Devil's Tongue

第1話

1

On a clear night in early May, around eleven o'clock, I was staring into the deep blue sky from the garden when I suddenly heard a voice from outside the gate saying, "Telegram." When I received the telegram and looked at it, a few words were written: "Kudanzaka 301 Kaneko." "What does this mean, 301?" It was truly strange. Kaneko is the name of a friend, and among my friends, he is the most eccentric. "He's a poet, so maybe he's sent me another riddle," I thought, holding the mysterious telegram paper. The telegram was sent at 10:45 PM from the Otsuka station. Though it made no sense, I decided to go to Kudanzaka, so I changed clothes and left the gate.

The distance from my house to the railway was considerable. Along the way, I thought deeply about Kaneko. It was just two autumns ago that I first met Kaneko Eikichi at a party attended by eccentric individuals. He is twenty-seven years old this year, so he was a twenty-five-year-old young poet back then. His appearance was remarkably aged, with an unusually reddish face lined with decadent, deep wrinkles. His eyes were large and blue, his nose was high and thick. The main reason I became acquainted with him was his lips. The party was hosted by pathological characters, each guest leaving a bizarre impression on me. If an outsider had seen them, it would have seemed like a gathering of demons, but even among them, the lips of this young poet stood out to me.

Since he was sitting right in front of me, I could observe him to my heart's content. His lips were truly remarkable. They looked like two copper rods corroded by verdigris, constantly twitching. The sight was even more spectacular when he ate. As the copper rods, reddened by the rush of blood, flickered, they opened and closed like lightning, swallowing food. Having never seen someone with such thick and rich lips, I found myself mesmerized by his eating habits, forgetting myself for a moment. Suddenly, his terrifying eyes glared at me. Standing up, he shouted, "Hey, why are you staring at my face like that?"

I hastily replied, "Oh, I’m sorry," and he sat back down. "It’s uncomfortable to be stared at like that. You wouldn't like it either, would you?" he said, draining a large cup of beer and looking at me with gleaming eyes. "You’re right. But I just found your appearance intriguing."

"Not something I appreciate. Whatever my face looks like, it’s none of your business," he said in an irritated tone.

"Please don’t be angry. Let’s make up and have a drink together," I suggested, and that’s how I came to know Kaneko Eikichi.

The more I associated with him, the more I realized he was a peculiar man. He had considerable wealth, no parents or siblings, and lived alone. He had enrolled in various schools but never graduated from any. He disliked talking about his past, so I never knew the full details, but he eventually became a poet. He was extremely secretive and hated having visitors at his home, so it was a mystery what kind of work he did. Yet he was always seen walking the streets, frequenting liquor shops, bars, and restaurants. Then, there were times he would disappear for months, leaving his whereabouts unknown. I was the person closest to him, and he trusted me, but even so, he remained an enigmatic and eccentric figure.

2

As I mused over these thoughts, I found myself atop The Kudanzaka Slope without realizing it. From there, the night view of the capital unfolded at my feet. The lights of Jimbo-cho spilled out of the darkness, sparkling like diamonds emerging from a mine. I looked around both up and down the slope. I thought Kaneko might be waiting for me here. However, I didn’t see anyone resembling him. I even searched near where the statue of Omura stands, but no one was there. After standing on the slope for about thirty minutes, I finally decided to go to his house.

His house was near Tomisaka, a small but beautifully designed residence. When I arrived at the front of his house, I saw police officers coming and going. Surprised, I asked one of the officers, and he told me that Kaneko had committed suicide. I rushed inside and found Kaneko lying in a six-mat room, surrounded by several friends and police officers. He had died by stabbing himself in the heart with a pair of fire tongs. His chest bore several stab marks. His face was pale, almost purplish, yet he looked as if he were merely sleeping. The doctor stated that he had likely died as a result of being heavily intoxicated and mentally deranged. A strong scent of alcohol wafted from his corpse. His time of death was only moments before; passersby had heard groans of pain, which led to the commotion.

