By the time November came around, Kin would no longer eat anything. Tetsuyuki took Reptiles of Japan out of his bookcase and read the section “Keeping Lizards.” A point of caution on raising them indoors stated that in place of sunlight an infrared lamp should be used; otherwise, they would lose appetite. He thought he had committed all of that to memory, but it had slipped his mind. It also stated that during the winter one feeding per week is sufficient.
Two weeks had passed since Kin stopped eating. Tetsuyuki thought perhaps he was just tired of chestnut weevil larvae and tried giving him ants or spiders he found in the weeds growing thick behind the building, but Kin would just blink and not open his mouth.
Having purchased an infrared lamp at a department store, as soon as he finished his shift Tetsuyuki hurried back along the cold path in the deep of night and immediately trained the light on Kin. Then an idea came to him and he took out a ruler to measure Kin’s length: he was about one centimeter longer than the day he first appeared before Tetsuyuki.
“Kin-chan, you were still just a kid when I drove that nail through you.” For nearly half an hour he continued to talk to the lizard in a soft voice. Like keeping a diary, it had become a daily routine for him to relate to Kin the events of each day and to talk about his own state of mind. The shabby attire of the laborer accompanying his child in the train and the awkward manner in which he had shown affection . . . The wealthy-looking woman in Osaka Station whose profile somehow suggested a lack of vitality . . . The spitefulness of the front-desk manager . . . The overbearing guests whose manner of tipping made him want to throw it back at them . . . The look that woman who worked at the grill would give him from a distance, and how it did not just seem to be his vain imagination . . .
And just as in a diary, fictionalizing was mixed in with his words. When he became aware of these embellishments, it seemed as if he were improvising a novel, assaulted at times by feelings of sorrow, elation, or anger.
“If I didn’t have Yōko, maybe I’d have fallen for that woman at the grill. She moved to Osaka from Shimane Prefecture right after graduating from high school just to work at that hotel. Today, on the sly she brought me a steak fillet in piecrust that the cook had mistakenly made too many of, wrapped hidden in a napkin. I completely understood her motive, but still asked, ‘Why are you bringing me this?’ ‘The cook gave it to me.’ But that doesn’t amount to an answer. Even so, I know exactly why the cook gave it to her. She’s too pretty to be working as a waitress at a grill. With a little polishing, she’d be a real knockout.”
Tetsuyuki shut off the infrared lamp, thinking that sudden long exposure might not be good for Kin. “Before I go to bed, I’ll turn it on for another ten minutes.”
He spread out his futon and stared at the research materials for his graduation thesis piled on the desk. The day at the end of summer when he walked down Midōsuji Avenue through a violent downpour, getting soaking wet, suddenly came to mind, as did the evening scene where he heard from Yōko’s own mouth of the existence of another man in her life. Yōko, who had been meeting with that architectural designer Ishihama, mumbled words that Tetsuyuki had not forgotten: “If I can’t marry you, then I’d want to marry him.” And there was another suspicion that stubbornly smoldered in his mind: Yōko denied it, but did she really not have a physical relationship with that Ishihama?
Even though they had met many times since then, and even as their love had increased and they had made seemingly unbreakable promises to each other, that suspicion would suddenly well up. Though that incident was supposed to be behind them, it could still generate incurable jealousy. On those occasions, he would think of Mr. and Mrs. Lang. It had no relationship to them, but every time jealousy and suspicion darkened his mind there would arise in his thoughts the countenances of that elderly German couple—expressing at the same time resolution and helplessness—who had chosen a tea hut in the quiet and elegant garden of a foreign land as their place to die.
“I wonder how those two are doing. Their son ended up coming to Japan to pick them up, but I can’t imagine that he’s now living together with his parents in harmony in Munich. Human beings are all petty when it comes to feelings, and they won’t let bygones be bygones, no matter how small the matter. But you’re the same, too, aren’t you, Kin? You haven’t forgiven me, have you?”
