LITMIR.BIZ

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they were moving in tomorrow.”

      Daisuke sat back in his chair and thought about the future of the couple who were setting up housekeeping for the second time in Tokyo. Hiraoka had changed considerably since they had parted at Shimbashi three years ago. His record was that of a man who had climbed but one or two rungs on the ladder of life before stumbling and falling. The only fortunate thing was that he had not climbed very far; but that meant only that there were no obvious wounds to be exposed to the eyes of society; his emotional state already betrayed signs of impairment.

      This had been Daisuke’s immediate impression the first time he saw Hiraoka. But when he considered the changes in himself over the past three years, he thought it possible that they had affected Hiraoka’s reaction toward him, and he revised his assessment. Still, when he recalled Hiraoka’s manner, his words and gestures that time Daisuke had gone to the inn and left so hurriedly with him without even going in, he was forced to return to his original conclusion. That day the center of Hiraoka’s face had been a bundle of nerve endings. Whether it was the wind or a grain of sand, he had uninhibitedly twitched his brows, which looked as if they were subject to constant irritation. Everything he said, regardless of the content, sounded restless and pressured to Daisuke. Hiraoka’s manner, in short, brought to mind a man with weak lungs who was struggling to swim through a mass of gelatin.

      “He’s in such a hurry,” Daisuke had murmured to himself after seeing Hiraoka off at the streetcar stop. Then he had thought of the wife left behind at the inn.

Daisuke had never yet addressed Hiraoka’s wife as “Okusan.”* He always called her “Michiyo-san,” just as he had in the days before she was married. After leaving Hiraoka, he had toyed with the idea of going back to the inn—perhaps he would have a talk with Michiyo-san. But somehow, he could not go. He even stopped in his steps to think it over, and though he could find nothing wrong with his going, he still felt uneasy and could not go. If he mustered up his courage, he thought, he could do it. But for Daisuke to be so courageous would be a painful effort. Once he got home, however, he was restless and somehow dissatisfied. So he went out to drink. Daisuke could drink enormous quantities and that night he drank especially heavily.

      “Something must have come over me then.” Leaning back in his chair, a comparatively detached Daisuke examined his own shadow. “Did you want something?” Kadono came in again. He had taken off his hakama, so that his dumpling-like bare feet showed. Daisuke looked at his face without a word. Kadono, too, looked at Daisuke’s face, and for a moment was left standing blankly.

      “Didn’t you call me? Well, well,” he said and disappeared. Daisuke did not see anything amusing in this.

      “He said he didn’t call me, Auntie. I thought it was funny. I told you I didn’t hear him clap or anything.” These words came from the morning room, followed by laughter from Kadono and the old woman.

      Just then, the much-awaited guest arrived. Kadono, who had gone to answer the door, came back with a somewhat peculiar expression on his face. He wore this expression all the way to Daisuke’s side, where he said, almost in a whisper, “Sensei, it’s Okusan.” Daisuke left his chair without a word and went into the living room.

      Hiraoka’s wife had rather dark hair for a fair-complexioned woman. Her face was oval with clearly shaped brows. Glancing at her, one felt a vague loneliness, reminiscent of the old ukiyoe woodblock prints. Her complexion had noticeably lost its luster since their return to Tokyo. So much so that Daisuke had been a little startled the first time he saw her at the inn. Thinking she might not have recovered from the long, tiring train journey, he had asked if that was what was wrong, but was told no, she always looked like this these days. Then Daisuke had felt sorry for her.

      Michiyo had given birth one year after leaving Tokyo. The baby had died soon after, and Michiyo’s own heart seemed to have been damaged in childbirth. She had often been ill since. At first, she had just rested at home, but no matter what she did, she could not seem to make satisfactory progress. She had finally gone to a doctor; he said he could not tell for sure, but it might be a certain heart disease with a difficult name. If that was the case, then some of the blood pumped into the arteries was backing up; this was a chronic condition with little hope for a complete cure—a verdict that had alarmed Hiraoka. Perhaps because he exerted his utmost for her recovery, she regained a good deal of her spirits at the end of a year. There were many days when her complexion had its old, clear glow, and Michiyo herself was feeling quite encouraged when, about one month before their return to Tokyo, she suffered a setback. The doctor’s story was that this time, her heart was not at fault. It would never be strong, but it had certainly not worsened. He could detect no impairment in the functioning of the valves for the time being—this was what Michiyo herself told Daisuke. Then Daisuke looked at Michiyo’s face and wondered if her condition was caused by some sort of anxiety after all.

      Michiyo’s eyelids had two beautiful lines, one above the other, making a distinct fold. Her eyes were on the long and narrow side, but whenever she fixed her gaze, they somehow became extremely large. Daisuke attributed this effect to her irises. He had often observed this eye movement of hers in the days before she was married and he still remembered it well. Whenever he tried to picture her face in his mind, those black eyes, blurred as if they were misty, rose immediately, even before the outline of her face was complete.

      Shown in to the living room from the hallway, Michiyo took a seat facing Daisuke. She placed her lovely hands one above the other upon her lap. The hand she placed underneath had a ring; the one she placed above also had a ring. The latter was of modern design, a large pearl in a narrow gold setting—a gift from Daisuke three years ago in celebration of her wedding.

      Michiyo lifted her face. Daisuke, instantly recognizing those eyes, blinked in spite of himself.

      She had planned to come with Hiraoka the day after they arrived, but she had not felt well, and after that, she would have had to come by herself, so she had just not gone out at all; but today, she was just... So she began, then cut herself short. Then, as if she had suddenly remembered it, she apologized—the other day, when Daisuke came to see them, Hiraoka was about to go out, and they had been very rude. . . . “You should have stayed and waited,” she added with feminine graciousness. But her tone was subdued. It was, nevertheless, her normal tone of voice, and it served all the more to remind Daisuke of the past.

      “But he seemed to be terribly busy....”

      “Well, he is busy, as far as that goes—but it would have been all right. Even if you’d stayed. You’re being so—formal.”

      Daisuke thought of asking if something had happened between them that day, but decided against it. Normally, he might have gone so far as to ask whether it wasn’t true that she was being scolded then—her face was red, what had she done wrong? Their relationship was close enough to have permitted as much, but he felt that her present charming conversation was a painful effort to cover up an awkward situation, and he did not have the heart to joke.

      Daisuke lit a cigarette, and dangling it from his lips, leaned back in his chair and relaxed. “It’s been such a long time—shouldn’t we get something to eat?” As he said this, he thought that his manner was in some small measure comforting to the woman.

      “No thank you, not today. I can’t stay,” answered Michiyo, showing a glimpse of an old gold tooth.

      “Oh, come now.” Daisuke lifted his hands behind his head and knitting his fingers together, looked at her. She bent over and pulled out a small watch from her obi. When Daisuke gave her the pearl ring, Hiraoka had presented her with this watch. Daisuke remembered how, after buying their respective gifts at the same store, they had exchanged glances, then laughed as they went out.

      “Oh, it’s already after three. I thought it was only two. I’d stopped by places on the way over,” she explained as if to herself.

      “Are you in such a hurry?’’

      “Yes, I’d like to get back as soon as possible.”

      Daisuke took his hands from his head and

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