As soon as I opened the door and entered his office, the police chief said, "There's a handsome lad for you! It wasn't your fault, I can see. Your mother's to blame for having brought such a handsome boy into the world." He was still young, a dark-complexioned man with something about him which suggested a university education. His words caught me off- guard, and made me as wretched as if I had been born deformed, with a red macula covering half my face. The examination conducted by this athletic-looking police chief was simple and to the point, a world removed from the furtive, tenaciously obscene "examination" the old policeman had given me the night before. After he finished his questioning, he filled out a form to send to the district attorney's office. He commented as he wrote, "You mustn't neglect your health that way. You've been coughing Mood, haven't you?" That morning I had had an odd hawking cough, and every time I coughed I covered my mouth with my handkerchief. The handkerchief was spattered with blood, but it was not blood from my throat. The night before I had been picking at a pimple under my ear, and the blood was from that pimple. Realizing at once that it would be to my advantage not to reveal the truth, I lowered my eyes and sanctimoniously murmured, "Yes." The police chief finished writing the paper. "It's up to the district attorney whether or not they bring action against you, but it would be a good idea to telephone or telegraph a guarantor to come to the district attorney's office in Yokohama. There must be someone, isn't there, who will guarantee you or offer hail?" I remembered that a man from my home town, an antique dealer
