Dogra Magra (37/47)

by Hisashi Yumeno

The moment I saw this picture scroll, I understood the causal relationships of past, present, and future at a glance. It's no wonder that if Wu Qingxiu's descendants saw this, their ancestors' memories would be reawakened, and they would begin to imitate them. They must have thought it was too pitiful. So, they carved a statue of Maitreya Bodhisattva, who appears at the end of the world, sealed it inside, and strictly forbade anyone, saying, "Men must not look."

However, it is human nature to want to see something even more when told not to. Among Wu Qingxiu's descendants, some secretly pulled out Maitreya's head, took out the picture scroll, and looked at it. As a result, they all went mad and rampaged, but then Midori-ya Tsubotaro, a descendant of Wu Hongting, appeared. He saw through this psychological genetic effect with the power of Zen studies or something similar and thought of burning the picture scroll in one go. However, it seems he was reluctant. He pretended to burn it on the surface, but in reality, he put it back into its original hole and held a grand memorial service for the scroll to obscure the truth. That picture scroll appeared in today's materialistic world and caused a terrible tragedy... that's the general outline.

"Ah... I think I finally understand... But why is it only men who go mad after seeing that picture scroll?"

"Hmm... Excellent. You've asked an excellent question."

Dr. Masaki suddenly slammed the table, and I was startled and sat up straight. My heart was pounding, not knowing what had happened. However, Dr. Masaki continued speaking without a care.

"No, I'm impressed. The climax of interest in this case lies precisely there. You've become quite the master of psychogenetics."

"...Why is that?"

"Why not? Come on, open this picture scroll and take a look. Your current doubts will be resolved in an instant... Moreover, at the same time, if you are truly Wu Ichirō, you might begin a psychogenetic somnambulism as a descendant of Wu Qingshou, or suddenly recall your past memories of who you are, where you're from, and how you became involved in this incident... Or you might recall the core of this incident: 'When, where, and by whom was this picture scroll shown to me before?'... Whether Wakabayashi or I will win or lose... And finally, under what karma your future will be, forcing you to build a sweet home with that beautiful young lady, whether you like it or not... All these suffocatingly important issues might be resolved at once the moment you look at this picture scroll. Hahahahahaha!"

Dr. Masaki finished speaking in one breath, then laughed loudly, revealing a mouth full of white dentures. He pulled the newspaper package in front of him closer, casually tore it open with a rustle, and a rectangular box made of plain wood emerged from inside. He carefully opened its lid, took out a deep navy blue cloth-wrapped object, about three sun in diameter and six sun in length, placed one end on the edge of the box, gently set the lid on top of it, and pushed it towards me.

My nerves, which had been slack until now, tightened visibly as they were touched by the resonant waves of Dr. Masaki's loud laughter.

...Is he teasing me... intimidating me... or giving me some kind of hint...? As I looked at his smiling face, which gave no clue at all, he began to seem like a terrifying sorcerer. But at the same time...

...What is he talking about...? It's just a mere picture scroll, it's impossible for a man to be so tormented by it that he goes insane... No matter how masterfully it was made, in the end, it's just a combination of colors and lines. Moreover, since I've already made up my mind, what could possibly be so terrifying...? All right...

I couldn't suppress the rebellious spirit that was gradually rising within me.

...So I pulled the box towards me as calmly as possible. And when I opened the wooden lid and the deep navy cloth, I forced myself to suppress the emotions that were about to tense up again, and first looked around the outside of the picture scroll.

The scroll's axis was an octagonal polished beautiful green stone, and I couldn't help but touch and caress its beauty. The mounting fabric looked like woven cloth at first glance, but upon closer inspection, I realized that tiny colored threads and gold and silver threads, barely visible, were used to embroider a dense flock of one-inch Tang lions in varying colors onto an extremely thin silk fabric, which made me appreciate its preciousness. Despite being a thousand years old, it looked sparkling new, likely due to careful preservation. A small, rectangular gold paper strip was affixed to one corner, but nothing was written on it.

"That's the problem embroidery, the 'sewn-over' kind. Go Ichiro's mother, Chiyoko, must have studied it as a model."

Dr. Masaki explained dismissively, then turned away and began smoking a cigar. However, I had just been thinking the same thing, so I nodded without particular surprise.

Untying the dark brown cord that bound the ivory spatula, I opened the scroll slightly and saw water flowing in ripples from the upper right to the lower left, painted in gold on purplish-black paper. It was an extremely elegant brushstroke. I was captivated by the beautiful swirls of soft gold lines, dreamlike or like thin smoke, floating on that dark blue surface, and without thinking, I slowly unrolled the scroll from right to left.

When about five inches of white paper eventually appeared before my eyes, I involuntarily...