Though he had just uttered the words “petty when it comes to feelings,” when he thought of Yōko’s having even briefly shifted her affections to another man, Tetsuyuki lost all sense of reason and, manipulated by that emotional scar, would imagine her naked in Ishihama’s embrace.
“I’m a man, so I understand how other men’s minds work, especially toward women. He put on the airs of a gentleman, but am I supposed to believe that he never laid a finger on Yōko when her feelings were inclined toward him? She’d rather die than admit it, though.”
He again switched on the infrared lamp, and while Kin basked in it, he thought of the words he would like to hear from Yōko’s mouth that would clear her of the suspicions he harbored. But he instantly realized that any words would be powerless: if you doubt, then any words are unbelievable, and even in the unlikely event that she were to confess to having been in Ishihama’s embrace, he still would not be able to leave her.
Kin drank some water, but would not eat anything that night either. Tetsuyuki changed into his pajamas, turned off the light, and got under the quilts. As he looked at the faint glow from the curtains of the back window, a certain strategy occurred to him: he would get revenge on her. He would make her experience the same grief he had been feeling. He would torment her by creating a drama of his own affections shifting to another woman. An image flashed before him of a country girl, aware of her own beauty, whose ample, captivating breasts could seriously draw him away if he were not careful.
The next day, Tetsuyuki went earlier than usual to the employee cafeteria, because he knew that the grill cook, Nakae Yuriko, ate her dinner there an hour earlier than the other employees. Along with the other grill employees, Yuriko had finished eating and was washing the dishes. Having heaped rice into a plastic bowl, Tetsuyuki took one of the plates of side dishes set out near the sinks and whispered so that only Yuriko could hear, “Thanks for yesterday.”
Yuriko nodded slightly, taking care that her coworkers not notice. Tetsuyuki motioned to her, then, setting his dish and bowl down on a table, left the cafeteria in the direction of the laundry room. He asked Yuriko, who came trotting up after him: “What time are you off today?”
“I came in early, so I’ll finish at eight.”
“Then I’ll be waiting at the north entrance of Osaka Station at eight thirty.”
“. . . Why?”
Not giving the obvious response to her question, Tetsuyuki went on. “I’ll wait ten minutes, and if you haven’t come, I’ll consider myself stood up and leave.”
With that, he returned to the cafeteria with a quick pace. Picking with his chopsticks the sparse meat, carrots, and onion out of the sauce consisting more of clumps of starch than anything else, he downed his meal and then went up to the lobby to stand in his prescribed place near the front desk.
Most of the employees knew that next spring he would graduate and begin work as a permanent employee. Tsuruta, who until now had shown a spiteful attitude toward him, did a complete turnaround and began paying him compliments, sometimes even giving him cigarettes he had won at pachinko.
When Tsuruta returned to the lobby from showing some guests to their room, Tetsuyuki asked: “Please let me off early at eight. An uncle of mine is ill, and it seems he only has another two or three days. I’d like to meet with him while I still can.” He had an aunt, but no uncles.
“That’s going to be a bit of a problem. Today, we have two groups arriving: one American and one Taiwanese. But under the circumstances, I suppose it can’t be helped.” Tsuruta really did seem to be at a loss, but agreed anyway. Then, still standing abreast, he moved closer to Tetsuyuki and said, “Starting next month, Isogai will be moved to the general affairs office.”
Tetsuyuki had been thinking that he should pay a get-well visit to Isogai, who had been suffering from his bad heart condition and had taken nearly a month off work.
“Is he better now?”
“Probably a bit better than he was. But in moving him to General Affairs, the management must have determined that work as a bellboy was too demanding physically.”
It occurred to Tetsuyuki that perhaps Tsuruta would then be promoted to head of bellboys.
“Actually, in terms of years of service, he shouldn’t have been made head, but they made him head in order for him to avoid strenuous work.”
