fell. It seemed to Handa that he fell like some nerveless thing, a log or something. The ones behind could hear his groans and they saw that he did not seem to have any strength to pick himself up again. The bullet had pierced the heart.
Handa stooped down and gathered him in his arms.
“What is it?” he asked, but there was no answer. “What is it? Tell me!”
Then he realized that Machida’s arms and legs were twitching. His eyes were dim and his neck had no strength; it hung down limp.
“What is it? Tell me!”
From amidst the crowd that came running up, Yamaguchi, smelling of soy and looking like a drowned rat, yelled out something.
“They got him!” Handa answered.
Yamaguchi, coming out from between the vats, started to bend down to Machida’s face, but when he saw the mob of thugs scattering hurriedly, he gave them chase. But before he had gone even a few steps he too gave a groan and collapsed beside the barrel.
Handa reached out a hand, all sticky with blood, towards Yamaguchi. He remembered how both Yamaguchi and Machida had been in love with Niemon’s daughter.
“Why, everything about her’s pretty. I like a girl who smells of the workers!”
Suddenly he remembered those words.
