To the Spring Equinox and Beyond (12 page)

Keitaro was utterly mystified. However great the general truth might be in terms of the yin and yang, it was like being in a fog in which he could not even guess the direction. He repeated his questions a few times, trying to draw from her an answer, whether truth or not, if only a little more definite and applicable, but nothing satisfactory came from his attempts. Finally he left the old prophetess, holding in his bosom what seemed like a Zen priest's gibberish, which offered as much heat as a body-warmer wrapped in a towel under one's clothes. Added to the bargain he carried off two bags of spices in his kimono sleeve, having bought these on his way out.

The next day at breakfast as Keitaro removed the cover from his bowl of steaming
miso
soup, he suddenly remembered the spices and took them from his sleeve. He sprinkled an ample portion over the soup, the result being that he had to put up with a burning sensation throughout the meal. He recalled the old woman's "great truth based on the principle of yin and yang," but it remained as nebulous as a gas. Yet since he was not that ardent a believer in divination to fret about an impossible puzzle, he did not undergo the anxiety of those who harass themselves over interpretations. Only the fact that it was beyond his comprehension aroused his curiosity. While he still remembered the riddle, though, he wrote the words down on a slip of paper just as the old woman had recited them and slid the scrap into his desk drawer.

As to whether or not he should take steps to see Taguchi again, Keitaro interpreted the old woman's advice as conclusive. Not that he was going to go because he believed in fortune-telling, but simply because his fortune-teller had given an impetus to what he himself had been on the point of actually doing.

Keitaro thought of going to Sunaga to learn if his uncle had returned from Osaka, but the automobile incident still weighed so heavily on his mind that he lacked the courage to direct his steps there. He found it equally difficult to phone. Ultimately he decided to write Sunaga a letter. After stating briefly the circumstances of his interview with Taguchi in nearly the same way he had recited them to Sunaga's mother a few days ago, he asked Sunaga to inquire whether or not Taguchi was back from his trip. If so, he would be most grateful if the uncle could spare some time from his busy schedule, since he was himself totally free and would be able to visit whatever the hour on the appointed day. The tone of the letter suggested that Keitaro had utterly forgotten his hot-tempered determination of the other day.

When Keitaro mailed the letter, he expected Sunaga's reply the next day. But with two days and even three passing without a response, a slight anxiety began to trouble him, and mixed into this anxiety was a remorse for the shame he might be put to for ever being influenced by the words of a fortune-teller.

Suddenly on the morning of the fourth day Taguchi telephoned him.

When Keitaro picked up the receiver, he was surprised to hear Taguchi's own voice asking simply if he could come at once. He would leave immediately, he replied, but thinking it too abrupt and uncivil to hang up with merely a curt answer, he asked whether Sunaga had said anything about him.

"Yes, Ichizo told me of your request, but to save trouble, I called up myself. I'll be waiting. Come at once, please."

The voice stopped there. Keitaro put on his
hakama,
thinking this time it finally looked good on him. From the rack he took down a soft felt hat he had recently purchased, and he left in cheerful spirits, his face animated by fresh hope for the future. The sun had melted the morning frost and was now shining mildly over the streets. There was no sign of a wintry wind to sweep away the brightness. On the streetcar rushing along the thoroughfare, Keitaro felt as if he were cleaving his way through bright light.

Unlike the other day, the entrance to Taguchi's house was very quiet. When the same
hakama-
clad houseboy came to answer the bell, Keitaro felt somewhat awkward. He could not say, of course, that he was sorry for his previous conduct, so with a look of innocence on his face, he politely offered the purpose of his visit. Whether remembering Keitaro or not, the houseboy merely replied, "Yes, sir," and took his calling card inside. He returned saying, "This way please," and ushered Keitaro in.

Keitaro donned the pair of slippers the houseboy put before him and was shown into the Western-style drawing room, but he was puzzled about which one of several chairs he should take there. His humble thought that the smallest would be safest made him choose one in an inconspicuous place—a lightweight, high-backed chair with neither arms nor ornament.

Presently the master of the house appeared. With formal expressions he was not used to uttering, Keitaro offered the usual salutations used in meeting someone for the first time and expressed his appreciation for the interview. But the other took little notice of these words and merely responded with an occasional "Hmm." Further, he said nothing when Keitaro came to a halt.

Keitaro was not so much disappointed in Taguchi's attitude as he was embarrassed at finding his own words not lasting as long as he had wanted them to. When he had said all he had prepared for his greeting, he was obliged, in spite of the awkwardness he felt, to be silent for lack of something to add. Taguchi took a cigarette from a box on the table and then pushed the box slightly toward Keitaro.

