Japanese Tales of Mystery & Imagination

by EDOGAWA RAMPO

  The engineers and workers had been completely unaware of the purpose of the product, but orders were orders, and so they had gone ahead with their assignment. At last, on the night before, the globe had been finished, complete with an extra-long electric cord fitted to a socket on the outer surface, and it had been carefully brought into the lab. They plugged the cord into a wall socket, and then departed at once, leaving Tanuma alone with the sphere. What happened later was, of course, beyond the realm of their knowledge.

  After hearing the chief engineers story, I asked him to leave. Then, putting Tanuma in the custody of the servants, who led him away to the house proper, I continued to stand alone in the laboratory, my eyes fixed on the glass fragments scattered about the room, desperately trying to solve the mystery of what had happened.

  For a long while I stood thus, wrestling with the conundrum. Finally I reached the conclusion that Tanuma, after having completely exhausted every new idea in his mania of optics, had decided that he would construct a glass globe, completely lined with a single-unit mirror, which he would enter in order to see his own reflection.

  Why would a man become crazy if he entered a glass globe lined with a mirror? What in the name of the devil had he seen there? When these thoughts passed through my mind, I felt as if I had been stabbed through the spine with a sword of ice.

  Did he go mad after taking a glance at himself reflected by a completely spherical mirror? Or did he slowly lose his sanity after suddenly discovering that he was trapped inside his horrible round glass coffin—together with "that" reflection?

  What, then, I asked myself again, had he seen? It was surely something completely beyond the scope of human imagination. Assuredly, never before had anyone shut himself up within the confines of a mirror-lined sphere. Even a trained physicist could not have guessed exactly what sort of vision would be created inside that sphere. Probably it would be a thing so unthinkable as to be utterly out of this world of ours.

  So strange and terrifying must have been this reflection, of whatever shape it was, as it filled Tanuma's complete range of vision, that it would have made any mortal insane.

  The only thing we know is the reflection cast by a concave mirror, which is only one section of a spherical whole. It is a monstrously huge magnification. But who could possibly imagine what the result would be when one is wrapped up in a complete succession of concave mirrors?

  My hapless friend, undoubtedly, had tried to explore the regions of the unknown, violating sacred taboos, thereby incurring the wrath of the gods. By trying to pry open the secret portals of forbidden knowledge with his weird mania of optics he had destroyed himself.

  TWINS

  [A CONDEMNED CRIMINAL'S

  CONFESSION TO A PRIEST]

  T ATHER, I'VE FINALLY MADE UP my mind to confess to you. My day of execution is drawing nearer; and I want to make a clean breast of all my sins, for I feel that this is the only way I can obtain a few days of peace before I die. So I beg you to spare me some of your valuable time to hear the story of my wicked life.

  As you know, I've been sentenced to death for the crime of killing a man and stealing two million yen from his safe. I did in fact commit that crime, but no one suspects me of anything more than that. So, now that I am destined to face my Maker, there is no reason on earth why I should confess to another crime far more diabolical. But my heart is set on confessing all while there is yet time; after I have paid the supreme penalty, my lips will be sealed forever.

  After you've heard my confession, Father, I beseech you to tell my wife everything, for it is only right that she should know too. The greatest of blackguards often turn out to be good men when death is near at hand. I think my wife would hate me forever if I were to die without confessing to the other crime as well. And there's yet one more reason. I've always had a livid fear of the vengeance of the man I murdered! No, I don't mean the one I killed when I stole the money. That case is already closed, for I have already confessed my guilt. The fact is, I committed another murder before that. And whenever I think of my first victim I almost go mad with terror.

  The first man I sent to his grave was my elder brother— but he was no ordinary brother. We were twins, born from our mothers womb almost simultaneously.

  Although he has long been dead, he haunts me day and night. In my dreams he treads on my chest with the weight of a thousand pounds; and then he clutches me by the throat and chokes me. In the daytime he appears on the wall there and stares at me with ghastly eyes, or shows his face in that window and laughs at me grimly. And the fact that we were twins, identical to each other in looks, in the shapes of our bodies, in everything, made things all the worse. No sooner had I killed him than he began to appear before me every time I looked at myself. When I think about the past it seems to me that it was my brothers desire for revenge that made me commit the second murder, which led to my ultimate undoing.

  From the moment I cut off my twin's life, I began to fear all mirrors. In fact, not only mirrors, but everything that reflected. I removed every mirror and all the glassware in my house. But what was the use? All the shops on the streets had show windows, and behind them, more mirrors glittered. The more I tried not to look at them, the more my eyes were attracted to them. And, wherever I gazed, his face—his mad, leering face—stared back at me, full of vengeance; it was, of course, my own face.

  Once in front of a mirror-shop I almost fainted, for there I was set upon not just by one face of the man I had killed, but by thousands of his faces, with a number of eyes that seemed incredible.