“Who has the most years of service?”
“I do.” The expression on Tsuruta’s face seemed to say that the headship should have been his, but he had yielded it to sickly Isogai.
“Yes, but Isogai is older than you, isn’t he?”
“True, but he was hired later.” Then, twisting his acne-scarred face into an obsequious expression, he whispered, “You know, Iryō, you and I are the same age, so we ought to stick together after this.”
Tetsuyuki thought to himself, Don’t worry. Even if I become a regular employee of this hotel and occupy a position above you, I won’t repay your bullying. Then he said, “No matter if we’re the same age, you’ll always be my senior.” Pleased at that, Tsuruta smiled and gave Tetsuyuki’s shoulder a congenial pat.
At seven thirty, a large tour bus arrived and seventy Americans crowded into the lobby. Tetsuyuki busied himself with the task of efficiently unloading the heavy travel bags from the bus. Foreigners’ luggage—especially that of Americans—was always heavy, and although they lifted them easily with one hand, at first Tetsuyuki was barely able to move them with both. By now he had learned the knack of it—or perhaps he had developed a bit more strength in his arms—and he was able to take care of the luggage much more quickly than before.
At eight on the dot, Tsuruta informed him of the time. He changed his clothes and headed to the north entrance of Osaka Station. Standing by the stairs leading to the ticket gate of the Hankyū Line, he waited for Yuriko. An elderly man with large rosary beads wrapped around his neck was dancing to the peculiar rhythm of what seemed to be some kind of sutra. Hardly anyone paid attention, but just gave him a glance that registered neither pity nor surprise.
The man suddenly pointed at Tetsuyuki and shouted, “You are a kindhearted egoist.” He began to approach as if wanting to say more. Pretending not to have heard, Tetsuyuki escaped inside the station. He looked back to see that the man had abandoned his pursuit and was again dancing in the same place as before. Taking care not to be noticed, Tetsuyuki stealthily returned to wait and saw Yuriko coming toward him over the crosswalk.
“What time do you have to be back at your dormitory?”
“The curfew is ten, but nobody keeps it.”
“Nobody?”
“Yeah. The caretaker shuts the gate and goes to bed. But it’s easy to get in and out by ducking under the shrubs, and we’ve secretly hidden a master key to the front door in three places.”
“In three places?”
A vaguely coquettish smile—one she would definitely not show at work—had gradually stolen over Yuriko’s face. “All of us are accomplices in this crime.”
“I see. So I guess you all colluded to make three copies of the master key?”
Walking abreast, they descended into the subterranean mall. As they were making their way through the crowds Tetsuyuki began to regret having put this strategy into action, sensing that this was likely to take a much more troublesome course than he had anticipated. He had no idea what kind of religion influenced the man he had just encountered, but it was amazing how accurately the guy had described his nature: “You are a kindhearted egoist.” That was right on target; there could have been no more accurate analysis. But he sensed that within that brief phrase lay countless invectives: petty punk, hypocrite, show-off, coward, dimwit with balls smaller than a mite’s, idiot who is easily blown about by anger, pain, jealously, and disappointment . . .
Tetsuyuki realized that his feelings of revenge toward Yōko were born from his own makeshift sense of self-esteem. He loved her deeply and more strongly than ever even as he walked with Yuriko. But for that very reason he wanted to inflict brief torment on Yōko. The words she spoke on that day when he confronted Ishihama in the tea lounge of the hotel were justifiable: “I’m only twenty-one. And I like it when a man makes a fuss over me. Is there anything wrong with that?” Now if she were to have those same kinds of words thrown back at her, even if she recognized that her partner’s excuse was justifiable, she would know how depressing and wounding they were. So, I’m a ‘kindhearted egoist,’ huh? Tetsuyuki muttered in his mind with self-scorn. Then it occurred to him that Kin probably also held the same estimation of him.
