IT was nearly ten. Misako lay in bed listening drowsily to the sounds from the garden outside. Hiroshi seemed to be playing with the new dog: "Lindy, Lindy," and "Peony, Peony," over and over again. Peony was a female collie they had bought the year before from a Kobe kennel, and she owed her smart English name to the fact that the peony bed had been in bloom when she arrived.

"You can't do it that way." It was Takanatsu's voice. "You can't get them to be friends so soon. Leave them alone and they'll make up to each other in their own time."

"But I thought a male and a female weren't supposed to fight." That was Hiroshi.

"He only came yesterday. Give him time."

"Which do you suppose would win if they did have a fight?"

"Which would, I wonder. The trouble is that they're so nearly the same size. If one were smaller, the other would ignore him and they'd be friends in no time."

One of the dogs barked and then the other in alternation. Misako had not yet seen the new dog. She had come home late the evening before and had talked to Takanatsu, half asleep from the strain of travel, no more than twenty minutes or a half-hour. The hoarse, woolly bark probably belonged to the collie, she decided. Misako was not so fond of dogs as Kaname and Hiroshi were, but this Peony was a little different. When she came home late at night, Peony was always at the station with Jiiya, ready to leap at her with a joyful ringing of its chain, and she would scold Jiiya as she wiped the dirt from her kimono. Gradually she had lost her dislike for the dog, until sometimes now in an affectionate mood she would pat its head and feed it milk. Jumped upon as usual last night at the station, she had said with a friendly pat: "You got yourself a new playmate today, didn't you?" Peony was always the first and gladdest to see her, a sort of special emissary from her husband's house, it almost seemed.

The shutters had been left closed to let Misako sleep late. She could tell from the light coming through above them that it was a bright, warm day, the sort of day that made one think of peach blossoms and the Doll Festival. She wondered whether she would have to get out all those dolls and arrange them on their tiered stand again this year. Always fond of festival dolls, her father had ordered a set in the old style from Kyoto shortly after she was born, and she had brought them along in her trousseau. She would as soon leave them buried in their closet if the choice were hers, since she had no daughters and she was not the sort to go through old routines for their own sake. The difficulty was that her father was so near. Each year when April came he was taken with a sentimental yearning for the dolls and hurried down from Kyoto to see them. He had done so last year and the year before, and he most probably would this year too. It was not the prospect of dragging all the boxes from the closet and wiping away a year's dust that bothered her—that she could stand well enough. It was rather the thought of another ordeal like the recent one at the theater. Could she avoid bringing them out this year, she wondered. Maybe she should talk the matter over with Kaname. And what would happen to the dolls when she left this house for good? Would she take them with her? She could leave them with Kaname, but that might not be pleasant for him....

Her mind ran thus uncertainly to the future because it was quite possible that she would no longer be here when the Doll Festival came. But even in bed she could sense the brightness of the spring morning, and she felt alive and happy. She lay for a time on her back, her head high on the pillow, looking at the light over the shutters. For the first time in weeks she had had enough sleep. The drowsiness fast going, she found it pleasant to stretch her arms and legs under the quilt, clinging greedily to the warmth. Hiroshi's empty bed was next to hers, and Kaname's by the alcove beyond. An emerald-colored vase in the alcove over Kaname's pillow held a branch or two of camellias.

They had this guest named Takanatsu, she knew, and she should be up and about, entertaining him, but it was so rare that she had the luxury of sleeping late in the morning. Hiroshi had always slept between her and Kaname, and when one of them had to get up in the morning and see him off to school, Misako usually let Kaname sleep. On Sunday mornings, when there was no school, she would have enjoyed staying in bed herself, but even then Hiroshi was up at seven or so and she felt she ought at least to make a gesture toward looking after him. She had to consider too the fact that she had started putting on weight these last two or three years. It was not good to allow herself too much sleep. Still, there was nothing quite like the pleasure of staying in bed late, and indeed she wondered occasionally whether she might not be getting too little sleep. Her attempts to sleep in the daytime were never as successful as they might be, however. The sleeping medicine she sometimes took in the afternoon only made her more alert and wakeful than ever. Once a week Kaname had to show his face at the office in Osaka, and sometimes, perhaps twice or three times a month, perhaps not that often, he would have a fit of helpfulness and see Hiroshi off to school himself. In any case, whether to sleep or not, it was a very rare thing for her to have the bedroom to herself.

