To the Spring Equinox and Beyond

  Keitaro could hardly bring himself to say at that moment that he had undertaken it out of curiosity. He got around the question by implying that even though he knew the task was unpleasant, he had complied with Taguchi's request because he had to depend on him for a livelihood.

  "If you're that desperate for a job, perhaps it couldn't be helped. But you'd better not get involved in that kind of nonsense again. You're putting yourself through unnecessary trouble, aren't you?—following someone in the cold rain."

  "I've learned a little from my experience. I don't intend to do it again."

  Matsumoto said nothing on hearing this reflection, but gave only a bitter smile. Whether it could be taken either as derision or pity, Keitaro, at any rate, was made to feel humiliated.

  "You look sorry for having treated me wrongly, but are you really that repentant?"

  Actually, Keitaro did not feel remorseful in terms of any fundamental principle, but when asked in this way, he was compelled to feel so and to reply so under the circumstances.

  "Well then, go to Taguchi and tell him the girl I was with the other day was a high-class prostitute. Tell him I will guarantee she was."

  "Is she really that kind of woman?" Keitaro asked, somewhat surprised.

  "No matter what she is, just tell him that."

  "I see."

  "Don't say 'I see.' Just tell him. Could you do that for me?"

  As one of the younger generation brought up in the modern world, Keitaro was not a person who shrank from the rudeness of using such words before his elders. But as he suspected that there might be something unpleasant behind Matsumoto's persistence in forcibly pushing those words at him, he was not disposed to consent hastily.

  Seeing Keitaro frown in perplexity, Matsumoto said, "You needn't worry. It's only Taguchi you have to tell it to." But after a moment he added, as though he had become aware of something just then, "You still don't know about how Taguchi and I are related, do you?"

  "No, I know nothing about it," Keitaro replied.

  "If I tell you about it, you'll have even less courage to inform Taguchi that she's a high-class prostitute, so it goes against my interest to. But I'll tell you, for it's a pity to allow your innocence to always be made a fool of."

  With these preliminary words Matsumoto gave Keitaro an explanation of his social contacts with Taguchi. As the explanation was one that was concluded in the simplest way, it was all the more surprising to Keitaro. In a word, Taguchi and Matsumoto were near relatives: Matsumoto had two elder sisters, one of them Sunaga's mother, the other Taguchi's wife.

  When Keitaro grasped for the first time how these two men were related, the fact that Taguchi's brother-in-law Matsumoto had met the former's daughter, his own niece, at the streetcar stop at an appointed hour and had dined together in a restaurant appeared now to Keitaro to be one of the most commonplace affairs in the entire world. He realized how ridiculous it had been of him to have assumed that there was some complex intrigue behind "the affair" and to have run around after it as though it had had some luring glimmer. He now understood that it was nothing but a flickering will-o'-the-wisp of his own heated fancy.

  "What did Miss Taguchi go out there for? Only to entice me?"

  "She went there on her way home from the Sunagas'. I'd been talking with Taguchi at his house when she telephoned me and asked me to get off at the stop on my way home at about 4:30, where she'd be waiting for me. I thought it would be a bother and didn't feel like going, but she said she had to see me and so on and so forth, so I got off there. She told me then that her father that very morning had informed her I'd buy her a ring as a year-end gift and she should wait for me at the stop and not let me get away until she had gone with me to purchase it. And so she had, as she said, been waiting quite a while before I came. She wouldn't budge on this demand she had come up with so willfully, totally disregarding my own say in the matter. So I was obliged to put her off by treating her to a foreign-style dinner. Hence our dining at the Takaratei. Damn that Taguchi! Why on earth does he go to so much trouble with his nasty tricks? He's far more in the wrong than you, victimized as you've been by him."

  To Keitaro, it seemed that he had himself been a far greater simpleton to have been in the wrong, duped by the man. He couldn't help blushing, for had he known about this relationship, he would have used more discretion at the time he had given Taguchi the report on his detective work.

  "Then you didn't know at all about being spied on?"

