The Ginza Ghost Page 10

  The first time I noticed that the master was behaving peculiarly was on the third day after the funeral of the mistress. As I explained to you just now, the master had obstinately decided not to appear at the funeral and the matter might have ended there, but to us servants, whom the mistress cared for so much, it did not feel right not to pay any respects at all to her. So we asked the master if we could at least visit her grave, and while he initially acted very stubbornly on the surface, I could see he did feel some guilt somewhere inside him.

  ‘Well then, maybe I too should pay a quiet visit to her grave.’ Thus he quickly proposed joining us.

  I forgot to tell you this, but the mistress’ resting place is in the Yanaka Cemetery, which isn’t far from our mansion in Tabata, so we went to the grave on foot. We all left together for the grave after the master had finished his work at school, and by the time we’d travelled Dōkanyama Hill and arrived at the cemetery in Yanaka, the sun was about to set. It was a lonesome time of the day.

  The master had visited the grave of the mistress’ family before, so he knew exactly where it was and walked straight there with the flowers, while I went to the well to scoop up some water[xv]. As a result I arrived a bit later at the grave than he did, but I did nevertheless observe how the master—with his face deathly pale—had turned around in a panic, as if he was fleeing from something.

  ‘I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. We’re going back this very instant. Find me a car,’ he told me.

  I was absolutely stunned, of course. I’d only just arrived there, so I didn’t want to turn back without having paid my respects. Nonetheless, I couldn’t leave the master alone in that condition, so with regret in my heart, we walked back to a major street in Sakuragichō, and although it was a roundabout route, we did get a car and return to the mansion.

  When I looked back afterwards I realised with a shock that—even if it had been difficult—if I’d somehow been able to convince the master to return home on his own, I could’ve gone to the grave myself and had a chance to see whatever the master had witnessed at that lonely spot. At the time, however, I simply thought it was odd, and I was more worried about the master’s condition, so I was not able to make the correct judgment.

  So we returned home, and the master’s condition quickly recovered, but from that day on, his behaviour started to change. His complexion was always pale, his eyes were always bloodshot, and he always seemed to be on edge. We thought it was because his condition had not fully recovered yet.

  Oh, yes, there was even more. The master had always had the habit of reading and writing until late into the night, but that stopped all of a sudden, and he started telling the maid to lay out his bed early so he could go to sleep. And he became obsessed with making sure the doors and windows were securely locked and reminded us all the time. Perhaps we were just imagining things, but it seemed to all of us that he was acting more and more strangely with each passing day. But we couldn’t guess as to the reason, and all we could do was worry about the master’s health.

  Anyway, this ill-starred behaviour—similar to that of Shinzaburō in the classic ghost tale The Peony Lantern[xvi]—became gradually worse over the course of four days, until that horrible final night.

  I tell you, I still shudder simply by thinking back to that ghastly time. That day, the brother of the maid Sumi had arrived from their hometown in Chiba, so she was allowed the night off to go out with him. So this old man here was the only one left to take care of the master. After he’d finished his dinner around six o’clock, he brought out a bundle of documents from his study.

  ‘I am planning to take two or three days off from school starting tomorrow, so please inform Mr. Ueda in Waseda and deliver these to him.’

  Mr. Ueda was a teacher at the school who acted as the master’s deputy, and as it was still early, I estimated I could be back in two hours, so I quickly left for Tabata Station to head out for Waseda. And, as per my instructions, I locked everything up securely, including the main gate, and left by the back entrance. But now I have to admit that leaving the master all on his own was a terrible mistake.

  By the time I’d finished my business and returned, it was already later than I’d originally estimated: eight-thirty. I clicked my tongue, as I was sure the master would complain about that, so I hurried through the hallway to the study. I stood before the door and called out anxiously: ‘I have returned.’

