“Father, she’s not ashamed to be running a noodle shop. She’s proud of it. She says she always wanted to run a business, however humble. I expect she’d be delighted if you called on her.”
“Her shop is in Nakagawa, you say?”
“Yes. Quite near the old house.”
Ogata-San seemed to consider this for some time. Then he turned to me and said: “Right, then, Etsuko. Let’s go and pay her a visit.” He scribbled quickly on the postcard and gave me back the pen.
“You mean, go now, Father?” I was a little taken aback by his sudden decisiveness.
“Yes, why not?”
“Very well. I suppose she could give us lunch.”
“Yes, perhaps. But I’ve no wish to humiliate the good lady.”
“She’d be pleased to give us lunch.”
Ogata-San nodded and for a moment did not speak. Then he said with some deliberation: “As a matter of fact, Etsuko, I’d been thinking of visiting Nakagawa for some time now. I’d like to call in on a certain person there.”
“Oh?”
“I wonder if he’d be in at this time of day.”
“Who is it you wish to call on, Father?”
“Shigeo. Shigeo Matsuda. I’ve been intending to pay him a call for some time. Perhaps he takes his lunch at home, in which case I may just catch him. That would be preferable to disturbing him at his school.”
For a few minutes, Ogata-San gazed towards the statue, a slightly puzzled look on his face. I remained silent, watching the postcard he was rotating in his hands. Then suddenly he slapped his knees and stood up.
“Right, Etsuko,” he said, “let’s do that then. We’ll try Shigeo first, then we could call in on Mrs Fujiwara.”
It must have been around noon that we boarded the tram to take us to Nakagawa; the car was stiflingly crowded and the streets outside were filled with the lunchtime hordes. But as we came away from the city centre, the passengers became more sparse, and by the time the car reached its terminus at Nakagawa, there were only a handful of us left.
Stepping out of the tram, Ogata-San paused for a moment and stroked his chin. It was not easy to tell whether he was savouring the feeling of being back in the district, or whether he was simply trying to remember the way to Shigeo Matsuda’s house. We were standing in a concrete yard surrounded by several empty tram cars. Above our heads, a maze of black wires crossed the air. The sun was shining down with some force, causing the painted surfaces of the cars to gleam sharply.
“What heat,” Ogata-San remarked, wiping his forehead. Then he began to walk, leading the way towards a row of houses which began on the far side of the tram yard.
The district had not changed greatly over the years. As we walked, the narrow roads twisted, climbed and fell. Houses, many of them still familiar to me, stood wherever the hilly landscape would permit; some were perched precariously on slopes, others squeezed into unlikely corners. Blankets and laundry hung from many of the balconies. We walked on, past other houses more grand-looking, but we passed neither Ogata-San’s old house nor the house I had once lived in with my parents. In fact, the thought occurred to me that perhaps Ogata-San had chosen a route so as to deliberately avoid them.
I doubt if we walked for much more than ten or fifteen minutes in all, but the sun and the steep hills became very tiring. Eventually we stopped halfway up a steep path, and Ogata-San ushered me underneath the shelter of a leafy tree that hung over the pavement. Then he pointed across the road to a pleasant-looking old house with large sloping roof-tiles in the traditional manner.
“That’s Shigeo’s place,” he said. “I knew his father quite well. As far as I know, his mother still lives with him.” Then Ogata-San began to stroke his chin, just as he had done on first stepping off the tram. I said nothing and waited.
“Quite possibly he won’t be home,” said Ogata-San. “He’ll probably spend the lunch break in the staff room with his colleagues.”
I continued to wait silently. Ogata-San remained standing beside me, gazing at the house. Finally, he said:
“Etsuko, how far is it to Mrs Fujiwara’s from here? Have you any idea?”
“It’s just a few minutes’ walk.”
“Now I think of it, perhaps it may be best if you went on ahead, and I could meet you there. That may be the best thing.”
“Very well. If that’s what you wish.”
“In fact, this was all very inconsiderate of me.”
“I’m not an invalid, Father.”
He laughed quickly, then glanced again towards the house. “I think it might be best,” he said again. “You go on ahead.”
“Very well.”
“I don’t expect to be long. In fact” — he glanced once more towards the house — “in fact, why don’t you wait here until I pull the bell. If you see me go in, then you can go on to Mrs Fujiwara’s. This has all been very inconsiderate of me.”
“It’s perfectly all right, Father. Now listen carefully, or else you’ll never find the noodle shop. You remember where the doctor used to have his surgery?”
But Ogata-San was no longer listening. Across the road, the entrance gate had slid open, and a thin young man with spectacles had appeared. He was dressed in his shirt-sleeves and held a small briefcase under his arm. He squinted a little as he stepped further into the glare, then bent over the briefcase and began searching through it. Shigeo Matsuda looked thinner and more youthful than I remembered him from the few occasions I had met him in the past.
Chapter Nine
Shigeo Matsuda tied the buckle of his briefcase, then glancing about him with a distracted air came walking over to our side of the road. For a brief moment he glanced our way but, not recognizing us, went walking on.
Ogata-San watched him go by. Then when the young man had gone several yards down the road, he called out: “Ah, Shigeo!”
Shigeo Matsuda stopped and turned. Then he came towards us with a puzzled look.
“How are you, Shigeo?”
The young man peered through his spectacles, then burst into cheerful laughter.
“Why, Ogata-San! Now this is an unexpected surprise!” He bowed and held out his hand. “What a splendid surprise. Why Etsuko-San too! How are you? How nice to meet again.”
We exchanged bows, and he shook hands with us both. Then he said to Ogata-San:
“Were you by any chance about to visit me? This is bad luck, my lunch break’s almost over now.” He glanced at his watch. “But we could go back inside for a few minutes.”
“No, no,” said Ogata-San hurriedly. “Don’t let us interrupt your work. It just so happened we were passing this way, and I remembered you lived here. I was just pointing out your house to Etsuko.”
“Please, I can spare a few minutes. Let me offer you some tea at least. It’s a sweltering day out here.”
“No, no. You must get to work.”
For a moment the two men stood looking at each other.
“And how is everything, Shigeo?” Ogata-San asked. “How are things at the school?”
“Oh, much the same as ever. You know how it is. And you, Ogata-San, you’re enjoying your retirement, I hope? I had no idea you were in Nagasaki. Jiro and I seem to have lost touch these days.” Then he turned to me and said: “I’m always meaning to write, but I’m so forgetful.”
I smiled and made some polite comment. Then the two men looked at each other again.
“You’re looking splendidly well, Ogata-San,” Shigeo Matsuda said. “You find Fukuoka to your liking?”
“Yes, a fine city. My hometown, you know.”
“Really?”
There was another pause. Then Ogata-San said: “Please don’t let us keep you. If you have to hurry away, I quite understand.”