Yoshihiro got up with badly disguised reluctance, and she immediately steered him away to a corner table.
“Who is she?” Etsuko asked.
“Mrs. Araki, wife of the professor in charge of management studies. And she’s in charge of the professor . . .” Kawaji sighed. “She has a dangerously sharp tongue, and lately she’s developed a new hobby—men much younger than herself.”
“Do you think she’s got her eyes on Mr. Tsukamoto?”
“Probably, as on dozens of others, but I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. She wouldn’t get to first base with Tsukamoto—he’s too upright for this sort of hanky-panky. He’s also smart enough to look after himself. He might act dumb at times, but I can assure you he’s got a very good brain. Actually, he’s far too good for Chiyoda University. Until last year he held a lecturer’s post at Kyoraku University.”
Kawaji suddenly fell silent, as if realizing he had said too much.
Etsuko began wondering. It mightn’t be fair to subject universities to an arbitrary classification, but there was no denying the fact they did vary a great deal in quality, ranging from top grade down to what was sometimes described as a ‘station lunch university.’ And in this respect Kyoraku University was definitely a grade or two above Chiyoda.
The movement of staff between tertiary institutions didn’t always run to a set pattern. There were quite a few examples of tutors from a top-class university going to a lecturer’s post at a second-class university. But it did seem rather strange that a lecturer from Kyoraku should move to Chiyoda at the same level.
Of course, Yoshihiro might have been offered some special incentive, Etsuko thought. There might be a difference in the waiting period for promotion. If he had been promised promotion from lecturer to senior lecturer after a fixed period of service, he might have decided to sacrifice academic pride for financial gain.
But she also realized that scholars were extremely jealous of their professional reputation. Furthermore, there was a great difference between first, second and third class universities in the research facilities they provided. Therefore it was common for academic staff in a top grade institution to remain there, even if it meant a longer wait for promotion.
If there was an acceptable reason for Yoshihiro’s move to Chiyoda, then Kawaji must know about it. And if that was so, there had been no need for him to shut up in panic when the conversation touched on the subject . . . Was there something sinister in Yoshihiro’s past? Had he run into some kind of trouble at Kyoraku University?
As she kept thinking about this, Etsuko became conscious of a growing tension in her temples. But the moment she saw Yoshihiro return to their table she managed to push her doubts out of her mind. Was she becoming hypersensitive about anything concerning him—because she was falling in love with him?
Kawaji watched Mrs. Araki float out of the shop, then turned to Yoshihiro. “I told Miss Ogata about her.”
“Did you?” Yoshihiro grinned painfully. “She’s a menace.”
Kawaji fixed his eyes on his watch, and said, “Anyway, you should get married as soon as possible.” Then he looked up, as if startled by his own words, and sheepishly added, “But what right do I have to suggest such a thing?”
They all began to laugh, rather half-heartedly, and Kawaji said, “Now I really must go. Please excuse me, will you?”
From then on their evening followed the usual pattern. Dinner at a quiet restaurant, watching a French musical comedy at the Sukara, strolling through the theatre district, and then a cup of tea—they trod the same path as tens of thousands of other young couples. And then the unexpected happened.
They were sitting in the upstairs tea room of the Amando, a European-style confectionery near Yuraucho station in Asahi Street. Yoshihiro was talking idly about unimportant things.
Listening to his warm, well modulated voice, Etsuko was as close to being completely happy as she had been for a long time. Mrs. Araki’s unexpected appearance at the Pensées and Kawaji’s disturbing words didn’t bother her anymore. She watched him stroke his chin with those light fingers that promised her so much pleasure, and she remembered him holding her hand in the theatre, his presence pouring into her senses.
She didn’t want to interrupt him—wanted to be with him for just five more minutes, though it was getting late. The only disturbing element was the problem of having to find another excuse when she got home. If her father found out she had been out with a man other than Higuchi, he’d be furious . . .
Then somebody screamed somewhere, and suddenly the street outside was noisy with voices. People around them in the tea room started shouting, too.
“Fire! Let’s get out of here! Fire!”
In a moment pandemonium broke out. The customers grabbed their belongings and rushed toward the staircase, all at the same time. The shouting outside grew more violent. The heat and smoke and a crackling noise suggested the fire had now reached the shop.
“Yoshihiro!” she cried out in terror, looking at his face which to her seemed more frightful than the fire itself. He was on his feet but rooted to the ground, his hands at his throat, pulling off his tie and tearing at the white collar of his shirt. And despite the thickening smoke, she could clearly see an ugly red scar around the base of his neck.
His eyes were wide open but vacant. The color of his lips had changed to purple, and he was trembling, as if about to go into a fit.
“Yoshihiro!” She grabbed him by the arms and frantically began to shake him.
This seemed to work. Slowly he came back to his senses and looked at her, sucking at the smoky air, his eyes running. “Etsuko,” he said vaguely, almost as if surprised to find her there. Then the reality of the situation suddenly struck home, and he began to drag her toward the stairs.
