Inside Japan there is no sense of escape, no big open spaces, no safety buffers. Frustrations are inevitably bounced back on themselves, internalized, stifled but unresolved. "I don't know about a crisis in Japan," says Tatsumichi Majima, the math teacher at Karasaki Junior High School, "But I can tell you there is a crisis in the school system. There's a wall between teachers and students." Of the 700 young people at Majima's school in Otsu, a new "bed town" for people working in Kyoto and Osaka, 50 are classified as "problem students." There are fights at least once a week, says Majima, chain-smoking nervously in a local coffee shop. "I try to break them up, making a joke of it, but in fact I am scared--scared that I will be stabbed or beaten. Many of the other teachers don't dare to intervene."

Kireru--literally to cut--is slang for losing control and becoming violent. "We never heard that term before--now kids think it's cool to kireru. They have created a climate where even the smallest thing can spark violence." At night he sees them hanging out in the center of town, 15- and 16-year-olds, staying out until 2 or 3 a.m. "They don't seem to be doing anything--just standing around."

Somewhere in this emptiness, the poisoners are at work, exorcising their bottled-up vitriol on a defenseless populace, compensating for feelings of powerlessness by spreading fear. In what has turned into a grim, nationwide potluck, food and drink in convenience stores, vending machines and communal kitchens are being spiked with everything from cyanide and arsenic to a lethal chemical used to inflate automobile air bags. Five people have died since July; scores have been hospitalized. Daiei supermarkets are installing video cameras above soft-drink shelves to catch anyone tampering with products. People joke nervously around office coffee machines; many now leave gifts of food unopened. The authorities have not been reassuring--citizens should spit out drinks that taste odd, police advise, while also cautioning that most poisons don't have any noticeable taste.

Many Japanese are starting to feel there is no safe place left. The altar of post-war Japan, the workplace, is cracking, as the ever-increasing number of layoffs terrifies a society in which a man's existence is defined by his job. Last year's 4.1% jobless rate was a post-war high. Economists say the real rate would be much higher if the government included all those who have given up trying to find a job.

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