Daisuke was puzzled that a man so readily aroused as D’Annunzio should have required the presence of the color red, which could reasonably be deemed a potent excitant. Daisuke himself was not pleasantly affected by the brightly painted gates at shrines. Had it been possible, he would gladly have set his head adrift by itself to sleep peacefully in the deep green sea. At an exhibit the other day, someone named Aoki had a painting of a tall woman standing at the bottom of the ocean. Of all the entries, Daisuke had found this one alone to be pleasingly executed. This was because he himself wanted to be in such a submerged, tranquil mood.
Daisuke went out to the verandah and noticed the green that was growing rampant in the garden. The flowers had already fallen; now green shoots and leaves were in their first growth. Daisuke felt the brilliant green as if it had burst in his face. He was glad, though, that there was still a subdued tone somewhere beneath all the brightness that dazzled the eye. Wearing a cap and ordinary cotton clothes, he went out the gate.
When he came to Hiraoka’s new residence, the gate was open and the house seemed deserted. The luggage did not seem to have arrived; nor, for that matter, was there any sign of the couple. A man who looked like a ricksha driver sat alone on the verandah, smoking.
To Daisuke’s query, the man answered yes, they had come, but they had decided that at the rate things were going, it would be past noon before their luggage would arrive, and so they had left again.
“Did the master and mistress come together?” “Yes, they were together.”
“And did they leave together?” “Yes, they left together.”
“The luggage should be here soon too. Thanks for your trouble,” Daisuke said and went back to the street.
He went to Kanda but did not feel like stopping at Hiraoka’s inn. Somehow, though, the two weighed on his mind, so he dropped in. The couple was eating side by side. A maid with a tray in her hand sat at the threshold, her back to the corridor. Daisuke called to them from behind her back.
Hiraoka seemed startled when he saw Daisuke. His eyes were bloodshot. It was because he hadn’t slept well in two or three days, he said. Michiyo said he was exaggerating and laughed. Daisuke felt sorry but was also relieved. He refused their invitations to stay and went out to eat, then got a haircut, went to Kudan, and on the way home stopped in once again at the new home. Head wrapped in a scarf, sleeves tied back, and a long, printed underkimono sweeping in view, Michiyo was supervising the unpacking. The maid who had waited on them at the inn was also there. Hiraoka was cutting the strings on a wicker trunk on the verandah, and seeing Daisuke, laughed and asked if he wouldn’t help a little. Kadono had taken off his hakama, and with his kimono hoisted up, was carrying in a chest of drawers with the ricksha driver. “Sensei, how do you like the way I look?” he asked, and warned Daisuke not to laugh.
The next day, as Daisuke sat at the breakfast table drinking his customary tea, Kadono came in, his face just washed and shining. “When did you get home last night, Sensei? I was so tired I just dozed off, I didn’t notice at all. Did you see me sleeping? That was pretty mean of you, Sensei. Anyway, about what time was it when you got back? Where were you until then?” As usual, he chattered effortlessly.
Looking serious, Daisuke asked, “I hope you stayed until it was all cleaned up?”
“Oh, yes, we got the whole place cleaned up. It sure was hard work, though. It’s different from us moving, say, because there’re so many things. Okusan stood in the middle of the room, sort of blank, just looking around at everything—it was pretty funny.”
“Her health isn’t very good.”
“I guess not. I thought she looked a little pale. Completely different from Mr. Hiraoka. He’s got a good build, doesn’t he? I was pretty surprised when we went to the bath together last night.”
Daisuke soon went into his study and wrote two or three letters. One was to a friend in Korea to thank him for a piece of pottery he had sent; another was to his brother-in-law in France, asking him to look for an inexpensive Tanagra figurine.