"I've heard," Taguchi began, "a bit about you from Ichizo. What kind of job is it you want?"

Actually Keitaro had nothing specific in mind. He had only thought about acquiring some considerable position, so he could answer only vaguely that he had "aspirations in all fields."

Taguchi burst out laughing. Good-humoredly he explained that even if one had fine recommendations, it was very difficult to obtain a good position right away with so many university graduates out looking for jobs nowadays. But this Keitaro had long known only too well without having Taguchi inform him of it as if it were a new fact.

"I'm prepared to do anything."

"Anything? Certainly you're not ready to punch tickets for the railway, are you?"

"Yes, yes I am. That's better than doing nothing. I'm honestly ready to take any job as long as it promises something for the future. It'll be a blessing just to be freed from the pain of doing nothing."

"If that's your idea, I'll try to find you something. Though it won't be soon, I'm afraid."

"Yes, please do. Only try me out—with something, say, in your house. No, that doesn't sound right. I mean, just let me do something personal for you."

"Are you ready to do even that?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe I will. You don't mind when?"

"No. In fact, the sooner the better."

Keitaro thus brought the interview to an end. His countenance was cheerful as he left Taguchi's house.

A few mild winter days ensued. From his third-floor window Keitaro looked out at the sky, trees, and tiled roofs, the pleasant thought occurring to him that the sun now gently warming nature in an orange tinge was streaming down upon the world just for him. He was convinced his recent interview would soon bring forth the desired result, so he spent his days waiting in eager expectation, imagining what strange shape it would take when it appeared before him.

When he had asked Taguchi for a position, he had meant for it to have in it something more than an ordinary applicant would want. Not only did he wish to do those duties required by a given profession, but he also expected from Taguchi something that, while temporary, would nevertheless be filled with excitement. It was characteristic of Keitaro to feel vaguely that if the shadow of success were to flit across his path, perhaps something peculiarly scintillating, something outside the range of common jobs, would abruptly be cast before him. Absorbed in such hopes, he spent the days basking in a sunlight he found beautiful.

In about four days Taguchi telephoned again. He had something he wanted Keitaro to do, but as it would cause too much trouble to have him come to his house and since speaking about it over the phone would take too much time and be even more troublesome, he had decided to send a special delivery letter in which Keitaro would be given all the particulars. Should there be anything in it Keitaro could not understand, all he had to do would be to ask Taguchi by phone. Keitaro was delighted, like someone who has hit on the right focus of the telescope, seeing clearly what had been seen but dimly before.

He remained at his desk, waiting for the letter and giving rein to his imagination. He found the figure of the woman he had seen from behind at Sunaga's gate apt to intrude into his thoughts without permission, whereupon he would suddenly become aware that he ought to be more practical; in such cases, he would, though for that moment only, rebuke his deviating fancy. And so the tantalizing hours passed.

At last the long-awaited letter reached him. He tore open the envelope, breathlessly read through from end to end of the rolled letter paper, and involuntarily uttered a low cry. For the "business" given him was even more romantic than his imagination had anticipated.

The letter was written in simple words and contained no more information than was necessary for the purpose at hand. It stated that between four and five that very day a man about forty years old would alight at Oga-wamachi from a streetcar coming from the direction of Mita. He would be wearing a black fedora and a salt-and-pepper cloak. He would be tall and lean with a longish face and a mole between his eyebrows. With these characteristics to guide him, Keitaro was to spy on the man's movements during the next two hours and then report on them. That was all the letter contained.

For the first time in his life Keitaro felt himself the hero playing a leading role in a detective story fraught with danger. At the same time, doubts arose in him as to Taguchi's intentions: whether, in order to protect his interest in society, he would dare to resort to such a surreptitious act to find out someone's weak points for some future use. When Keitaro thought about the dishonor and guilt he would feel in being used as a spy for someone, he broke out in a cold sweat. With his hand holding the letter, his body turned rigid and his eyes became fixed in a stare. Yet when he considered what he had heard from Sunaga's mother about Taguchi's character, and when he combined that information with his own personal impressions of the man, he could not feel, on the whole, that Taguchi was that ill-natured a person. And once Keitaro concluded that spying on another's personal behavior did not necessarily come from base motives, the stiffness of his muscles relaxed and set his warm blood flowing again. Regaining his composure, he could now regard the problem from the vantage point of pure interest, one free of the disgust he might feel in going against his own moral integrity.

At any rate, he felt inclined to accomplish the job in the way Taguchi had asked him to and to regard the experience as his first real contact with the outside world. Again he read Taguchi's letter, more carefully this time, reexamining it to see whether or not he would actually be able to obtain a satisfactory result only from the person's characteristics and the conditions written therein.