I can no longer tell dream from reality.
Into what world shall I awake
from this bewildering dream?
—Akazome Emon (956 - 1041)
tr. by Kenneth Rexroth
Contracted by the Ministry of War, Fukuhara Hospital occupied a two-story, concrete structure built on a foundation of limestone and granite, with gabled roof dormers and a copper-domed turret in one corner facing the street. Its wards were divided into four categories: priority, superior, intermediate, and lower rescue, with a number of private accommodations in each sector. Upon her admission as a patient, Olga was brought to an empty, four-person room in the superior ward and left to change into fresh garments, surrounded by white plaster walls and low lights. After exchanging her black winter kimono for a plain calico hospital gown, she realized that, of the two rings on the chain around her neck, her father's wedding band had disappeared, while her mother's diamond ring alone, somehow, remained. The chain and clasp were intact though, and the ring couldn't have fallen off on its own, leading Olga to believe it was stolen alongside her other belongings. But why would a thief take only the lesser valuable, and not a precious stone?
In a fit of pique, Olga stuffed her kimono into a drawer in the wooden commode beside her assigned bed and then flopped down on the quilt-covered mattress, glancing at the patient chart above the headboard, which bore the name "長谷川 収," Hasegawa Osamu, the male identity that First Lieutenant Tsurumi insisted that she use during her stay in Otaru. For some unknown reason, he reacted poorly the topic of her father, Hasegawa Kouichi, to the point of threatening violence, and Olga decided it was best to keep quiet about her father's missing wedding band, afraid of provoking Tsurumi's wrath. Unsure of what to do next, she considered asking the hospital staff to use their telephone, but since she had already provided Mr. Akasaki's information, she decided to let Tsurumi handle the matter, and hopefully he'd locate the miscreant who dumped her in the woods.
A knock at the door sent Olga scrambling to her feet, and after smoothing her disheveled blonde hair, she turned to see her escort, Private First Class Mishima, stride into the room—a young man with kind eyes and an honest face, who apparently hadn't received orders to treat Olga with caution, or at least didn't act like it.
"You can stay here until we contact your family," Mishima told her. "First Lieutenant Tsurumi will bring you the news himself, so please expect him to visit shortly."
"Thank you very much, Private Mishima," replied Olga, bowing once out of respect. "So, how's he doing? Superior Private Ogata, I mean. Is he going to be okay?"
"He's being treated in the intensive care unit, so at least we know he's in good hands. As for the rest, we'll have to wait and see. Is there anything else I can do for you in the meantime, Hasegawa-san?"
"Not that I can think of at the moment," she said slowly, before surveying Mishima's attire, "although I'd love to ask about your clothing. It's an Imperial Army uniform, right?"
The private's dark blue ensemble consisted of a short, single-breasted coat, closed at the front by five brass buttons, with a standing collar and red shoulder boards, trousers with a red stripe lining the outer seam, white cloth gaiters wrapped about the shins, and a pair of sturdy brown leather shoes.
"If I recall," said Olga, leaning closer to inspect, "there were red facings like these on infantry uniforms. The yellow band on your cap indicates line infantry, while the Imperial Guard uses red. The details on this outfit are astounding… It's an excellent reproduction, and very historically accurate."
"You're right about almost everything, Hasegawa-san," said Mishima, smiling, "except that our uniforms are completely authentic."
"Seriously? All of them? Then they'd have to be over a hundred years old, and in such great condition, too."
"Well, this uniform style was issued in 1886, only two decades ago, and I'd hardly call that a century."
1886, two decades ago—she was certain she heard him correctly. "…Private Mishima, could I ask what, um, unit you're a part of?"
"That would be the 7th Division, 27th Infantry Regiment."
"The 7th Division," Olga repeated, "of the Ground Self-Defense Force?"
"Uh, no," said Mishima, "the 7th Division of the Japanese Imperial Army."
"But the army—"
Yes, it was dissolved in 1945, after the end of the Second World War. But the 7th Division he spoke seemed to be the "Pacifying Corps of the North," which established itself as the army's strongest unit during the Russo-Japanese War.
