To the Spring Equinox and Beyond (20 page)

Having wished for some time to speak out once and for all to Taguchi, even if only a word about what he had in his mind, Keitaro, who had been completely pinned down, had the sudden thought that if he didn't speak now, there would be no further opportunity to.

"I too am sorry about a result that falls so short of the mark, but personal matters of the kind you asked me are almost impossible to ascertain in such a short time by someone as dull as I am. This may sound impudent, but I think it would be better to meet the man openly and ask him exactly what you want to know rather than resorting to petty tricks like spying on him. It would save trouble and allow you to get more accurate and reliable information." Having said that much, Keitaro looked at Taguchi, expecting to be laughed at or played with by someone so rich in worldly wisdom.

On the contrary, Taguchi said rather seriously, "So you understand that much. I'm impressed."

Keitaro deliberately refrained from responding.

"The method you suggest seems the most tactless, yet the most expedient, the fairest. That you were aware of it proves how fine your character really is."

Again praised by Taguchi, Keitaro was even more confused on how to reply.

"It was wrong of me to have asked you to do such a petty thing, not realizing how fine your thoughts are. That was making a mistake in estimating a man of character. But in introducing you to me, Ichizo told me you were interested in some job along the detective line. So I went and asked you to do such an outrageous task. I ought to have known better."

"No, no. I do remember telling that to Sunaga," said Keitaro, embarrassed.

"You did?"

Taguchi disposed of Keitaro's inconsistency with this brief expression, not venturing to pursue such a foolish subject any further. "How about this then?" he said, immediately turning their talk to a new direction. "Instead of trailing him secretly, how about going directly into the lion's den? Do you have that much courage?"

"I think I could do it."

"Even after trailing him the way you did?"

"No matter how I trailed them, I certainly haven't made any observations which would harm their character."

"Yes, you're quite right. Try it once. I'll give you an introduction." Even as Taguchi was speaking, he came out with a loud laugh.

Keitaro, however, did not take this proposal as a mere joke and so brought himself to think that he would actually like to talk face to face with the mole-browed man. "Yes, please write me a letter. I would like to talk with him," he said.

"Fine. This will also be a good experience for you. Meet him and study him firsthand. The way you are, I'm sure you'll say you followed him the other night because Taguchi asked you to. But I don't care. If you want to mention it, it's all right with me. You needn't hold back. And his relationship with that woman, ask about that too if you have the courage. Do you think you have enough nerve to ask even about that?"

Taguchi broke off for a moment and looked at Keitaro. Before Keitaro could get out an answer, however, the other went on: "But until the turn of conversation makes it natural to bring up either of those subjects, don't mention them or ask about them. Doing so would only make you appear deficient in common sense, no matter how brave you claim you are. No, it would be much worse than that, since he's quite particular about receiving visitors even under ordinary circumstances. So if you speak about such matters without using discretion, it's very possible that he'll ask you to leave right then. So in return for my introducing you, I hope you'll be prudent. . . ."

Keitaro replied that he would of course respect Taguchi's wishes. In his mind, however, the man with the black fedora could by no means be taken as Taguchi had described him.

Taguchi sent for his inkstone case and some rolled letter paper and easily began his letter of introduction. When he had put the addressee's name at the end, he said, "I've set it down in quite the usual way. That's enough, isn't it?" And holding the letter over the small brazier, he read it to Keitaro. As Taguchi had himself declared, it contained nothing worth paying any real attention to. All it said was that its bearer was a bachelor of laws fresh from the university, this declaration followed by the words, "Please see him, as he is someone I may have to help find a position." Assured from Keitaro's look that he had no objection, Taguchi at once rolled up the paper, inserted it in an envelope, wrote over the front in large letters, "Mr. Tsunezo Matsumoto," and handed the deliberately unsealed envelope to Keitaro, who kept staring at the characters written on it. The brush strokes were thick and slovenly, so unskillful in fact that he wondered how a man like Taguchi could have written in such an awkward way.

"Stop admiring my calligraphy like that!"

"There doesn't seem to be an address."

"Oh. I guess I forgot." Taguchi took back the letter and added the street and number. "Well, it's all right now, I suppose. My writing is large and tasteless, like the
sushi
one eats at Dobashi. But for its purpose it'll do. You can put up with the poor handwriting."

"Oh no, it looks fine to me."

"By the way, shall I write a letter for the woman as well?"

"Do you know her too?"

"Possibly," Taguchi said, his smile full of meaning.

"If you don't mind, it would be good to have it while you're at it," Keitaro said half-jokingly.

"Well, it's probably safer not to. If I introduce a young man like you to a young woman and something improper happens, I'd be responsible. You're the type they call
roman
—what's the word I want? I'm not a man of much learning, so these words in fashion now soon slip out of my mind. What do you call it, that word often used by modern novelists?"

Keitaro could not bring himself to refresh Taguchi's memory. All he did was continue grinning like an idiot. He thought that it was about time to drop the matter and take his leave, for the longer he stayed, the more likely he was to be ridiculed. He put the letter of introduction into the upper part of his kimono and slid off the soft silk cushion. "I'll go visit Mr. Matsumoto in a few days," he said. "And I'll come again to see you if I have anything to report."

Taguchi bowed politely and replied, "Thank you for your trouble." He stood up, looking as though he couldn't care less whether the word was "romantic" or "cosmetic."