Tetsuyuki and Yuriko went into a coffee shop. At first, she seemed awkward and ill-at-ease, but as they exchanged rambling chatter she loosened up. When he asked her if she would like to go see a movie on her day off, she nodded slightly.
“When is your next day off?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
Friday, the day after tomorrow, he had three classes he absolutely had to attend. But two of those were with Yōko, and if she saw he was absent, she would probably ask some other male student to answer the roll call in his stead. She always did that for him. As he so conjectured, he looked at Yuriko, who suddenly appeared grave and aloof, nervously gazing down at her coffee cup.
Now that he had a closer look at her, he could see that she possessed far more beautiful features than he had noticed with the stolen glances at her from the entrance to the grill or in the hallway. Her eyes had a brownish cast, and her nose was well defined. Once in a collection of photographs from the Silk Road he had seen a picture of a Chinese girl who had a slight admixture of Western blood, and Yuriko reminded him of that image. As they talked, he learned that she had been orphaned when she was in middle school. She explained that her mother had died when she was five years old, and that her father was killed by a tornado.
“A tornado?”
“Yeah, a tornado. Behind the paddy, there was a shed for insecticide and fertilizer. A typhoon was approaching, so Dad went out to drive stakes to keep the shed from falling over. And then a tornado rushed in and smashed the shed to pieces, and a splinter of wood pierced his neck . . .”
“The typhoon hadn’t hit yet, had it?”
“It hadn’t, but a tornado suddenly formed. From the window I watched as it advanced directly toward the shed where Dad was.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“No, none.” She mentioned that her father had remarried three years after her mother died, but no children came. “I couldn’t stand my stepmother, and she didn’t seem to like me either. After I came to Osaka, she went back to her parents’ house. I’ve never so much as sent her a postcard, and have heard nothing from her either.”
“You don’t look like a farm girl from Shimane Prefecture.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you have the face of someone with some Russian ancestry: light-skinned, well-defined features, and very pretty.”
It had not been meant as a compliment; Tetsuyuki simply spoke his mind. Yuriko’s eyes moistened, and her gestures meant to conceal her pleasure only made it all the more obvious. This aroused his desire, and it occurred to him that, if he wanted to, she could be his in a few more hours. But he smothered his desires. Yuriko was simply a prop in his strategy, to be used as well as any woman other than Yōko. As such thoughts ran through his mind, Yuriko broke the silence.
“Farm girls from Shimane would be furious to hear you say something like that.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s like saying that there are no beauties among them.”
Having agreed to meet at the same coffee shop two days hence, they parted at the intersection of two subterranean arcades.
He arrived at Suminodō Station forty minutes earlier than usual. Ordinarily, he boarded the 11:03 train bound for Shijōnawate at Kyōbashi, and immediately called Yōko from the pay phone in front of the station at Suminodō. But he decided that, for the time being, he would not place those calls, which her mother had dubbed “scheduled service.” The first matter of business for him was to take a suspicious course of action and raise doubts in her mind. Tomorrow at the university, she would probably ask why he hadn’t called, and he would tell her in an unnatural tone of voice something that would be an obvious lie. For example, that the pay phone was broken, or that he didn’t have any change on him. Yōko would be sure to think: “If the pay phone in front of the station was broken, there’s one in the shopping arcade, isn’t there? Or one just before you cross the tracks, or one in front of the little grilled chicken shop just beyond that? And if you don’t have small change, you could just use the change machine by the ticket-vending machines in the station. Isn’t that what you always do?” And maybe she wouldn’t just think those things; she might say them in reproach. If she did, then he would again assume an unnatural expression and make an excuse. Just as he had sniffed out the existence of another man in her life by observing her behavior, she would also be filled with the same kind of anxiety. Tetsuyuki turned down the dark country lane, blown by chilly winds, and arrived at the lane lined with jerry-built two-story houses.
