“Why are you here?”
“There’s no why, my man, I came to distress you.”
“For what reason?”
“Who needs a stinking reason? As long as you reject me, I’ll follow you forever no matter where you go.”
“Villain!”
Making a fist abruptly, Tsuda would punch Kobayashi in the face. Instead of resisting, Kobayashi would instantly fall in a backward sprawl to the floor.
“You punched me, you rat. Fine, do your worst.”
A scene of violence such as could be seen only on a stage would ensue. The entire inn would be aware and feel threatened. Kiyoko would naturally be involved. Everything would be dashed to bits forever.
Having painted in his mind in spite of himself an imaginary scene more vivid than reality, Tsuda came abruptly to his senses with a shudder. He wondered what he would do if that kind of preposterous brawl were to materialize in his real life. He was aware of feeling shame and humiliation distantly. He could feel the inside of his cheeks begin to burn as if to symbolize his feelings.
But he was unable to develop his critique beyond this. To disgrace himself in the eyes of others was more than he could contemplate. Saving face was the fundament of his ethics. His only thought was that appearances must be preserved, scandal above all avoided. By that token, the villain of the piece was Kobayashi.
If only that scoundrel were out of my life, I’d have nothing to fret about!
Tsuda’s assault was directed against the Kobayashi who had taken the stage in his imaginary play. He placed full responsibility for his own dishonor on Kobayashi’s shoulders.
Having sentenced this phantom perpetrator, Tsuda’s mood shifted, and he took from his wallet a calling card. Writing on the back with his fountain pen, “I arrived last night to convalesce,” he paused to reflect, then added, “I heard that you were here this morning” and paused again.
This is too artificial. I must mention seeing her last night.
But touching on that tactfully wasn’t easy. And the more complicated the message became, the more words it required, until it would no longer fit on a single card. He wanted this to be sweet and simple. A letter and envelope would be overdoing it.
Glancing at the dresser, he saw Madam Yoshikawa’s gift on top of it, untouched since the night before when it had been carefully placed there, and quickly took it down. Writing on another card, “I hope you are recovering quickly. This is a get-well gift from Yoshikawa-san’s wife,” he slipped it under the lid of the fruit basket and summoned the maid.
“I think someone named Seki-san is staying here?”
The maid laughed.
“Seki-san is the lady we were talking about.”
“Is that so? Good, please take this to her. And mention that I’d like to see her briefly if she doesn’t mind.”
“Very well.”
The maid stepped into the hall carrying the basket of fruit.
[182]
WAITING FOR a reply, Tsuda might have been tipped as easily as a vessel with uneven legs. When the maid failed to return as quickly as he had expected, he grew even more agitated.
I can’t believe she’d turn me down.
He had used Madam Yoshikawa’s name because he was already considering that unlikely possibility. The get-well gift in Madam’s name ought to release Kiyoko from whatever constraint she might be feeling toward him. Even assuming her principal desire was avoiding the unpleasantness of a meeting or the suspicion that might arise as a result, it seemed only natural that she should want to thank the bearer of the fruit basket in person. Believing that he had devised what anyone could see was an inspired and altogether natural strategy, and unable to avoid feeling for that reason the more troubled by the maid’s tardiness, Tsuda flicked away the cigarette he had begun to smoke, stepped out to the engawa, gazed vacantly at the red and orange koi swimming silently in the pond, and petted the nuzzle of the dog sleeping beneath the eaves. By the time he heard the sound of the maid’s slippers turn the corner of the hall, he was so worked up he felt the need of collecting himself sufficiently to display some degree of composure on the surface.
“Where were you?”
“I’m sorry I took so long.”
“Not a problem.”
“I was making myself useful.”
“Doing what?”
“I tidied up the room. And I did the lady’s hair. So I wasn’t that long.”
Tsuda didn’t think a woman’s hair could be done up so easily.
“Chignon? Butterfly?”
The maid merely laughed.
“Go and see for yourself.”
“See for myself? Will that be all right? I’ve been waiting here for an answer since you left.”
“Gracious, I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten the most important part — she says please feel free.”
Relieved, Tsuda made certain half in jest as he stood up.
“She said that? It won’t be a bother? I don’t want to get over there and feel bad for having imposed.”
“Are you always so distrustful? If you are, Madam must be—”
“Who do you mean? Madam Seki or my wife?”
“You must know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Honestly?”
Tsuda retied his obi, and as he was on his way out the maid, who had circled around behind him, draped his kimono jacket over his shoulders.
“This way?”
“I’ll show you.”
The maid led the way. As they came to the familiar mirror, the memory of having wandered these halls as a sleepwalker the night before flickered in Tsuda’s mind.
“So this is where it is!”
The words escaped him on their own. Ignorant of the circumstances, the maid’s inquiry was innocent.
“Where what is?”
Tsuda essayed a deception.
“I’m saying this is where I ran into a ghost last night.”
The maid winced.
“What a thing to say! As if we had ghosts here! You really shouldn’t—”
Tsuda, understanding that his joke about an establishment in the guest business had been in poor taste, glanced up at the second floor knowingly.
“Seki-san’s room must be up there.”
“How in the world did you know?”
“I know things.”
“Magic eyes?”
“A magic nose — I nose things out.”
“Like a dog.”
This exchange, begun halfway up the stairs, was already in earshot of Kiyoko’s room, the nearest to the landing. Tsuda was aware of this.
“While I’m at it, I’ll nose out Seki-san’s room — watch closely.”