  Although I was greatly dismayed by such illusions, my spirit did not break; I was reassured and emboldened by the firm belief that the scheme which I had concocted in this clever head of mine could never be exposed. And the constant strain on my mind, making it necessary for me to be perpetually on the alert and never to relax even for a fleeting moment, gave me no time to be afraid. But, now that I am a prisoner, my mind is too weak to resist, and his ghost, taking advantage of my monotonous life in prison, has gained complete possession of my senses. Thus ever since being condemned to the gallows, I have been living in a perpetual nightmare.

  Although there is no mirror in this jail, he appears in the reflection of my face in the water when I wash or take a bath. Even the surfaces of tableware, glistening hardware, and, in fact, anything that reflects light, gives back to me the sight of his image, now large, now small. Even my shadow cast by the sunlight from that window there scares me. And, worst of all, I dread seeing my own body, for it, too, is an exact replica of that of my dead brother, down to the faintest wrinkle.

  I would rather die than continue to be kept in this agony—a hell on earth. Instead of fearing my execution, I look forward to it, and the sooner it takes place the better. But at the same time I feel that I simply cannot die without first telling the truth. I must get his forgiveness before I die, but if not that, I would at least like to drive away the feeling of being haunted. I know of only one way to achieve this. It is to confess my crime.

  Father, please listen closely to my confession, and later please tell the court as well as my wife. I know it is much to ask of you, but I have only a little longer to live, and it is my sole request. And now I'll tell you about my other crime.

  First let me repeat that I was born as one of a pair of twins so strangely identical, so completely the same that it seemed as if we had been cast in the same mold. There was, however, a single distinguishing feature. This was a mole on my thigh, the one sign that made it possible for our parents to tell us apart. If our hairs had been counted, I would not have been surprised had the number been the same. This very singular similarity between us was, I now believe, the seed which gradually took root in my mind, tempting me to kill my other half.

  When I finally decided to kill my brother I really had no special reason to be bitter towards him other than that of a burning jealousy on my part. The fact of the matter was that he inherited an immense fortune as first-born son and heir, w
hile my share was incomparably smaller. At the same time, the woman whom I had loved became his wife; her parents had forced her to marry him because of his superiority over me in fortune and position. Naturally, this was our parents' fault rather than his. If I wanted to hate, I should have become bitter against my deceased parents rather than against my brother. Besides, he was innocent of the knowledge that his wife had once been my heart's desire. But hate him I did—with all my soul.

  So, if I had been capable of thinking rationally, nothing would have happened. But, unfortunately, I was born wicked, and I didn't know how to get on in the world. And to make matters worse, I had no definite aim in life, being a confirmed wastrel. I had become the kind of rogue who is satisfied only with living a life of idleness, living from day to day without a thought for tomorrow. Therefore, after losing both my fortune and my love at one stroke, I suppose I became desperate. At any rate, I immediately squandered foolishly the money I received as my share.

  Consequently, there was nothing for me to do but to appeal to him for financial help. And I used to give him a great deal of trouble. He gradually became annoyed at my repeated calls for help, and one day he told me flatly that he would put a halt to his generosity unless I mended my ways.

  One afternoon, on my way home from his house after having been refused another loan, a terrible idea suddenly occurred to me. When I first thought of it, I trembled with fear and tried to shake it off. But the idea kept coming back like a persistent melody, and the more I turned it over in my mind the more I decided it was quite a feasible plot. I gradually came to think that here was the opportunity of a lifetime, that if I carried out my scheme cleverly and resolutely, I could obtain both fortune and love without any danger. For several days I thought of nothing except my sinister plan. And after considering every possible angle, I finally decided the coast was absolutely clear and I could go ahead.

  Please believe that my wicked resolution did not grow out of any feelings of animosity. As a born rogue, I only wanted to obtain pleasure at any cost. But in spite of my wicked nature, I was still a coward and would never have made such a resolution had I anticipated the slightest danger. But there was not the faintest chance of failure —or at least so I believed.

  I quickly began to put my plans into operation. First, as a preliminary step, I visited his house more frequently and studied his and his wife's daily behavior closely. Painstakingly, I tried to observe and to remember every detail of their lives, overlooking nothing. For instance, I even went to the extent of noting the way he wrung his towel after washing.

  After about a month, when I had completed all my observations, I suddenly announced without any warning that I was all set to go to Korea to find work. At the time I was still a confirmed bachelor, so my sudden announcement did not arouse any suspicion. On the contrary, my brother rejoiced when he heard the news, although I had a sneaking suspicion that he was jubilant only because he thought he was finally to be rid of me. At any rate, he gave me a considerable sum of money as a farewell gift.

  One day soon after—it was a day which suited all my plans perfectly—I boarded a Shimonoseki-bound train at Tokyo Station and waved farewell to my brother and his wife. But after only an hour or so I stole off the train at Yamakita and, after waiting some time, took a train back to Tokyo. Traveling by third class and mingling with the crowd, I was soon back in Tokyo without anyone's knowing.

  I should explain at this point that while I waited for the Tokyo train at Yamakita Station, I went into the rest-room and cut out the mole on my thigh with a razor—the one and only mark which distinguished me from my brother. After this simple operation, my brother and I were carbon copies, so to speak.