"...Ah..."

I almost cried out. However, the sound remained unspoken, receding into the back of my throat the next moment. I was frozen, holding the scroll open with both hands. My heart pounded so hard it was suffocating.

I gazed at the sleeping face of the woman lying there. Her slender eyebrows, long eyelashes, elegant white nose, small vermilion lips, and pure cheeks. It was as if it were the very sleeping face of the beautiful girl from Room 6. Her rich black hair was beautifully tied up like flower petals, spreading out softly like clouds. Even her hairstyle and hairline seemed to be an exact replica of the girl from Room 6.

However, at that moment, I didn't even have the luxury of wondering "why?" Beneath her sleeping face, or rather, the expression that appeared to be sleeping, there was the beauty of a deceased person, subtly visible through delicate shades and lines. An indescribable charm seemed to draw me in, to absorb me. My entire nervous system was seized by an impossible premonition that her eyes might suddenly open wide at any moment, and she would cry out, "Oh, Brother!" and leap at me. Unable to blink, unable to swallow saliva, I simply stared at her crimson cheeks and bluish, gleaming lips.

"Ha ha ha. You're stiff, aren't you? How about that, isn't it amazing? Wu Qingxiu's brushwork..."

Dr. Masaki called out in a light tone from beyond the picture scroll. However, I remained motionless. Finally, I managed to squeeze out a faint voice.

"...This face... is... the same as... Wu Moyoko from earlier..."

"A spitting image, isn't it..."

Dr. Masaki replied immediately. At that moment, I finally tore my eyes away from the picture scroll and was able to look at Dr. Masaki's face. A smile, neither sympathetic nor proud nor sarcastic, played on his features.

"How about it, isn't it interesting? Just as psychological inheritance is terrifying, so too is physical inheritance. The facial features of Wu Moyoko, a farmer's daughter from my niece's beach, are a spitting image of the twin sisters of Huaqing Palace, who were famous over a thousand years ago during the Tang Dynasty Emperor Xuanzong's reign. Even the god of creation must have forgotten that."

"……………"

“They say history repeats itself, but the human body and spirit also progress by repeating themselves in this way. Of course, this is a special case, but… Moyoko Kure seems to be intensely repeating Mrs. Fuen’s psychology, and at the same time, also repeating the psychology of her older sister, Mrs. Mayuzumi, who gladly allowed herself to be strangled by her husband, Seishu Kure. Perhaps there was such a thoroughly masochistic woman among their ancestors. Or perhaps Fuen’s passion for Seishu Kure had grown so strong that she envied her sister’s fate, dying at the hands of the man she loved. However, even without delving that deep, it’s clear that one scroll of that picture scroll represents the ultimate marital love between Seishu Kure and the Mayuzumi-Fuen sisters. Anyway, open it further and look. The true nature of Ichiro Kure’s psychological inheritance will be exposed to the very bottom…”

Prompted by those words, I half-unconsciously opened the picture scroll to the left.

To describe the vividly colored secret paintings that appeared one after another on the blank paper, without any exaggeration other than saying they were truly lifelike, they were nude figures of beautiful deceased women, approximately one foot two or three inches in length, lying diagonally facing us, with their heads to the right and both arms laid out to their sides. Because the surroundings were blank paper, they appeared to be floating in space. There were six such figures, appearing one after another at intervals of three or four inches, all lying in roughly the same posture, but their appearance changed from beginning to end.

The first picture that appeared at the beginning of the volume showed skin as white as snow, seemingly recently deceased, with a lustrous rouge color blooming on the cheeks and ears. With her almond-shaped eyes and thick eyelashes cast down, and her bluish lips lightly closed, she appeared to radiate with a divine joy, as if she had died for her husband.

However, in the second painting, the skin color had changed to a somewhat reddish-purple, the entire body appeared swollen, dark shadows floated around the eyes, and the lips were slightly darkened, changing the overall impression to something heavy and eerie.

In the third image, parts of the forehead, behind the ears, and the skin of the abdomen are beginning to rot, turning red or white, the eyes are slightly open, a few white teeth are starting to show, the whole body has turned a dark purple, and the abdomen is swollen like a drum and glowing.

In the fourth painting, the entire body is submerged in a deep bluish-black color, the rotten parts are a mix of reddish-brown and off-white, milk flows out and the ribs are exposed in a pale blue, the abdomen is torn near the hip bones, revealing some of the internal organs overlapping in a cobalt color, and the face has fully exposed eyeballs and lips that have melted away, revealing clenched white teeth, giving it a demonic expression, and beautiful combs and jewels are scattered from her wet hair.