"So you're an actual soldier," said Olga, in a small voice, "who served our country in the war against Russia."
Mishima nodded, smiling in good humor. "I'm not sure what else I'd be, but yes, this uniform isn't for show."
The realization, not quite registering at first, suddenly struck her all at once, however impossible it seemed: she was no longer in the year 2007. Trying to stay calm, she started to babble, "Oh, of course! Please forgive my confusion, Private Mishima. It's been a long day, and my brain isn't all there right now. Thank you very much for your service."
Olga bowed to be polite, lowering her panic-stricken face while Mishima waved off the praise, answering modestly, "You're too kind, Hasegawa-san! It's not like I did anything special, but thank you. You must be exhausted right now, so I'll let you get some rest. Feel free to speak with the staff in case you need anything else."
After bidding farewell and goodnight, Olga found herself stranded and alone with the daunting prospect that she had somehow time-traveled to the previous century, landing in 1907, less than two years after the end of the Russo-Japanese War. It made sense for this to be part of a living history exhibit, or some prank TV series, but otherwise, it sounded too outrageous to believe, at least without any proof.
Rising from bed, desperate for answers, she wandered into the wood-paneled hallway and approached the on-duty nurse, Yasutake Keiko, who had earlier guided "Hasegawa Osamu" to "his" assigned quarters. Seated at a work desk, the matronly woman wore a crisp white frock and starched apron, with a large cloth cap perched over silvery hair puffed up and gathered in a bun at the back.
"Hm? What can I do for you, dear?" the older woman asked, smiling at Olga, her warm brown eyes crinkling at the edges.
"Th…the year, please, Yasutake-san," Olga stammered. "Can you please tell me the year?"
"My, you poor thing," said Nurse Yasutake, nothing Olga's diagnosis of acute confusional state. "Not to worry, it's Meiji year forty. If you have any other questions, please let me know."
Unless this nice lady was also pretending, Olga's worst fears had been all but confirmed: it was indeed 1907, the fortieth year of Emperor Meiji's reign, and not 2007 like she hoped.
"I—I meant the date!" Olga rushed to say. "I wanted today's date, not the year. I'm sorry for the confusion."
"Goodness, that makes quite the difference," said Nurse Yasutake, chuckling in relief before answering. "It's February twentieth, dear, and tomorrow is the twenty-first."
"Great, thank you," Olga strained to say. "I think the stress from today was a little too much. Could you please give me something to, you know, take the edge off? Preferably strong and fast-acting."
After receiving a light dose of sodium bromide, Olga stumbled back to bed with wide, unfocused eyes and burrowed under the covers in a daze of bewilderment, frustration and dread. How on Earth did this happen, she wondered, and was it possible to return to the present? Wracking her brain for even the smallest hint of an explanation, a pivotal moment stuck out among the rest: when she heard her father's voice and saw a truck speeding toward her.
Beyond the limits of what seemed humanly possible, something there expelled her from the present day, possibly as a result of dying in the crash, or the force of the impact. Despite the uncertain root cause, it stood to reason that, in order to go back, she merely needed to die again, or replicate the same conditions as before. Her theory, however, if tested in haste, could lead to potentially fatal consequences.
Curling up under the bedsheets, Olga clutched her mother's ring and turned it nervously in her fingers, still in denial over this implausible situation. As it turned out, she hadn't been kidnapped at all, but rather it was time itself that swept her away. Fortunately, her clothes survived the journey, and so did her necklace and the gloves in her pockets. If she hadn't dropped her handbag before the crash, then it might have come along too—not that anything inside would be useful at the moment.
In light of this new discovery, it made even less sense for First Lieutenant Tsurumi to know her father, let alone react they way he did. Considering the uncanny resemblance between the two, Olga wondered if the explosion two years ago had also sent her father to this exact time and place. Either he had taken a new identity or landed in the body of an identical stranger, or an alternate version of himself, possibly with missing or incomplete memories due to brain injury—or perhaps he simply wanted to leave his old life behind him. Tsurumi had asked about her father's greatest regret, so maybe it really was Hasegawa Koīchi, and he resented her more than she realized. Why else would Tsurumi forbid her from mentioning her father's name?
