Daisuke stopped at two or three haberdashers, equipping himself with a few necessities. Among them was a comparatively expensive bottle of perfume. When he tried to buy toothpaste at the Shiseidō, a young clerk kept pressing a homemade product on him in spite of his protests. Daisuke finally left the store frowning. Carrying the paper packages under his arm, he walked to the periphery of Ginza, and from there went around to Daikongashi, where he crossed the Kajibashi Bridge in the direction of Marunouchi. As he walked aimlessly westward, he ended up thinking that even this could be called a simple trip. He became tired and looked for a ricksha, but none was to be found, and he finally had to take the streetcar home.
When he got back, he found shoes that looked like Seitarō’s neatly arranged in the entranceway. He asked Kadono about it and Kadono answered yes, that was right, Seitarō had been waiting for some time. Daisuke went immediately to the study. Seitarō had settled himself in Daisuke’s big chair and was reading an account of Alaskan explorations. Some buckwheat cakes and a tea tray had been placed side by side on the Western table.
“What’s this, Seitarō, coming over when I’m out and feasting yourself, eh?” Seitarō laughed and stuffed the Alaskan explorations in his pocket, then left the seat.
“If you want to stay there, go ahead.” But Seitarō would not listen. As usual, Daisuke began teasing him. Seitarō knew the number of times Daisuke had yawned at the Kabukiza the other day. And he posed the same question as before: “When are you going to get married, Uncle?”
Seitarō had come on an errand for his father. The message was for him to come by eleven o’clock on the following morning. Daisuke found it annoying to be at his father’s and brother’s beck and call. He turned to Seitarō and said, half-angrily, “What is this! It’s terrible, just calling a person over without even telling him what it’s about.” Seitarō continued to grin. Daisuke shifted the conversation in another direction. Their principal topic was the results of the previous day’s sumō matches listed in the newspaper.
Daisuke urged Seitarō to stay for dinner but he declined, saying he had to prepare for school, and went home. Before he left, he asked, “Then you’re not coming tomorrow, Uncle?”
Pressed for an answer, Daisuke said, “Hm, I don’t know. Would you tell them at home that your uncle might be going on a trip?”
When Seitarō asked “When?” Daisuke answered, today or tomorrow. Seitarō accepted this and went to the entranceway, but as he stopped to put on his shoes, he looked up at Daisuke and asked, “Where are you going, Uncle?”
“Where? How would I know? I’ll just go somewhere.” Seitarō grinned and stepped out.
Daisuke intended to set out that very night and had Kadono bring out his Gladstone bag. He stuffed it with a few personal things. Kadono, who had been eyeing the bag with more than a little curiosity, said, still standing, “Shall I help with anything?”
“No, this is nothing,” he declined, and pulling out the bottle of perfume he had already packed away, he tore off the wrappings, removed the stopper, and put it to his nose.
Kadono stalked back to his own room. In two or three minutes he came back with, “Should I be ordering the ricksha then, Sensei?”
Daisuke put the Gladstone bag before him and looked up. “Well, why don’t you wait a while.”
When he looked at the garden, he saw that daylight still hovered faintly over the Chinese hawthorn hedge. As he peered out, Daisuke thought that in thirty minutes he would have chosen a destination. He intended to take the first train that left at a convenient hour, get off wherever it took him, and make that place his home until the following day. There he would wait for a new fate to sweep him off. His travel funds were, of course, inadequate. If he were to stay at places suited to his style, they would last no more than a week. But Daisuke was unmindful of such details. If worse came to worst, he would send home for money. Besides, since his original purpose was to get a change of air, he was determined not to place the emphasis on luxury. If the mood seized him, he was even prepared to hire a baggage carrier and walk all day.
He opened the travel guide again and began to pour laboriously over the fine print, but before he could come any closer to a decision, his mind slipped off to Michiyo. It occurred to him that he might see how she was once more before leaving Tokyo. He decided that he could take care of packing the bag that night—as long as the plans could be carried out the next day, it would be all right. He hurried out to the entrance. Hearing his footsteps, Kadono came dashing out. Daisuke, still in his ordinary clothes, was taking his hat from the hook.
“Are you going out again? Is it shopping? I’d be glad to do it if I can,” said Kadono, surprised.
Daisuke simply declared, “The trip’s off for tonight,” and went out. It was already dark. The stars seemed to add their light one by one to the beautiful sky. A pleasant wind blew at his sleeve. But Daisuke, who had strode swiftly on his long legs, had not gone two or three hundred yards before he felt sweat at his brow. He took his hat off and let the night dewfall on his black head, from time to time swinging his hat as he walked.
When he came to Hiraoka’s neighborhood, dark, human shadows flitted about softly like bats. Lamplight filtered through a crack in the shabby wooden wall onto the street. Michiyo was reading a newspaper by the light. Asked if she always read the paper at that hour, she answered that it was her second time.
“You have that much time on your hands?” Daisuke moved his cushion to the threshold, and with his body half hanging over the verandah, leaned against the shoji.