  But there was no answer. I called out to the master again, opened the door and took one step inside. It was then that I got a shock and stood frozen to the spot. There was no sign of the master inside the room, and I had no idea where he’d gone. But that wasn’t what was shocking. The glass door of the window facing the garden had been forced open, and several of the iron bars set in the outer window frame had been wrenched out of their sockets. I could see streaks of darkness pouring into the room like a nightmare. Startled, I stepped towards of the window, but then my eyes wandered off to beyond the open fusuma sliding door[xvii], inside the tatami-floored living room[xviii], and I could feel myself collapse to the ground.

  I had found my master—no longer among the living—lying face-up in front of the alcove pillar. His appearance was so incredibly gruesome I couldn’t bear to look at him twice. His eyes were almost popping out of his head, as if he had seen something horrible, and his face had turned ashen. I looked around, and the whole room was in a terrible state, so I knew the master must have put up some resistance, as the zabuton sitting cushions and the fire tongs had been thrown all over the place….

  And as for what happened next, how I reacted… When I think back, I cannot remember a single thing about what I did then. By the time I’d got a grip of myself, several police officers had already arrived, trampling all over the place as they investigated the case. They had come across some very unusual facts.

  According to the police investigation, the monstrous being that had visited my master had obviously been alone, and had been wearing garden geta sandals. There was a trail of footprints going over the hedge near the front gate, bypassing the front entrance to the house to go to the rear entrance, and leading to the study window facing the garden, all belonging to the same sandals. As you know, geta consist of wooden soles, each raised above the ground by two wooden cross-pieces called “teeth” and held to the foot by a fabric strap passing between the toes. Investigation showed that the knot of the strap—placed on the underside of the base—had also left an impression on the footprints, on the inner side of the marks made by the teeth. This meant the inner side of these geta teeth had been worn down heavily enough for the knot to have left an impression as well.

  I could feel a shudder run down my spine as I overheard the police officers talking this over between themselves. As I already told you, the deceased mistress loved traditional Japanese culture, so she often wore a traditional nihongami haircut, and she also walked with her toes turned inward, even though modern ladies don’t walk like that any more. I was startled when she first told me that her footwear would always wear down on the inside very rapidly. As I say, I shuddered when I remembered that, but I made up my mind not to tell the police.

  Three of the iron bars, each about as thick as a man’s thumb, had been pulled out of the study window facing the garden. Each of the bars had been twisted by some inhuman, violent force, and then been pulled out of the sockets in the window frame. When I saw how the bars had been bent at the centre, and how they had been thrown away under the eaves, I couldn’t suppress another shudder.

  And as for the poor master’s body, it was in truly atrocious shape. Apparently his skull had been smashed, so the master died of a concussion, but his neck had also been snapped. No other wounds were discovered, but the police did find something oh-so blood-curdling clenched firmly in his right hand. I crouched down by his side, and there, can you believe it, between the fingers of his clenched fist, were a few strands of a woman’s long hair. And that wasn’t all, as I could smell something very nostalgic fr
om those strands: the wax used for a nihongami hairstyle….I looked up, my mind a blank. The room was ten tatami mats wide, and on the wall opposite the tokonoma alcove[xix], stood still the mistress’ tansu chest of drawers[xx] and dressing table. We hadn’t had the time to sort things out yet after the mistress’ death, so we had left everything in the room covered with oil cloths. I’d looked up because I’d detected the scent of wax, and my eyes had subconsciously drifted to the dressing table. At that moment I stood up.

  I hadn’t noticed it before, but the brightly printed silken dressing table cover had been flipped over in an inviting way, and on the floor in front of a half-open drawer lay a comb made of boxwood. I got up instinctively, walked over to the dresser, crouched down and then looked around again. The comb had been thrown down on the tatami mat in front of the drawer, and I noticed that three or four strands of hair—just like the ones gripped by the master—had been left on the comb, curled around it in a sinister way….

  At that moment, I felt as though I could actually see a ghostly figure seated in front of the dressing table, resetting its disheveled hair before disappearing. My trembling simply wouldn’t stop.

