To the Spring Equinox and Beyond (14 page)

This mysterious-looking, yet actually quite commonplace and exceedingly light bamboo cane, whether set down, held in the hand, or hidden under a sleeve— what use, he wondered, could it ever be in locating that strange person? In this moment of doubt he glanced around the car, his face as blank as that of a person who has just shaken off an attack of ague. He felt ashamed of the efforts he had exerted a short while back with an ardor so impatient that it seemed as if steam had been rising from the very pores of his head. To distract himself from these thoughts, he laid firmer hold of the stick and lightly tapped the streetcar floor with it.

Soon he reached his destination. He hurriedly went back toward Ogawamachi from the carstop near the YMCA building. It was still only about a quarter to four. He crossed to the other side of the street, which was filled with the noise of pedestrians and streetcars, and there found a police box. He stood beside a red mailbox in a pose similar to a policeman's before his station and looked at the thoroughfare running straight south and at another broad street into which the former turned, curving gently left and right at the juncture.

Having thus surveyed the stage on which he was to soon play an active role, Keitaro now began to verify the whereabouts of the streetcar stop.

A dozen yards east of the mailbox he saw a red iron pole with characters in white paint that read "Ogawamachi." If only he stood there and waited, he could at least say on his own behalf that despite the possibility of missing the man in question among these jostling crowds, he had been at his post on time. Having gained this much assurance, he left the marked pole to look at his surroundings.

A porcelain dealer's shop built in the warehouse style was directly behind him. Under the eaves a box in the shape of a framed tablet and containing many small sake cups arranged in rows had been put up. Hanging there was a metal birdcage to the outside of which were tied innumerable porcelain cups for birdseed. Next to this shop was one dealing in leather goods. Its most conspicuous decoration was a large tiger fur with lifelike eyes and genuine claws and a border of red woolen cloth. Keitaro stood gazing at the animal's amber eyes. At the end of a long narrow muffler of snow-white fur was what looked to Keitaro like a small badger's humorous face.

Keitaro pulled out his watch, calculated the time remaining, and then moved on to the next shop, a jeweler's. He peered into the show window where in addition to gold rings and various cuff links he found a brilliant display of such items as a translucent rabbit carved from agate, some square-shaped personal seals made of amethyst,
negake
hair ornaments of green jade, and malachite fasteners.

Glancing into these shops one after another, Keitaro walked along until he had passed the Tenkado department store and came to a cabinetmaker's. At that moment he saw a streetcar which had come from behind him stop short, just opposite the pavement he was walking along.

Thinking there might possibly be another streetcar stop with the same name, he cut across the street and approached a foreign goods store at the corner of a narrow side street. There, written in white on another iron pole were the characters "Ogawamachi," the same as on the previous pole he had seen.

To double-check, he waited at this corner for a few streetcars to pass. The first was for Aoyama, the second for Shinjuku via Kudan. All these cars came straight from Mansei Bridge, so he was reassured that he need not worry the man in the fedora would get off at this stop. But just as Keitaro was retracing his steps to return to his former position on the other side of the street, a streetcar from the south swerved at the corner of Mitoshirocho and stopped near the spot Keitaro was standing at. It was only when he read the word "Sugamo" written in black characters above the motorman's head that he realized for the first time how careless he had been.

A passenger taking a streetcar from Mita through Marunouchi to get off at Ogawamachi would, after passing over Kanda Bridge, find the car turning either to the left and would therefore get off at the stop Keitaro was now standing at, or would find the car turning right and would get off in front of the porcelain shop Keitaro had checked a short while ago. And since each spot with its white sign indicated that the stop was Ogawamachi, Keitaro could not be certain at which of the two his man in the black fedora would alight.

With his eyes he measured the distance between the two red streetcar poles. Not more than a hundred yards. Doubtful of his powers of observation in checking even one place, Keitaro felt that no matter how highly he would have liked to estimate his own resourcefulness, it was absolutely impossible to demand the skill in himself to cover two areas thoroughly even though the distance between them was not great.

The streetcar line that Keitaro usually took from the area in which he lived was the one connecting Hongo to Mita. Not having known until that moment that there was another line that ran from Sugamo through Suidobashi to Mita, he couldn't help regretting his heedlessness. Totally at a loss, he suddenly thought as a last resort of asking Sunaga for help. But already it was seven minutes to four. Although Sunaga's house was on a side street not too far away, Keitaro knew he would not have sufficient time to rush there and make his friend comprehend the situation. Even if he had the time, should the gentleman get off at the stop Sunaga was guarding, Sunaga would then have to inform Keitaro about it somehow or other. A hand raised or the wave of a handkerchief would not be easily recognizable among a dense crowd of people. To make it absolutely certain that Keitaro would get the message, his friend would have to cry out so vehemently that it might startle all the pedestrians along the street. Yet Keitaro couldn't expect the straight-laced Sunaga to do such an eccentric thing even in an extraordinary situation. And even if Sunaga did agree to do it, perhaps the man in the black fedora would have disappeared before Keitaro had run across to Sunaga's station.