Hiraoka was absent. Michiyo said she had just come from the bath and had a fan beside her. With a slight tinge of color in her usually pale cheeks, she said he should be back soon, so wouldn’t Daisuke stay, and went to the morning room to prepare tea. Her hair was done in Western style.
Hiraoka did not come soon as Michiyo had said. Asked if he was always this late, she smiled and said it was about like this. Daisuke detected a hint of sadness in her smile and redirected his intent gaze on her face. Michiyo suddenly picked up the fan and began fanning at her sleeve.
Daisuke was concerned about Hiraoka’s finances. He tried asking straightforwardly, they must no longer be troubled for living expenses these days? Michiyo said, well, and smiled as she had before. Since Daisuke did not respond immediately, she asked in turn, “Does it look that way to you?’’ Then she tossed the fan aside and spread her beautiful, slender, freshly bathed fingers to show Daisuke. The fingers wore neither the ring Daisuke had given her nor any other ring. Daisuke, who had always kept the image of his keepsake in his heart, understood her meaning. As she withdrew her hands, Michiyo’s face became flushed. “It can’t be helped, so please forgive me,” she said. Daisuke felt mournful.
That night Daisuke left Hiraoka’s house about nine o’clock. Before he left, he took what was in his wallet and handed it to Michiyo. That had taken some quick calculating on his part. First, he had casually opened the wallet in the folds of his kimono, and without even counting the bills inside, thrust them carelessly in front of Michiyo with the words that he was giving them to her and she was to use them.
Michiyo said in a low voice, as if from concern over the maid, “Oh, no, you mustn’t,” and put both hands against her body. But Daisuke would not withdraw his hand.
“If you could accept the ring, then you can accept this. It amounts to the same thing. Think of it as a paper ring and take it.”
Daisuke said these words with a smile. But Michiyo still hesitated, saying it was too much. Daisuke asked if Hiraoka would scold if he found out. Michiyo did not know if he would scold or approve, so she continued to hesitate. Daisuke advised that if there was a chance that he would scold, then she should say nothing to him. Still, Michiyo would not put out her hand. Daisuke of course could not withdraw what he had extended. Finally, he had no choice but to lean over slightly and reach his palm toward
Michiyo’s bosom. At the same time, he brought his face to within a foot of hers and said in a low, firm tone, “It’s all right, go ahead and take it.” Michiyo drew back, almost burying her chin in her collar, and without a word, put out her right hand. The bills fell onto it. At that moment, Michiyo beat her long lashes together two or three times. Then she slipped into her obi what her hand had caught.
“I’ll come again. Give my regards to Hiraoka,” said Daisuke and went outside. When he had crossed the block and entered a small lane, it had turned quite dark. He cut through the dark night feeling as if he had seen a beautiful dream. In less than thirty minutes he arrived at his own gate. But he did not feel like going in. Crowned by the stars high above, he wandered through the quiet residential neighborhood. He felt that he would not tire even if he walked like this until early morning. Eventually, he came back to his own gate. All was quiet inside. Kadono and the old woman seemed to have been gossiping in the morning room.
“It’s quite late, Sensei. What train will you be taking tomorrow?” The question came as soon as he was in the entranceway.
Smiling, Daisuke answered, “It’s off for tomorrow, too,” and went into his room. His bed had already been laid out. Daisuke took the perfume he had opened earlier and put one drop on his stuffed pillow. Not satisfied with that, he went to the four corners of the room, bottle in hand, and sprinkled one or two drops in each spot. Having thus indulged himself, he changed into a white cotton kimono and peacefully reclined his limbs beneath a light, new comforter. He fell into a rose-scented sleep.
When he awoke, the sun had climbed high and was sending golden vibrations onto the verandah. At his pillow were two neatly folded newspapers. Daisuke had no idea when Kadono had opened the shutters or brought in the newspapers. With one long stretch, he sat up. While he was scrubbing in the bath, Kadono came in, looking somewhat disconcerted. “Your brother has come from Aoyama.” Daisuke answered to the effect that he would be with him shortly, and dried himself with care. The living room would scarcely have been cleaned, but Daisuke saw no point in his running out, so he took his time and parted his hair and shaved as usual before sauntering into the morning room. Once there, however, he could not bring himself to linger over the breakfast table. He sipped a cup of tea on his feet, rubbed a towel over his mustache, flung it away, and went into the parlor, where he greeted his brother. As usual, his brother had between his fingers a dark cigar that had gone out; he was calmly reading one of Daisuke’s newspapers. As soon as he saw Daisuke’s face, he asked, “It smells awfully good in this room. Is it your head?”
“It was like this before my head came in, wasn’t it?” he answered, and told him about last night’s perfume.
“You’re getting pretty stylish, aren’t you,” his brother said calmly. Seigo seldom came to Daisuke’s. On the rare occasions when he did, it was always because some business had brought him. As soon as that was settled, he left. Daisuke was sure that something had come up today, too. He imagined that it was because he had sent Seitarō away with careless excuses the night before. After five or six minutes of small talk, his brother finally came out and said; “Last night Seitarō came home and said you were going on a trip today—that’s why I came over.”
