Realm of the Dead describes the lands of both the living and the dead. In this collection of short stories, they are equally dark and mysterious worlds where logic and reality are subject to constant change and where ideas about identity and self are continually questioned.
In the title story, the narrator watches footage from the Russo-Japanese War, but then, moving across the screen, finds himself fighting in the war. In another story, a man who has accidentally killed an old woman chases after a mysterious girl. When he reaches her and grabs her hand, she shatters like a statute and turns to the narrator: she is not a girl at all, but the woman he has killed.
Considered one of the foremost innovators of Japanese modernism, Hyakken incorporates a distinctly non-Western set of myths and folklore to evoke a society—and a people—on the brink of enormous change.
I walked down a long embankment toward Ushimado harbor, between the vast ocean and a shallow inlet. The reeds in the inlet stood tall, peeking over my path. In the distance they had grown even taller, finally engulfing the embankment.
Enormous waves pounded the shore; they shook the embankment, but the surf never washed over it. I went on, flanked by the reeds and the ocean.
A pale woman in purple
hakama pants approached me, bowing politely. She looked familiar, and so I returned the bow, in silence. In a gentle voice, she suggested we walk together, and took her place at my side. I thought it odd, since she would be backtracking, walking in the direction she had come from. But she acted as though she'd come for the sole purpose of greeting me, and so I went along with her. She seemed to be two or three years older than me.
Fireworks rose up over the reeds. Brilliant multi-colored balls of fire trailing long tails of light fell into the water of the inlet. The woman pointed toward them, saying, "The sun is already setting over there. Let’s move quickly. We shouldn’t be on the embankment when night falls."
The sight of fireworks over the inlet reminded me of a scene from long ago.
The reeds became taller and taller, and above me I could hear their flowery tops brushing up against one another. Darkness surrounded us as the embankment crept into the night. The sky burned crimson. A pale red tinged the darkening crests of the waves, reflecting back an unusual color. I looked at the waves, and then back at my companion.
She pointed toward the offing and said, “It’s getting dark out there, too. We’d better hurry.”
The deep colors of the sunset began to fade. In the distance, ashen gray shapes flew up from the inlet into the red ocean sky like burnt pieces of paper.
“Sea bats,” she said.
Night fell. I felt as lonely as the crash of the waves, and the rustling of the reeds closed in around me. The woman’s solitary figure was the only thing I could see with any clarity. Something felt wrong about being here with her. But with nowhere to turn from my melancholy companion, I continued on in silence. One side of our path suddenly lit up as the field burst into columns of flames. Embers from the fireworks must have fallen into the reeds. Sparks rose up into the darkness and disappeared without a trace. I lost myself in the beauty of the vision before me.
“It will all burn. Let’s hurry,” she said.
She descended toward the inlet. The lights of the harbor glimmered in the distance, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. Keeping my eye on the harbor, I followed her as she approached a shallow stream cut into the sand. She walked quickly along the stream, which soon disappeared, leaving us at the entrance to a long passageway. She went in first; I hesitated. She stared at me, her eyes filled with tears. Something was drawing me in, and with no other choice I, too, entered the passageway.
It narrowed and darkened, and I could not see where I was going. At the bend in the passageway, I could see the faint glow of a lantern hanging on a pillar. Dim light flowed over the floorboards. Every step pressed me closer to this woman. My chest tightened; I wanted to leave. I should have left her on the embankment when I had the chance. We passed an empty room on the left. Maybe the sun hasn’t set yet, I thought with some relief. In a room a little farther on a book lay open on a stand, its pages old and tattered. I glanced at the book, and my companion seemed to suggest that if I would only read it, everything would make sense. But I averted my gaze and hurried on past. This left me agitated, unable to calm down. I walked over to a narrow veranda where a cloth fluttered over a washbasin, and I stood there lost in thought. I resolved to go home. Then the woman came and knelt before me.
“It’s pitch black up there now. Can’t you please stay a little longer?” she asked.
I didn’t say a word, and stood up to leave. I kept hearing the wind beckoning to me in the distance.
“The reeds are on fire. You can’t go outside. That sound you hear is the reeds, the burning and splitting of thousands of stalks,” she said.
I wasn’t deterred. The thought of being near her frightened me more. Then she spoke again.
“The embankment’s been washed away. There’s no way back.”
She let out a loud cry and began weeping. She collapsed, her face rubbing against the floor, her shoulders heaving. The cloth fluttered above her. I was about to return to the corridor, but was stopped by the sight of her as she lay there on the veranda. The nape of her white neck — young, fresh, and beautiful — stood out against the drabness of her appearance. My legs froze in shock. I’d seen her before! Was it ten years ago? Perhaps twenty? We’d met at a crossroads, where I’d seen her neck. In that instant, the woman came up behind me and grabbed me by the throat.
“You cheat! You unfaithful good-for-nothing cheat!” she screamed.
My legs felt weak. I couldn’t move. Twisting around, I turned to look at her, but there was no one there. She was gone, but something beyond my vision kept strangling me from behind. Paralyzed, I tried calling for help, but the words stuck in my throat.
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