When he turned on the light, Kin thrashed his legs about. For a few minutes this morning before setting out, Tetsuyuki had trained the infrared lamp on the lizard, and it seemed that perhaps Kin had regained some strength. He patted Kin’s head. As he switched on the lamp again, there was a knock at the door. Tetsuyuki tensed.
“Yes?” Gooseflesh down his spine had become a conditioned response for Tetsuyuki when he heard a knock at the door in the middle of the night.
“This is Kurachi, from next door. Sorry to bother you so late.” It was a thin, female voice. Tetsuyuki stuck his head out the kitchen window. His neighbor who lived alone again apologized for troubling him at such an hour, but wondered if he could lend her a hand.
“What is it?”
“My refrigerator tipped over, and I can’t set it back up by myself.”
Tetsuyuki turned off the infrared lamp and stepped out in front of the woman’s apartment. She was so thin as to arouse pity, walked with an awkward gait, and both wrists were swollen and bent. Her neatly arranged room was filled with the smell of medicinal infusions. A white cat was curled up on a red cushion.
She had purchased a new cupboard and wanted to put it where the refrigerator was, and to move the refrigerator over beside the stove. But the wheels on the bottom of the refrigerator were rusted and would not move, and as soon as she gave it a strong push it ended up tipping over. It wasn’t very large, and Tetsuyuki was able to set it up without her assistance.
Bending over and pushing it from the bottom, he moved it next to the stove. While he was at it, he also moved the cupboard to the refrigerator’s former place. Blinking her beadlike eyes, she thanked him profusely. Though he demurred, she poured a cup of tea, brought out some cookies, and placed them on a round table. Tetsuyuki reluctantly sat on the cushion she set out for him and sipped the tea, but did not touch the cookies.
“What Chinese medicine are you making an infusion of?”
The woman responded that she had been suffering from rheumatism for nearly ten years. She asked where he was from, apparently supposing that he had moved to Osaka from the countryside in order to attend college.
“I was born and raised in Osaka.”
After some hesitation she asked as she looked at her pet, “Has my cat ever relieved itself in your room?”
“In my room?”
“During the summer, I sometimes saw my cat coming out your back window. It seems that it got in by following the water pipes from my apartment to yours.”
Last summer, seeing how desiccated and wilted Kin looked, Tetsuyuki sometimes left the back window open. Even if a thief broke in, there was nothing worth stealing anyway.
“No, nothing like that ever happened.” The moment he answered, he realized that the cat had entered his room aiming for Kin. As far as he could recall, he had left the back window open about twenty times, and each time Kin was no doubt paralyzed with fear. That thought made his heart feel heavy.
Returning to his room and switching on the infrared lamp, he glanced up at Kin, about even on the pillar with his own head. The cat no doubt jumped many times, aiming for the lizard, and probably even tried climbing. Inspecting the pillar closely, there remained definite claw marks. In his absence, Kin, unable to move and helpless, endured persistent attempted assaults by a cat. How terrified he must have been. The words of that man at the station came to mind: “You are a kindhearted egoist.” Those words turned into a shower of accusations raining down on him. The terror Kin must have felt resonated in Tetsuyuki’s heart, turning him into a lizard nailed to a pillar.
That white cat slipped in through the back window, and Tetsuyuki struggled, trying to flee, but was unable to move. The cat’s claws reached almost to his tail. Digging its claws into the wood, the cat climbed after him, sliding down and then repeating its attempt. After the cat gave up and left, Tetsuyuki despised the guy who had nailed him there, who had left him there like that and given him food and water, which he had no choice but to accept. He thought of himself suffering from thirst and fear in this suffocating room, and yet unable to die. Why was he alive?
Coming back to his senses, Tetsuyuki opened the box of larvae. Kin finally ate one.
“I’m going to save you if it’s the last thing I do. When spring comes, I’ll pull that nail out. You might die, but I’m going to pull it out. If you die, you’ll never come back as a lizard. Next time, you’ll be reborn as a human.”