  "How could I? You see, even a high-class idler like me has no time to spare for that kind of nonsense."

  "How about Miss Taguchi? It seems to me she knew about it."

  "Well," Matsumoto said, meditating a while before declaring, "No, she probably didn't. I'd have to say that even Taguchi, fool though he is, is not without some redeeming points. No matter what mischief he's up to, at the moment when the butt of his joke is about to be shamed, he either brings it all to a halt or shows up himself and puts a neat end to it before the person's honor is affected. At least in that there's something to praise him for, his foolishness notwithstanding. After all, even though his way of doing things is unscrupulous, he ultimately reveals his own humanity, imbued with a sort of warm benevolence. In this affair of ours too, he's probably kept it all to himself. If you hadn't come to visit me, I would certainly have remained unaware of it. He's not that merciless a person to announce to anyone beforehand, even to his own daughter, some strategy that will prove the stupidity of the one being made the butt of his joke as you've been. Since he is that way, he'd be better off giving up these pranks. But he won't—it's his damn foolishness."

  As Keitaro listened silently to this criticism, he was conscious that a feeling of reliability for the man who had played this trick on him was definitely gaining the upper hand in his mind; it was by now much stronger than the regret he felt in looking back at his own foolish behavior and stronger than his bitterness against the one responsible for making a fool of him. But again there sprang forth in Keitaro the suspicion that if Taguchi were really the kind of man he now felt him to be, why was it that while he was speaking with him, he experienced that enormous feeling of constraint?

  "What you've told me about Mr. Taguchi has given me a better understanding of him. But when I'm with him, I somehow feel ill at ease. There's this strange sensation, like being in a kind of pain."

  "Why, that's because he himself is on guard against you."

  Explained thus, Taguchi's way of looking and speaking, vividly recalled by Keitaro, was now much clearer to him. But why such an old hand as Taguchi had to bother about a stripling fresh from school, Keitaro found quite inexplicable. He firmly believed that he would pass before anyone's eyes just as he actually was, and as such he had thought so little of himself that he had not even felt a claim to be kept at a distance or to be bothered about. So he began thinking that it was rather strange to have been treated so differently from the way he had expected by a man so much older than he was, one far exceeding him in experience.

  "Do I look like such a two-faced person?"

  "Well, you can never tell that kind of subtlety at first glance. But whether you are or not, you don't have to worry about it. It has nothing to do with my treatment of you."

  "But I have to if Mr. Taguchi looks at me that way."

  "It's not you alone he regards in this way. It's the way he is—he looks at everybody like that. He's been an employer for a long time, so he must have many cases of deception. Even if a man pure as nature happened to turn up, Taguchi could not be relaxed with him. You should take it as the fate of such men. While it may sound improper to praise one's relative, I can honestly say that my brother-in-law was born with some good qualities. He's basically not a bad fellow at all. Only for years he's been battling his way through the world, thinking only of success in business as his main object in life. So he has an odd bias in his view of man. He cares only whether someone will be useful or reliable on a job, I guess. Once you get that way, even if
you're loved by a woman, you can't help doubting whether she really loves you or your money. And if a beautiful woman is in for that kind of treatment, a man ought to take it for granted that he's going to be treated with constraint. That's what makes Taguchi Taguchi."

  This comment seemed to give Keitaro an even greater understanding of Taguchi's character. But what sort of person was Matsumoto himself?-—tossing off such judgments one after another, each of which struck into Keitaro's head as though it were being driven by an iron hammer. As far as this aspect of Matsumoto was concerned, Keitaro still felt as if he were confronting a vast mass of cloud. And he felt that even the Taguchi that existed before Matsumoto's elucidation was more of a human being.

  As Keitaro observed this Matsumoto, who the other night had been saying something about a coral with Taguchi's daughter at a restaurant in Kanda, he thought that the earlier Matsumoto had moved with much more life in him. The man sitting before him now merely gave him the impression of a wooden statue with a large pipe in its mouth, a statue endowed with spirit and speech, and as such it baffled his attempt to get an image of his real substance. Filled with admiration for Matsumoto's lucid criticism on the one hand and thinking on the other about his personality, Keitaro began having doubts about himself, that his intelligence was below average and his intuition dull, when the vague Matsumoto spoke up again.