No, she decided, until she confirmed it herself, First Lieutenant Tsurumi and her father would remain separate entities, and no matter how they were connected, Olga still had faith in her father's love. Setting aside these troubling thoughts—to be dealt with another day—Olga yielded herself to the oblivion of sleep, where all the world and its toil came to a standstill, if only for a time.
Late in the night, First Lieutenant Tsurumi Tokushirou sat at a work desk holding two small objects under the light of a shaded lamp: a pair of pinky finger bones, the largest belonging to his wife, and the other to his infant daughter, procured shortly after they perished from the same stray bullet. It was the only physical evidence that remained of them, or so Tsurumi thought, at least until a girl appeared with his daughter's name, claiming she was raised by someone named "Hasegawa Kouichi." But that was merely a false identity that Tsurumi used and discarded years ago while working as a spy in Russia. What an absurd notion, that a man who never existed could raise a girl who should have been dead.
If his daughter were still alive, she would have been fifteen years old, like this girl reported to be, but Tsurumi wasn't convinced. With ample preparation, it wouldn't be hard to guess Kouichi's greatest regret, and that she knew Fina's full name wasn't remarkable either. Her tales of home life were merely another part of the ruse, or some other form of delusion. Because the girl's supposed guardian failed to respond, Tsurumi resorted to having his liaisons in Hakodate investigate the address that she gave him. Regardless of what was discovered there, the fact remained that his daughter died at three months old with a bullet lodged in her skull, and of that much he was certain.
He assured himself that it couldn't be the Olga he knew and stowed the bones in a pocket on the inside of his coat. Remembering the tiny body cradled in his arms, limp and lifeless, he stared up at the wall, where a segment of flayed skin was stretched in a wire frame, its surface inked with intricate arches and symbols, and thought to himself that even if his daughter had somehow survived, his plans for the future would remain unchanged.
In the early hours of the morning, Olga lay awake in bed, unable to fall asleep, staring at the items sitting on the wooden commode beside her: a wooden comb, two towels, a toothbrush and tooth powder, a handbell to call the nurse, a ceramic pitcher full of water and a cup to drink from. Growing restless, she sat up to face the pair of empty beds across the room, thinking that if she weren't trapped in the year 1907, she might've enjoyed it somewhat. It had been three days since her admission to the ward as a patient named "Hasegawa Osamu," with Superior Private Ogata still in the intensive care unit and First Lieutenant Tsurumi having yet to make contact. Despite the agonizing wait, she also dreaded her next encounter with Tsurumi, not knowing what he would say or how to respond correctly.
"I wonder how much he paid to get me this bed," Olga muttered. "Hospital stays aren't cheap, and there's clearly nothing wrong with me." Although, she thought, the hospital staff might argue otherwise, considering the weird things she talked about, such as toxic compounds in everyday medication, or asking whether inventions like plastic and zippers existed yet.
From the hallway outside came the footsteps of soft-soled shoes and rolling wheels, which slowed as three orderlies entered the room with a patient on a gurney, who was transferred to the metal-framed bed on Olga's left—the man she found by the river, Superior Private Ogata. His pale, swollen face was encompassed on all sides by wide cotton bandages, likely to stabilize a surgically repaired jaw, and rubber tubes had been stitched into his cheeks on either side, guiding discharge from surgical incisions into clean gauze dressings.
As if that weren't bad enough, thought Olga, his right arm was immobilized in a long plaster of paris cast, angled upward at the elbow and suspended by a sling over the back of his neck. After settling the patient's bandaged head against a pillow, Nurse Yasutake wrote down careful notes in a logbook, which detailed the extent of the patient's injuries: double mandibular angle fracture, and a broken ulna with radial head dislocation.