Tetsuyuki meant every word of what he said, though it espoused neither logic nor any scientific principle of the genesis of life. Only a vague sense of the mysteriousness of life produced in him that absurd conviction, one that told him of the existence of a thick nail piercing his own back.
Images of his mother, Yōko, Isogai, Yuriko, the lady next door, Mr. and Mrs. Lang, Sawamura Chiyono . . . all emerged in the back of his mind. And all of them were smiling at him with nails piercing their backs. All of them were suffering from these nails but knew of no way to pull them out, and moreover were afraid of the pain if they were extracted. A sense of nihilism and resignation sapped all of his energy. Sluggishly he spread out his futon and lay down in bed without even brushing his teeth. He turned off the infrared lamp, and then the light in the room, mumbling to himself a few phrases from Lamenting the Deviations, which so infatuated Nakazawa:
“Since I could never succeed in any austerities, hell will surely be my final abode.
“We, who are so completely in the thrall of our passions, cannot free ourselves from the cycle of birth and death through any sort of austerities. Amida took pity on us, and the intention of his Original Vow was to bring buddhahood to the wicked, and thus the wicked who plead for his grace are the real reason for the Vow to bring salvation.
“But even if we are reluctant to part from it, when our bonds to this earthly existence are severed and we are bereft of all strength, we shall go to that Pure Land. Amida takes special pity on those who feel that they are in no rush to get there.”
“So, ‘I could never succeed in any austerities,’ huh? I’m one of ‘the wicked who plead for his grace,’ huh? So he ‘takes special pity on those who feel that they are in no rush to get there,’ huh?” Tetsuyuki was not able in these phrases to sense any encouragement to live. If one peeled away their veneer, even words that at first spoke to a perfect enlightenment seemed to be only the sophistries of someone who has given up on life. Tetsuyuki harbored a hatred for whatever incited people toward death. In that case, there’d be no point in struggling to live. We should all just die, shouldn’t we? And what exactly is ‘that Pure Land’? Where is it? Show it to me. Even if you went to the far reaches of the universe, would you find such a place? It’s right here inside me. I’ve seen it many times. No matter how many times I try to escape, no matter how many times I die, I can’t go beyond this universe.
Tetsuyuki had once seen on television a well-known intellectual who claimed that Lamenting the Deviations had given him the wherewithal to go on living. But no matter how he tried, Tetsuyuki was not able to sense any spirit in that man, who seemed somehow enervated and not at all happy. Hadn’t resignation simply replaced a desire to live? What a string of words it was that so enchanted intellectuals! And all concealing poison that ultimately entices one toward death!
He considered the feelings of nihilism and resignation that he himself harbored and resolved to live. The Kin that inhabited his heart shone bright gold. He wanted to see Yōko. He longed for her body, and wanted to quit this ridiculous farce he had started. He groped his crotch and began to indulge in masturbation, playing with himself for a long time. His masturbatory fantasy did not include Yōko, but rather the nude pink body of Yuriko, which he had never seen.
The next day, Tetsuyuki was on campus. When he threw a teasing smile at a familiar couple snuggling up to each other on the no longer green lawn under a single duffel coat, he heard Yōko’s voice. He looked about, but she was nowhere to be seen. Unusually, there was a large number of students around then. No doubt many were seniors who had rarely been on campus and were coming up against graduation, so they could not afford to miss more lectures and had begun to show up en masse. He turned toward the main gate, glancing at the closest building, housing the Engineering Department.
He again heard Yōko’s voice calling his name, and looking at the expression of the couple sitting beneath the duffel coat, a smile spread across his face: Yōko was hiding behind them. He hurriedly extinguished his smile and walked across the lawn to address the lovebirds.
“Hey, what’re you doing inside that coat? It must be some indecent act.”
“We’re just holding hands,” the female student responded.
“Well, that already amounts to having sex.”