  "And yet Taguchi's folly is after all bringing you luck, isn't it?"

  "How could that be?"

  "I'm certain he'll get you a position. If he doesn't, he's neither Taguchi nor anyone else. I'll vouch for that. I'm the one who's the loser, having been spied on and receiving nothing in return."

  They looked at each other and laughed. When Keitaro rose from his circular calico cushion, his host took the trouble to accompany him to the front door. His tall thin body paused before the screen depicting the crane drawn in India ink, and he looked down at Keitaro from behind as he was putting on his shoes.

  "That's a queer-looking cane. Let me see it," he said, taking it from Keitaro's hand. "My, a snake's head. And very well carved. Did you buy it?" he asked.

  "No, it was done by an amateur who gave it to me."

  Flourishing his walking stick, Keitaro again went down Yarai Slope toward Edogawa.

  A Rainy Day

  A long period of time passed without Keitaro's receiving an opportunity to learn from Matsumoto himself the reason for his refusal to see visitors on rainy days. It had even slipped from his own mind, much too busy as he was to concern himself with it. Only after he had gained a position through Taguchi's assistance, which led to free access to the Taguchi household, did he by chance hear about it.

  By that time his experience at the streetcar stop had begun to lose the freshness it once had. When Sunaga occasionally brought up the subject, all Keitaro could do was shrug off the entire incident with a smile. Sunaga would demand why Keitaro had not taken him into his confidence before he had even attempted the scheme. And he would also chide him that since his mother had informed Keitaro about his Uchisaiwaicho uncle's habit of tricking others, he certainly ought to have known about it. And finally Sunaga began badgering Keitaro for having too much interest in women. Keitaro braved it out by telling Sunaga to keep quiet, but each time there came to his mind the image of the woman he had seen from behind at Sunaga's gate, the woman who he had realized was the same one he had seen at the streetcar stop. And in some remote way he felt ashamed. That her name was Chiyoko and that her younger sister was called Momoyoko were items of information that no longer held any novelty for him.

  After learning all the inside information through Matsumoto at their first encounter, Keitaro had felt embarrassed about putting in an appearance at Taguchi's, but because the conclusion of some business demanded his presence, he had passed through Taguchi's gate prepared to be laughed at, and Taguchi, as Keitaro had expected, did just that. However, Keitaro interpreted in Taguchi's laugh not so much the sound of haughty pride in his resourcefulness as that of triumphant joy in having put on the right path a man who had gone astray. Taguchi did not use any condescending words and thus imply the trick had been done for admonition's sake or as a means of education. Instead, he asked only that Keitaro not be angry because no harm had been intended and immediately gave an on-the-spot promise that he would have a considerable position available for the young man. Taguchi then clapped his hands to summon his older daughter, the one who had been waiting at the stop for Matsumoto. He formally introduced her to Keitaro, thus confirming her as his daughter. He also told her that Keitaro was a friend of Ichizo's. She gave a cold though polite greeting, apparently a little confused at being introduced to a stranger. It was then that Keitaro had learned her name was Chiyoko.

  This first opportunity for him to come in contact with Taguchi's family led to frequent visits on business and other matters. Sometimes he even entered the houseboy's room beside the entrance to gossip with the one he had once bickered with over the phone. There were even occasions in which he had to go into the back part of the house, sometimes to talk with Taguchi's wife about something connected with the running of the household. He was frequently at a loss about questions concerning English put to him by the Taguchis' only son, a middle school student.

  As the frequency of his visits increased, it was natural that he had more opportunities to come in contact with the two daughters. However, his slow response on the one hand and the comparatively vivacious behavior of the two girls—which seemed to be a family trait—on the other, as well as the very few chances they had to sit down face to face left them under conditions whose reserve was not easily broken through. The words they exchanged were of course not limited to rigid formal pronouncements, but most were taken up with mere day-to-day matters that required less than five minutes to dispose of. There was thus not enough time for any degree of intimacy to develop. Only at a New Year's poetry-card party given a little after the middle of January did he have the chance to sit knee-to-knee with them for an unusually long time. They were up late into the night engaged in unreserved conversation. Chiyoko had said to him, "You're really slow at this game!" And Momoyoko had scolded, "If you're my partner, we're bound to lose."

