. My least favorite subject is singing, but I still love listening to it. Listening to good Western music records makes me feel as if I'm looking at a masterpiece. I also thought folk songs were good when my mother sang them with the塾生 (juku-sei) when she was in a good mood (blushes).

I have never been sick in my life. My mother also never seemed to be bedridden.

Now, I'm going to thank Professor Kamouchi, who visited the police station.

---

At the same place, at the same time, after Go Ichiro went out—

Everything truly feels like a dream. Ichiro must be my sister's child. His features are the spitting image of his mother, and even his voice is exactly like our father's.

I don't remember much about the distant past, but my family had been farming in Nezaki-hama for generations. My sister and I lost our mother early. Our father also passed away on New Year's Day when I was nineteen, leaving just my sister Chiyoko and me in the family.

At the end of that year, I welcomed my late husband, Genkichi, but my younger sister left home, leaving a letter that said, "I'm going to Tokyo to study painting and embroidery, and I'll remain single my whole life, so please don't bother me." That was around New Year's Day in Meiji 40 (1907). After that, some people said they saw my sister in Fukuoka, but nothing definite was known. My sister must have truly loved painting and embroidery. As Ichiro said, she was an exceptionally strong-willed girl, graduating at the top of her class from the prefectural girls' school at seventeen. She had a nature that made her engrossed in whatever she tackled, often staying up all night reading novels or painting. She particularly loved embroidery since elementary school, and in the evenings, she would go out to the veranda and copy the paintings on the temple's sliding doors, sewing them with cotton thread. I believe she went to study in that field after seeing me welcome my husband. Looking back now, that was our final farewell.

My sister disliked working in the fields and paddies, so I often left her to mind the house, but my home was near town and had many visitors, so I don't think she left due to anything unusual.

After that, the only news I received from my sister was a notice from the local government office at the end of Meiji 40 (1907), stating that a boy named Ichiro was born in Komazawa Village near Tokyo. At that time, I immediately asked the police to search for her, but the address on the registration had been a rental house for a long time. Furthermore, the letters I had sent also came back, and I lost heart. I have no idea how the family register documents for Ichiro's elementary school enrollment were obtained, and then all contact ceased. And after I separated from my husband in the New Year when I was twenty-three, I immediately gave birth to a daughter named Moyoko, who is with me now. Since then, I have lived alone with my daughter.

When I saw this matter in the newspaper, I rushed over as if in a dream. Although various investigations have been conducted, this is all I can tell you for now.

When I first saw Ichiro, tears welled up in my eyes. The reason I asked about dreams at that time was because the young man staying with me had been reading a story about an activity that mentioned somnambulism. It seemed to be something Western, and we didn't quite understand it, but the young man had laughed, saying that if something was done while sleepwalking, it wasn't a sin, so he might pretend to be a sleepwalker and do bad things. I remembered that and asked, just in case. I thought it was presumptuous for a woman, but I was desperate to help (blushes). Thanks to that, not only did Ichiro return to his original innocent state, but it was also discovered after examining the remains that my sister had not engaged in any misconduct for a long time. This is at least some comfort. Therefore, I intend to hold a proper memorial service here and offer customary greetings to everyone who has helped me.

Yesterday, a letter arrived with a condolence gift from the owner of Omiya in Tokyo. It said, "An official from the Imperial Household Agency asked me to repair a costume, and while I was searching for my sister's whereabouts, someone from the police came, and I was surprised to learn about it for the first time." From the tone of the letter, it seems that the lady to whom my sister had confided various personal stories has already passed away. If only my sister had lived a little longer, she might have had a better fate... I don't know what kind of grudge it was, but if the person who did such a cruel thing is caught, I'd want to tear them to pieces (tears).

Now, there are only distant relatives in my house, so only my daughter and I are truly close. I want to raise Ichiro as my own child, putting all my effort into making him a fine person, but... when I think about living without a father and relying on an ancestral tablet... (tears).

◆Third Reference: Testimony of Ms. Matsumura Matsuko (Mizuchaya outside Fukuoka City, head of Suishi Girls' Academy)

▼Excerpt from a newspaper clipping, reprinted from the Genyo Shinpo morning edition, same month and day of the same year

It was about two decades ago, around the time of the Russo-Japanese War, that the young lady skilled in embroidery attended this Suishi Girls' School. I was in my thirties then, so I don't know the details, but she certainly did attend. At that time, she was about seventeen or eighteen years old. She was a bit unassuming, but a small, sharp, and beautiful girl, and her name was Migiwa Nijino. There's no mistake. I remember it well because it's an unusual name. Also, I've never seen anyone other than Ms. Nijino who could do the "nuitsubushi" embroidery you just mentioned.