For some time afterward Etsuko felt as if she had been drained of all emotion. She just stood there on the footpath beside him and numbly watched the fire engines arrive and start fighting the blaze, hindered by the milling crowd around them. Then the roof of the building they had just left suddenly exploded, and multicolored flames leapt toward the black sky.
She looked at Yoshihiro and noticed that his eyes were fixed, unblinking, on the column of fire. There was something of that previous vacant expression on his face, and his hands were again fumbling at his throat.
It was obvious to her he must have been through some dreadful experience concerning fires sometime in the past. His reaction to the first shouting of the word ‘fire’ had been extraordinary—he had become almost paralyzed with fear. And he had this red scar around his neck. Was his whole body like that? Had he been terribly burnt all over? That occasional twitch in his cheek—was that a legacy of plastic surgery?
Etsuko decided it was simply a case of pyrophobia. There must be many people like him, just as others suffered from hydrophobia, or claustrophobia. At least the morbid fear of fire, if caused by an unfortunate personal experience, was easier to understand than the dreading of water or confined spaces . . .
Gently she called his name again. He turned toward her slowly, and his tortured face broke into an embarrassed smile.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I must have been acting strangely . . . I have some shocking memories about fires. One day I’ll tell you about it . . .”
His words sounded quite normal but contrasted strongly with what he did next. He embraced her roughly and held her very tight, paying no attention to other people around them. He gave the impression of being afraid she might run away if he let her go.
Enduring him helplessly, she was swept by compassion mixed with fear, until she was trembling in his arms.
Meanwhile, the fire was brought under control and the crowd began to disperse. A drunk made some vulgar comments as he tottered past them.
Then at last Yoshihiro released his iron grip on her. Silently they began to walk toward th
e station.
When she got home that night, Etsuko was still confused. She was aware of a gentle, slow-burning affection for him taking hold of her. That feeling of emptiness she had dreaded so much over the past year was completely gone when she was with Yoshihiro.
On the other hand, she couldn’t help being frightened. What was that strange mist clinging so persistently to that lonely figure?
His relative Watanabe, his unexplained transfer to Chiyoda University, and tonight’s incident at the fire—all these things might well be trifles hardly worth worrying about. Her fears could be completely groundless. But then why, after getting to know each other to this extent, had Yoshihiro said nothing about his transfer and made only the briefest of comments on Watanabe and his own reaction to fires? What on earth had he been through? And why didn’t he tell her frankly about it?
She sat up in bed nervously and stared at the yellow flower pattern on the quilted cover. And then she realized that she herself was afraid of knowing the truth. That was why she didn’t have the courage to put these questions to him point-blank.
But one thing was perfectly clear to her—Yoshihiro needed her. She felt it in her bones—especially now, after her experience with him at the fire—that at present she was the only comfort in his life. He needed the reassurance of her feminine warmth and softness, her accommodating gentleness . . . And she herself desperately needed to be needed by someone like him . . .
3
On Sunday morning, December 13, Etsuko was getting ready to go for a drive with Yoshihiro.
He had invited her on their last date four days earlier. “Next Sunday I’m going with friends on a car trip around Ashinoko. We may try a wild boar dish on the way back. Would you like to come?”
She hesitated for a moment, and he talked on awkwardly. “As a driver I’m quite hopeless, but my friends have their own car. While I was in the United States, I once thought of taking some driving lessons. But over there everybody has his own car, so I decided it was quicker and easier to ask for a lift whenever I had to go somewhere. It was the lazy way out, I know, and now I’m still as bad as ever . . . Incidentally, have you ever tasted wild boar meat?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then you should come and try it. Some people wince at the very mention of it, but actually it’s quite tasty. Other meats usually get tough when grilled too long, but this is just the opposite. The longer you grill it the more tender it gets.”
“But if you’re going to spend the day with your friends, wouldn’t I be in the way?”
“No, not at all! Actually, your company will make things much easier for me. Those two have only been married about six months—since last May, I think. I just couldn’t bear being exposed to their sweet mood all day.”
“Who are they, anyway?”
“The husband is Shoichi Koike, a lawyer like your father. He’s been a close friend of ours—I mean my brother and I—since childhood. I wanted to introduce him to you one day in any case.”
“You have a brother?”
Yoshihiro looked at her unbelievingly. “Haven’t I ever mentioned my brother, Nobumasa? Well I never . . . I’m sorry. He’s two years older than me. He works in the chemical research laboratories of Toho Kasei—wrestling with those tortoise-shaped cores all the year round.”
“Must be exciting . . . And what about other members of your family?”
An almost invisible shadow passed over his face. “My parents died a long time ago . . . My younger brother died late last year.”
“Oh.” Etsuko sighed as if in sympathy, but actually in relief. His elder brother was a research chemist with a big company, and he himself was a university lecturer. There was nothing there to be ashamed of, she thought. Everybody should be able to see he came from a talented family of considerable standing. The reason for not telling her anything about his people so far was simply that there hadn’t been a suitable opportunity, and he was too modest to brag about it out of place . . .
She no longer had any doubts about the invitation. In fact, she was eager to accept it.