Having so reasoned, Keitaro was driven to take his own chances; consequently, he made up his mind to guard only one of the two stops.

Keitaro had made his decision but not without feeling a certain uneasiness, for actually it amounted to no more than remaining lazily where he was while knowingly doing his job without regard to its success. He craned his neck to look again at the stop toward the east. Whether because of its location or the direction it was in or possibly out of his own habit of getting on and off at that stop, it seemed to him much livelier. He felt that the man he was searching for was more likely to get off at that spot.

He considered changing his lookout, but for some time he wavered, hesitant about what to do. Suddenly a streetcar bound for Edogawa dragged to a halt. Having ascertained that no passengers were getting off, the conductor was about to signal the motorman that he should start in less than a minute. Keitaro, who was standing with his back to the alley that runs into Nishikicho, was so lost in thought vacillating between staying where he was or moving to the other stop that he was paying little attention to the car before him.

Just at that moment a man suddenly ran out from the alley, brushed Keitaro aside as he rushed past him, and jumped on the platform the moment the motorman was putting his hand to the handle to start up the car. Before Keitaro had a chance to recover from his surprise, the car had already jerked forward. The man, his body only half through the door, called out, "Sorry!" As the two exchanged glances, Keitaro noticed that the man's final stare was cast toward Keitaro's feet. The moment the other had run against him, he had kicked the walking stick from his hand onto the ground. As Keitaro quickly stooped to pick it up, he noticed that it had fallen with the snakehead toward the east. The shape of the head made him feel that it was a fingerpost.

"So it's better to be at the eastern stop after all."

He hurried back to the porcelain dealer's. He remained there determined to single out the face of every passenger that got off any streetcar marked "Hongo 3-Chome." He scrutinized the first few cars with a glance so fierce that he might have been stalking a parent's murderer. Then, as he regained his composure, he gradually came to feel more confident.

He regarded the plaza within his field of vision as a wide stage and discovered on it three men whose attitude was more or less similar to his own. One of these, a policeman at the police box, was on watch as Keitaro was and was looking in the same direction. Another was a switchman in front of the Tenkado store. The last was a middle-aged man who, in the center of the square, was alternately waving a red flag and a green one as if they were some sort of sacred symbols. Keitaro felt that of all these men, it was he and the policeman, apparently standing in boredom from the point of view of any passer-by, who were actually expecting something to happen at any moment.

Streetcars came one after another and ground to a halt before him. Passengers getting on shoved their way into the congested passageway inside the car, and those getting off bore down imperiously from above. Keitaro saw many a scene of rude struggle enacted by nameless men and women in their gathering and dispersing. But in spite of his long wait, the object of his surveillance, the man in the black fedora, failed to appear. Perhaps he had long since descended at the western stop.

Keitaro felt that it was idiotic to remain standing in one spot scrutinizing these faces uselessly and with such intensity that his eyes were going out of focus. He began to feel that it would have been far more sensible if, instead of spending those two hours in feverish absorption before his boardinghouse desk, he had made sufficient arrangements with Sunaga to assist him in the undertaking. By the time he keenly felt his regret, the sky was gradually losing its light, and the colors of everything in sight began to subside into a dark-bluish shade. Some electric lamps and gaslights started to brighten the glazed shop windows here and there and to disperse the gloom of the winter twilight.

Suddenly he became aware of a young woman standing about six feet from him, her hair done up in a low pompadour. Each time a streetcar let its passengers in and out, he thought he remembered spending the rest of his attention glancing to his left and right. So he was especially surprised by the presence of this woman who had unexpectedly turned up quite near him, the when and where of her arrival a mystery.

She had on a somber-colored coat, its trailing length suitable for a person her age. Keitaro imagined under this the lively colors adorning a young woman's body. She seemed to be standing there trying to conceal these from the world. Even the ornamental neckband of the undergarment she would be dressed in was concealed by a silk scarf. She had on nothing that would attract anyone's attention except for this scarf, whose whiteness emerged all the more conspicuously in the thickening gloom of evening.

Indeed, what struck Keitaro as most prominent about her was this white color, which indicated a tendency to disregard the seasonal fashion. It did not make him feel that he had come upon something strange and incongruous under a cold, darkening sky, but rather gave him an agreeable mood of having found something fresh amid the sooty street. His attention was thus drawn to the area about her neck. Aware of his glancing at her so directly, the woman turned away slightly. But apparently still ill at ease, she had raised her right hand to her ear as if to comb back a stray hair. Since her hair had obviously been perfectly arranged, Keitaro felt that this gesture was quite useless. But the woman's hand exacted his renewed attention.