Past noon, as he was going out for a walk, he looked in on Kadono; he was sprawled out, fast asleep. Seeing his innocent nostrils, Daisuke became envious. As a matter of fact, he himself had had an enormously difficult time falling asleep the night before. The pocket watch he had put by his pillow, as was his custom, had made a tremendous noise. He had reached out and shoved it under the pillow. But the ticking still echoed in his head. Listening to this sound, he had finally dozed off. Even when most of his senses had slipped into the dark caverns of sleep, he was still conscious of a sewing machine that stitched through the night, its needle traveling ceaselessly through his head. Some time during the night, that sound had turned into the chirping of insects, coming deep from the lovely shrubbery at the side of the entrance. . . . When he had followed his dream this far, Daisuke felt as if he had discovered the thread that spanned the space between sleep and wakefulness.
Daisuke was the sort of man who, once he was disturbed by something, no matter what, could not let go of it until he had pursued it to the utmost. Moreover, having the capacity to assess the folly of any given obsession, he was forced to be doubly conscious of it. Three or four years ago he had tackled the question of the process whereby his waking mind entered the realm of dreams. At night, when he had gotten under the covers and begun to doze off nicely, he would think, this is it, this is how I fall asleep. No sooner had he thought this than he was wide awake. When he had managed to doze off again, he would immediately think, here it is. Night after night, he was plagued by his curiosity and would repeat the same procedure two or three times. In the end, he became disgusted in spite of himself. He wanted somehow to escape his agony. Moreover, he was thoroughly impressed by the extent of his folly. To appeal to his conscious mind in order to apprehend his unconscious, and to try to recollect both at the same time was, as James had put it, analogous to lighting a candle to examine the dark, or stopping a top in order to study its movements; at that rate, it stood to reason that he would never again be able to sleep. He knew all this, but when night came, he still thought, now . . .
In about a year’s time, the problem faded away without his notice. When he compared his dream of the previous night with this old problem, Daisuke had a strange feeling. It occurred to him that it would be more graceful to cut loose a part of his conscious self and, without his own knowledge, surrender it just as it was to a dream in progress. At the same time, he asked himself if this process did not resemble the state of incipient insanity. Thus far, Daisuke had never believed he could become insane, for he never became impassioned.
During the next two or three days, neither Daisuke nor Kadono had any word from Hiraoka. In the afternoon of the fourth day, Daisuke went to Azabu to a garden party to which he had been invited. There were quite a number of guests, both men and women. The guests of honor were an immoderately tall Englishman—supposedly a member of Parliament or a businessman of some sort— and his wife, who wore pince-nez. The latter was quite a beauty, almost too beautiful to have come to a place like Japan. She proudly carried a Gifu painted parasol, which she had no doubt acquired somewhere.
Admittedly, the weather was unusually fine that day. As he stood on the grass in his frock coat under the piercingly blue sky, the feeling that summer had already come spread from Daisuke’s shoulders to his back. The English gentleman frowned and looked up at the sky and said it was beautiful. His wife immediately responded, lovely. Since this exchange was made emphatically in high-pitched tones, Daisuke felt that compliments delivered in English were remarkable indeed.
Even Daisuke had two or three words addressed to him by the wife. But before three minutes were up, he found it unbearable and beat a hasty retreat. After him, a young lady in kimono with her hair purposely done in traditional style, and a man who was said to have spent some years in New York on business, took over. The latter professed to be a genius at spea
king English and never missed an English-language gathering. His greatest pleasure was to converse in English with Japanese, then to deliver a table speech in English. He had a habit of saying something, then laughing loudly as if it were highly amusing. From time to time the Englishman looked at him dubiously, and Daisuke thought he should at least refrain from doing that. The young lady was doing quite well, too. She was the daughter of a well-to-do man who had hired an American tutor, with whom she had practiced English. Daisuke, thinking that she excelled in language more than in looks, listened to her, utterly impressed.
It was not because he was personally acquainted with the host or the English couple that Daisuke had been invited. An invitation had found its way to him simply because he floated in the wake of his father’s and brother’s position in society. So he made his rounds to all the guests, bowing suitably to each of them, and when that was done, began to saunter about aimlessly. Eventually, he spotted his brother. “Oh, you came,’’ said Seigo, not even touching his hand to his hat.