“Yes, I was planning to leave around six this morning.” Daisuke delivered what amounted to a lie with perfect composure.
His brother, also looking serious, said, “If you were the sort who could get up early enough to leave at six, I wouldn’t have come running all the way over from Aoyama at this hour.” As Daisuke had anticipated, Seigo’s business turned out to be nothing more than a part of the campaign now being launched against him. That is to say, plans had been made to invite Takagi and Sagawa’s daughter to a luncheon that day, and it was their father’s orders that Daisuke attend. From what his brother had to say, their father had been mightily displeased when he heard Seitarō’s story last night. A worried Umeko had said she would go see Daisuke before he left and make him postpone his trip. Seigo, however, had restrained her by saying, “You don’t think that fellow would set out tonight! He’s probably sitting in front of his bag right now thinking. Wait till tomorrow, he’s sure to come over even if we leave him alone—that’s how I reassured her.” Seigo was as calm as ever.
Daisuke became a little provoked and said, “Then why didn’t you leave me alone and wait and see?”
“Women are such impatient creatures—the minute she got up this morning, she started nagging me, saying we were responsible to Father.” Seigo did not look amused. In fact, he was staring somewhat resentfully at Daisuke. Daisuke would not say definitely whether or not he would go. But he did not have the courage to send his brother off with the same vague excuses he had used on Seitarō. Besides, even if he were to refuse to attend the luncheon and set out on a trip instead, he could no longer count on his own purse. He was now in a corner from which he could not stir without appealing to his brother or his sister-in-law or even his father—in short, one of the opposition. So he launched into a noncommittal appraisal of Takagi and Sagawa’s daughter. He had only seen Takagi once before, about ten years ago, but strangely enough, he somehow seemed familiar, and when he spotted him at the Kabukiza the other day, he had tried to think who it was. On the other hand, he had only recently held a photograph of Sagawa’s daughter in his hand, but even with the actual person before him, he had made no connection. Photographs were curious things; if one knew the person and then saw a photograph, it was easy to tell who it was, but the opposite—to guess the person from a photograph—was quite difficult. To put it philosophically, it came down to the impossibility of producing life from death, although for life to turn into death was only a natural progression. “That’s what I thought,’’ said Daisuke.
His brother agreed but did not seem particularly impressed. He carelessly shifted his cigar in his mouth; it had grown so short that it was on the verge of lighting his mustache. Then he asked, “You don’t necessarily have to go on a trip today, do you?”
Daisuke had no choice but to answer that he did not. “Then you can come and eat with us today, can’t you?” Again, Daisuke could not help assenting.
“In that case, I have to stop by a few places now, so you be sure to come, all right?” He seemed to be in as much of a hurry as ever. Now that he had resigned himself, Daisuke felt that he did not care what happened and so answered as his brother would have wanted.
“How about it, anyway? Don’t you feel like marrying that girl? It wouldn’t hurt to take her. It’s funny, if you’re going to put so much weight on a wife that you have to go around picking and choosing, you’ll look like one of those Genroku* dandies. I thought everybody in those days, both men and women, had terribly uncomfortable affairs—isn’t that true? Well, however that may be, try not to make an old man angry, all right?” With these words Seigo left.
* A period (1688–1704) marked by the stability of the feudal government and the increasing prosperity of the merchant class, accompanied by displays of lavishness.
Daisuke went back to his room and chewed on his brother’s warning. He was forced to admit that in fact, he and his brother shared the same views on marriage. Therefore, Seigo, who would urge marriage upon him, should in fact leave him alone; Daisuke thus came to the opposite conclusion from his brother, a conclusion suited to his own convenience.
According to his brother, Sagawa’s daughter had been brought by her uncle on a rare visit to Tokyo, combining business with sightseeing. Once the uncle’s business was settled, she would be taken home again. Whether his father was taking advantage of this occasion to cement their interests permanently, or whether, during his recent trip, he had taken the initiative to create this opportunity, seemed immaterial to Daisuke. As long as he sat at the same table with those people and ate his food as if he enjoyed it, he would have fulfilled his social obligations. He decided that if further steps became necessary, he would have to look for a solut
ion then—that was the only course open to him.
Daisuke called the old woman and had her get out his clothes. Although it was bothersome, out of respect he put on a cloak with the family crest. Since he did not have an unlined hakama, he decided to get into one of his father’s or brother’s when he got home. For all his sensitivity, Daisuke did not particularly mind social functions because he was accustomed to them from childhood. If there was a banquet, reception, or a farewell party, he usually arranged his schedule so that he could attend. He was therefore familiar with quite a number of the faces well known in certain circles. Some among them were aristocrats, on the order of counts and viscounts. Daisuke did not feel that he derived either gain or loss from associating with such people. His speech and manner were the same regardless of where he went. Superficially, he resembled his brother quite closely in this respect. As a result, those who knew them but slightly believed the brothers to be similar in temperament as well.
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