He looked around at the electric lights flickering before his eyes and deceiving the darkness of the night. Finding himself standing amid them, he felt that they were but the shadow of a dream he had not yet dreamed to the end. While awakened to his disillusionment to this extent, he had not yet lost the feeling of being to the same extent in a daze.
A little while later he made up his mind to return to his lodging to try to become a sane person again. He decided to break that mocking reminder of his folly in two on the way back at a place where no one could see, shattering the snakehead and the iron ring of the ferrule and hurling it all into the Ochanomizu River from Mansei Bridge.
About to move a step forward, he was aware of the woman's presence again. She had left the jeweler's window and was standing in her former position about two yards from him. The well-shaped limbs that matched her height, limbs longer than those of ordinary women, had from the first been a pleasing sight to him. But now it was her right hand that drew his attention. She had allowed it to hang down gracefully in a natural way, hardly conscious of her being seen by others. He perceived in the night lights its five graceful fingers extended in fine proportion, its wrist bound tightly in soft leather, and the color of its flesh appearing slightly between the wrist and the opening of her coat sleeve.
The wind was minimal, but the night chill was painful to someone standing stationary for a long while. Drawing her chin into her scarf a little, the woman stood there quietly with her eyes down. From this look, which seemed to have been assumed deliberately to make it appear that she took no notice of his presence, Keitaro believed he had sufficient evidence to prove, on the contrary, that she had been giving him special attention. Had she not been shooting at him incessant arrows of observation all the while he had been keeping his eager eyes out for the gentleman in the black fedora, her attention as keen and concentrated as his had been? Had he not spent over an hour in this spot spying out a man and being spied on by a woman? But he could no more figure out why he should be made the object of spying by a woman he didn't know and who knew nothing about him, any more than he had any idea of why he was himself spying on the actions of a man whom he knew nothing about.
He thought that if he walked a little, he would know more clearly how she would react. So he moved at a slow pace westward, passing behind the police box. Of course, he strictly refrained from glancing back for fear of arousing her suspicion. But since it would not do for him to keep walking on merely looking ahead if he wanted to note her reaction, he paused after twenty or so yards and, pretending interest in a shop window featuring a girl's mantle with velvet lapels, stole a glimpse backward.
The woman was not behind him. Indeed, far from that, nothing at all of her white scarf or long coat was visible, however much he stretched himself to detect it. She was hidden behind all sorts of people passing him one after another. He doubted if he had the courage to go further on.
As for the man in the black fedora, Keitaro, now that the appointed time was up, did not feel much regret in abandoning his search, but he wished to continue observing the woman even if it might end in nothing. He was seized by the curious fancy of throwing the woman's suspected espionage back to her and for a while longer maintaining careful watch on her movements.
He walked back near the police box in the hurried pace of a man trying to retrieve something he has dropped. There he hid in the dark shadows to observe her. She was still standing, quietly looking toward the street, apparently quite unaware of his return.
Just then, the question of whether the woman was a housewife or not occurred to him. The low pompadour arrangement was in general use at the time among Japanese women, so it could not help him in making the distinction. But when he began observing her from his concealed position as she stood with her back half-turned toward him, this question was the first thing that came to his mind. Her appearance seemed to indicate that she had experienced married life, but judging from her well-developed physique, far above the average, she might actually have been younger than she looked. If so, why was she wearing clothing of such subdued colors?
Keitaro had no authority when it came to commenting on the color and design of women's garments. Yet he had a vague idea that young ladies usually wore colors bright enough to dispel the gloom in the December air. He thought it odd that nowhere about her did she show any stimulating, gay patterns that would warm even her own youthful blood. There was only the silk scarf about her neck, but its color was a cold one that gave forth only a feeling of purity. The rest of her clothing lay concealed under the long coat that matched the bleak winter sky.
Looking again at the clothing so excessively devoid of any attractive feature in keeping with the wearer's age, Keitaro judged that it was the woman's experience with a man that had made her dress in such a somber way. Furthermore, she had in her demeanor something of the composure of an adult. He could not regard this self-possession as an attribute acquired from character or education. He suspected that like perfume in a handkerchief which loses its odor through contact with the air, she too had lost her innocent shyness due to contact outside the family. And there was something else. A short while ago he had witnessed some restless action of her muscles, betrayed through her outward calm by occasional movements of her entire body, her eyebrows, or lips. He noticed that the most sensitive movement was in her eyes. At the same time, he could not help perceiving she kept trying to force those eyes, so prone to moving sensitively, not to move. He judged, therefore, that her composure was one attended by a conscious effort to suppress her own nervousness.
Yet observed from behind, her body and mood were well balanced, both being quieter now than they had been before. Unlike a short while ago, she now gave no indication that she was going to begin to walk slowly away or stand up against a shop window, nor did she show any sign of being chilled, standing as she was at the edge of the elevated pavement in a way that could only be described as elegant.
Near her were a few persons waiting, all of whom were watching the approaching streetcars, seeming to beckon them to arrive as quickly as possible. The woman, who now appeared much relieved by Keitaro's departure, was one of those eagerly waiting, and she kept her gaze fixed toward the corner across the street where the streetcars turned.
Keitaro went around the farther side of the police box and stepped down onto the road. Shielded by the painted booth, he fixed his gaze upon the woman's face through the gap between the box and the policeman standing in front of it. And he was again surprised, this time by the change in her expression. When he was looking at her from behind in the shadows, he had played too freely with his imagination in drawing certain conclusions from her drab, inconspicuous overcoat, her tall stature, and the large roll of her pompadour. But now that he was focusing on her without reserve while she remained unaware of it, he could not help feeling that he was seeing a completely different person, one he was meeting for the first time. In short, she looked much younger than she had before. Her eyes and lips, with their eager expectation of something, seemed full of a kind of vivid liveliness. He noticed nothing except the expression on her face. In it he discovered even the innocence of a young girl.