Kaneko had left no suicide note. However, the telegram I had received from him earlier now seemed even more mysterious. Judging from the time, it appeared that he had sent the telegram and died shortly after returning home. Quietly, I returned to the top of the Kudanzaka Slope and pondered. What could the number “301” in the telegram signify? Where on Kudanzaka would such a number exist? Even as I looked around, I found nothing. Then, a thought struck me. There was only one thing on Kudanzaka that could have over 300 of something — the stone covers of the gutters lining both sides of the slope. So, I started counting the stone covers on the right side, beginning from the top of the slope. When I reached the 301st cover, I inspected it carefully but found nothing unusual. Then, I thought perhaps it should be counted from the bottom. There were 310 covers in total, so the 10th cover from the top would correspond to the 301st from the bottom. I dashed up the slope and carefully examined the stone cover, and between the 10th and 11th covers, I spotted something black. Pulling it out, I found it was something wrapped in black oil paper. “This must be it,” I thought, and I flew home with it as if I had wings.

When I unwrapped the package, I found a black-covered manuscript inside. As I read through it, I finally came to know Kaneko Eikichi’s true identity. His true identity was something terrifying beyond words. “He wasn’t human. He was a devil!” I cried out. Dear reader, as I present this document to you, I still feel the tremors of fear running through my body. Below is the full text of that manuscript.

3

My friend, I have decided to die. I have whittled the fire tongs down to a needle-like point to stab my own heart. When you read this document, my life will already be over. Through the following account, you will discover that the poet you chose as your friend was, in fact, an unparalleled and horrifying sinner. You will likely feel ashamed and angry for having been friends with me. But before you hate my corpse, I beg you to first pity me. I am truly a man to be pitied. Now, I will begin to recount my sullied history without hiding anything.

I am not originally from Tokyo. I was born and raised in a mountain village in Hida. My family had been timber merchants for generations, and in my father’s time, we were known in the area as one of the wealthiest families. My father was an honest and respectable man, but at the time, he took in a famous courtesan from Nagoya as his mistress, and she bore him a child. That child was me. When I was born, my father’s legal wife, my stepmother, already had a child of her own. It’s an immoral tale, but my father had his legal wife and mistress live together in the same house. Consequently, their children were raised under the same roof.

When I turned twelve, my stepmother had given birth to four children. In April of that year, another child was born. That younger brother of mine became the subject of much gossip throughout the village because he was a strange baby. On the sole of his right foot was a crescent-shaped golden birthmark.

One day, a traveling fortune-teller who saw the baby supposedly said, "This child will meet a terrible end." In hindsight, his prediction came true in an uncanny way. Even in my childhood mind, I found the crescent-shaped mark on the baby's foot extremely strange. That year was unforgettable for me for another reason: my father suddenly passed away in October. He left a will before he died. My mother and I received 10,000 yen and were disowned. The bequest was to be inherited by my elder brother, who was three years older than me. My father was a kind man, and his will was meant to ensure that my mother and I would live happily. In reality, there had always been a secret tension between my mother and my stepmother. It was entirely clear that if my stepmother took control of the household, my mother would be persecuted. So, after my father’s funeral, we immediately moved to Tokyo. Since then, I have never returned to my hometown, and I have had no contact with the family. We were able to live off the interest from the 10,000 yen. My mother was a wise and modest woman, so much so that no one could ever tell she had once been a courtesan.

When I was eighteen, my mother died. From then on, I lived alone and eventually began to indulge in a debauched lifestyle as a poet. This is the rough outline of my history, but behind it lurked a series of terrifying episodes. I was truly an odd child from a young age. I was never as innocent as other children. I preferred to be alone in silence and never wanted to play with anyone. I would go to the mountains and stand idly behind the rocks, staring at the clouds drifting across the sky. This romantic habit grew more and more pathological over the years, and two years before we moved from Hida, I suffered from a strange illness for about six months. My spine would constantly itch unbearably, and I felt sluggish all the time. I couldn’t walk straight and was always hunched over. My complexion worsened, and my body gradually became thinner. My mother was deeply worried and tried various treatments, but the illness disappeared on its own before we knew it.