In the fifth painting, the eyeballs are crushed and shrunken, the teeth are exposed all the way to the base of the ears, creating a sneering expression. Meanwhile, the internal organs, along with the abdominal skin, have shriveled and blackened like rags, the ribs and bones of the limbs are stark white and exposed, and only the pubic bone, matted with hair, remains prominent, making it impossible to distinguish between male and female.

By the final sixth illustration, the bluish-brown skeleton has black flesh clinging to it like seaweed, becoming an empty shell like a shipwreck, and a head that is neither ape nor human is completely turned away and tilted downwards, yet only the white teeth remain, gaping open and attached.

...I cannot record a lie. Even thinking about it later, I am utterly ashamed, but I rushed through the latter part.

Of course, when I first unrolled this picture scroll, I maintained my composure, albeit with a slight sense of defiance. However, as soon as the painting of the dead beauty appeared, that feeling quickly vanished, and I realized that my hands were turning the scroll faster and faster. I couldn't stop my hands, and in the end, the sixth painting almost just passed before my eyes. Enveloped by the unfathomable terror emanating from the screen and the unbearable stench that stimulated my nerves, I felt as if I was suffocating. When I finally reached the beginning of the last colophon of the scroll, I involuntarily let out a sigh of relief.

After that, I skimmed through the Chinese text written over four or five feet, just for formality, and read the concluding characters two or three times to calm myself down a bit. Then, I rolled it back up as it was and placed it next to the box. To soothe my nerves, I leaned back in the chair, covered my face with both hands, and closed my eyes.

"...Well? Surprised, weren't you? Hahahahaha. Do you understand the psychology of Wu Qing-xiu, who thought even this much wasn't enough?"

"..............."

"From a common-sense perspective, the six images of dead beauties depicted there would be enough to shock an emperor. Most people would be overwhelmed by seeing even half of them. The fact that Wu Qing-xiu still sought new female corpses is proof that he had fallen into a pathological state of mind. He became mentally deranged, trapped by the decaying images of dead beauties he himself painted. Do you understand that psychology, you...?"

As these words echoed in my eardrums, I kept my eyes tightly closed and pressed them with both hands. In the pale red darkness inside my eyelids, the first painting of the dead beauty I had just seen vaguely appeared, tinged with white light. Before I could even think, the second and third images began to slide from left to right in sequence, but when it reached the fifth image, the yellowish-white smiling face painted fifty days after death, it stopped abruptly right before my eyes.

I involuntarily shivered. When I suddenly opened my eyes, I met the gaze of Dr. Masaki, who had somehow rotated his chair to face me and was now sitting with his arms crossed. The doctor then grinned, flashing his dentures between his darkened lips, and moved the thin, red earlobes on either side of his face far upwards, which made me involuntarily shudder again and lower my eyes.

"Ufufufufufu. You shuddered, didn't you? Ufufufufufu... You should shudder. ...Even Wu Ichiro must have trembled just like you when he first saw this. ...Just as the remains of ancient creatures become oil and remain at the bottom of geological strata, the ancestral thought hidden deep within Wu Ichiro's psyche was ignited the moment he saw this picture scroll and shuddered. ...And then, in the blink of an eye, it blazed up into a great light so powerful that it extinguished all consciousness of reality. Past, present, future, the light of the sun, moon, and stars were all obliterated by that great light, and he continued to shudder until he himself became the same psyche as Wu Qingshou... that is, he became Wu Qingshou himself... Wu Ichiro, who stood in the red sunset of the Hamano quarry, rolling up this picture scroll and sighing with relief as he gazed at the western sky, was no longer the Wu Ichiro he had been. He was merely the remnants of a young man's memory, judgment, and habits, which had awakened in every cell of his body the fervent desires of Wu Qingshou himself... The fact that Wu Ichiro has lived with the same psyche as Wu Qingshou from the time he went mad until today is evident from the identical progression of Wu Qingshou's psyche as described in this history and the course of Wu Ichiro's mental illness to date. No, if we psychopathologically observe the psychological progression manifested in their actions, Wu Ichiro is none other than Wu Qingshou a thousand years later."

I shuddered again, with a different feeling, and readjusted my seat.

“To understand this astonishing and bizarre phenomenon, we must first clarify the psychopathological stages through which Wu Ichiro and Wu Cheong-su exchanged places. To put it simply, we must begin by questioning how Wu Ichiro, despite being a brilliant student, who had not studied classical Chinese since graduating middle school, could have read this chronicle, written in pure classical Chinese prose, in such fine script over four or five shaku, to a degree so profound that it drove him to madness… Do you understand… the reason for that?”

I stared intently into Dr. Masaki’s gleaming eyes, forcing saliva down my dry throat. I was astonished, wondering how I hadn't noticed this before...

“...You wouldn’t understand, would you? You couldn’t possibly. Anyone would find it illogical to think that Wu Ichiro read this chronicle with his own academic ability.”

