Dogra Magra (45/47)

by Hisashi Yumeno

However, upon closer inspection, I noticed that the beginning of the picture scroll was slightly blurred, while the paper surface became smoother and more lustrous as it approached the end of the origin story. This was natural. Wu Cheong-su, who first took up the brush, must have opened and rolled the initial part many times. Similarly, the ancestors of the Wu family who viewed this scroll afterward must have carefully examined the parts closer to its original complete form. Considering human nature, this was inevitable.

On the reverse side of the scroll, there were traces of a shimmering, pale brown liquid, and what appeared to be white, round spots, like fingerprints, dotted across it. However, from beneath the not-so-smooth paper, coarse fabric patterns irregularly emerged, making it impossible to clearly discern what the traces were. In the end, all I discovered from this picture scroll was the scent of an elegant perfume.

I brought my face close to the picture scroll again and repeatedly inhaled the faint fragrance. I didn't know what kind of perfume it was, but it was truly an elegant and pure scent, one that evoked something nostalgic or an irresistible dream-like feeling from the depths of my memory. To be honest, it was a scent that brought forth memories I wanted to cling to. It seemed like a woman's scent, but I couldn't clearly guess whether it belonged to a past lover, my mother, or my sister.

Just in case, I stood up and retrieved my mortarboard from beside the entrance door. I compared the scent inside it with the fragrance of the picture scroll. However, from inside my hat, I could only detect the smell of new serge, patent leather, and a faint hint of mold. It was not evidence that the same perfume as the scroll's fragrance had been used.

I placed my hat aside and, with a light sigh, was about to roll the picture scroll back up when I suddenly stopped my hand. An astonishing implication had unexpectedly flashed into my mind as I stared into space.

When Sengorō Tokura, an old farmer regularly employed by the Kure family, discovered Ichirō Kure at the Hamanoishi quarry, Ichirō was reportedly staring intently only at the white parts of the picture scroll. It was because he felt he was on the verge of understanding the true meaning of that mysterious fact.

Even within this picture scroll, the parts where the origin story was written must have been opened and rolled up many times by human hands. Therefore, there is a possibility that something that adhered to a person who peered into this picture scroll might have fallen into it over its nearly ten-foot length. However, at the same time, if there was even one person among ten thousand who opened the scroll all the way to look only at the white paper sections, that person must have had an unusual mind. Common sense would quickly tell you that there are almost no such people.

Nevertheless, what if, by some chance, a situation unimaginable by common sense or a person with a different mental structure actually appeared and opened the blank sections after the origin story all the way to the end? To put it simply, it's possible that Kure Seishū, the author of this picture scroll, leisurely depicted only the skeletal form of Lady Mayuzumi. It's possible that from Lady Mayuzumi's sister, Funjo, and successive generations of the Kure family, all the way to Dr. Masaki, they simply, based on common sense, readily concluded that there were only six death images depicted within this scroll.

Furthermore, what if only individuals with the intellect to discern that this picture scroll possesses a magical power capable of driving people to madness were to contemplate it to such an extent and open it to view? If such a thing were possible, how could one deny that something significant might be hidden within it? Moreover, whatever is hidden, no matter how subtle, would hold extremely profound meaning. It might reveal the true identity of the culprit who caused this incident using this picture scroll. Or perhaps, it might be someone with the power to instantly shatter the mystery of this picture scroll and return all confusion to truth. At the very least, how could one claim that nothing was discovered from this picture scroll without investigating it to that extent?

It is said that Go Ichiro intently gazed at the white parts of this picture scroll at his niece Hama's quarry. At that time, it is presumed that he was already half Go Seishu and half Go Ichiro in his feelings, but it is unknown which feelings motivated him. However, in any case, he continued to look at the white parts of this picture scroll all the way to the end. And it is easy to surmise that he must have discovered something hidden within it.

As proof of this, Go Ichiro told old man Sengoro, "I know the true identity of the custodian of this picture scroll," didn't he?

Why, why did I not notice this fact until now?

As these thoughts flashed through my mind in an instant, I had a premonition that I was being pursued by someone again, and I compared my wristwatch and electric clock. Both showed four minutes to twelve.