During that illness, I developed an urge to do something peculiar—I began craving bizarre, abnormal foods. At first, I was overwhelmed by a desire to eat wall plaster, so whenever I was alone, I would eat plaster from the walls wherever I could. The taste was incredibly delicious, especially the white walls of our storehouse. To my horror, I ended up creating a large hole in the thick wall as I continued eating it. From then on, I became intensely fascinated by the idea of secretly eating things that no one would ever think of consuming. My reputation as a misanthrope in the neighborhood made it easier for me to indulge in this strange habit. There were times when I swallowed slimy slugs whole. Naturally, I often ate frogs as well. These were not particularly unusual in Hida. I also pulled worms and larvae from the mud in the backyard and ate them. In spring, my appetite was endlessly satisfied by the grotesque shapes of various caterpillars, with their golden, purple, and green colors and the strong, foul odors they emitted. I once had my lips swell up bright red after being stung by a caterpillar, which was noticed by my family. I ate all sorts of things, but never suffered from poisoning. This bizarre habit seemed like it would only get worse, but it naturally disappeared as I grew accustomed to city life after moving to Tokyo with my mother.

4

However, when my mother passed away during the winter of my eighteenth year, I could not bear the sorrow. Overwhelmed by sadness, I wept constantly. Being physically frail by nature, I soon succumbed to severe neurasthenia. I withered away like a ghost, and my childhood spinal illness resurfaced.

Thinking I couldn’t continue this way, I decided to drop out of the middle school I attended when I turned twenty and moved to Kamakura. Thus, I spent a long time playing in Kamakura, Shichirigahama Beach, and Enoshima. I spent my days walking and swimming in the sea. Over time, my body began to change. Having spent so long in the noisy city, suddenly playing by the beautiful seaside restored my body and mind to health. My body returned to its natural state, and the solitary joy I had experienced as a child in the mountains of Hida returned to me once more.

One evening, I thought deeply about how, for the past month, food had tasted remarkably unappetizing. There is no way that the finest meals at the inn are bad after swimming in the sea. I looked in the mirror. My once pale face had turned crimson, and my previously dull eyes had come alive with a sparkle. How could I not enjoy food when my body was so healthy?

On a whim, I stuck my tongue out and looked at it in the mirror. In that instant, I involuntarily dropped the mirror. My tongue was shockingly long—probably 10.6 cm in length. When had it grown so long? And what a terrifying shape it had become! Had my tongue always been like this? No, it had never looked like this. But as I looked closely at the mirror again, I saw that it was indeed a large piece of flesh, slick with saliva, protruding from my lips, covered entirely with sharp, multicolored warts in shades of purple and brocade. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the warts were actually needles. My tongue was covered in needle-like projections, much like a cat’s tongue. When I touched them with my fingers, I found them to be sharp and hard. Could there be any stranger phenomenon in this world?

What astonished me even more was that in the center of the mirror, the clear reflection of a crimson devil's face appeared. It was a terrifying face. My large eyes gleamed ominously. In my shock, I felt dizzy for a moment. At that instant, I heard the devil in the mirror shout, “Your tongue is the tongue of a devil. A devil’s tongue can only be satisfied with the food of devils. Eat, consume everything, and find the food of devils! Otherwise, your taste will never be satisfied!”

For a while, I pondered this, but then I had a sudden realization. "Alright, I’ll give in. I’ll use this tongue to savor every demonic delicacy and discover the food of devils." I dropped the mirror and leaped into the air. "That’s it! Over the past month, my tongue has transformed into this devil's tongue. That’s why food tasted so bad."

Soon after, I left the inn where I had been staying. I departed from Kamakura and rented an empty house in a small, cold village at the tip of the Izu Peninsula. There, I began an abnormal and bizarre diet. In fact, normal food could no longer stimulate my tongue, which had grown sharp needles. I had no choice but to seek out my own unique form of sustenance.

