LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER II

      DAISUKE WAS THINKING of changing and going to Hiraoka’s inn when Hiraoka made a timely appearance. He casually rode the ricksha right up to the gate. The voice that cried “Here it is, here it is,” ordering the driver to lower the shaft, had not changed in the three years since the two had parted. No sooner had he seen the old woman who met him at the door than he was explaining that he had forgotten his wallet at the inn, that he needed to borrow some change; this, too, was the Hiraoka of their school days. Daisuke went running to the door and all but dragged his old friend in.

      “How are things? Come in and relax.”

      “Oh, I see you’ve got chairs,” Hiraoka observed and threw his body heavily into the easy chair. To judge from the way he handled himself, he set not a penny’s value on his rather ample flesh. He leaned his shaven head against the back of the chair and looked around the room for a moment.

      “Not a bad house. Better than I expected,” he praised.

      Without answering, Daisuke opened a cigarette case. “So, how have things been?”

      “How? Why, you know—I’ll tell you all about it by and by.”

      “You used to write a lot, so I could tell how things were. But lately you haven’t written at all.”

      “I must owe letters to everyone I know.” Hiraoka abruptly removed his glasses and, pulling out a wrinkled handkerchief from his breastpocket, began to wipe them, blinking rapidly all the while. He had been nearsighted since their student days. Daisuke watched him intently.

      “But how about you, how have you been?” he asked, pulling the slender bows over his ears and holding them there with his hands.

      “There’s nothing new with me.”

      “That’s the way it should be. There’s been too much new with me.” Hiraoka knitted his brows and began to stare at the garden. Suddenly, in an altered tone, he said, “Look, there’s a cherry tree over there. It’s just begun to bloom, hasn’t it. The climate’s so different here.”

      The conversation had lost its touch of intimacy. Daisuke answered without interest, “It must be pretty warm over there.”

      With unexpected, almost excessive vigor, Hiraoka came back, “Yes, it’s quite warm.” It was as if he had been startled into a sudden awareness of his own presence. Daisuke looked at his face once more. Hiraoka lit a cigarette. The old woman finally appeared with the tea, putting a tray on the table and apologizing all the while that it had taken so long because she had put cold water into the kettle. While she chattered the two stared at the red sandalwood tray; then seeing that they ignored her, the old woman gave a little self-conscious laugh and left the room.

      “What’s that?”

      “The maid I hired. I’ve got to eat, after all.” “Gracious, isn’t she.”

      Daisuke curled his rosy lips and laughed depreciatingly. “She’s never served in a place like this before; it can’t be helped.”

      “Why didn’t you bring someone over from home? There must be a good many of them there.”

      “Yes, but they’re all young,” answered Daisuke seriously.

      At this, Hiraoka laughed heartily for the first time. “Why, so much the better if they’re young!”

      “Anyway, it’s not good to have somebody from home.” “Is there anyone besides that old woman?”

      “There’s the houseboy.”

      Kadono had come back and was talking with the old woman in the kitchen.

      “Is that all?” “That’s all. Why?”

      “You haven’t got a wife yet?”

      The hint of a blush crossed Daisuke’s face, but he quickly resumed his normal, nondescript manner: “You know I would have let you know if I’d gotten married. But how about you …” and he stopped abruptly.

      Daisuke and Hiraoka had known each other since middle school. At one time they had been almost like brothers, especially during the year following their graduation. In those days their greatest pleasure had been to confide in each other absolutely and to offer each other words of encouragement. On more than a few occasions these words had been translated into action; hence, they firmly believed that the words they exchanged, far from being a mere source of pleasure, always held the possibility of some sort of sacrifice. As soon as one sacrificed, his pleasure immediately turned into anguish: but of this simple truth they went unaware.

      At the end of that year Hiraoka got married and was transferred to a Kansai branch of the bank for which he worked. On the day of their departure Daisuke went to Shimbashi Station to see the young couple off. Clasping Hiraoka’s hand, he cheerfully urged him to come back soon. Hiraoka said it couldn’t be helped, that he had to put in his time. The words were tossed out carelessly, but from behind his glasses there gleamed an almost enviable pride. When he saw this, Daisuke suddenly found his friend odious. He went home and shut himself in his study and spent the rest of the day brooding. He was to have taken his sister-in-law to a concert, but he canceled the engagement, causing her not a little anxiety.

      Hiraoka wrote regularly: a postcard announcing his safe arrival, news of setting up a household, and, when that was over, accounts of his job and hopes for the future. Daisuke responded conscientiously to each letter. Curiously enough, each time he wrote he experienced a certain uneasiness. At times, when he no longer wished to put up with the discomfort, he stopped in the middle. Only when Hiraoka expressed some gratitude for what Daisuke had done in the past did his brush flow easily, allowing him to compose a relatively fluent response.

      In time, however, these exchanges became less frequent, dwindling from once a month to once every two, even three months, until finally, Daisuke did not write at all and began to feel apprehensive about that. Sometimes, just to rid himself of this tension, he moistened an envelope. But after six months had passed in this way, his mind and heart appeared to have undergone a change, so that it no longer mattered whether he wrote to Hiraoka or not. In fact, after establishing his own household he let a year go by before bothering to send his new address, and then he wrote only because it was the season for New Year’s cards.

      Nevertheless, for certain reasons, Daisuke was unable to forget Hiraoka. He remembered him from time to time and occasionally tried to imagine how he might be getting along. But he never went so far as to inquire after him, feeling neither the courage nor the urgency to worry to that extent. In any event, he had let the time slip by until suddenly, two weeks ago, he had received a letter from Hiraoka. In the letter, Hiraoka announced his intention of leaving the branch office soon and returning to Tokyo. He did not, however, want Daisuke to think of the move as one ordered by the office, implying promotion. He had other plans; he had decided to change jobs, and upon his arrival in Tokyo he might have need of Daisuke’s good offices. It was unclear whether the last remark was intended in earnest or simply added as a matter of form, but it was apparent that some drastic change of fortune had befallen Hiraoka. When he realized this, Daisuke was startled.

      Therefore, he was anxious to hear all the details as soon as he saw Hiraoka; unfortunately, their conversation, once derailed, obstinately refused to return. If Daisuke seized an opportune moment and raised the topic himself, Hiraoka would parry, saying he would talk about it at length some day; the talk went nowhere. Daisuke finally suggested, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. Why don’t we get something to eat?” But Hiraoka still persisted with his “one of these days, when there’s more time,” until Daisuke simply dragged him to a Western-style restaurant nearby.

      There, the two of them drank a good deal. When they agreed that as far as eating and drinking went they were the same as ever, the ice was broken at last. Daisuke began an animated account of an Easter

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