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Lafcadio Hearn - Kokoro
"Kusabe is not your name. Nomura Teichi, you are needed in Kumamoto for murder." The felon
confessed all.
I went with a great throng of people to witness the arrival at the station. I expected to hear and see anger;
I even feared possibilities of violence. The murdered officer had been much liked; his relatives would
certainly be among the spectators; and a Kumamoto crowd is not very gentle. I also thought to find many
police on duty. My anticipations were wrong.
The train halted in the usual scene of hurry and noise, - scurry and clatter of passengers wearing geta, -
screaming of boys wanting to sell Japanese newspapers and Kumamoto lemonade. Outside the barrier we
waited for nearly five minutes. Then, pushed through the wicket by a police-sergeant, the prisoner
appeared, - a large wild-looking man, with head bowed down, and arms fastened behind his back.
Prisoner and guard both halted in front of the wicket; and the people pressed forward to see - but in
silence. Then the officer called out, -
"Sugihara San! Sugihara O-Kibi! is she present?"
A slight small woman standing near me, with a child on her back, answered, "Hai!" and advanced
through the press. This was the widow of the murdered man; the child she carried was his son. At a wave
of the officer's hand the crowd fell back, so as to leave a clear space about the prisoner and his escort. In
that space the woman with the child stood facing the murderer. The hush was of death.
Not to the woman at all, but to the child only, did the officer then speak. He spoke low, but so clearly that
I could catch every syllable: -
"Little one, this is the man who killed your father four years ago. You had not yet been born; you were in
your mother's womb. That you have no father to love you now is the doing of this man. Look at him -
[here the officer, putting a hand to the prisoner's chin, sternly forced him to lift his eyes] - look well at
him, little boy! Do not be afraid. It is painful; but it is your duty. Look at him!"
Over the mother's shoulder the boy gazed with eyes widely open, as in fear; then he began to sob; then
tears came; but steadily and obediently he still looked - looked - looked - straight into the cringing face.
The crowd seemed to have stopped breathing.
I saw the prisoner's features distort; I saw him suddenly dash himself down upon his knees despite his
fetters, and beat his face into the dust, crying out the while in a passion of hoarse remorse that made one's
heart shake: -
"Pardon! pardon! pardon me, little one! That I did - not for hate was it done, but in mad fear only, in my
desire to escape. Very, very wicked have I been; great unspeakable wrong have I done you! But now for
my sin I go to die. I wish to die; I am glad to die! Therefore, O little one, be pitiful! - forgive me!"
The child still cried silently. The officer raised the shaking criminal; the dumb crowd parted left and right
to let them by. Then, quite suddenly, the whole multitude began to sob. And as the bronzed guardian
passed, I saw what I had never seen before, - what few men ever see, - what I shall probably never see
again, - the tears of a Japanese policeman.
The crowd ebbed, and left me musing on the strange morality of the spectacle. Here was justice
unswerving yet compassionate, - forcing knowledge of a crime by the pathetic witness of its simplest
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