  And I then came upon yet another sign of ill omen. I’d only noticed it after I’d gone over to the dresser, but fresh incense sticks—the kind used in cemeteries, not in the home—had been dropped all over the tatami mat in the corner of the room and been stepped on. Oh, what a terrifying sight! I closed my eyes and started to pray to whomsoever came to mind. I was no longer able to keep my frightful thoughts to myself, so when the police started questioning me, I told them everything: how the mistress was divorced and how she died; about the strange behaviour of the master after we went to the Yanaka Cemetery; and all the eerie happenings that had occurred up to this present time.

  A police officer with gold stripes on his epaulette turned to his colleague after listening to my story in silence:

  ‘It appears the old man here thinks that the deceased wife turned into a ghost and came here.’

  As he grinned broadly, he turned back to me.

  ‘I see, old man. I guess it’s hard to believe that a living person could have caused such a horrible mess. But, depending on how you look at things, even a woman acting alone would be capable of doing all of this. For example, you don’t need monstrous strength to pull those iron bars out of the window. There’s a trick to it. You first use a towel or some other piece of cloth, loop it around two of the bars, and pull it tight. Then you place a wooden stick inside the loop and turn it around to pull the towel even tighter. It doesn’t take long for the bars to bend and fall out of the frame. It’s really child’s play. And as for the wounds on the deceased, you can make those kinds of wounds with any heavy instrument. As for the geta sandals being worn down on the inside, there are plenty of people who walk with their toes pointing inwards besides the wife of the deceased. Got it? One last thing. I need you to direct me to the dead wife’s family home in Ningyōchō. We’ll need to talk to all the women there.’

  So saying, the senior officer started to raise his powerful body out of the seat. But at that moment a young doctor who had been examining the body of the master suddenly appeared.

  ‘Chief Inspector, I’m afraid you’re mistaken,’ the doctor began. ‘For example, your theory about bending the iron bars. Yes, by using your trick, any person can easily bend two bars. But in this case, three bars were bent. Your method only works with an even number of bars. With an odd number you’ll always be one bar short to coil the towel around. So those bars weren’t pulled out of the window with that old burglar’s trick. They were undoubtedly pulled out by someone monstrously strong.

  ‘And as for the geta sandals, you appear to assume they were worn by someone in the family in Ningyōchō. But, for the bottom side of a geta to be so heavily worn down that the knot of the strap shows on the footprint, means that the person hasn’t just worn those garden geta sandals once or twice, but must be wearing them all the time. Do you really think that the kind of woman who is elegant enough to sit down in front of a dresser to reset her disheveled hair, would be wearing garden geta sandals all the time, in Ningyōchō of all places?’

  Having said his piece, the doctor walked over to the corner of the room, picked up some of the incense sticks which were lying on the tatami mat, and walked back over to me.

  ‘Do you know where the wife’s grave is located in the Yanaka Cemetery?’ he asked. I was surprised by the question, but I nodded silently. The shrewd-looking young doctor then asked: ‘Could you then please take us there?’

  He turned to the police officer. ‘Chief Inspector, this bundle of incense sticks is still fresh and was meant to be used after the murder. Let us go to the Yanaka Cemetery now, and show them to the terrifying being who left them here.’

  Thus it was that, after a ten-minute ride in a police car, we arrived at Yanaka Cemetery in the middle of the night.

  We left the car a good way from the entrance, and, as per the doctor’s instructions, did not utter a word as we silently entered the cemetery. The full moon had managed to break through a gap in the clouds, and was casting a pale light on a sea of gravestones as far as the eye could see. It was clear enough to make out the trees surrounding the cemetery, which were swaying gently in the night breeze. I walked in front as the guide, and I shall never, never forget the amazing sight. The impression… was burnt into my eyes.

  It didn’t take long for us to reach the wife’s grave, which sadly had no gravestone yet. We could faintly make out the pale smoke of incense rising in the darkness.

  ‘Oh, but that’s smoke,’ I said, pointing with a trembling finger. My task as a guide had been accomplished, so the others went in front. The doctor quickly made his way over to the grave and peered intently at it.