The male student responded with a laugh. “I think the one who’s hiding behind us and sweetly calling out ‘Tetsuyuki!’ is even more indecent.”
Yōko stood up from behind them and knocked the guy on the head with her textbook. She pressed against Tetsuyuki’s arm, wrapping hers around it.
The male student gibed, “Hey, you two look as if you already have two or three kids.”
“A virgin can’t have kids, can she?” The couple burst out laughing at Tetsuyuki’s riposte.
As they walked off arm in arm, just as expected Yōko asked, “Why didn’t you call last night?”
Tetsuyuki deliberately looked in another direction. “I didn’t have any ten-yen coins.”
“You could have gotten change, couldn’t you?”
“I only had a thousand-yen bill with me. I asked for change at two or three stores, but they all refused.”
“I stayed up until two o’clock waiting. After all, you’ve never failed to call . . .”
“Yes, I have. Those several weeks during the summer . . .”
Yōko released her arm from his and stood still. “Why say something like that?”
“I wanted to call, and went up and down the shopping arcade. Everyone had an attitude as if to say, ‘If you’ll buy something, I’ll give you change.’ That got under my skin. I was about to buy some gum or something, but gave up on that idea.” As he spoke, Tetsuyuki renewed his resolve to stop this silly charade, and turned toward her to apologize. But Yōko’s eyes were unexpectedly full of indignation.
“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘those several weeks during the summer’? Why are you bringing that up now?”
Why did Yōko flare up at the mention of those several weeks? It must be because there was something between her and Ishihama that she refused to admit. That thought made him abandon his resolve. I’ll create several blank weeks, then.
Without saying a word, he entered the building of the Literature Department and climbed the stairs to the classroom. Yōko, likewise silent, climbed the stairs five or six steps behind him and took a seat far from his, though they always sat together. She was wearing a light blue dress. As the lecture was nearing its end, a slip of paper from her was passed down the row: “Are you hungry?” When he went without eating, his nerves would be on edge, and he had frequently lashed out at her, saying unreasonable and selfish things.
And here she was extending an olive branch. All he would have to do was smile and nod at her, and this petty skirmish would be over. And he wanted to do so. And yet the fact that she was so much more fixed on those “several weeks during the summer” left him unable to abandon his suspicions.
Instead of nodding at her with a smile, he stood up and exited the classroom, his face turned away. Expecting her to come running after him, he descended the stairs and passed through the dimly lit hallway to exit the building. As he approached the main gate he kept his ears pricked, but was unable to discern anything like her footsteps.
He arrived at the hotel, and even as he was changing into his uniform—even as he was carrying luggage and showing guests to rooms—he rehearsed in his mind words he had hurled at Ishihama, and the expression on that man’s face. “Even as I had Yōko in my arms, I gloated as I imagined a guy name Ishihama walking triumphantly toward the hotel. But he was probably gloating in his own mind as he listened to what I said, thinking ‘What a stupid jerk! I’ve already had plenty of fun with Yōko’s body.’” Those imagined words felt very real, as if an actual human voice were assaulting his eardrums. He ended up passing Yuriko several times without so much as glancing at her. It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed her; he was trying to act indifferent. He had lost the composure to respond to the signals she was sending.
About an hour before his shift ended, he stepped out of the hotel and called three friends from a pay phone, asking them to answer the roll call for him at tomorrow’s lectures. All three asked why he did not have Yōko do it. He replied that it would be found out if he always had her do it, but that didn’t really amount to a reply, because she always asked those three to answer the roll call for him anyway.
