To the Spring Equinox and Beyond (17 page)

"It's not late at all. We can get there soon enough by streetcar."

That the woman was urging and the man hesitating were obvious to Keitaro, but of where they were arguing about going, the place in question, he had no idea.

Keitaro kept staring at his knife and at a piece of reddish carrot beside it which he had left on his plate, hoping perhaps to be able to locate the place by listening to them a little longer. The woman continued to urge the man to go. Although he warded off each of her attacks with some excuse or other, he was invariably tender in his attitude toward her, careful not to make her angry.

By the time Keitaro's next dish, meat and green peas, was set before him, the woman began to yield. Keitaro had been secretly wanting her to insist on having her own way or the man to eventually give in. To his disappointment, Keitaro found her not resolute enough.

He wished for the chance to at least catch the name of the place they were speaking about—it hadn't been mentioned yet—but now that they were not to go, the subject had to change, and for the time being, he had to resign himself to not knowing.

"Then we don't have to go," the woman began again, "but let me have it instead."

"'It?' What do you mean by 'it'?"

"You know. That thing from the other day."

"I don't have the slightest idea——"

"You really are rude! You know very well!"

Keitaro wanted to turn slightly just to glance at them. At that moment, though, loud footsteps could be heard on the stairs, and a few guests came noisily in. One was a soldier in khaki and long boots. As he walked across the floor, the saber hanging from his belt rattled. The group was shown into the room on the left. Their noise had interrupted the conversation between the man and woman, and Keitaro's curiosity had accordingly been suspended until the light from the glittering sword had subsided.

"You showed it to me the other day. Remember?"

The man did not say whether he had or hadn't. Keitaro of course had no idea what they were talking about. He regretted that the woman had not come out directly with the name of the object she desired to have. Somehow he himself was anxious to know what it was.

"How could I have brought such a thing here with me now?" the man asked.

"No one ever said you had it on you. I'm only asking you to give it to me. The next time."

"If you want it so much, you can have it. But——"

"Wonderful!"

Again Keitaro wanted to look back, wanted to look at the woman's face. And at the same time he wanted to catch a glimpse of the face of the man. But considering that he was sitting in a direct line back to back with her, he had to restrain himself from that rash an act. He merely stared blankly ahead, like a person too embarrassed to know where to turn his eyes. Soon a waiter came up from the kitchen with two white plates, set them before the couple, and took the old ones away.

"It's a little bird. Would you like to try it?"

"Thank you, but I've had enough."

She seemed not to touch the broiled bird. Instead, she moved her unoccupied mouth much more freely than her companion did. Keitaro inferred from their conversation that what the woman had asked for was perhaps a coral or some such stone. Speaking as if he were a connoisseur of these items, the man explained various things to her. But the information could have pleased only a dilettante; Keitaro himself found it neither interesting nor comprehensible. The man told her in detail about ingenious imitations made of paste, fingerprints pressed onto their surfaces to dupe the innocent, but these counterfeits, due to their less smooth feel, could easily be distinguished from the genuine coral imported of old. From the context, Keitaro could make out that she had exacted his promise to give her a very precious and very rare piece, quite an antique and hardly obtainable nowadays.

"Yes, I'll give it to you, but what use will you make of it?"

"What use do
you
make of it? You, a man, having such a thing?"

Presently the man asked, "Would you rather have cake or fruit?"

"Either will do."

This signal of the approaching end of their meal sounded to Keitaro, who had been carried away by their talk, like a sudden reminder of his duties. He had already formed a plan for his actions as the observer of their conduct after dinner. He had known from the first that it would be unwise to go downstairs with them. If he were to leave his seat later than they, he would, even in less time than it takes to smoke a cigarette, certainly lose sight of them in the nighttime darkness and the throng of pedestrians along the pavement. If he wanted to be certain about tagging along behind them, it was absolutely necessary for him to leave first and to wait for them somewhere in the shadows, unseen by the couple. It would be best, then, to settle his bill as soon as possible, so he called the waiter to bring it.

The man and woman were still quietly talking. They no longer had any particular subject to give them an opportunity for an exchange of views or sentiments, so their conversation flowed on like loose clouds blown away one after another.

The woman came out with a comment on that distinguishing mark of the man, the mole between his eyebrows.

"How did you come to have it on that part of your face?"

"It didn't just suddenly appear the other day! It was there when I was born."

"Well . . . it's too bad you have it right there."

"Too bad or otherwise—it can't be helped, since I was born that way."

"You ought to have it removed at the University Hospital."

