That she appeared to have leapt onto her husband’s knees may have been due to the exaggerated impression they made at that moment, and maybe Yūko had only placed her tear-soaked, slack hand on the knees of Ippei’s gown. Nevertheless, the upper half of Ippei’s body collapsed backward on the bed; then, having gained momentum, it bounced back, pushing Yūko’s bent body aside. More so than Machiko, it was possible that the presence of Kōji had been responsible for the strange vanity evident in that instant in Ippei’s unnecessarily violent behavior. Perhaps, having brushed her aside, in that moment, Ippei had grabbed hold of his wife around the chest in an attempt to impart a life lesson to Kōji and in the hope of seeing society’s distant approbation reflected in the younger man’s eyes. Gripping her so, he struck his wife heavily across the cheek. Having been hit, Yūko was quiet, but Machiko uttered a slight shriek.
Bull’s-eye! thought Kōji, looking on. Ippei had done her over pretty well. But far from deriving a cold sense of satisfaction, Kōji felt his whole body seething with excitement. Ippei struck Yūko once again. Her white face appeared docile like that of a doll, and with his arm no longer in place to support her, she collapsed obliquely onto the floor. Kōji reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He later recalled the natural smoothness of his actions at that time. Without any hint of emotion, objective, or motive, he took part in a flowing series of spontaneous movements and, with no impediments, freely crossed the boundary of no return. Ippei turned his head. Kōji pounced and struck frenzied blows with the wrench he had clasped in his hand. The wrench buried itself terribly deeply, and Ippei’s head moved in accordance with its impact.
Chapter 3
Meeting Ippei for the first time in two years, Kōji found himself gazing at the head he had once struck with the wrench. The area had since been covered over with a thick growth of hair and was hidden from sight. Despite being exposed to the relentless glare of the sun, Ippei’s hair did not shine.
As he was gazing intently, many impulsive recollections and ambivalent thoughts crowded Kōji’s mind and blocked his vision, almost as if in the midst of the sunlight a drifting column of mosquitoes had suddenly and importunately obstructed his view.
At the time, I could no longer endure that putrid world; a world bereft of logic. It was necessary that I impart some logic into that world of pigs’ entrails. And so you see, I imparted the cold, hard, black logic of iron. Namely, the logic of the wrench.
And again, Yūko said herself in the bar that night, “Seeing his impassive face, well, it would simply be the end.” Thanks to that attack, I’ve saved them both from that end.
Then, aghast at such thoughts, I have repented, I…
The mosquito-like cloud of thoughts disappeared from before his eyes in an instant.
Kōji had already been informed during the course of the investigation:
The wrench blows, delivered to the left side of the head, had caused a collapsed fracture of the cranium and cerebral contusion. Even after Ippei had regained consciousness, the right side of his body was paralyzed, and aphasia was diagnosed.
Ah! And not forgetting the wrench. What a lot of troublesome, repetitive inquiry.
Machiko testified that it hadn’t been in the room. The wrench bore the stamp of an electrical company, and its owner was traced. He had been to T Hospital by car, and while the wrench definitely belonged to his company, he claimed he had no recollection of dropping it. Furthermore, his car had not broken down once in the preceding month. In any case, whether it was stolen from some other place, or had been picked up from the ground, the wrench proved indelibly the premeditated nature of Kōji’s crime. He was sentenced to seventeen months’ imprisonment for bodily injury.
Ippei smiled from the shadow of the climbing roses as he laboriously guided them through the gate; the large white all-season blooming flowers around the trellised archway basked fully in the summer sun.
Kōji found it difficult to accept that anybody could change so much in such a short time. There no longer existed the dandy clothed in a finely tailored new suit, Italian silk shirt and tie, and sporting amethyst cuff links that sparkled somberly at his sleeves, who, the more he busily conducted himself in his daily affairs, created a more languorous atmosphere around himself. Kōji was horrified to think that all these changes had been brought about by a single attack.
In looking at Ippei and the result of the crime he had committed, Kōji felt as he imagined one would at seeing an illegitimate child several years after he had brought it into the world by way of a casual relationship. Of seeing the shadow of his own self seeping from the child. Ippei, as he was, was dead and gone, and in his place stood a deep shadow of Kōji’s existence (of course, Ippei’s face bore no resemblance whatsoever to Kōji’s). It was a human form that, rather than being a likeness of Kōji, resembled the form of the crime he had committed. If Kōji could sketch a self-portrait of his inner self, then Ippei would surely be the exact form it would take. Even the troubled look that cloaked Ippei’s helplessly smiling countenance was, in truth, something that belonged to Kōji.
A recollection came suddenly to mind: Kōji remembered how he had once seen Ippei at the shop change into his dinner jacket, insert a white rose in the buttonhole of his collar, and leave for a gamblers’ party. It had been an elegant white rose that hung from his lapel. The same rose as those flowers that now threw shadows across Ippei’s cheek. To make matters worse, the Ippei before him was slovenly dressed; the hemline of his gown did not meet, with the back of the garment askew and the dappled sash having slipped down loosely about the hips. The roses looked like ridiculous large white ornamental hairpins as Ippei wound his way in and out of a festival procession.
“It’s Kōji, you remember, don’t you? Kōji.”
Yūko slowly and clearly pronounced his name, and Ippei, still smiling that twisted smile, said, “Kooo… ri.”
“Not Kooo… ri, Kōji.”
Ippei continued. “Kooo… ri,” and then, quite clearly, “how do you do?”
“It’s strange, isn’t it? The way he can say ‘how do you do’ without a hitch. It’s not Kooo… ri. It’s Kōji…”
Kōji became irritable and cut in. “It’s all right. ‘Kooo… ri’ is okay. In fact, it suits me better. It’s fine.”
With greetings thus exchanged, their “first” meeting came to an end.
Kōji’s irritation was complex; there was some impediment, and he was nettled by his inability to feel any regret. His whole being ought to have been a receptacle filled with remorse. Even before he saw Ippei’s completely changed form, he ought to have dropped to his knees in tears and apologized. Instead, something had intervened, clogging the machinery and stopping this course of events. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was; perhaps it was that unsettling smile that hung about Ippei’s mouth like a spiderweb.
From a nearby branch, a summer bush warbler sang out, the sound blending with the chirring of cicadas. They went on through the rose gate, crossed the uneven flagstones, and passed alongside the greenhouses. Seeing Ippei’s limping form, Kōji proffered a helping hand, but his action was cut short by Yūko’s large, dark, expressionless eyes. Kōji didn’t know why she had checked him. Perhaps she was trying to encourage Ippei to be more independent. In any case, he felt his deliberate gesture had been perceived, and he was hurt by her intervention.