For about two months, I lived in that house, and during that time, my meals consisted of dirt, paper, mice, lizards, toads, leeches, newts, snakes, jellyfish, and pufferfish. I would let all the vegetables rot until they turned into a mushy pulp before eating them. The smell, color, and taste of the decayed vegetables were incredibly satisfying as they filled my mouth. These foods gave me a great sense of satisfaction.

After two months, my skin took on a strange, greenish-red hue. I began to feel as though my entire body was transforming into that of a mystical sage. Then, suddenly, I started to wonder: what about human flesh? When I first thought of it, I shuddered in fear, but from that point on, my desire burned fiercely, all centered on one thought: “I want to eat human flesh.”

5

After that, I could no longer sleep at all. Even in my dreams, I saw human flesh. My lips quivered, and my thick, red tongue slithered around my mouth like a snake, covered in slimy saliva. I was terrified by the intensity with which this desire surged within me. I tried desperately to suppress it, but the demon at the tip of my tongue cried out, "Now, you have reached the greatest delicacy in the world! Be brave, eat a human, eat a human!" When I looked in the mirror, the demon's face was smiling menacingly. My tongue grew even larger, and its needles glowed sharper and brighter. I closed my eyes. "No, I will never eat human flesh. I am not an aborigine of the Congo. I am a good, decent Japanese person."

Yet, the devil in my mouth sneered coldly. To erase this unbearable terror, I had to stay perpetually drunk. I constantly wandered into bars, trying somehow to escape this desire, even for a brief moment. But fate showed no pity for this miserable soul of mine.

I will never forget the night of February 5th last year. I was on my way back from Asakusa, drunk. The sky was overcast that night, and everything was shrouded in pitch-black darkness so thick I couldn't see an inch in front of me. As I wandered through the darkness, relying on the shadows cast by streetlights, I suddenly realized that I had lost my way. The roar of a train made me aware that I was standing beside the tracks near Nippori Station. I crossed the railroad and climbed a slope. Eventually, I found myself inside Nippori Cemetery and collapsed there. When I opened my eyes again, it was still the middle of the night. I struck a match and checked my watch—it was 1 a.m. I felt somewhat sober, so I started wandering aimlessly through the cemetery.

Suddenly, one of my legs sank into the ground with a thud. Startled, I struck another match and looked down to find that I had stepped into the freshly piled dirt of a grave. The terrifying thought that crossed my mind at that moment brought me back to full awareness. Instinctively, I grabbed a stick and began digging out the mound of earth. I dug with all my might, like a madman, and eventually, I even used my bare hands to claw at the dirt. After about an hour of digging, my hand finally touched something wooden. "A coffin!" I shouted, brushing away the dirt and smashing open the lid. I lit another match and peered inside the coffin.

At that moment, I felt a terrifying fear like I had never experienced before or since. The faint light from the match illuminated the pale, deathly face of a woman. Her eyes were closed, and her teeth were clenched. She looked to be around nineteen years old, young and beautiful. Her hair was black and glossy. A black clump of blood was stuck to her neck. Her head was severed from her body. Her arms and legs were also severed, and she had been stuffed into the coffin. A shudder ran through my entire body. When I realized she had been temporarily buried after committing suicide by throwing herself in front of a train, my fear subsided slightly. I took out my jackknife from my pocket and thrust my hand into the woman’s chest. The familiar stench of decay hit my nose. I carefully cut off her breast first. Thick, murky liquid dripped down my hand. Then I cut out a small piece of her cheek. After finishing this act, I suddenly became terrified. I could hear the voice of my conscience screaming, "What are you going to do? What are you?" However, I firmly wrapped the pieces of flesh in a handkerchief. After closing the coffin and covering it with dirt as it was before, I hurriedly left the cemetery. I took a rickshaw and returned to my home in Tomisaka.

