Dogra Magra (44/47)

by Hisashi Yumeno

"Please, let me avenge everyone..."

Silence spread, and no one replied.

"Please make this research sacred..."

Again, the quiet continued.

...Knock, knock... knock, knock... The sound of knocking on the entrance door echoed.

At that sound, I snapped back to reality. I hurriedly took a handkerchief from my pocket, wiped my tear-streaked face, and looked up at Dr. Masaki's face, gasping in astonishment.

It was a terrifying, demon-like expression, enough to instantly shrink my heightened emotions. His bloodless face was glistening with pale sweat, the wrinkles on his forehead were standing on end, blue veins were throbbing, his eyes were tightly closed, and he was clenching his dentures. Both hands were firmly gripping the arms of the chair, and his neck, elbows, and knees were each trembling in different directions.

...Knock, knock, knock, knock...

I collapsed with a thud into the swivel chair.

The sound of that knock felt like a declaration of something, like the sound of hell, like the end of the world, as if it were touching my heart directly. I couldn't see through to the person standing beyond the door, nor could I cry out for help, so I just stared at the sound.

Knock, knock, knock, knock...

Eventually, Dr. Masaki began a terrifying effort, trembling even more violently to suppress the shaking throughout his body. He raised himself slightly and opened his bloodshot, pink eyes weakly. His gray lips trembled, and he turned to reply, but his voice rose and fell as if caught in phlegm, ultimately sinking deep into his throat. He found himself shrunken in the chair, his head drooping limply like a dead man.

Knock, knock, knock... rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle... tap, tap, tap, tap...

At that moment, I didn't feel as if I had answered myself. It was as if some strange, unidentifiable voice, neither bird nor beast, had burst forth from somewhere and echoed through the room. Simultaneously, I felt as if the hairs on my head were bristling one by one, and before that sensation faded, the entrance door opened halfway, and from beside the rattling brass knob, a reddish-brown, round, shiny object appeared. It was the bald head of the old janitor who had brought the castella earlier.

"...Heh heh... My apologies. Your tea must have gotten cold. I'm late... Heh heh... Heh..."

Saying this, he placed a new earthenware teapot, still steaming, on the large table. Bending his already bowed back even lower, he blinked his hazy white eyes, stretched his wrinkled neck, and cautiously peered at Dr. Masaki's face.

"...Heh heh... Heh heh. I'm a little late... Heh... All the other janitors have been off since last night, so it's just me since this morning. Heh. Truly..."

Before the old janitor could finish his sentence, Dr. Masaki, as if summoning his last ounce of strength, shakily stood up from his chair. With a lifeless expression like that of a dead person, he turned to me, his lips twitching as if he wanted to say something, and faintly shook his head from side to side. However, tears immediately streamed down both his cheeks, and he lowered his eyes as if to acknowledge me, then slumped his head again. He stumbled out of the room, clinging to the edge of the door the janitor had left open, and, swaying as if about to collapse, he put his hand on the entrance pillar and finally stopped on the wooden floor of the corridor. Then, the door, which had creaked shut as if chasing after him, made a violent sound as if broken, and all the glass windows in the room, all the way to the far corner, resonated in unison, trembling, ringing, and shuddering as if bursting into loud laughter.

The janitor, who had been watching him leave, eventually turned back towards me hesitantly and looked up at me with an astonished expression.

"...Is the teacher... feeling unwell... somewhere...?"

I, too, mustered my last bit of courage and forced out a laugh that sounded like crying.

"Hahahahaha. It's nothing. We just had a little argument. ...I accidentally angered the teacher. You don't need to worry. We'll make up soon..."

As I was saying that, cold drops of water fell from both my armpits. I hadn't known that lying was so painful.

"......Heh... Is that so? Then I am relieved. It was the first time I saw such an expression on your face... Heh heh, please take your time and relax. I alone cannot manage everything... Heh. The doctor is truly a good person. Although he often scolds, he is truly kind... And since yesterday, there has been a great worry at that liberation treatment center, and because of that, the only errand boy we have now has twisted his ankle and is resting... I feel sorry for the doctor as well... Heh heh... Heh... Please take your time..."

The bald errand boy, carrying the cooled teapot, straightened his bent back with a grunt and tottered out. I watched his retreating figure as if a demon that had come to devour my soul was leaving.

