To the Spring Equinox and Beyond (16 page)

For the first time Keitaro saw the woman laugh. Earlier he had noticed that one of her characteristic features was a mouth too large, considering how thin her lips were, but now her beautiful teeth and her large black eyes, richly luminous with the upper and lower lashes so close they almost touched one another, gave him an impression of her he hardly expected. More surprised than fascinated by her laughing face, he shifted his glance to her companion.

It was then that Keitaro noticed the black fedora on the man's head. He could not see whether the man's cloak was salt-and-pepper or not, but it had the same dark sheen as the hat. Furthermore, the man was tall, and thin as well, but Keitaro had a difficult time discerning how old he was. He concluded, though, that since the newcomer was obviously far more advanced in life than he himself was, he must be over forty.

As he rapidly and haphazardly took in these characteristics, he was forced to conclude that this man who had just gotten off the streetcar was the one he had exhausted himself in looking for so foolishly. He thought it fortunate that although the stated time interval had long since elapsed, he had, due to a strange whim, loitered in the same place. Indeed, he felt grateful to the young woman for happening to be there to arouse his curiosity, and he counted it a piece of good fortune that she had been twice as confident and patient as he had been in waiting to the last for this very man he himself had been searching for. He believed that not only would he be able to supply Taguchi with some information about the man x; at the same time his own curiosity about the woman
y
would be somewhat satisfied by this same information.

The two stood talking to each other, paying no heed to their surroundings and apparently quite unaware of Keitaro's presence. The woman continued to smile. Occasionally the man burst into laughter. Judging by their way of greeting, it was obvious that they knew one another quite well. Keitaro could find none of that courtesy between a polite man and a polite woman which seems to join them, but which in fact serves to separate them. The man had not even taken the trouble to touch the brim of his hat. Keitaro was anxious to come face to face with him to verify the mole, which had to be under the hat's brim. Had the woman not been present, he might have walked straight up to the man and asked anything that came to mind, merely to ascertain the presence of the strange mark. If this were going too far, he would have at least come near enough to stare into the man's face to satisfy himself.

It was the woman standing before the man that barred Keitaro from such a bold undertaking. Apart from the question of whether or not she was ill-disposed toward Keitaro, he had definitely perceived that she had been suspicious of him during the long period that he had been standing at the same spot alongside her. If, knowing she was, he should intrude into her sight again, it would not only be an ungentlemanly act, but would set even greater fire to those suspicions and thus mar his own objective.

With these thoughts in mind Keitaro concluded that he had better delay examining whether the man had a mole or not until an opportunity under more natural circumstances eventually offered itself. He decided, therefore, to follow the two at a distance and if possible overhear fragments of their talk. He did not deem it necessary to consult his own conscience regarding the morality of his taking note of their conversation and actions without their consent. He simply believed that Taguchi, as a man of the world, would certainly make well-intentioned use of the results of these efforts.

It looked now as if the man was inviting the woman somewhere and the woman, laughing, was refusing. They had been standing half-facing one another, but finally they began walking shoulder to shoulder toward the porcelain shop. From there they walked on eastward, so close that it was almost as if they were arm in arm. Keitaro quickened his pace for several yards, and when he came just behind them, he adjusted his step to theirs. In case she looked back, he would avoid suspicion by not setting his glance directly at them, but would walk on with his eyes deliberately turned elsewhere, as if he were a casual pedestrian who happened to be going along the same direction on a public thoroughfare.

"That was really something! Keeping a person waiting so long."

This was the first of her speech that reached Keitaro, yet he could catch nothing of her companion's reply. Then after several yards their pace suddenly lost its briskness, and their two silhouettes were so close to him that they barred his progress. If he didn't pass them soon, he was going to bump up against them from behind. Fearing they might turn back, he whisked himself off to the front of a confectionary shop that happened to be located there. He waited for the couple to move on, pretending he was looking at a glass jar filled with cookies.

The man seemed to be putting his hand inside his cloak and then, turning a little to the side, looking down at an object which he held in his right hand and which he brought toward the light of the shop. Keitaro saw that the glittering thing under the man's scrutiny was a gold watch.

"It's only six. It's not that late."

"It is late if it's six. I was just about to go home."

"I'm really sorry."

Again the two started walking. Keitaro abandoned his cookie jar and followed. They proceeded to Awajicho and then turned into a narrow side street leading to the foot of Surugadai Slope. Keitaro was turning too when he saw them enter a foreign-style restaurant at the corner of the street. He caught a glimpse of the profile of the man and woman in the strong light streaming from the entrance.

Keitaro had had no idea where the two were going when they had left the streetcar stop. But now that he had found them suddenly entering this establishment, he could not help feeling it all the more beyond his expectations that their rendezvous was turning out to be at such an ordinary place.