The commotion outside, the barking and Hiroshi's voice, had about it the feel of spring and made her think of the tranquil, soft skies they had had the last three or four days. She would have to talk to Takanatsu today, of course, but that thought upset her only as much as the earlier thought of the festival dolls had. If she let everything upset her, there would be no end to her wretchedness. She wanted always to be in spirits as bright as the skies today, and she wished she could meet every problem with the casual, unhurried eye one has for festival dolls. Presently she gave way to a child-like curiosity about the dog Lindy and turned to get out of bed.

"Good morning." She opened one shutter and called out in a voice quite capable of competing with Hiroshi's.

"Good morning," Takanatsu answered. Hiroshi was busy with the dogs. "How much longer do you intend to sleep?"

"What time is it?"

"Twelve noon."

"You lie. It's no more than ten."

"But how can you sleep on such a beautiful morning?"

Misako laughed. "It's a beautiful morning for sleep, too."

"But the important thing is that you're being rude to your honored guest," Takanatsu countered.

"Oh, him. He's no guest. There's nothing at all to worry about."

"I forgive you. Brush your teeth and come on out. I have something for you too." Takanatsu's face as he looked up at the window was partly hidden by a branch of plum blossoms.

"That's the new dog?"

"That's the new dog. They're very popular in Shanghai these days."

"Isn't he a beauty, Mother?" Hiroshi spoke for the first time. "Uncle Hideo says you ought to go out walking with this sort of dog."

"And what reason does he give?"

"Foreign women use dogs as a sort of ornament," Takanatsu answered. "Go out with him and you'll look more beautiful than ever."

"Even I will look beautiful?"

"I guarantee it."

"But he's so thin. I'd look even plumper than I am.

"That would be nice for the dog, wouldn't it? 'She sets me off so beautifully,' he'd be saying."

"I won't forget that remark."

Hiroshi joined in the laughter, whether he understood or not.

There were five or six large plum trees in the garden, left from what had been a farm orchard when this suburb was still open country. The first blossoms came out early in February, followed through to the end of March by one branch after another. Even now, when most of the petals had fallen, there was still a dot of the purest white here and there in the bright sunlight. Peony and Lindy were tethered to the trunks, just far enough apart so that they could not spring on each other. Apparently tired of barking, they lay like a pair of glowering sphinxes. Misako could not see very clearly through the plum branches, but Kaname seemed to be sitting in a rattan chair on the veranda of the Western-style wing. He had a teacup in his hand and was flicking over the pages of a large book. Takanatsu had taken a chair out to the edge of the garden, where he sat with a cloak thrown over his night kimono, his long underwear showing untidily at the heels.

"Leave your dogs there. I'll be right down."

She came out on the veranda after a quick morning bath.

"Have you eaten?"

"Of course. We waited and waited, but you showed no sign of getting up." Kaname took a sip from the teacup in his right hand and turned his attention back to the book.

"Would you care for a bath, madame?" said Takanatsu. "The lady of the house does nothing for her guests, but the maids are wonderful. They got up early this morning and heated the bath specially. If you don't mind going in after me, why don't you have a bath yourself?"

"I've had one—I didn't realize it was after you, of course."

"It must have been a quick one."

"Do you suppose it's all right?"

"What?"

"Going in after you. I won't catch any dreadful Chinese diseases?"

"You're joking. It would be better to worry about what you might catch from Kaname here."

"I stay quietly at home." Kaname looked up from the book again. "It's you foreigners we need to watch."

"Mother," Hiroshi called from the garden, "aren't you coming out to look at him?"

"I don't mind looking at him, but you and your dogs managed to wake me early this morning. And Hideo right in with you, shouting at the top of your lungs, practically from daybreak."

"I'm a businessman, you know. You perhaps wouldn't guess it from looking at me. In Shanghai I get up every morning at five and go for a gallop out Szechuan Road before work."

"You still ride?" Kaname asked.

"I certainly do. No matter how cold the morning is, I don't feel right until I've had my ride."

"Couldn't you bring the dog over here?" Kaname, reluctant to leave the sunny veranda, called to them as they started out into the garden.

"Hiroshi, boy," Misako called out to him, "your father says to bring the dog over here."

Hiroshi seemed to be having trouble. "Lindy!" The branches of the far plum tree began to rustle, and Peony's hoarse bark rang out. "Quiet, Peony, quiet. Will someone come and get Peony? She's making a nuisance of herself."

"Down, Peony." Takanatsu came over with the collie, and Misako climbed hastily to the veranda as the dog threatened to jump up and lick her cheek.

"You're much too affectionate, Peony. Really, Hiroshi, you should have left her where she was."

"But she was making so much noise."

"Dogs are very jealous animals." Takanatsu squatted at the foot of the stairs beside Lindy, rubbing the palm of his hand over its throat.

"Have you found a tick?" Kaname asked.