  ‘I expected something like this,’ he said and he called out to us to come, pointing with his chin. We came over to take look at what was lying in front of the grave. The extraordinary sight had us all frozen to the spot.

  In front of the brand new, diagonally standing wooden grave tablet, on top of the pitch-black, damp earth, lay the grotesque figure of someone dressed in flashy yukata-cloth night clothing, with long, black hair tied together on the top of his head. It was that of a sumō wrestler, lying with his face to the sky. He had bitten his own tongue off.

  ‘We were too late,’ said the doctor and he started searching the body. But then his eyes fell on a white piece of paper—a letter. It had been placed next to the incense sticks in front of the grave tablet, which were almost burnt out. The doctor unfolded the letter and, without a word, handed it over to the chief inspector. They showed it to me afterwards. The writing was not refined, but it was written with complete dedication.

  Dear Lady, my patron,

  I have heard what happened from your father. It was because of me you were falsely accused and I will avenge you. This is the only way I can repay you for your special support.

  That was basically the content of the letter.

  And yes, after I learned that the letter had been written by a sumō wrestler, all that fuss I’d made about large geta footprints and garden geta seemed so foolish. I was later told by the master of the wife’s family home that geta sandals of sumō wrestlers are often worn out on the inside, because most of the strength of a wrestler comes from the joint of the large toe, when they brace themselves. Everyone in the mistress’ family is a great lover of the sport, and the family had been the patron of the sumō wrestler who had bitten his own tongue off. His name was Komatsuyama, a promising wrestler of the Ibaraki Stable in the nidaime division.

  Never would I have guessed that the wife’s phantom was in fact a sumō wrestler. But I had always believed in the mistress, that she would not have misbehaved herself, and I was proven right, as we know now this all happened because she was a patron of a sumō wrestler.

  Alas, the scholarly, stubborn master could simply not accept the pure feelings of a sumō patron….

  Oh, I ha
ve been talking on for too long. Well then, I think I will take my leave now….

  First published in Shin Tantei Shōsetsu, June Issue, Shōwa 22 (1947).

  THE MESMERISING LIGHT

  1

  It was a dark, stuffy night.

  A single phaeton automobile was speeding along the serpentine road towards Jikkoku Pass, heading from Atami to Hakone through the mountains. The car raced dangerously on the zigzagging road with switchbacks as sharp as the teeth on a saw, going left and right as it followed the folding lines of the pitch-black mountainside. It seemed to be in a great hurry, although the vehicle itself was definitely not made for high-speed performance and the road resembled an anatomy chart of the large intestine. By the time someone standing on a spur to one side of the road would have noticed the beam of the headlights, the horn would have honked already and, leaving only the echo of a heavy boom, the light would already be gone on its ascent to the peak. From far away, it might have appeared as if the car were going round in circles, but it was actually slowly climbing the mountain.

  The phaeton was a new model, apparently a taxi. A middle-aged gentleman was sitting in the back seat, with the window shade removed. He had placed a black leather bag on his knees, and was dozing off while being violently shaken around. The chauffeur, who wore a Russian hat, would from time to time steal a glance at his passenger through the rear-view mirror as he wearily drove on.

  The road would climb all the way to the top to arrive at the automobile toll road leading from Jikkoku Pass to Hakone, which was run by the Gakunan Railway Corporation. It was a typical sightseeing road, and the smart-looking road signs—marked in black on a white background—remained clear in the dark as the car windows flashed past.

  The car eventually arrived at an especially dangerous hairpin curve at the ridge of the mountain. The chauffeur leant outside and kept turning the driving wheel to the right. The headlights had until now only been illuminating empty air, but now the two dim headlights hit the part of the mountain on the other side of the dark ravine, shaking like an unstable projector, causing some vertigo. Near the centre of the mountain on that other side was what appeared to be the continuation of the road they themselves were on. A luxurious, cream-coloured coupé was flying along that road like an arrow, making a sharp turn into the darkness.