“It’s quite a nice day, isn’t it.”
“Yes, it’s fine.”
Daisuke was not on the short side, but his brother was even taller. And on top of it, he had put on weight in the past five or six years, which made him look quite impressive.
“Why don’t you go over there and chat with the foreigners for a while?”
“No, never,” his brother said, grimacing. He began to toy with the gold chain hanging over his large stomach.
“Foreigners are quite smooth, aren’t they? Too smooth. With so much flattery, even the weather’s got to behave.”
“They have that many good words for the weather, do they? It’s a little too hot for me.”
“For me, too,” said Daisuke.
Then, as if they had timed it, Seigo and Daisuke pulled out their white handkerchiefs and wiped their brows. Both had on heavy silk hats.
The brothers walked to a shady spot at the edge of the lawn and stopped. No one was around. It seemed that some sort of entertainment was beginning on the other side. Seigo watched it with the same expression he always wore at home. Seeing this, Daisuke thought, if you get to be like my brother, it must not make much difference whether you’re at home or visiting. There probably isn’t anything to look forward to once you get that worldly—how dull it must be.
“What’s Father doing today?” “Father’s at a poetry meeting.”
Seigo answered without any change of expression, but Daisuke was somewhat amused.
“And Umeko?” “Entertaining guests.”
Thinking that his sister-in-law would complain to him later, Daisuke was again amused.
Daisuke knew that Seigo always seemed very busy. He also understood that over half his business consisted of attending such gatherings as this. Without a hint of distaste or a word of complaint, his brother wined and dined and chatted with women at all hours. Yet, his appearance never betrayed fatigue and his manner was always unruffled; with almost otherworldly composure, his flesh grew more ample each year. Daisuke could not but admire his capabilities.
That Seigo could go into geisha houses, accept luncheon invitations, drop in at the Club, see people off at Shimbashi, meet them at Yokohama, run out to Ōiso to humor the elders—that he could put in his appearance at large gatherings from morning to evening without seeming either triumphant or dejected—this must be because he was thoroughly accustomed to this kind of life, thought Daisuke; it was probably like the jellyfish’s floating in the sea and not finding it salty.
Daisuke was thankful for this; that is to say, his brother, unlike his father, had never yet preached troublesome sermons to him. Such stiff words as principle, doctrine, or philosophy of life never found their way to his lips, and it was difficult to tell whether he even had such beliefs. On the other hand, he had never shown any inclination to attack those stiff notions of principle, doctrine, or philosophy of life. He was wonderfully ordinary.
But uninteresting. As a conversationalist, Daisuke far preferred his sister-in-law. Whenever Daisuke saw his brother, Seigo was sure to say, how are things; wasn’t there an earthquake in Italy; the Emperor of Turkey was deposed. Or, the cherry blossoms at Mukōjima were no good any more; a large snake was found in the bottom of a foreign ship in Yokohama; someone was run over by a train. They were all things that had appeared in the newspapers. He carried around with him an infinite number of inoffensive topics. No matter how long one talked with him, he never seemed to run out.
There were also times when he would ask such peculiar questions as, was that man named Tolstoy dead yet; or, who was the greatest novelist in Japan nowadays. In other words, he was completely indifferent to the arts and therefore shockingly ignorant. But when he asked these questions so nonchalantly, he was so far beyond respect or contempt that Daisuke found it easy to answer him.
Sitting face to face with his brother, Daisuke was never stimulated; on the other hand, he found Seigo’s straightforwardness agreeably relaxing. But since he was out from morning to night, Daisuke could seldom catch him. His sister-in-law, Seitarō, and Nuiko were all quite surprised if Seigo stayed at home and took his three meals with the family.