When the door rattled shut after the errand boy left, I suddenly felt exhausted again. Exhaling a long, trembling breath from the pit of my stomach, I propped both elbows on the large table. I firmly covered my face with both hands and pressed hard on my eyeballs with my fingertips. Feeling an indescribable fatigue, as if the core of my head had dried up, I saw various illusions appear before my tightly pressed eyes. Through them, something... ? ...raced like lightning, crisscrossing everywhere. And I was anxious to suppress that... ? ...in my mind.

...The white sand's light of the liberation treatment center...?...

...In its center, a paulownia tree covered with dry leaves...?...

Beyond that, I could see the figure of Wu Ichiro standing. Two enormous chimneys, towering above the brick wall and the roof, soared towards the blue sky. I could see the black smoke spewing from them, swirling in the sky.

On the white bed, a girl in a white patient gown was weeping. On the green surface, Dr. Wakabayashi's research documents lay open and forgotten. The purple swirling cigar smoke drifted, recalling Dr. Wakabayashi's peculiar smile. Dr. Masaki's pince-nez reflecting the light also clearly came to mind.

I shook my head vigorously. I moved my hands, still with my eyes closed, as if swatting away an invisible web of causality trying to connect what was before me. The master of that web, manipulating threads to ensnare me against the backdrop of a madman's dark age, was two large venomous spiders dwelling in academia: M, the psychiatrist, and W, the forensic scientist. I had resisted with all my might against the terrifying web that M, in particular, had cast upon me. I had fought with my blood flowing backward, squeezing out cold sweat and hot tears, but at the same time, my strength had also given out. I had lost even the power to judge the good and evil of my own actions, and I no longer had the energy to leave this large table. I was so exhausted, both mentally and physically, that I didn't even know if I had the courage to stand up again.

However, another formidable enemy lurked behind me. That formidable enemy, W, might be sneering, seeing through my situation. He was waiting for me to fall, skillfully pressing me down. I felt him closing in, moment by moment, to suppress me with such thorough wisdom that even Dr. Masaki wouldn't notice, to extract my blood, tears, and bones, and to offer me as a sacrifice to academia, built upon falsehood and defilement.

If I were to be seized by those pale, large hands, I would rebel against Dr. Masaki. I don't know why, but I prefer Dr. Masaki to Dr. Wakabayashi. Even though both are poisonous spiders trying to make a meal of me, Dr. Masaki somehow feels more familiar and approachable. Even now, if Dr. Masaki were to return and say, "I was wrong," I might gladly forget everything and become Dr. Masaki's slave. I might even expose Dr. Wakabayashi's cowardice and publish records sympathizing with Dr. Masaki. Because I don't want my heart to be gripped by Dr. Wakabayashi's pale hands.

However, the surroundings are silent. I don't hear the sound of Dr. Masaki returning. There is nothing to do but await my fate. Without the strength to fight that fate.

Oh, what should I do? My breathing is pressing on my chest again. Soon, it quiets down, trembling yet powerless. My whole body feels empty, and only the depths of my ears are enveloped in silence.

“…………………………

…………………………

Black black pitch black

If I ate Tot's eyeballs

White white pure white

Real eyeballs popped out

Ponchiki Ponchiki Ponchikichi……

White eyeballs are cute

Popping out of the mouth

Escaping from the tip of chopsticks

Rolling rolling rolling rolling

And disappeared somewhere

La-a-a-a-a Ponchikichi……

White eyeballs are cute.

Tot's eyeballs are cute

Real eyeballs are cute

Cute cute cute oh――

La-a-a-a-a Ponchikichi……

Ponchiki Ponchiki Ponchikichi……

Cute oh―― Cute oh――

…………………………”

Through the glass window on the south side, the clear voice of the dancing girl could be heard leaking out.

Suddenly, a brilliant idea flashed into my mind. It felt as if the countless questions that had been clinging to the center of my head had instantly lit up and vanished. Like a mechanical doll, I took my hands from my face and readjusted myself in the swivel chair. I stared at the entrance door through which Dr. Masaki had exited, and then at the gold and black framed picture on the wall opposite. I looked around at the scattered various documents and saw the autumn midday light, almost noon, filtering through the cigar smoke in the room, casting a pale blue glow and creating vivid reflections on various items.