The restaurant, the Takaratei, had recently been rebuilt. It was known to Keitaro as a place that had been catering to his university for many years. Often passing it, he had noticed its newly painted facade, half of it facing the streetcar line, the other half with its gable cutting obliquely toward the south. And he remembered those occasions in which he had vigorously wielded his own knife and fork as he sat under a framed picture advertising Munich Beer in a room whose outside walls were painted a glossy pale blue color. To Keitaro, who had no clear expectation of where the two would go, but who had trailed them under the vague impression that he might himself be drawn into some maze enshrouded in purplish hues, it all seemed too commonplace, this foreign-style restaurant whose kitchen poured forth even onto the street the strong smell of potatoes and meat frying in oil. But then he thought that having them penned within this common restaurant accessible to anyone was safer and far more convenient for him than it would have been had they hidden themselves never to appear again in a place far too elegant and mysterious for him to enter. Fortunately, he had enough money in his wallet to appease his appetite, made keen by the winter air, at a place of this class.

He had intended to go directly up to the second floor after them, but when he came to the entrance with its strong light cast onto the street, it suddenly occurred to him that since his face was already known to the woman, it would be unwise to thrust himself almost simultaneously into the same room, thus possibly arousing her suspicions that he had been following her. Assuming the casual look of a pedestrian, he stepped across the light thrown on the street and continued walking down the dark, narrow lane about a hundred yards until it came to an end at the foot of the slope. From there he retraced his steps stealthily, almost as if his own shadow were folded back into his body. He returned to the lighted entrance and went in.

As he had been there several times, the interior he knew. There were no rooms for guests downstairs. Meals were served on the second and third floors, but the latter was only used on the few occasions when there were too many diners. He felt certain he would find the two of them either in the dining hall on the left near the landing or in the one to the right farther down. If they were not in either of these rooms, he would even dare to open the door of the long and narrow room in front. With such thoughts in mind as he was about to head upstairs, he saw a waiter in a white uniform standing at the foot of the stairway, ready to show him into a dining room.

Since Keitaro was still carrying his walking stick when he arrived at the top of the stairs, the waiter took it from him before showing him to his seat. "This way please," said the waiter, leading him into the dining room on the right. Keitaro watched where the waiter was putting the cane. Hanging in the same place was the black fedora he had noticed some time ago, and there as well were what looked to be a salt-and-pepper cloak and an overcoat the same color as the woman's. As the waiter pushed the bottom of the coat aside to put in the bamboo stick, the coat's silk lining with its large patterns caught Keitaro's eye. When the head of the snake had vanished behind the coat, Keitaro allowed his eyes to drift to its owner.

Fortunately, her back was toward the entrance as she faced the man she was sitting with. Realizing that a woman who hears a newcomer enter a room may feel like turning around except that the fear of losing her dignity will keep her from doing so (unless the action is absolutely necessary), Keitaro felt momentarily relieved as he observed her back. And exactly as he had calculated, the woman did not turn. He proceeded near her table and was about to sit in the row next to theirs, right behind her, back to back. At that moment the man lifted his face and looked at Keitaro, who had not yet turned to seat himself. The man's table was decorated with a bonsai, a pine and a plum tree in a Chinese-style pot. A dish of soup was before the man. Without lifting his soup spoon from the dish, he exchanged a glance with the newcomer. The distance between the two of them, less than six feet, was lit up by electric lamps whose brilliance was further heightened by the white tablecloths all around them. Under such favorable conditions, Keitaro looked at the man's face to his heart's content. He recognized exactly as Taguchi had described to him the large mole between the man's eyebrows.

Except for the mole, Keitaro noticed nothing remarkable in any of the man's features. The eyes, nose, and mouth, when seen separately, were each common enough, yet when these were put together, each occupying its position on the man's longish face, it was evident to anyone that the face possessed the dignity of a gentleman. When the man's eyes met Keitaro's and he stopped the movement of the spoon in his dish, Keitaro was given the impression that there was something noble in the other's bearing. After he sat down with his back to the man, he thus began to reflect upon what was usually meant by the word "spy." It seemed to him that there was nothing in this gentleman's manner or physiognomy that justified his being spied upon. When each of his features were taken into account individually, Keitaro felt them too commonplace to conceal any secrets. By the time he had settled down in his seat at the table, he felt disappointed, as if a third of the interest in this task entrusted to him by Taguchi had evaporated. He began to have renewed doubts about whether it was morally right to have accepted such a job.

After giving his order, Keitaro looked as if he were in a daze, his hands not even touching the bread before him. The man and woman had stopped speaking for a while, perhaps in modest consideration of the new guest seated near them. But by the time a white dish warmed for serving soup was set before Keitaro, they seemed to have recovered their mood, and Keitaro heard their resumed dialogue.

"No, I can't tonight. I've got something to do."

"What?"

"Well, something important. It's not something you can easily talk about."

"Then don't. I know exactly what it is. As if keeping a person waiting so rudely wasn't enough!" She seemed to be pouting.

The man, perhaps conscious of the people around them, broke into a low laugh, and their conversation subsided.

The male voice then said fitfully, "Anyway, it's too late now. Let's go some other time."