My hands reflexively adjusted their grip on the picture scroll again and began to unroll the white section. For the first minute or so, I tried to examine it as calmly as possible, but I realized that no matter how far I went, I would only have to stare intently at the pure white karakami paper. I quickly began to feel the irritation and absurdity of being made to travel alone through an endless white desert with no purpose. My own heart, pretending to be a great detective all by myself, was seen through, and I suddenly became disheartened. After finally managing to advance about three shaku, I was already fed up.

Along with that, the speculation that Wu Qingxiu might have drawn the skeleton picture at the end gradually became more dubious.

If Wu Qingxiu had fallen into a state of dementia, he must have been utterly bewildered the moment he suddenly remembered, through his sister-in-law Fen-nu's explanation, that he was an unparalleled fool and had caused his beloved wife to die in vain for a useless loyalty. Considering that, he must have been sane until a few minutes or even seconds before. If he hadn't forgotten to say it, he wouldn't have failed to explain whether he drew the skeleton picture at the end. Similarly, it's impossible, not even one in ten thousand, that Fen-nu, while showing the results of a project that the man she adored had planned by sacrificing her precious older sister, wouldn't notice something that a complete stranger like me could figure out, even a thousand years later. Thinking that, I suddenly felt deflated and disheartened.

However, even with such feelings, I was bound by a sense of duty, like a kind of inertia. All the fatigue I had accumulated suddenly came over me, making me feel drowsy, but I quickly unrolled the white section with both hands and pursued it just a little further. And then, finally, when I reached the end of the long white section of the scroll, which seemed to be about two or three jo long, I unexpectedly caught a glimpse of something like a black stain, and I involuntarily gasped and opened my eyes wide.

Upon closer inspection, it was written in five lines of delicate, elegant female script a little distance from the part where ripples were drawn in gold paint on the very last navy blue paper. Was this what was called the Ono Gadō style?

"May the darkness of a parent's heart be illuminated

By the light of wisdom in an unfolding world

November 26, Meiji 40

In Fukuoka, Chiyoko, mother of Ichirō Masaki

To Keishi Masaki-sama"

The hair on my head stood on end.

I hastily tried to roll the picture scroll back up, but my hands trembled, and I dropped it. The scroll, as if alive, unrolled itself, fell from the large table to the floor, and spun across the linoleum. As I watched it extend, I was seized with a chilling fascination. I don't know why I opened the door, or when I ran down the hallway, but I dashed down the stairs in one breath and burst out of the entrance.

Suddenly, a loud sound echoed, thundering through the pine grove on the Kyushu University campus as if to chase me away. It was the noon cannon.

I can only describe it as a miracle. It was such a strange event that it felt as if an invisible, great power had reached out from the air and was dragging me around at will.

After rushing out of the main gate of the Kyushu University School of Medicine, I have no memory at all of where or how I wandered. And I had no idea what my objective was, or why I had returned to the professor's office in the Kyushu University Department of Psychiatry.

I heard the blaring car horn from behind me. I was startled by the roar of the train that screeched to a halt in front of me. I was scattered by the ringing of a bicycle bell. I heard people's voices shouting and dogs barking. I saw the sun spinning around, the wind blowing back and forth and left and right, and dust chasing each other like in a war. I saw utility poles hanging from the clouds. I saw a signboard dripping fresh blood all the way down to the eaves. I gazed at a vast plain where transparent mountains stretched beyond the horizon. I got lost in a pile of red bricks, I don't know if there were thousands, tens of thousands, or hundreds of millions. In its purple shadows, I saw the phantom of a child with its limbs torn off. I looked up at a yellow glowing airplane in the blue sky. After that, I saw about six naked figures of dead beauties, outlined only in white, sliding along neatly in a row.

White clouds, black clouds, yellow clouds, trailing like human heads, or in the shape of eyes, noses, lips, and various other forms. In their gaps, the blue sky was clear and bitter like a medicinal liquid. Under such things, I ruffled the hair on my head, which encased my sharp nerves and emotions that sparked in disarray, feeling a pain in my forehead that sometimes made me jump, and rubbing my eyes that stung from the glare and dust, I staggered wildly, not knowing where I was going.

