Setsuko quit Haruhi a short while thereafter. Senba heard about the wedding, raised a glass to her happiness, and tried to forget. But when he later heard that Setsuko had already been pregnant at the time of the ceremony, he became unsettled. He checked his calendar over and over, making sure of the date.
As the days passed, he grew increasingly suspicious that the child was his. When he heard that Setsuko had given birth to a baby girl, it took considerable effort to keep from dashing over to the hospital.
His own wife was in frail health and had been told she should avoid childbirth. He’d known this when they got married and had never thought of having children of his own. But now that it had happened, he couldn’t get it out of his head.
After agonizing over it for days, Senba contacted Setsuko. He needed to know the truth.
It was his first time seeing her in a while, and though her skin practically glowed, her face had changed. She looked like a mother. Her voice was softer, too. She hadn’t brought the baby with her, dashing Senba’s secret hope that he would get to meet his daughter.
They spoke briefly about their lives for a while, before Senba asked his question point-blank: are you sure Kawahata is the father? Setsuko didn’t seem taken aback in the least. “Of course he is,” she said. Her calmness struck Senba as unnatural, and when he saw the hard look in her eyes, he knew that she was lying.
But he didn’t press her further. Instead, he made a request. He wanted a photograph of her child. Setsuko hesitated. Why would he need a photograph of someone else’s baby, she wanted to know. But Senba was firm. He promised that, if she gave him just one photograph, he wouldn’t speak of the matter again.
Finally, she relented, and on another day, they met in a different place, and she gave him a photo of Narumi cradled in her arms. Narumi’s eyes were big and her skin porcelain white. Just looking at it brought tears to his eyes.
“Thank you,” Senba said. He looked at Setsuko and saw that her eyes were red, but she held back her tears in front of him.
Senba promised he would tell no one, that he would keep it a secret to his death. Then he said, “Just give her the happiest life you can.” Smiling, Setsuko told him that had been her plan regardless. Senba had laughed a little at that and agreed it had not been the most helpful advice.
The photograph became Senba’s most prized possession, a secret treasure he could allow no one to see. He put it inside a plastic case and hid it toward the back of a drawer in his study.
He no intention of ever seeing Setsuko again after that. He still longed to see his daughter’s face but kept that desire buried as deep as he could. Thankfully, he’d just started his own company, and there was plenty of work to keep him busy and keep his mind off things that didn’t matter now.
For the next dozen years or so, he rode the waves of the economy. At first, his new venture was successful, but their time in the sun was very short. Before he knew it, he was left with nothing but an incurably ill wife and a small summer home in East Hari.
Yet, some good came of those days spent in East Hari. By losing everything, he was able to reflect back with unusual clarity on the path he had walked. He felt a resurgence of gratitude toward his wife. All of his successes had been thanks to her unflagging, unquestioning support. In his heart, he apologized to her many times about his one infidelity.
His wife did not have long to live. Senba stayed by her side at all times and tried to give her all she asked for. Not that she asked for much. She said she was happy just being able to look out over the sea where she had grown up. One day, she announced that she would like to paint the sea, and so he went and got her some supplies. She placed a canvas out on the porch of their cottage and began applying paint to it, a little each day. When he saw the finished painting, Senba was shocked. He’d never known his wife had any artistic talent.
After she passed away, he went back to Tokyo. He had no intention of starting over. He just needed a way to pay the bills. An old friend gave him an introduction and helped him land a job at a home appliances wholesaler.
It was around this time that he met a face from the past: Nobuko Miyake. He had spent many an evening with her when she was a hostess, but he had not seen her since his company folded. She invited him out for a drink.
He accepted lightly, never questioning her motives. He even thought it might be fun to remember the good old days. They ate dinner, then went to their old hangout, Bar Calvin. Nobuko had always been good at getting men to talk, and after two or three glasses, Senba had pretty much told his entire life story. He watched as she went from interest to disappointment, right around the part where he made it clear he was no longer the high-roller she once knew. As though she couldn’t already tell from the clothes he was wearing. Senba realized she’d been hoping to borrow money.
It was then that he made the mistake he would regret for the rest of his life. He pulled out his wallet to buy some smokes, and the photograph fell out—the picture of Setsuko’s baby. Nobuko picked it up and asked him who it was.
He told her it was a friend’s child, but his words didn’t sound convincing even to him. Setsuko’s face wasn’t visible in the photo, but when Nobuko said she remembered the foliage-patterned kimono the woman was wearing, Senba stiffened in his chair and fell silent.
She asked him to tell her the truth, promising she wouldn’t tell a soul. Senba feared she would make assumptions anyway and spread the word around if he said nothing, so he told her on the condition she keep her promise. As he talked, he felt her warming to him, and this put him at ease. Maybe, he thought, she was a friend after all. Maybe he could trust her to keep his secret.
When he had finished, Nobuko told him to hold on a moment, and she left the table. When she returned after a few minutes, she placed a piece of paper with an address and a phone number on the table in front of him.
She told him that was where Setsuko was living. She had called Haruhi and pretended to be one of Setsuko’s nightclub friends to get the information.
Nobuko suggested he go see her. Surely she wouldn’t mind a single meeting. But Senba shook his head. There was no need. He’d put all of that away for good and had no intention of dragging it back out now. But even as he said it, tears came to his eyes.
As it turned out, Nobuko had another reason for looking up Setsuko’s address.
Two days later, he saw on the morning news that she’d been killed. When he learned where it had happened, the blood drained from his face. After going back and forth on it for hours, he called Setsuko, half worried he might already be too late. In his heart he was already sure she’d stabbed Nobuko. But when she answered the phone, he was relieved to hear her sounding calm. She was a little surprised when he told her who he was, but she didn’t sound unhappy to hear from him. Senba explained what had happened the other night and why he had called. Halfway through his explanation, Setsuko sounded noticeably disturbed. She hadn’t seen her daughter yet that morning, she told him.
She said she should go check on her, so Senba hung up and waited by the phone for a terrifyingly long time. Anxiety rose in him until he felt nauseated, and he couldn’t sit still. When Setsuko finally returned his call, her voice was filled with despair. Her daughter had killed Nobuko, she said through tears. The bloodied knife was still on the table in her room.
Senba made up his mind about what he was going to do. He told her to bring him the knife. Setsuko sounded hesitant, but they chose a place and a time, and he hung up.
He looked around his apartment. There was nothing he worried about losing, with one exception. He bundled up the painting of the sea his wife had made in her last days and, tucking it under his arm, he left.