Stepping back gravely to survey her work, the gray-haired nurse looked over at Olga with an abruptly cheerful expression. "Good morning, young man. Forgive me if I've disturbed your sleep. You'll be happy to know that Superior Private Ogata was released from the intensive care unit, and the worst appears to be over. He's currently under sedation from the medications that were given, but he woke up from anesthesia earlier without any problem."
"Good morning, Yasutake-san," said Olga, surprised at being called a young man until she recalled her current male identity. "I'm so glad to see that he's okay. Things were looking pretty rough when I found him, and I was worried…"
"It did take some time to stabilize his condition," the nurse remarked, "but our surgeons were able to perform all necessary procedures."
"Their hard work paid off, thank goodness," said Olga, who watched Nurse Yasutake place down a pair of wire cutters on Ogata's bedside table. "And what are those for, if I may ask?"
"Well, in order to stabilize the repairs to his jaw, the patient's teeth were wired together at the cuspids and bicuspids, so he can't open his mouth right now, and should he vomit in this state, he may very well inhale the fluid. He's been instructed on the protocol for this scenario, but all else failing, the wires should be cut to prevent suffocation."
"So that's it… I guess he'll be on a liquid diet for the next few weeks," Olga noted, knowing that similar treatments with wires or elastics, as well as their drawbacks, still existed in the modern day. "Then, could you also teach me what to do in case there's an emergency?"
What struck him first was the smell of hospital disinfectant, biting chlorinated lime, followed by a pervasive heaviness in his face, an aching jaw, and the bulk of the plaster slab entombing his right arm. With a soft groan, Ogata opened his eyes to see four white walls around him, and polished pine board flooring below. His half-lidded gaze settled on the virtually mummified limb crossed over his chest, and then drifted to the blond-haired youth reading a book in the next bed over, who upon glancing at him once exclaimed, "Ogata-san, you're awake! How are you feeling?"
Rising to greet him, the other patient approached his bedside and went on smiling for no apparent reason. Based on looks alone, it could have been a boy with a pretty face, or a tomboyish young woman—not that it mattered to Ogata either way. As he squinted in befuddlement, the blond patient gave him an apologetic look and began a one-sided conversation.
"You probably don't remember, but I—" Olga paused, cleared her throat, and tried to deepen her voice, playing the role of a teenage boy. "I found you in the woods the other night, and you seemed to be in pretty rough shape. But it sounds like your surgery went well, and I'm glad that you're awake. I'll go and let the nurses know, alright?"
Ogata blinked once or twice, slowly digesting those words as Olga dashed out of the room and returned with the attending physician and a nursing assistant, who checked Ogata's vital signs and administered analgesics and saline solution through a needle and syringe. Using a broad cotton bandage, the nurse secured two waxed cotton bags filled with ice on either side of Ogata's face, tying it off on top before she leaned him against a stack of pillows, keeping his head elevated so that blood wouldn't pool at the surgical sites and cause more swelling.
"I'll remove these cold packs for you in twenty minutes," the nurse informed Ogata. "Please ring the handbell if you need anything before then."
Forced to rest upright, Ogata shifted at length, trying to find a comfortable position, when one bag of ice slipped out from its wrapping, which caused the entire setup to flop down into his lap.
"Oh, it fell off," Olga observed from her bed while Ogata stared down blankly at the fallen ice packs, apparently resigned to his fate. "Don't worry, it should be an easy fix. If you want, I can try it before you call the nurse."
Having observed the nurse's technique, Olga lifted both ends of the loose cloth in one hand, forming a cradle on which to arrange the ice packs, which was then positioned under Ogata's chin and tied off with a non-slip knot, in the same fashion as an obijime cord around a kimono sash: right over left, left over right.
"And… there, it's done," proclaimed Olga, carefully appraising her work. "How's that? Feel okay? If not, please let me know."
Thus arrayed, Ogata lay back and closed his eyes without complaint, relieved by the ice and morphine combination, only to be startled once more by the clatter of numerous boot-steps in the hallway, growing louder and nearer.