  When I arrived at Tokyo, dawn was just breaking. This too was part of my plan. Without losing any time, I quickly changed into a kimono I had had made for the purpose before starting out; it was of the same Oshima silk which my brother used for everyday wear. Furthermore, I also put on the same kind of underwear, wore the same sash, the same clogs, in fact, everything that he usually wore. Then I went to his house at the right time, carefully figured out to a split second. Taking extra care that nobody should see me, I climbed over the back fence and stole into his spacious garden.

  It was still very early in the morning and dark, so no one noticed me as I crept up to the side of the well in one corner of the garden. This old abandoned well was one of the most important factors which prompted me to commit the crime. It had run dry long ago, and had not been used since. I remembered my brother's having said at one time that it was dangerous to have such a trap in the garden and that he intended to fill it up soon. A mound of earth was now piled up high beside the well, no doubt having been brought there by the gardeners, to whom I had suggested only a few days ago that they fill up the hole on this very day.

  I crouched down, hiding myself in the shrubbery, and waited calmly, expecting at any moment to hear my brothers footsteps, for it was his custom to take a stroll in the garden every morning after his toilet. As I waited, I felt cold beads of sweat run down along my arms from my armpits. How long I waited I do not recall, except that time seemed to stand completely still. Perhaps it was about three hours later—hours which seemed more like years—when I at last heard the clatter of his clogs. My first impulse was to run away—to escape from the horror of my own devilish scheme; but somehow my legs seemed to have grown roots in the ground, and I couldn't move.

  Before I knew it, my long-awaited victim had arrived just in front of the shrubbery in which I was concealed, and I realized with a start that my time had come. With amazing agility, I suddenly sprang out and wound the rope which I had prepared around my brother's neck—and then I slowly proceeded to strangle him.

  Desperately he struggled, twisting and squirming, and frequently he tried to look back to see who his assailant was. I in turn tried with all my might to keep him from doing so. But his discolored face, as though it was being worked by a very strong spring, slowly turned back toward me, inch by inch. Finally, his red, swollen face—it was just the same as mine—turned back and came into range, and from the corners of his mad, staring eyes, he beheld my face. As soon as he recognized me, he shuddered, as if from shock. Never will I be able to forget his face at that moment. It was a death mask, a horrible countenance which cried out for vengeance!

  Soon, however, he ceased to struggle. Then he turned limp and fell to the ground. By this time I was exhausted, and after I dropped him, I rubbed my hands vigorously because they were rigid and paralyzed from the strain. Then, my knees still knocking together, I rolled his dead body like a log to the well opening and pushed it in headfirst. Next, I picked up a board and used it to scoop enough of the loose dirt into the well to cover the corpse.

  Had there been a witness to the scene, he would certainly have thought it nothing but a bad nightmare. Just imagine! —he would have seen one man strangling another wearing the same clothes, possessing the same figure and even the same face.

  Well, thus it was that I committed the great crime of killing my own brother. It was the same story as that of Cain and his brother Abel, only in our case the brothers looked exactly alike, for did we not share identical bodies?

  Does it surprise you that any one could perpetrate such a cold-blooded crime? I do not wonder. But as for me, the very reason for my wanting to kill him was that we were two persons in one. And how I hated my other half! I wonder whether you've ever had such a feeling of uncontrollable hatred, far more severe than that which you could feel against any person not closely related to you. And in my particular case it was still more so because we were twins and I was insane with jealousy.

  To continue with my story, after I covered the body with enough earth, I still lingered on, absorbed in contemplation. After about half an hour I suddenly noticed with alarm that the gardeners were coming, led by a maid, and I again concealed myself. Immediately the devil in me again whispered that this was the cue for my second entrance on the stage for a brutally deceptiv
e play—a performance starring a maniac!

  Impersonating my brother, I calmly came out of hiding and turned my face toward them a little nervously.

  "Well, well," I said as naturally as possible, "so you've come early. I've helped you with your work a little, ha-ha. I hope you can fill up the well by nightfall. Well, you'd better get started!"

  With these words, I slowly walked away with the familiar gait of my dead brother and went into the house.

  After that everything went like clockwork. I kept to the study all that day, my nose buried in my brother's diary and account books, for although I had studied everything else before announcing that I was going to Korea, I had been unable to get at these two items. In the evening I sat at the dining table with my "wife"—the woman who had been my brother's wife and who now was mine—chatting pleasantly in the same way my brother had done, conscious that she was utterly unaware of the horrible truth.

  Late that night I even ventured into her bedroom, but once there, I felt a little shaky, for I hadn't the faintest notion about his habits in this private chamber. However, still bubbling over with self-confidence—it was my firm belief that even if she did find out the truth, she would not spurn me, her old sweetheart—I opened the sliding door of her boudoir composedly and soon switched off the lights.

  Once I had gone so far as to commit adultery as well as murder, my mind was now at rest, and I continued to live happily for a year. With plenty of money to spend, and with the woman I had once loved at my beck and call, my life seemed one of perpetual bliss—but there was one hitch—my conscience. Night after night it tormented me, while his apparition haunted my dreams. In fact, this period of a year was the longest I had ever experienced. Gradually, like the complete rogue that I was, I began to grow weary of my humdrum life.