At these words Keitaro lowered his face so much that he saw his reflection in the fingerbowl water. Placing his hands on his temples as though he were trying to hide them, he chuckled to himself. Just then the waiter brought in Keitaro's change on a small tray. Keitaro rose quietly and stepped unobtrusively to the landing. The waiter standing there announced down the stairs in a loud voice, "Guest leaving!" At that moment Keitaro realized he had forgotten to pick up his walking stick, which he had handed earlier to the waiter. It was where it had been placed, behind the skirt of the woman's long overcoat hanging from the hat rack in the corner of the dining room.

Keitaro stole back, careful not to draw the attention of the man and woman, and quietly withdrew the walking stick. As he put his hand to the snakehead, he felt on the back of his hand the smooth silk lining of the woman's overcoat and the soft wool on the inside. Again he went over to the landing, almost on tiptoe, and there, with a sudden change of pace, stepped rapidly down the stairs.

As soon as he was outside, he crossed the streetcar tracks to the opposite side of the street where there was what looked like a tailor's or a second-hand clothing store. He remained standing in front of the shop, his back toward the light coming from it. In this position he felt certain not to miss the two coming from the restaurant, whether they turned to the right or left or headed toward Renjakucho around the corner from Nakagawa or proceeded directly from the entrance toward Surugadai Slope along the narrow side street. He leaned securely on his cane as he watched the restaurant entrance.

When ten minutes or so had gone by without bringing even the shadow of the persons into the focus of his attentive eye, he began to have doubts. All he could do was look up at the windows on the second floor, the only lighted ones, and peer vainly through, hoping for their early departure. Whenever he turned his wearied eyes away from the restaurant, he looked up at the dark sky spread over the rooftops. He had entirely forgotten the existence of the great night, deluded as he had been by the artificial light shining only on the earth. A cold rain seemed to be threatening in the darkness overhead, and Keitaro felt the lonelier for it. It suddenly occurred to him that while he had been in the restaurant, the couple had taken his presence into account and had thus chatted on ordinary matters, but now that he was fortunately gone, they might have entered into a serious discussion it behooved him to catch. With this doubt in his mind, he looked up at the black sky and saw there the vivid figures of the two persons sitting tete-a-tete.

He regretted his excessive precaution in leaving the restaurant so early. But again he thought that if he had kept rooted to his seat, he would have heard them talking only on ordinary topics, so the result would have been almost the same as leaving early. There was no other way but to endure the cold and maintain his watch from where he now was. The sudden fall of a few raindrops on the brim of his hat made him look up into the black sky again. Overhead all was darkness and, unlike the street with its tram lines where he stood, very quiet. For a long while he kept his face turned upward, expecting rain on his cheeks. While he was thus gazing at the formless dark, his anxiety about the threatening weather left him, and there rose in him instead the sudden wonder of why he had chosen to do such a disquieting job under such a quiet sky. At the same time he fancied that the bamboo walking stick he now held in his hand was responsible for everything. He gripped the inevitable snakehead, and two or three times cut the air with it as if taking revenge on the cold. Just then the shadows of the two persons for whom he had waited so impatiently emerged at the restaurant entrance.

Keitaro's eyes first went to the white scarf around the woman's slender neck. The couple immediately turned into the thoroughfare and, opposite the side Keitaro was on, were about to retrace the way they had come. Keitaro crossed over. The two walked along rather slowly, glancing into each gaily decorated shop front. Behind, Keitaro had considerable difficulty in keeping his pace attuned to their excessively slow steps. The man had an aromatic cigar in his mouth, and as he walked, slightly colored puffs of smoke were exhaled into the night air. When they were wafted behind by the wind, they gave an agreeable stimulus to Keitaro's nose. Sniffing, he patiently traced their slow steps.

The man's height when observed from the rear made him look a little like a Westerner, and the strong odor from his cigar helped somewhat in maintaining the illusion. Then Keitaro's association of ideas transferred itself to the man's companion. He imagined the woman as the foreigner's mistress, her leather gloves a gift from the man. As he secretly amused himself with this fantasy, which he knew was quite unreasonable, the two reached the streetcar stop where they had met. Halting a moment, they soon crossed the tracks to the other side. Keitaro did the same.

Again they went from the corner of Mitoshirocho over to the farther side. Keitaro crossed to the same side. The two walked on toward the south. About fifty yards from the corner was another of those iron poles painted red, next to which they stopped. Realizing for the first time that they were going to head southward by way of the Mita line, Keitaro decided he too should take the same car. Both looked back toward his direction simultaneously. Their action was quite natural because the streetcar would come from that direction. Nevertheless, Keitaro felt ill at ease. He turned up the brim of his hat and pulled it down forcefully. He passed his hand over his face. He went and stood as far back as he could under the eave of a house. He looked around in different directions. These were trying moments for him as he waited impatiently for the streetcar.