"That must be First Lieutenant Tsurumi," said Olga, hearing a voice that sounded painfully like her father's. "I guess word travels fast around here. Maybe I should pretend to be asleep…"
Her last statement, which slipped out inadvertently, earned her a dubious gaze from Ogata, who had perked up slightly at Tsurumi's name. She hurried to explain, "Things between me and him are… complicated, to say the least, and I don't mean to disrespect your senior officer. It's nice that he came to visit you so quickly. To be honest, I'm a bit envious."
Though he registered a vague reference to Tsurumi, Ogata looked away, deciding not to waste his energy trying to figure it out. As he stared ahead, trying to stay alert, he heard Olga sigh and mutter, "Alright, here we go…"
"Well, look who's finally awake!" exclaimed First Lieutenant Tsurumi, with a small entourage of soldiers in tow. "And if it isn't Hasegawa-kun, Superior Private Ogata's little savior. How are you doing today, my boy?"
Standing at attention, Olga lowered herself into a bow and replied, "I'm doing fine, First Lieutenant Tsurumi. Thank you very much for coming. If you'd like to speak with Superior Private Ogata alone, I'd be happy to step outside."
"No need for that. This won't take long," said Tsurumi, who moved toward the end of Ogata's bed and cleared his throat. "It's good to have you back, Superior Private Ogata. Might I ask what happened yesterday? Did you encounter trouble in the woods?"
The image of the attacker returned to Ogata's otherwise disjointed memories: a scarred face under the brim of a service cap, dark hair that stuck out in points, a red on yellow window pane plaid scarf—Sugimoto "the Immortal" of the 1st Division, who appeared to be hunting for the same stash of gold that Tsurumi and the 7th Division were after. When Ogata tried to speak, he found his voice emerge incomprehensibly, garbled by his wired teeth and hoarse throat.
With all of the strength he could muster, barely clinging to consciousness, Ogata raised his left hand and took great pains to write three characters in the air: ふじみ, fujimi— "Immortal." Reaching limits of his endurance, Ogata's hand hit the mattress and his head lolled back as the exertion and opioids from earlier knocked him senseless.
A murmur of confusion washed over the gathered soldiers and one of them exclaimed, "That doesn't make any sense!"
"Oi, Ogata," another called, leaning over him, "get ahold of yourself! That's not enough to go on!"
The others tried to rouse him back to consciousness, but to no avail: Ogata was out cold, and Tsurumi shook his head, clicking his tongue in disappointment.
"It seems that will be all for the moment. Very well, then… Corporal Tamai, I want you to gather a team and search the woods where we found Superior Private Ogata. Leave no stone unturned, and pursue all leads to their fullest extent. I doubt whatever happened out there was an accident." Tsurumi turned and gazed at the door, adding, "The rest of you should return to your duties at once. I'd like to speak with this brave child who saved Superior Private Ogata's life, and I imagine he'd feel uneasy with so many soldiers gathered in one place."
"Understood, sir." Saluting once, the men filtered out of the ward, leaving Olga with Tsurumi and even more anxious than before.
"Sh-shall we take our discussion elsewhere?" she suggested, but Tsurumi blocked her path to the door.
"Hasegawa-kun," said Tsurumi, slowly, rounding on her like a predator with its prey, "we have so much to talk about, and so little time. I regret to inform you that your supposed 'Akasaki Norio-san' could be reached by neither telephone nor telegram, and according to my sources, there was nothing at his home address either. Now for what reason, pray tell, did you provide me with false information? I suggest that you choose your answer wisely."
"That is… the reason is—" Olga stammered, unsure of how to explain that Mr. Akasaki hadn't been born yet. "…It's because I don't have anyone left in this world, but I couldn't tell you before. Since we're being honest here, can you also tell me the truth?" She inhaled deeply, looked Tsurumi in the eye, and asked him directly, "Do you really hate me that much?"
"'Hate' is too a strong a word, wouldn't you say?" replied Tsurumi, maintaining a cordial veneer. "We're barely acquaintances, after all. You'll have to forgive me if I seem abrasive; it's simply that my patience is wearing thin."