"I've made a discovery."

"A discovery?"

"Come and feel this. It's most remarkable."

"Do tell us what's remarkable."

"When you feel it here like this, it's exactly like a human being's." Takanatsu rubbed his own throat and then the dog's again. "Come and feel it, Misako. I'm not lying."

"Let me feel it." Hiroshi ran over ahead of his mother. "You're right. You really are. Let me feel Mother's now."

"Oh, please," Misako protested. " Is it nice to put your mother and a dog in the same class?"

"What does she mean, 'Is it nice?' Why, Hiroshi, your mother can't compete with this dog. If she had a skin as smooth as this she'd be too conceited to talk to us."

"Suppose you come feel my throat, sir."

"In a minute, in a minute. You come feel the dog's throat first. See? What did I tell you? Isn't it strange?"

"Hmm. Very strange indeed. You're quite right. Don't you want to feel it too?" she called to Kaname.

"Where, where?" Kaname came down from the veranda. "Well, so it is. Most remarkable. It gives you a strange feeling, doesn't it?"

"You credit me with a new discovery?"

"The hair is so short and silky it hardly feels like hair at all," Kaname mused.

"And the neck is just the right size, too. I wonder which of us has a bigger neck." Misako cupped one hand against the dog's throat and the other against her own. "His is bigger. It's because he's so long and thin that it looks smaller."

"Exactly my size," said Takanatsu.

"Collar fourteen and a half," added Kaname.

"And so whenever I get lonesome for you I can come out and feel the dog's throat."

"Uncle Hideo! Uncle Hideo!" Hiroshi called into Lindy's ear.

"So you're changing his name from Lindy to Uncle Hideo? How about it, boy?" Kaname laughed.

"Really, Hideo," said Misako, "I'm sure there must be places where this dog would be much more welcome than here."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't understand? And it's so clear to me. There must be someone who would spend her whole day rubbing the dog's throat and thinking of you."

"Maybe you brought it here by mistake?" Kaname suggested.

"You people are impossible. Right in front of the child, too. No wonder he's so brash."

"That reminds me, Father," Hiroshi broke in. "I heard something good when we were bringing Lindy back from Kobe."

"Oh? And what did you hear?"

"Jiiya and I were walking along the Bund, and a drunk—I think he must have been drunk—came after us watching Lindy. 'An amazing dog,' he kept saying. 'Exactly like a conger eel.' "

They all laughed.

"He has a point, you know," said Takanatsu. "The dog does remind you a little of a conger eel. Lindy, you old conger eel!"

"Maybe we can call him Conger Eel," said Kaname, as if debating the matter with himself. "And so, by grace of the conger eel, Uncle Hideo will be spared."

"They have the same sort of longish face, don't they, Peony and Lindy," said Misako.

"Collies and greyhounds have the same faces and the same bodies too," Takanatsu answered. "Only one has long hair and the other short—I add this for the benefit of those who do not know as much about dogs as I do."

"And their throats?"

"Let's drop the throats. That doesn't seem to have been a happy discovery."

"Lined up side by side at the foot of the stairs, they remind you a little of the main Mitsukoshi store, don't they?"

"The Mitsukoshi? Does the Mitsukoshi have two dogs, Mother?"

"Shocking. Your son is a Tokyo man and he doesn't even know about the lions at the Mitsukoshi. That, I suppose, explains why his Osaka accent is so good."

"But I was only six when I left Tokyo."

"I almost think you're right. Time does fly. And you haven't been back since?"

"I always want to go, but Father runs off and leaves me here with Mother."

"Why don't you go with me? You're having a vacation.... I'll show you the Mitsukoshi."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. The day after, maybe."

"I wonder if I should." Hiroshi had been chattering along happily, but a shadow passed over his face.

"Why don't you go with him, Hiroshi?" Kaname suggested.

"I'd like to, I suppose. But there's my homework."

"And haven't I been telling you to get your homework done early?" Misako reminded him. "Work hard at it all day today and you'll have it finished. Then you can ask your uncle to take you to Tokyo with him. Doesn't that seem a fine idea?"

"We won't worry about homework. We can get that done on the train. I'll even help."

"How long will you be in Tokyo?"

"I'll get you back in time for school."

"Where are you going to stay?"

"At the Imperial Hotel."

"But won't you have all sorts of work to do?"

"Imagine the child arguing about it when his uncle offers to take him to Tokyo. Do take him along, Hideo, even if he's a nuisance. It will be so peaceful without him for a few days."