On his way back, Keitaro pondered on the possible relationship of Taguchi, whom he had just seen, Matsumoto, whom he was going to see, and the graceful-looking woman who had been waiting for Matsumoto and had finally met him at the streetcar stop, sometimes joining all of them and sometimes splitting them up. He had the amused feeling of a man who the more he speculates, the deeper into a maze is he lured with each succeeding step. The game he had captured at Taguchi's that day was merely the name Matsumoto, but that name seemed to be a mysterious bag in which were tied for his benefit various intricate and knotty facts. He thus anticipated the greater pleasure for not knowing what things would emerge from it. Taguchi's account of Matsumoto gave Keitaro the impression he was not an easy man to approach, but from what Keitaro had already seen of him, he seemed several times easier to talk to than Taguchi had been. On the other hand, the impression Keitaro had gained of Taguchi today was that in spite of finding him admirable in the tactful way he dealt with people and even in spite of something eminent reflected every so often in his bright, piercing eyes, he could not remove the feeling he had of being confined all during the time he had been sitting before him, restricted, fettered, deprived of the freedom of movement. This state of being put under constant surveillance seemed to Keitaro not a temporary one but one that could never be worn down no matter how many opportunities he had of meeting Taguchi. Keitaro's imagination persisted in placing Taguchi and Matsumoto at opposite poles. He felt ill at ease with the former, yet with Matsumoto he had the impression that he could ask any question freely without fear of offending. His way of speaking was itself so agreeable that it had already attracted Keitaro.

Early the following morning Keitaro was ready to go off to see Matsumoto when, as ill luck would have it, a chilly rain began falling. He slid open his window a bit and surveyed the scene from the height of his third-floor room. Everything was drenched. For some time he contemplated the dismal hue permeating the very roof tiles.

The letter of introduction Taguchi had written was lying on his desk. For a while he was undecided about whether to go or not, but urged by the strong desire to see Matsumoto as soon as possible, he at last left his desk and descended toward the entrance, where he heard a bean-curd vendor's horn piercing the gloomy atmosphere and ringing out sharply down the street.

Matsumoto's house was in Yarai. Keitaro came to the spot below the police box, wondering what the site would look like where the other night he had felt as though he had been bewitched by a fox. There he saw that the street forked up and down a sloping piece of land, the area between irregularly bloated. He paused in the cold rain, disregarding the skirt of his
hakama,
which was catching the downpour blown by the wind, and he looked around speculating if this was the place where the rickshawman, still grasping the shafts of his vehicle, had come to a halt the other night, hopelessly befuddled. It was raining now as heavily as it had been then, and the earth under his feet was as soaked as if the lead pipes below the ground had corroded through. But some faint light of the day was now showing in the gloom around him, so his impression of the area was quite different from that of the other night. He climbed the slope with the woods on Mejirodai behind him and an obscurely overlapping cluster of trees along the approach to Mizu-Inari Shrine on his right.

He walked around and around the streets in Yarai and noticed that many of the houses had the same numbers on them. He entered a small side street and followed it to the right and then the left, looking over the drenched hedgerows at the houses behind them until he came to the front of an enclosure, apparently a graveyard, surrounded by aged camellia trees. It seemed that Matsumoto's house was not going to be so easy to find. He finally tired of his search and, coming upon a rickshaw station at a corner, asked a young runner for directions. The rickshawman informed him of the location as though it were the easiest thing in the world to find.

Matsumoto's dwelling was pleasing to the eye. It had a bamboo fence around it at the end of a side street whose entrance was diagonal to the rickshaw station. As Keitaro passed through the gate, he heard the sound of a drum being beaten by a child. Even when he reached the porch and called out for admission, the sound did not stop. Except for that sound, the house was so quiet that it seemed devoid even of human smells.

At last a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old maid appeared from the further end of the house shut in by the pouring rain, bowing with her hands on the
tatami.
As soon as she took the letter from him, she withdrew without a word. A few minutes later she returned and said, "We're very sorry, but it's not convenient for us to see you now. Would you come again on another day, when it isn't raining?"

This excuse sounded strange to Keitaro, even though he was accustomed to being rejected at various places he had visited in search of employment. He was at once tempted to retort as to why her master was hindered from seeing a guest on a rainy day. But to argue with a maid was improper, so instead he merely asked—to make certain as well as to vent his disappointment— "Then shall I be allowed in if I come on a fine day?" The maid merely replied, "Yes."

Keitaro could do nothing but head out into the rain again. He could still hear the child's drumbeat through the violent downpour. That there existed a man this strange was the thought recurring again and again to Keitaro as he descended Yarai Slope. He wondered if this was not what Taguchi had meant when he had told him that Matsumoto was not an easy person to see even on ordinary matters. If Keitaro returned directly to his lodging, he would be annoyed the entire day, unable to proceed in any direction, his mood forcibly rooted in a state of suspension. So he thought of calling on Sunaga, whom he had not seen for some time, and spending the afternoon by telling him over tea what had happened during this period. But thinking again, he realized that if he went to see him at all, it would be better to wait until he had reached some conclusive stage where he could announce the plot of the story after it had sufficiently been revealed to himself, for otherwise it would not make a good tale. So he gave up the idea.