"See, you're doing it again," said Olga, "acting like you don't know me. I'm not an idiot, though, and it can't be coincidental that you and him look the same." In hopes of eliciting a stronger response, she said to him in somewhat clumsy Russian, "Eto ya, tvoya dochʹ Olga. Pomnish' li ty? Ya po tebe soskuchilsya." It's me, your daughter Olga. Do you remember? I missed you.
"…I don't have time for this nonsense," Tsurumi replied flatly. "After today, you should go back to wherever you came from and pretend this never happened. Now, if you're done playing games, I'll be on my way."
As he turned to leave, Olga rushed out in front of him, spreading her arms imploringly. "Wait, I'm sorry. If you want to be strangers, I'll respect that, but at least take this back before you leave. I know how much it means to you."
She pulled off the chain around her neck and held it out toward Tsurumi, who took one look at the diamond ring dangling on its links and said, dryly, "Resorting to bribery now, are we? Sadly, such a tiny amount isn't nearly enough. You'll have to do better than that."
"Wh-what?" Olga sputtered in confusion. "No, it's not… Do you not remember this ring?"
"I've seen quite a few gold rings in my lifetime," Tsurumi answered, "but none of any importance to me."
"Please look at the inscription," Olga urged him, removing the ring from its chain to hold it out in her palm. Maybe he really did have amnesia, and this would help jog his memory. "If you can read what it says, you might understand. And if not… then we'll drop the matter entirely and go our separate ways. I promise."
Eager to end this charade, Tsurumi lifted the ring toward his face, scrutinized its mounted diamond setting, and then paused on the Cyrillic letters etched on the inside: Коити и Фина—Kouichi and Fina. His eyelids flared momentarily at the sight, which did not go unnoticed by Olga.
"You know what it says," she said quietly, "don't you?"
"No," replied Tsurumi, closing his fist around the ring. "I don't."
"Papa, please," cried Olga, anguished to the point of tears. "If you care about me at all, stop pretending—!"
In a blur of motion, Tsurumi flung the ring aside and grabbed Olga by the collar of her hospital gown, leaning forward with a low snarl of, "Ya ne daval eto kolʹtso." I didn't give her this ring.
He pushed the girl away and stepped back to gauge her reaction, expecting a tearful plea or convenient excuse now that her lies were coming undone. The impostor dropped to the floor and searching on her hands and knees for an obviously bogus heirloom. He watched, unmoved, as she picked up the ring and rose on shaky legs, maintaining her composure, her lips pursed into a weak smile as she met Tsurumi's dark gaze with the stormy gray of her own.
"It finally makes sense to me," she said softly. "You came here after you died, like I did. I don't know what happened to you, or why you're acting like this, or if you're even him at all… but I'm glad that I got to meet you. It was hard being on my own, and I wish I had known how you really feel… But I can't lose you a second time. I won't bother you at all, and you don't even have to acknowledge me… so please let me stay in Otaru."
Tsurumi loomed over the smaller girl, but she went on staring, unwavering, until he reached out, slowly, and took her by the wrist. Olga watched in silence as he drew her hand toward him and ran his thumb over her left pinky finger with an unexpected tenderness in his eyes.
"Papa," she whispered, fully convinced it was father, back from the dead to hold her hand once more. "I love you."
As Tsurumi's eyes darted over Olga's face, which so deeply resembled Fina's, the memories of that day fifteen years ago surged back in complete, irrefutable denial: an infant's face blown open, the gushing cavity, a 7.5 millimeter bullet, and the small hand pressed against his lips. As if a wall has risen up around him, the warmth in his face vanished instantaneously, and he shoved Olga away, absolved of any lingering doubt.
"I am not your father," he asserted, "and you are not my child. Either way, my answer would remain the same, so unless you wish to complicate matters, I suggest you leave Otaru on your own terms, while I'm still asking nicely."
"…So that's how it's going to be," said Olga, softly, before she squared her shoulders and tried to be strong. "In that case, sir, I'm going to need more time. Like I told you before, I lost everything when I came here. First, I have to earn enough money, and then buy the supplies I need for travel. After that, I'll be out of your life for good. As I'd rather not owe you later on, I won't accept charity either, but if you can help get me a job, you never have to see my face again."