Hiroshi looked into his mother's eyes as she spoke. He was still smiling, but his face seemed a little pale. The thought of taking him along to Tokyo had come to Takanatsu quite on the spur of the moment, but Hiroshi found another explanation: they had planned it in advance. If they really wanted only to give him pleasure, then of course he had no objection to being taken to Tokyo. But he dreaded what Takanatsu might say to him on the train back. "Hiroshi, you will find your mother gone. Your father asked me to talk to you about it"—might he not have to hear something like that? The boy stood before them in a torment of uncertainty, trying to guess what was going on in their grown-up minds, frightened and at the same time vaguely aware that he was perhaps being childish.

"You do have to go to Tokyo? You have business there?"

"Why?"

"If you don't, you can stay here. I'd like that better. It would be more fun for all of us. Mother and Father too."

"Can't they be satisfied with Lindy? They can feel his throat every day."

"But Lindy can't talk to them the way you can. Can you, Lindy? You can't take the place of Uncle Hideo, can you, Lindy?" Hiroshi squatted beside the dog, stroking its throat and rubbing his cheek against its side to cover his confusion. Something about his voice and manner made them suspect that he was crying.

But whatever sorrows and dangers they faced, it seemed to be the rule that Misako and Kaname could laugh and joke when Takanatsu was with them as they could not by themselves. That may have been partly the result of his efforts to put them at ease, but what really seemed to lift the weight from their spirits was the fact that Takanatsu alone knew everything, that there was no need to act in front of him. How long had it been, Misako wondered, since she had last heard Kaname really laugh. The peace and calm of being able to sit on a sunny south veranda, chair opposite chair, watching the boy and the dogs at play in the garden below—the contentment of receiving this visitor from afar, Kaname speaking, Misako answering, the reserve between them broken down—showed unexpectedly how much there still was about them of the husband and wife when for the moment they were free not to play at being husband and wife. It would not last, they knew, but they could enjoy breathing freely for one short moment.

"How's the literature? You seem carried away."

"It's very, very interesting." Kaname was lost again in the book that had lain face down on the table before him. He held it high in front of his face, but even so the others caught a glimpse of a full-page copperplate teeming with naked harem ladies.

"I don't know how many trips I had to make to Kelly and Walsh to get that for you. I heard they finally had it in from England and ran around to buy it. But the rascal probably saw how much I wanted it and asked two hundred dollars. Wouldn't come down a cent. He had the cheek to tell me I couldn't find another set even in London and I was a fool to expect a discount. I know nothing about the book market, but I pushed away at him, and finally he came down ten per cent and made me pay cash on the spot."

"It's as expensive as that?" asked Misako.

"But it's not just one volume," Kaname explained. "Seventeen all together."

"And those seventeen volumes were a problem too. It's classed as obscene, and it's full of illustrations that give it away. I thought customs might be embarrassing if I got caught with seventeen obscene volumes, so I put all seventeen in my trunk. Which was all right, except then my trunk was practically immovable. You've no idea how I labored for those books. Most people would expect a fat commission." Takanatsu used English for words like "obscene" and "illustrations."

"It's different from my Arabian Nights?" Hiroshi had not entirely understood what Takanatsu was talking about, but his curiosity was aroused. He cast an eager eye at the book, trying to get a glimpse of the illustration under his father's hand.

"In places it's the same and in places different. The Arabian Nights is for grown-ups, but there are some stories that are all right for you. Those are the ones in the Arabian Nights you have."

"Is Ali Baba in it?"

"He is."

"And Aladdin's lamp?"

"It is."

"And 'Open Sesame'?"

"It is—all the ones you know are there."

"Is it hard to read in English? How many days will it take you, Father?"

"I've no intention of reading the whole thing. I pick out the interesting spots and read them."

"Even so, I'm filled with admiration. I've forgotten practically all the English I ever knew. No occasion to use it except sometimes in business," said Takanatsu.

"But this sort of book is different. You want to read it even if you have to have a dictionary in one hand."

"That's for men of leisure. Poor men like me can never find the time."

"Strange," Misako put in. "I heard somewhere that you were nouveau riche."

"I made some money just in time to lose it again."

"A pity. How did you lose it?"

"On the dollar market."

"Speaking of dollars, let me pay you before I forget. How much does a hundred and eighty dollars come to?" Kaname asked.

"But you don't have to pay, do you? Isn't it a present?"

"A present!" Takanatsu was outraged. "The woman is talking nonsense. Do people bring presents that cost a hundred and eighty dollars? I brought this because I was ordered to."

"And what about my present?"

"Oh, your present. I forgot about that. Let's go in and have a look. You can pick out one you like."

Misako and Takanatsu went up to Takanatsu's room on the second floor of the foreign wing.