Rivers, bridges, railways, red torii gates. To the left and right of those red torii gates, I saw the figures of Dr. Masaki and Dr. Wakabayashi with pale faces. Finally, I restrained myself from wanting to run and continued to walk.

Everything was true. It was neither false academic research nor fabricated confessions. From beginning to end, it was all things that Dr. Masaki had planned and executed all by himself.

Dr. Wakabayashi was completely innocent. From the beginning, Dr. Wakabayashi knew nothing and was merely used as a tool in Dr. Masaki's research. Fascinated by the clever and bizarre crimes committed by Dr. Masaki, he voluntarily undertook investigations, and before he knew it, he had been made to take on the role of collecting materials for Dr. Masaki's research presentations. He had been perfectly caught in the trap set by Dr. Masaki and thoroughly made a fool of.

However, as a result of his investigation, Dr. Wakabayashi discovered Chiyoko's handwriting left at the end of that picture scroll. He must have been as surprised as I was to find the single point that should be the focus of the final question, superimposed on all other questions. And he must have resolved everything in an instant, just as I did. He must have discovered that everything was the work of Dr. Masaki.

Dr. Wakabayashi's attitude was truly admirable. He deeply saw through the truth of the incident and decided to show scholarly sympathy and respect to Dr. Masaki, who was his alumnus and friend. He then concealed the core of the incident, handed Dr. Masaki the accurate investigation records, and left it entirely up to him how he would handle them. Furthermore, he even made sure to have tea cakes delivered, attempting to convey his feelings without words, saying, "I am far away, so please speak without worry."

It was probably out of his kindness that Dr. Masaki uttered a lie like, "He committed suicide a month ago." It was a result of his consideration to prevent Dr. Masaki from appearing on the scene and to keep my mind from becoming confused again. He must have thought it wouldn't matter even if it was discovered to be a lie later.

Dr. Wakabayashi truly maintained a manly and noble gentlemanly demeanor.

On the other hand, Dr. Masaki had dedicated his entire life to this experiment. From the beginning, he alone was interested in this legend, deceived Chiyoko, had a child with her, and had her provide the picture scroll. And he had proceeded with this plan, disregarding everything else.

However, Dr. Masaki had not noticed that Chiyoko had inscribed a waka poem, the date, her child's name, and the father's name in the colophon when she provided the picture scroll. He had never imagined that her deep maternal love and exceptional talent would extend so far. He had not considered that there could be a fatal oversight in her bold, captivating, and brilliant plan. For the sake of academia and humanity, he had scoffed at and trampled upon gods, Buddhas, blood, and tears, yet he continued to be tormented by pangs of conscience and the poignancy of human emotion. It was as if he were leaping about with his heart clutched by a dead person.

This was Dr. Masaki's entire life, extremely defiled yet simultaneously extremely purified. It was a life where sorrow and exhilaration intertwined.

However, as his cursed research finally neared its end, Dr. Masaki was truly chilled to the bone when he saw the investigation documents handed to him by Dr. Wakabayashi. He realized that the opponent's formidable insight was surrounding him. Unable to bear the pressure, he attempted a counterattack through cowardly and cynical means. He chose me, a third party, from among his patients and confessed everything to me in order to have me make an adventurous announcement.

However, that confession, from beginning to end, was a single plan he had conceived and executed, divided into two roles. It was an elaborate plan that skillfully depicted the opponent's nature and actions while employing unique wit, yet it was also a shallow and childish idea. The notion of playing two roles to escape his self-imposed trap was extraordinary, yet it harbored the foolishness of falling back into a self-imposed trap again.

"...Dangerous...!"

"Idiot...!"

"Hit...!"

A chorus of shouts and screams assailed me from behind. At that moment, a violent crash echoed at my feet. I turned around to see the people around me glaring at my face. Behind me, a huge blue-painted cargo truck was stopped, with broken bicycles and empty bottles scattered around, and brownish-red soy sauce flowing on the ground. A large man in a light yellow work uniform jumped down from the truck and dragged out a pale boy. People rushed towards them.

I continued to ponder as I walked.

There is a terrifying secret. The struggle between the evil spirit of Wu Qingxiu, who died a thousand years ago, and the scientific knowledge of the modern Dr. Masaki, is now in full swing.