There was no response at first, and Olga held her breath, fearing the worst. Then, finally, Tsurumi spoke.
Very well, here is my offer: watch over Superior Private Ogata while he recovers, and see to it that all of his needs are met. In return, I will grant you a stipend, and ensure that you're fully accommodated in this hospital as a live-in caretaker. By the time of Ogata's discharge, six weeks at the earliest, you should have plenty of money to spend as you please. Would that be acceptable to you, Osamu-kun?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you for your generosity," said Olga. From his emphasis on her male pseudonym, it sounded like she would have to keep using it from now on. "I'll be sure to uphold my end of the bargain, and I trust you'll do the same."
"Then allow me to make the arrangements," said Tsurumi. "I should warn you now: tread carefully, and don't give me any reason to doubt your intentions. Otherwise, I'm afraid I'll have to sever ties with you… permanently."
Those words sent a chill up Olga's spine, but she smiled and nodded as if this were an ordinary provision and not a thinly-veiled threat. That being said, Tsurumi whisked out of the room, leaving Olga in utter devastation, not knowing how to feel about anything. She turned around, took one step toward her bed, and then collapsed on the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Purgatory, she thought, this had to be purgatory, a sort of private hell, punishment for the unfilial daughter.
"That's not my Papa," she whispered, pressing the heels of her palms into watery eyes. "He can't be, it isn't, he'd never do this to me, he wouldn't…!"
Trying to stifle her sobbing, the girl wept weakly on the floor, unaware that Ogata, half-awake in his bed, had overheard their conversation.
Chapter 3 Glossary
Fukuhara Hospital (福原病院): Based on a real-life Otaru hospital that opened in 1894. The practice, owned by Doctor Fukuhara Suketaka, moved to a newly constructed building in 1906, but then relocated again in 1912, while the property itself was later used as a general hospital, which once stood in what is now the current Otaru General Hospital's parking lot. The former hospital's distinctive architecture can be seen in chapter 234 during the flashback of Usami visiting Ogata, and also appears in chapters 227, 229, 230, and 244.
The surname Fukuhara can be translated as "blessed plain" or "field of blessings."
Hasegawa Osamu: Osamu is written with the character 収, meaning "obtain." I chose this one because it seems to be the simplest kanji rendition of the name.
1886 uniform: A modified version of the first standardized uniform from 1867, the dark blue single-breasted uniform adopted under the 1886 Regulations was retained with only minor modifications until 1905. While these uniforms were still used during the early months of the Russo-Japanese War, a newly introduced khaki summer version became standard issue for frontline infantry, followed by cavalry and artillery, although some second-line units continued to wear dark blue until the end of the war.
Notably, during the winter of 1904-05, the heavier blue uniforms were used again, but often under the loose-fitting summer khaki uniform for camouflage. After the war, the Japanese Army adopted khaki for all occasions, being the first major army to discard colorful parade dress. Only the cavalry squadrons of the Imperial Guard were authorized to retain their colored uniforms for certain ceremonial and social occasions, at least until 1939.
7th Division of the Ground Self-Defense Force: The Japan Ground Self-Defense Force (JGSDF) was established in 1954 after the National Security Force was reorganized into three branches. One of nine active divisions, the 7th Division is subordinated to the Northern Army and responsible for the defense of Northern Hokkaido against potential conflicts, mostly concerning Russia.
Russo-Japanese War: Fought between Russia and Japan from February 4, 1904 to September 5, 1905 over expansionism in the Far East, with battles taking place primarily in Manchuria, the Yellow Sea, and the seas around Korea and Japan. Hostilities ended with the Treaty of Portsmouth (mediated by American President Theodore Roosevelt), which gave Japan control of Korea, most of Southern Manchuria, and the southern half of Sakhalin Island, though neither side had to pay war indemnities to the other. Due to the war's immense economic and human cost, this lack of restitution from Russia was deeply unpopular with the Japanese public, to the point that riots broke out in Tokyo: of the more than 1 million soldiers sent by Japan to fight overseas, almost 90,000 died in battle or of disease, while more than 150,000 were wounded. The Japanese state had also incurred massive debts, farming villages were left financially devastated, and many demobilized soldiers, scarred by their experience on the battlefield, fell into dissolute lifestyles, especially in rural areas.