"...Wha-at... Wha-at in the world. ...This is... Ah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah..."

I continued to laugh, trying to suppress the unbearable amusement welling up from my sides.

...Fool, fool, fool, fool, fool... I was the biggest fool of all, a complete idiot... Ah-hah-hah-hah-hah-hah...

Dr. Wakabayashi and Dr. Masaki are the same. No, they are even more meticulous fools than I am. All three of us are terribly misunderstanding each other. What a ridiculous mistake this is...

Who killed Chiyoko? Who gave the picture scroll to Wu Ichiro? Who is Wu Ichiro's real parent? Is it W or M, or is there another person waiting in the wings? Such mysteries are still completely unsolved. It might all be the work of some irresponsible third party...

No, there must not have been a single culprit in this case from the beginning. The content of this incident is merely a superposition of unrelated, inexplicable events that happened by chance, viewed as one. Chiyoko's strangulation, Dr. Saito's drowning, and Wu Ichiro's madness might all have been self-inflicted. Otherwise, such a mysterious, inexplicable, and unfathomable incident could not possibly exist.

The two doctors, misunderstanding each other, were forcibly trying to superimpose a single picture scroll and create a single focal point. They feared each other and glared at each other through colored glasses, lest their precious research materials be stolen, so everything seemed to be the sole achievement of the other.

Poor them, both were too engrossed in their own thoughts. No, it was as if two geniuses, who had never found a worthy opponent until now, had found their rivals here and instinctively started a battle. They were stuck, unable to move, by trying to tackle four things together.

Could such a foolish, idiotic conflict exist in this world? The research and struggle of the two doctors were far more serious, profound, and terrifying than the incident itself. Perhaps all scholars are earnestly fighting over such trivial matters.

However, upon reflection, it's understandable. Wu Ichiro and I are like twins. Furthermore, Wu Moyoko and the beautiful woman in this picture scroll are identical, truly exact replicas. Anyone would be surprised to discover such a double coincidence existing in this region, and within the same bloodline. They would then think there must be some deep reason for this and begin their research with colored glasses from the start. Even if they don't intend to, the very mindset with which they begin their research is like wearing colored glasses, so it cannot be helped.

If one examines each of the various events that constitute this incident, aren't they all events that could have occurred independently, even without the involvement of the two doctors? It is only because the two doctors suspect each other's actions that they appear to overlap and merge into one. Without the complicated explanations of the two doctors, it would merely be a collection of two mysterious deaths and one case of madness.

Yes, that must be it. It's all just a clash of baseless incidents. Unaware of this, I merely nodded in agreement and was tormented... How foolish. Fools, fools, we were all great fools... all three of us.

Suddenly, I realized that the culprit in this incident might, after all, be me.

"...Ahahahahahahaha..."

I heard my own laughter echoing in the room and suddenly closed my mouth. I noticed my eyes, which had somehow propped up my cheek, were drawn to the picture scroll lying on the green surface at the tip of my nose.

...Is this what inspiration feels like?

I suddenly felt a throb and sat back down in the swivel chair. Filled with an unprecedented, indescribably sacred feeling, I reverently picked up the picture scroll and stared at it, pondering.

...What remains in the end is the magic of this picture scroll. Everything else can be denied. But the magic of this picture scroll alone cannot be denied until the very end... so I thought.

From the surface, this incident appears to be entirely nonsensical. In fact, it could be considered nothing more than a collection of trivial minor incidents. However, because Dr. Masaki and Dr. Wakabayashi became entangled in the midst of it, attempting to accomplish some strange undertaking centered around the magic of this picture scroll, the whole thing appears to be extremely significant and to exhibit a terrifying tension. Yet, if one steps back and looks at this incident from behind the scenes, it is actually the two doctors who are being manipulated by this picture scroll. They are casting aside their wisdom, courage, knowledge, status, honor, and even their lives, prostrating themselves before the magic of this picture scroll.

If Dr. Masaki's story is true, then the life, death, transmigration, and suffering of other humans must also have been incidents caused by this picture scroll. In the end, the central magical power that governs all the inexplicable mysteries must be emanating from this picture scroll. All factual realities and all scientific explanations can be rendered nonsensical, but no one will be able to render the magical power of this picture scroll nonsensical.