From the moment Dr. Masaki began this research, the evil spirit of Wu Qingxiu seized the vulnerable point of his conscience. The greatest parental affection and conjugal love among human affections were crushed, and without realizing it himself, he desperately endured so as not to be cursed by Wu Qingxiu's evil spirit. While continuously expressing that cursed psychological state in the form of papers, talks, and songs, he continued to fight, believing in the victory of science, even as he created painful sacrifices such as Chiyoko, Wu Ichiro, Moyoko, and Yashiroko. Oh, what a gruesome, cold-blooded, persistent struggle it is. It feels as if the scent of blood and sweat dripping from the soul can be perceived.

However, when I reached this point in my thoughts, I stopped. I looked out at the bustling thoroughfare and saw people looking back at me with curious eyes. I gazed up at the swirling light on the tall advertising tower and stared at the sunset clouds.

But still...

When I thought about it, I still couldn't recall even a fragment of my past memories. I couldn't answer who I was. It was as if I had fallen into a state of pitiful amnesia. Nothing had changed since I woke up in Room Seven this morning. I was still just a sad, lonely, nameless speck drifting alone in the universe.

Who am I?

Ah, if only I could recall this, I might be freed from Oh Cheong-su's curse... I might be released from the magical power of that scroll, yet I simply cannot remember. The more I think about it, this alone remains the last, the only question.

Who am I... What kind of causal relationship connects my past and this incident...?

Thinking thus, I repeatedly replayed and re-examined the day's memories, walking through the dark clouds. The distant sound of a half-bell, the engine noise of cars, children crying, the sound of weaving, the whistle from some factory... I unconsciously heard them one after another, turning right, then bending left. But suddenly, I kicked the dirt and stopped. My heart thumped, and I stood frozen, my neck recoiled.

Oh no. I left that scroll just as it was.

Chiyoko's handwriting at the end of that scroll must not be shown to anyone...

If Dr. Masaki saw it, he might go mad... he might actually commit suicide...

This is truly terrible...

I involuntarily jumped up, and the next moment, I turned around and ran straight down a dark country road, I knew not where.

Eventually, I burst into a bright and beautiful cityscape.

I dashed through dark, cluttered alleyways and leaped across dazzling streets where the sounds of shamisen and drums could be heard.

I ran along a breakwater lined with electric lights until I reached the end of the open sea, where I was startled and turned back.

The goods in various shops, trains, cars, and crowds flowed past me like a revolving lantern, moving further and further behind.

With my vision blurred by sweat and tears, I tried to rush back the way I had come.

My eyes were dazed, I was out of breath, and it felt as if my surroundings were alternately brightening and darkening.

Countless grey birds seemed to flutter chaotically before my eyes, then vanish.

I felt as if someone had helped me up when I had unknowingly collapsed on the road, and I also remember shaking off their hand and running again.

As I repeated such things, I finally lost all understanding. I couldn't even think about why I was running or in which direction I was trying to go. What I occasionally saw and heard felt like a dream, but ultimately, I staggered in a daze until I couldn't even feel that dreamlike state anymore.

I don't know how many hours or days passed after that...

Suddenly, a shiver ran through my body, and I realized I had somehow returned to the professor's office in the Department of Psychiatry at Kyushu Imperial University. I was slumped over, sitting in a swivel chair with both hands outstretched on the green baize of the large table.

For a moment, I wondered if I was dreaming. I doubted whether all the various events I had seen and heard, the strange things I had kept thinking about, and the unbearable fear and breathlessness I had felt since rushing out of this room around noon earlier, were all just a dream I had while unconscious here. Then, feeling uneasy, I looked around me.

My clothes, my shirt, and the shoes I was wearing were all white with sweat and dust. Both my elbows and knees were badly torn and covered in mud, two buttons were ripped off, and my collar hung on my right shoulder, making me look like a hybrid of a drunkard and a beggar. Dark blood had congealed on the back of my left hand, but I didn't know where I had been injured. There was no particular pain or itchiness, but my eyes and mouth seemed to be full of sand and dust, causing my eyelids to sting and my teeth to grind unpleasantly...