  One Sunday about a month later, when news of blossoming plum trees began appearing in the newspapers, Keitaro was spending the afternoon with Sunaga in his upstairs study after a long interval in which he had not visited him. Chiyoko had also come for a visit, and as the three chatted over one thing and another, she happened to mention something about her uncle.

  "He's quite cranky," she said. "For a while he refused to see visitors on rainy days. I wonder if he still does that?"

  "Actually, I was one of the ones he wouldn't let in on one of those rainy days."

  As soon as Keitaro began his confession, both Sunaga and Chiyoko, as though it had been prearranged, burst out laughing. "Well, well, isn't that too bad," Sunaga said. "Perhaps it was because you didn't take that cane of yours with you."

  "You can't expect someone to carry a cane in the rain. Right, Tagawa-san?"

  At this reasonable defense from Chiyoko, Keitaro too could not but smile.

  "This cane of yours—really, what's it like?" Chiyoko asked. "I'd like to have a look at it. Show it to me please, Tagawa-san. May I go downstairs to see it?"

  "I don't have it with me today."

  "Why not? When it's such a fine day."

  "Because it's a very precious stick," said Sunaga. "I hear Tagawa doesn't take it out on ordinary days."

  "Really?"

  "Yes, I guess so," said Keitaro.

  "Then do you carry it only on holidays?"

  Keitaro found it somewhat difficult to fight the two of them, so he warded off Chiyoko's persistence by promising to show it to her on his next visit to Uchisai-waicho. In return he got Chiyoko to tell him the reason Matsumoto refused visitors on rainy days.

  One cloudy November afternoon after a spell of fine weather, Chiyoko had gone to Yarai at her mother's request to bring Mats
umoto one of his favorite foods, seasoned sea-urchin eggs. Chiyoko wanted to spend the day with his family, since she had not been there for some time, so she sent back the rickshaw she had come in and decided to stay on.

  Matsumoto's children included a girl of twelve, the eldest, followed alternately by a boy, a girl, and a boy at two-year intervals, all growing up quite normally. In addition to these lively adornments that added such a bright aura to their home, the Matsumotos had a two-year-old girl named Yoiko, whom they held in as tight an embrace as a jewel set in a ring. On the eve of the Doll's Festival the preceding year, they had been blessed with this daughter, whose skin was as lucid as pearl and whose large pupils were dark as lacquer.

  Of the five Matsumoto children, Chiyoko was most fond of this infant. Whenever she came to visit, she always brought her a plaything of some sort or another. Once, scolded by her aunt for giving Yoiko too many sweets, Chiyoko took the precious child in her arms and went out to the veranda. "My dear, dear Yoiko," she said, as if to purposely show her aunt how intimate the two were. Laughing, her aunt said, "Why, you'd think I'd been quarreling with my own baby." And Matsumoto teased Chiyoko, saying, "If you're so fond of her, we'll give her to you as a wedding gift to take to your husband."

  On that day in late autumn as well, Chiyoko, the minute she sat down in the Matsumoto home, began playing with the child. Yoiko had never had her hair cut in front, so that it was soft, long, and curly, and when shone on by the sun, it had a dark violet tint, perhaps from the reflection against the pale scalp beneath. "Yoiko, I'll do up your hair," said Chiyoko, carefully combing the child's curls. Separating a tuft of the scanty sidelocks, Chiyoko tied at its roots a red ribbon. Yoiko's skull was broadly flat on top yet round like a piece of layered ricecake offering. With an effort, the infant lifted her short arm to touch a corner of the "offering" and, putting her tiny hand at the ribbon's edge, tottered over to her mother and lisped, "Ibbon, ibbon!"