After entering the house and locking up completely, I took the flesh out of the handkerchief. First, I grilled the cheek meat over a fire. It began to emit a truly delightful aroma. I was ecstatic. The meat sizzled as it cooked, and my demonic tongue leapt with excitement. My mouth filled with saliva, and I couldn’t resist biting into the half-cooked piece of meat. In that moment, I sank into an ecstasy as if I had smoked opium. It was a miracle that something this delicious could exist in the real world. How could anyone resist eating this? I had finally found the "food of the devil." My tongue had been craving this for so long—it had been craving human flesh. Ah, I had finally discovered it. Next, I bit into the meat from the breast. It was as if I had been electrocuted, and I danced around the room in a frenzy. After devouring all the meat, my stomach was full. For the first time in my life, I felt truly satisfied by a meal.

6

The next day, I spent the entire day digging a large hole beneath the floor of my room and lined it with planks. It was to be my storage room for human flesh. Ah, I would bring my precious food here. After that, my eyes began to gleam, and even as I walked through the streets, saliva would start to drip from my mouth. Every person I met stimulated my appetite, especially boys and girls around 14 or 15 years old. They looked the most appetizing. Whenever I saw one of them, I felt like I could devour them on the spot. But how should I go about bringing them to my storage room? First, I put some anesthetic and a handkerchief in my pocket. I would use these to put them to sleep and bring them back right away.

It was April 25th, about ten days ago. I took a train from Tabata to Ueno. Suddenly, I noticed a boy sitting across from me. He had a rural air about him but was truly a beautiful boy. My mouth moistened, and saliva began to flow. He seemed to be traveling alone. Eventually, the train arrived at Ueno Station. After exiting the station, the boy stood around aimlessly for a while, then began walking toward Ueno Park. He sat down on a bench and stared forlornly at the surface of Shinobazu Pond, reflected in the lamplight.

I looked around and saw that no one else was nearby. Quietly, I took the bottle of anesthetic from my pocket and applied it to the handkerchief. The handkerchief was soaked with the drug. The boy continued to stare blankly at the pond. I suddenly grabbed him and pressed the handkerchief over his nose. He kicked his legs a few times, but the anesthetic took effect, and he collapsed into my arms. I quickly carried him down the steps and called a rickshaw to take us to Tomisaka. Once home, I locked the doors completely. Under the light of the lamp, I looked closely at the boy’s face—he was truly beautiful. I took out the sharp, large knife I had prepared and plunged it with force into the back of his head. The boy, who had been sleeping until now, suddenly opened his eyes wide. Soon, the light disappeared from his black pupils, and his face turned pale. I picked up the now lifeless boy and placed him in the storage room beneath the floor.

7

I resolved to chop this boy into small pieces and eat him as thoroughly as possible. So, I devised a plan. I began roasting his pieces of flesh one by one, consuming everything—his brain, cheeks, tongue, and even his nose. The taste was so exquisite that it drove me mad. The flavor of his brain, in particular, was strange and intriguing. After indulging in this feast, I fell into a deeply satisfied sleep. The next morning, around nine o’clock, I woke up and once again filled my stomach with his flesh.

The following night was truly terrifying. It was that night when I resolved to end my life. It was the most cruel night in the world. That night, with my eyes gleaming like a wild beast, I descended into the space beneath the floor. Tonight, it was time to eat the flesh from the boy's hands and feet. I stood there for a while with the saw, wondering which part to cut first. I happened to pull the boy's left leg, causing his body to turn face down. When I looked at the sole of his right foot, it felt like I had been struck in the side with an iron rod—I leaped up in shock. On the sole of his right foot was a red crescent-shaped birthmark. You may remember, at the beginning of this document, I mentioned the birth of my younger brother. Upon reflection, that baby would be about fifteen or sixteen years old by now. How terrifying it is. I had eaten my own brother. I quickly untied the bundle the boy had been carrying and looked inside. There were four or five notebooks inside, all clearly marked with the name "Goro Kaneko." This was the name of my brother. According to the notes, my brother had run away from home in Hida, longing for Tokyo and intending to seek my help. Oh, I can no longer bear to live. My friend, this is all I wished to leave behind in writing. Please, pity me.

The writing ended here. Based on the handwriting and the content, I couldn't help but doubt Kaneko's sanity. According to the autopsy, Kaneko's tongue did indeed have needles, as he had described, but the devil's face was likely nothing more than a poet's illusion.