“...Then someone... read it to him...”

Before I could finish speaking, I was struck with terror and trembled.

...Someone... someone was there... someone explained it to him, just as I had heard just now... someone was there... that person... that person... that person... that person...

As I thought this, the pounding of my heart, which had been accelerating, suddenly quieted. At the same time, I saw the solemn light in Dr. Masaki’s eyes gradually soften. I watched his tightly-pressed lips visibly relax and transform into a compassionate smile directed at me... just then, words, as if casually tossed out, escaped with a puff of cigar smoke.

“...Do you know the senryu, ‘When fox possession departs, the illiterate returns to his former state’...?”

I was taken aback. It felt as if something invisible had suddenly struck me on the cheek, and I blinked for a moment.

“...N-no... I don’t know that senryu.”

“...Hmm... If you don’t know this verse, you can’t say you know senryu. It’s a truly brilliant poem even among the Yanagidaru collection.”

As he said this, Dr. Masaki subtly hinted at a triumphant expression on the tip of his nose, and then pulled one knee up onto his chair.

"...So... what happened?"

"It's not 'what happened.' Unless you understand the principle of psychological heredity that this senryu expresses, even if great detectives like Sherlock Holmes or Arsène Lupin appeared, this question wouldn't be solved."

Dr. Masaki, who had uttered those words in a cold tone, let out a small smoke ring that swirled up and vanished above my head. I blinked again.

...Fox possession... if it falls... if it falls... back to illiteracy... back to illiteracy...

I repeated it in my mind, but what I didn't understand remained incomprehensible no matter how much I thought about it.

"Does Professor Wakabayashi know that logic...?"

"I explained it to him. He was grateful."

"...Oh... what does that mean...?"

"What does it mean...? It's like this. Listen..."

Dr. Masaki leaned back comfortably in his chair and stretched out his legs.

"...This senryu perfectly explains that fox possession is an attack of psychological heredity. In other words, during such an attack, the possessed person makes strange, beast-like gestures, shoves their face into a rice pot, or tries to crawl under the floor to sleep, all while rolling their eyes, exhibiting the animalistic psychology of a distant ancestor. That's why it's called 'fox possession.' However, at the same time, this fox possession often manifests not only these traits but also the memories and academic abilities of human ancestors from several generations ago. There are countless examples of people who couldn't read a single character becoming possessed by a fox and then reading and writing fluently, astonishing others by displaying various talents and knowledge of their ancestors. That's why it's even been immortalized in a senryu like this."

"Oh— So ancestral memories go into such fine detail..."

“...That's why it's called psycho-heredity, because it emerges. When an uneducated, illiterate peasant is possessed by a fox, they compose songs, write poetry, and even imitate doctors to cure incurable diseases. It might seem a little strange, but it's nothing in light of the principles of psycho-heredity. It's a matter of course... Especially with this picture scroll, since the pictures came first, Wu Il-rang became completely excited while looking at them, and largely took on Wu Cheong-su's feelings. And during that time, he even recalled memories of the contents of the origin story that his ancestors had read so deeply, over and over again, to the point of madness, so it's no wonder. It's like the scholar Wu Cheong-su of Fanyang reading again someone who has memorized his own history. He could read it without error even if presented with a blank sheet of paper.”

“...I'm surprised... I see...”

“This became the first stage of suggestion, but next, what became the second stage of suggestion and plunged Wu Il-rang into confusion was the thought embedded within those six statues of dead beauties.”

“When you say thought... is it Wu Cheong-su's, after all...?”

“That's right. The foundation of this psycho-heredity begins with Wu Cheong-su's loyalty to the king and patriotism, and is supposed to end with his suicide, but that is only the surface fact of the origin story. If you delve one step deeper behind that fact, you can clearly see the process by which Wu Cheong-su's loyalty, courage, and righteousness gradually transformed, becoming nothing but pure perverted sexuality. Just as timber is dried and turns into alcohol.”

“……………”

"...By the way, explaining this process would take far more than a one or two-year course, but if I briefly outline the framework of the idea I had planned to include as an appendix at the end of the psychogenetic theory manuscript I burned last night, it goes like this: ...Wu Qing-xiu's motivation for embarking on this work, as I just mentioned, seems to be a sacred, unparalleled, pure, and loyal desire for the benefit of all beings under heaven. However, this is a superficial observation. If we infer and study it from the subsequent developments, we find that beneath that sacred, unparalleled, pure, and loyal exterior, there was a profound, abnormal psychological element, characteristic of an artist, included as a foreign component, of which Wu Qing-xiu himself was unaware. ...If we don't consider this, we simply cannot explain the various inconsistencies regarding the significance of that picture scroll."