So, when he stood next to his brother in the shade, Daisuke thought he had found a good opportunity. “I’d like to see you about something. Would you be free some time?”
“Free,” Seigo repeated, and without any explanation, began to laugh.
“How about tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow morning I have to go to Yokohama.” “From noon?”
“From noon, I’ll be at the office, but there’ll be a conference, so even if you came I wouldn’t be able to stay for long.”
“Then the evening would be all right?”
“In the evening, I’m off to the Imperial Hotel. I’m supposed to host that foreign couple tomorrow night.”
Daisuke looked at his brother and pouted. Then the two burst out laughing.
“If you’re in such a hurry, how about today? Today would be all right. Why don’t we get something to eat—we haven’t done it in a long time.”
Daisuke agreed. He thought Seigo would propose the Club, but unexpectedly enough, he suggested an eel place.
“I’ve never gone to an eel place in a silk hat before,” said Daisuke hesitantly.
“What difference does it make?”
The two left the garden party and took a ricksha to an eel shop at the foot of Kanesugibashi.
It was an old-fashioned house set amidst a flowing river and weeping willows. Daisuke turned their silk hats upside down and set them on the shelf next to the blackened alcove pillar. Seeing them side-byside, he said it looked strange. Yet, with just the two of them sitting cross-legged in the large, open, second-story room, it was actually more agreeable than being at the garden party.
The two drank pleasantly. Seigo acted as if all they had to do was eat, drink, and gossip. Daisuke himself was on the verge of forgetting his purpose in getting together. But after the maid brought in the third round, he got around to business; needless to say, it concerned Michiyo’s request for a loan.
Daisuke had never yet asked Seigo for money. Of course, there was the time just after he finished school when he had overindulged in geisha and left his brother to clean up the mess. On that occasion, his brother, far from scolding, had just said, well, what a problem, don’t say anything to Father—and through Daisuke’s sister-in-law had completely paid off the debt. Because of this, Daisuke had always felt obliged to his brother. He had often been hard pressed for spending money since then, but he had managed by going to his sister-in-law. In effect, this was his first experience at bringing such a matter to his brother.
To Daisuke, Seigo seemed like a tea kettle without a handle; he did not know where to begin to get ahold of him. But this was also what intrigued him.
Daisuke b
egan to unfold the Hiraoka couple’s history as if it were another piece of gossip. Seigo showed no signs of impatience as he sipped his sake and now and again threw in a “hm” as if to keep time. When the story advanced to the point where Michiyo came asking for money, he still only said “hm.” Daisuke had no choice but to say, “So, I felt sorry for them and said I’d see what I could do.”
“Oh. Is that right.” “What do you think?”
“Can you raise the money?”
“I can’t raise a penny. I’d have to borrow.” “Who from?”
Since this was the point he had been leading to all along, Daisuke said firmly, “I thought I’d borrow it from you.” He looked at his brother’s face again. It was still unchanged.
And he calmly answered, “I wouldn’t do that.”
Seigo’s reasons had nothing to do with obligation or kindness, or even with the practical question of whether the money would be returned or not. It was simply that he had concluded that in such circumstances, things invariably took care of themselves if left alone.
Seigo gave a number of examples to support his conclusion. There was a man named Fujino who rented a tenement house on Seigo’s property. This Fujino had been asked to keep the son of a distant relative. Soon thereafter, the boy was conscripted and had to return to his home province for a physical. But Fujino had used up the money sent for the boy’s schooling and travel expenses, and he came to Seigo asking for a loan to cover the gap. Seigo, of course, had not seen the man personally, but had instructed his wife to refuse him. This notwithstanding, the son had gone home at the appointed time and undergone his physical without any great inconvenience. Then there was the time when a relative of Fujino’s had used up the deposit on a house he rented, and when the renters were ready to move, he could not return the sum and came begging through Fujino. Seigo had made his wife refuse again. Still, the deposit was returned without any great difficulty. There were other examples, mostly in the same vein.