To think I’ve had my nerves on edge for weeks over this—I must have been out of my mind. Etsuko smiled as she now looked at her face in the mirror, touching up her make-up for the second time. Mr. and Mrs. Koike were picking them up at Yoshihiro’s apartment at half past nine, and she had promised to be there a few minutes early.
Then she saw her mother’s face in the mirror. It could have been the angle of the light—the face looked delicately pale. A little startled, Etsuko turned around, but her mother’s voice was the same as usual.
“Are you going out, Etsu?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m going for a drive.”
“With Mr. Higuchi, I suppose?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Ogata paused for a moment, looking at her daughter with motherly concern. Then she said, “Your father has been anxious about your progress with Mr. Higuchi. You don’t tell us anything of your dates with him when you come home.”
Etsuko cast her eyes down. “Mother, I—”
“Lately a Mr. Tsukamoto has been asking for you on the phone every now and then. Would you mind telling me who he is?”
“He’s a lecturer in economics at Chiyoda University, specializing in business management studies. I got acquainted with him by accident, but he’s not the type of person you’d have to worry about.”
“Well, then it’s all right, I suppose . . . But why haven’t you told me anything about him before this? I realize you’re no longer a child—you don’t have to tell your parents everything. But I’m still your mother, and quite frankly, these days I start worrying about you without any special reason whenever I look at you.”
Etsuko felt like seizing this opportunity to tell her mother the whole story and then enlist her support. But even if she did that, she still couldn’t be sure of her father’s attitude, and at this stage she wasn’t even sure of her own attitude toward Yoshihiro. Besides, she had to leave in a few minutes. Right now she just didn’t have the time to explain it all.
“Look, mother,” she said, “I’m quite sure of what I’m doing. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but that was how the words came out.
Mrs. Ogata took a deep breath and said, “Until now you’ve never told us a lie, have you, Estu?”
“A lie?”
“Yes. Mr. Higuchi is supposed to be going to a wedding reception today with your father. Or are you saying you’re meeting him beforehand?”
“But mother . . .” Even the make-up couldn’t hide her pallor now. “How could you trick me like that?”
“I haven’t been married thirty years to a lawyer for nothing.”
“Mother, I don’t think I like you.”
“Please don’t misunderstand me, Etsu. All I want is seeing you happily married.”
“I don’t want to listen to you! Just leave me alone!” She grabbed her handbag and rushed out of the room. Her eyes were filled with tears as she put on her shoes in the entry. It was the first time she had ever spoken to her mother like this.
She felt quite sure if she firmly told her parents she didn’t want to marry Higuchi, they wouldn’t try to force her. And if she could find another respectable man, they would accept him . . .
No one had to be ashamed to see his daughter marry a university lecturer, and her father had always been very fond of her. He was unlikely to insist she should marry a lawyer at any cost. But she couldn’t help feeling he would object to Yoshihiro . . .
Until a short while ago her day had been radiant with anticipation, but now the morning no longer looked bright to her. As she headed for Yoshihiro’s apartment her heart was weighed down with misery.
She was about to press the button on the doorbell when her finger sprang back, as if it had touched live wire. S
he heard voices, coming sharply and violently from inside.
You can say what you like, but when they find out about it—
Stop talking rubbish!
The last three angry words belonged to Yoshihiro.
Etsuko didn’t want to eavesdrop. She walked to the stairwell side of the hallway and leaned against the railing. As the indistinguishable din of the argument kept filtering through to her, she just stood there, filled with apprehension. Why was Yoshihiro so furious? Whom was he arguing with?
Suddenly the door was flung open and a man marched out with shoulders raised, hands in pockets. It was Watanabe, Yoshihiro’s relative.
He looked at her, his mouth spreading in a slow grin. “Aah, I see,” he said. He turned his head and threw a caustic glance at Yoshihiro who had just appeared in the doorway. “I thought you were acting like a racehorse just before the barrier rise. Now I—”
“That’s enough! Get out of here before I throw you out!”
“Okay, okay—I’ll try again some other time . . .” His eyes worked over Etsuko’s body and stopped on her belly. “What’s that saying about the man who tried to squeeze in between two lovers?” He gave a lewd cackle and was off, taking two steps at a time on the way down.
With a hang-dog look on his face, Yoshihiro asked Etsuko to come inside.
“Whenever you visit me I manage to have an ugly scene put on for your entertainment.” He spoke with bitter self-scorn. “Aren’t you getting sick of it all? Haven’t you had enough of me yet?”
“No, but . . .” She couldn’t hold back her tears. The moment she was in his arms, feeling his tense body, her pent-up emotions breached her self-control and gushed freely out of her. “But why can’t you get rid of this awful man, even if he is your relative?” she asked with sobs in her voice.
Yoshihiro bit his lip and stared at a corner of the ceiling with vacant eyes. “Yes,” he said gloomily, “that’s what everybody would expect me to do. And to be quite frank, there are certain things about him I can’t tolerate. But the fact is, I owe my life to him.”
Honeymoon to Nowhere Page 4