Therefore, if this picture scroll has a spirit, it must know everything. At the same time, it must know its own history better than anyone else. It must know, down to the last detail, how it has been involved in this incident and by what process it came into Wu Yi-lang's hands. And it must also fully grasp the underlying circumstances of how it has troubled both doctors and is now tormenting me.

This picture scroll has driven many people to madness, led them astray, and caused them to harm each other, all while feigning ignorance. Similarly, even now, it pretends to know nothing as it rests in my palm... but... however...

More than a thousand years ago, the extravagant life of Emperor Xuanzong of the Great Tang influenced the loyalty of the young gentleman Wu Qing-xiu, leading him to depict the decaying forms of six beautiful women within this scroll. The artist's thoughts embedded in those eerie paintings traveled far to Japan, intertwining with the Wu family's bloodline, and have continued to manifest terrifying karmic consequences through generations.

And now, after more than a dozen centuries, having passed into the hands of the unrelated Dr. Masaki and Dr. Wakabayashi, even in an era illuminated by the light of science, its magical power has not diminished; on the contrary, its influence has doubled, trampling and mocking the lives of the two doctors from all directions. Now, right in the heart of Kyushu Imperial University, the center of modern culture, the moment it touched my fingertips, an invisible demonic hand reached out, squeezing my heart and inflicting such agony that it felt as if my very blood and sweat were being wrung out.

An inexplicable karma is entwining itself around me, and I am about to be drawn into a vortex of mysterious fate. It is blowing a white mist over the truth of facts, and toying with me with the charm of that mist. It is making me remember what I cannot remember, think what I cannot think, and see what I cannot see. It is making me search for lost memories of the past, think of a self that is not me, forcibly search for the truth of non-existent incidents, confuse me, drive me mad, make me cry, and make me laugh. It is as if I am struggling and suffering in a hell of madness.

What a terrifying magical power!

As I stared at the space before my eyes, the phantom of Mrs. Mayuzumi's sneer, fifty days after her death, reappeared in the depths of my wide-open eyes, which had been contemplating up to this point. I gazed at it until it vanished.

"Damn it, just you wait and see what I'll do..."

Thinking this, I was struck by a premonition that I would find the key to a terrible secret within this picture scroll, a key that would shatter all mystery and incomprehensibility at once, and I bit my lip hard. Filled with the inspiration that something capable of exposing the true nature of the magical power tormenting the two doctors and me might still remain unnoticed by anyone, I quickly untied the scroll.

At that moment, I looked at my wristwatch, and it was exactly ten minutes to twelve. The electric clock in front showed eleven minutes to, but it might be the moment the long hand was about to jump to the X mark.

When I breathed on the green stone part of the picture scroll, I saw overlapping fingerprints that I couldn't identify, but then I realized these were traces of my own touch from earlier, and I picked up the scroll again with a wry smile, scolding myself, "Such carelessness won't do."

On the embroidery of the mounting and the dark blue paper inside, countless fine, shimmering fibers are attached. This is likely a remnant from when this picture scroll was wrapped in cotton wadding or something similar. When I bring my nose close and sniff, a musty smell mixed with a light camphor scent, and then a deep, different aroma wafts from somewhere. Upon sniffing again carefully, it was a faint, elegant perfume scent, so subtle that I felt it was something I had never smelled before.

"Interesting. At this rate, it seems like many more things could be discovered." Anyone would assume that this musty smell and the woody scent similar to camphor had permeated the wooden statue of Maitreya. However, perhaps no one noticed this perfume scent. This fragrance must allude to the previous owner of this picture scroll.

"If there's still something on this that no one has noticed yet, even if it's just a single strand of hair or a tobacco crumb, it could be a powerful piece of evidence to identify the culprit..."

Thinking as if I had become a great detective, I intensified my efforts, carefully examining both the front and back of the picture scroll, from the head end, rolling it backward, from the picture section to where the text of the origin story ended. I was surprised that the decaying image of the dead beauty, which I had found unbearable to look at earlier, now appeared to be merely an arrangement of pigments. This was certainly not due to the lighting. I meticulously observed everything, from the beautiful teeth visible through Lady Dai's decayed lips to the way her internal organs smoothly swelled and shone, enveloped in gas, but no matter how much I looked, what was nothing remained nothing. I completely lost my motivation due to the absurdity of human nervous reactions.