LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “I guess not. I thought she looked a little pale. Completely different from Mr. Hiraoka. He’s got a good build, doesn’t he? I was pretty surprised when we went to the bath together last night.”

      Daisuke soon went into his study and wrote two or three letters. One was to a friend in Korea to thank him for a piece of pottery he had sent; another was to his brother-in-law in France, asking him to look for an inexpensive Tanagra figurine.

      Past noon, as he was going out for a walk, he looked in on Kadono; he was sprawled out, fast asleep. Seeing his innocent nostrils, Daisuke became envious. As a matter of fact, he himself had had an enormously difficult time falling asleep the night before. The pocket watch he had put by his pillow, as was his custom, had made a tremendous noise. He had reached out and shoved it under the pillow. But the ticking still echoed in his head. Listening to this sound, he had finally dozed off. Even when most of his senses had slipped into the dark caverns of sleep, he was still conscious of a sewing machine that stitched through the night, its needle traveling ceaselessly through his head. Some time during the night, that sound had turned into the chirping of insects, coming deep from the lovely shrubbery at the side of the entrance. . . . When he had followed his dream this far, Daisuke felt as if he had discovered the thread that spanned the space between sleep and wakefulness.

      Daisuke was the sort of man who, once he was disturbed by something, no matter what, could not let go of it until he had pursued it to the utmost. Moreover, having the capacity to assess the folly of any given obsession, he was forced to be doubly conscious of it. Three or four years ago he had tackled the question of the process whereby his waking mind entered the realm of dreams. At night, when he had gotten under the covers and begun to doze off nicely, he would think, this is it, this is how I fall asleep. No sooner had he thought this than he was wide awake. When he had managed to doze off again, he would immediately think, here it is. Night after night, he was plagued by his curiosity and would repeat the same procedure two or three times. In the end, he became disgusted in spite of himself. He wanted somehow to escape his agony. Moreover, he was thoroughly impressed by the extent of his folly. To appeal to his conscious mind in order to apprehend his unconscious, and to try to recollect both at the same time was, as James had put it, analogous to lighting a candle to examine the dark, or stopping a top in order to study its movements; at that rate, it stood to reason that he would never again be able to sleep. He knew all this, but when night came, he still thought, now . . .

      In about a year’s time, the problem faded away without his notice. When he compared his dream of the previous night with this old problem, Daisuke had a strange feeling. It occurred to him that it would be more graceful to cut loose a part of his conscious self and, without his own knowledge, surrender it just as it was to a dream in progress. At the same time, he asked himself if this process did not resemble the state of incipient insanity. Thus far, Daisuke had never believed he could become insane, for he never became impassioned.

      During the next two or three days, neither Daisuke nor Kadono had any word from Hiraoka. In the afternoon of the fourth day, Daisuke went to Azabu to a garden party to which he had been invited. There were quite a number of guests, both men and women. The guests of honor were an immoderately tall Englishman—supposedly a member of Parliament or a businessman of some sort— and his wife, who wore pince-nez. The latter was quite a beauty, almost too beautiful to have come to a place like Japan. She proudly carried a Gifu painted parasol, which she had no doubt acquired somewhere.

      Admittedly, the weather was unusually fine that day. As he stood on the grass in his frock coat under the piercingly blue sky, the feeling that summer had already come spread from Daisuke’s shoulders to his back. The English gentleman frowned and looked up at the sky and said it was beautiful. His wife immediately responded, lovely. Since this exchange was made emphatically in high-pitched tones, Daisuke felt that compliments delivered in English were remarkable indeed.

      Even Daisuke had two or three words addressed to him by the wife. But before three minutes were up, he found it unbearable and beat a hasty retreat. After him, a young lady in kimono with her hair purposely done in traditional style, and a man who was said to have spent some years in New York on business, took over. The latter professed to be a genius at speaking English and never missed an English-language gathering. His greatest pleasure was to converse in English with Japanese, then to deliver a table speech in English. He had a habit of saying something, then laughing loudly as if it were highly amusing. From time to time the Englishman looked at him dubiously, and Daisuke thought he should at least refrain from doing that. The young lady was doing quite well, too. She was the daughter of a well-to-do man who had hired an American tutor, with whom she had practiced English. Daisuke, thinking that she excelled in language more than in looks, listened to her, utterly impressed.

      It was not because he was personally acquainted with the host or the English couple that Daisuke had been invited. An invitation had found its way to him simply because he floated in the wake of his father’s and brother’s position in society. So he made his rounds to all the guests, bowing suitably to each of them, and when that was done, began to saunter about aimlessly. Eventually, he spotted his brother. “Oh, you came,’’ said Seigo, not even touching his hand to his hat.

      “It’s quite a nice day, isn’t it.”

      “Yes, it’s fine.”

      Daisuke was not on the short side, but his brother was even taller. And on top of it, he had put on weight in the past five or six years, which made him look quite impressive.

      “Why don’t you go over there and chat with the foreigners for a while?”

      “No, never,” his brother said, grimacing. He began to toy with the gold chain hanging over his large stomach.

      “Foreigners are quite smooth, aren’t they? Too smooth. With so much flattery, even the weather’s got to behave.”

      “They have that many good words for the weather, do they? It’s a little too hot for me.”

      “For me, too,” said Daisuke.

      Then, as if they had timed it, Seigo and Daisuke pulled out their white handkerchiefs and wiped their brows. Both had on heavy silk hats.

      The brothers walked to a shady spot at the edge of the lawn and stopped. No one was around. It seemed that some sort of entertainment was beginning on the other side. Seigo watched it with the same expression he always wore at home. Seeing this, Daisuke thought, if you get to be like my brother, it must not make much difference whether you’re at home or visiting. There probably isn’t anything to look forward to once you get that worldly—how dull it must be.

      “What’s Father doing today?” “Father’s at a poetry meeting.”

      Seigo answered without any change of expression, but Daisuke was somewhat amused.

      “And Umeko?” “Entertaining guests.”

      Thinking that his sister-in-law would complain to him later, Daisuke was again amused.

      Daisuke knew that Seigo always seemed very busy. He also understood that over half his business consisted of attending such gatherings as this. Without a hint of distaste or a word of complaint, his brother wined and dined and chatted with women at all hours. Yet, his appearance never betrayed fatigue and his manner was always unruffled; with almost otherworldly composure, his flesh grew more ample each year. Daisuke could not but admire his capabilities.

      That Seigo could go into geisha houses, accept luncheon invitations, drop in at the Club, see people off at Shimbashi, meet them at Yokohama, run out to Ōiso to humor the elders—that he could put in his appearance at large gatherings from morning to evening without seeming either triumphant or dejected—this must be because he was thoroughly accustomed to this kind of life, thought Daisuke; it was probably like the jellyfish’s floating in the sea and not finding it salty.

      Daisuke was thankful for this; that is to say, his brother, unlike his father, had never yet preached troublesome sermons to him. Such stiff words as principle, doctrine, or philosophy of life never found their way to his lips, and it was difficult to tell whether he even had such beliefs. On the other hand, he had never

Скачать книгу