Yasutake Keiko: Her name and character pays homage to a few historical nurses and physicians from Japan: Hishikawa Yasu (1861-1902) a medical missionary and registered female doctor—one among thirteen in the country at the time; Hagiwara Take (1873-1936), a nurse called the "Japanese Florence Nightingale" who served with the Red Cross during the Sino-Japanese War, the Boxer Rebellion and the Russo-Japanese War, later becoming its director; Okami Kei (1859-1941), the first Japanese woman to obtain a degree in Western medicine; and Ogino Ginko (1851-1913), the first licensed female physician of Western medicine in Japan, who ran her own medical practice in Hokkaido.
Hair puffed up and gathered in a bun: An example of the Sokuhatsu (Western) hairstyle that was popular during the Meiji period, based on the Gibson Girl look of the 1880s, where the hair was worn swept back and tied in a bun or chignon at the back of the head.
February 20th: The start of the Battle of Mukden in 1905, near the end of the Russo-Japanese War, during which Tsurumi was seriously wounded by an exploding shell.
Sodium bromide: An anticonvulsant and sedative compound, used to aid sleep or in small doses for anxiety, popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. According to Notes on Materia Medica and Therapeutics (1886), "acts as a soporific, by withdrawing the nerve centres from the sensory impressions" and "is indicated in the restlessness of febrile condition, in sleeplessness due to nervous irritability from overwork, etc." In the United States, bromide compounds remained in over-the-counter sedatives and head remedies until 1975, when they were outlawed due to their toxicity.
Whether plastic or zippers existed yet: The first man-made plastic was invented in 1855 by English metallurgist Alexander Parkes, later patented as "Parkesine," which was made from cellulose treated with nitric acid and a solvent. A cheaper substitute for ivory, tortoiseshell, and even linen, Parkesine and other subsequent "celluloids" were used to make jewelry, grooming products, toothbrush handles, playing cards and children's toys. Celluloid became a mainstay of the movie industry as a medium for film stock, but was also highly flammable, as demonstrated in Golden Kamuy chapter 206 and season 4, episode 5 of the anime.
PVC, galalith (marketed as "lactoloid" in Japan, a plastic made from milk proteins and formaldehyde), shellac phonograph records and polyethylene soon followed, while the first fully synthetic plastic, Bakelite, was invented by Leo Baekeland in New York in 1907.
The zipper as we know it was patented in 1917 by Gideon Sundback, a Swedish-American electrical engineer. It took around twenty years for the zipper to enter the fashion industry, only being properly named the "zipper" in 1923. (So, I guess it's good that Olga didn't have any clothing with zippers when she time-traveled.) The original design from which the zipper evolved, the "clasp locker," was developed in 1893, a shoe fastener that met with poor commercial success.
Broken ulna with radial head dislocation: I'm not a medical professional, but I speculate this damage to be a Monteggia fracture, an injury pattern first described by Italian surgeon Giovanni Battista Monteggia in 1814, but only named after him in 1909. Mechanism of injury for Bado type II Monteggia fracture is described as "axial load onto a partially flexed elbow or direct trauma to a proximal supinated forearm." Often requires surgery in adults, but in the past, non-operative treatment was preferred at the acute stage, performed with sedation and closed reduction of the ulna with external maneuvers, which is usually sufficient to reduce the radial head. The position of the forearm during immobilization (in-story at a 70° angle) depends on the direction of the dislocation.
The patient's teeth were wired together: Wiring could be done with dental bands or iron ligatures fastened directly to the necks of the teeth, usually the molars, cuspids, bicuspids or incisors. This method was often used in conjunction with direct internal fixation of the jaw (such as transosseous wiring, absorbable sutures or metal plates) and indirect fixation with a bandage around the head.