When Tetsuyuki returned to the front desk of the hotel, a middle-aged guest was grabbing Nakaoka by the lapels and shouting in a loud, angry voice. He was well dressed and wasn’t under the influence of alcohol, but from his language it was obvious that he was a gangster. That guest had arrived just past eight, accompanied by a young woman. It was Tetsuyuki who had shown them to their room, so he knew that the man had made a reservation two weeks previously, and that at check-in he had written the woman’s name as “wife: Mitsuko.” He also knew the man’s address and occupation. And he also knew that all of it was false. Tetsuyuki had gotten so that he could tell at a glance whether or not a couple was actually married. Where he had written his address, what was supposed to have been “Tokyo, Itabashi Ward” contained a mistaken character, and was “Sakabashi Ward” instead. Moreover, no real gallery director when shown to his room would say of the 3,000- or 4,000-yen reproductions hanging on the wall: “These are some very fine pictures you have.”
In the lobby, a crowd of guests had come to a standstill with stunned looks on their faces, and so the manager rushed up, saying politely that he would like to discuss the matter in the office.
The man boomed out in an even louder voice, “Seems this hotel has some thieves on its staff, doesn’t it?” He claimed that after finishing his meal at the grill, he returned to his room to find that one of his three pieces of luggage was missing. “The hotel has a master key that opens any room, right?”
Since Tetsuyuki had begun to work there, this was the third time a gangster had used the same trick to extort money from the hotel. Receiving a meaningful glance from the manager, Tetsuyuki went to the office of the guest room manager on the twelfth floor and, picking up a master key, then stood in front of the door to the man’s room. A woman’s voice answered his knocking.
“The gentleman who accompanied you said that you are missing a piece of luggage. May we please come in and check?”
“I don’t have anything on right now. If you’re going to check the room, I want you to do that later when he’s here.”
Tetsuyuki waited for the plainclothes guard employed by the hotel. He soon came, and, smiling, whispered to Tetsuyuki that he had ascertained that the two of them had gone nowhere but the grill after checking in. “This is an old trick they’re using.” With that, he used the master key to open the door quickly. Panicked, the woman tried to slip into the bathroom, but the guard caught her by the arm.
“What’re you doing, bursting in on a woman who’s alone? I’ll call the police!”
“This man is a detective.”
At Tetsuyuki’s explanation, the woman shot back, “Then show me your identification!”
“If we don’t find the missing luggage in this room, then I’ll be happy to show it to you.” With that, the guard went into the bathroom and pounded the ceiling with the back of his hand. After pounding a few times, he grabbed the woman by the hair. “That was damned naïve of you to try a trick like that. If you’re going to practice extortion, how about thinking of something more original?”
In a corner of the bathroom next to an opening for ventilation there was a passage—ordinarily covered by a panel fastened with four screws—large enough for a person to crawl in and make repairs. Using a screwdriver, the guard removed the panel and reached in, pulling out a hidden black leather attaché case. Calling from the telephone next to the bed, Tetsuyuki informed the front desk.
“Let me tell you for your future reference: for this kind of extortion, you can’t cut corners. Pretend that you’re just going out somewhere, put the piece of luggage in a paper bag or something and go get rid of it, far away. If a guest did that to us, there’d be nothing we could do about it, since we’re in a service business. Of course, it would make us look bad in front of other guests and would hurt our image, but it could be smoothed over with polite words and chump change. The longest anyone’s ever gotten away with cheating us has been six days. Amateurs like you wouldn’t last two days.”
Snickering, the woman threw herself on the bed and lit a cigarette. The guard had to keep watch over her until the real police arrived. Leaving the door open, Tetsuyuki returned the master key to the guest-room manager and went down to the front desk. The lobby had returned to its usual peaceful state. A newlywed couple, drinking orange juice costing 1,200 yen per glass, was gazing at a small Japanese garden with an artificial stream and waterwheel outside the window.
“It won’t always be idiots like the ones today. There’s no telling what kind of ingenious trick someone might think of. Take plenty of caution with a guest that seems suspicious,” Tetsuyuki overheard the manager warning the staff at the desk. Appearing to have had his necktie tugged rather forcefully, some long welts had risen on Nakaoka’s slender neck. In an ill-tempered tone of voice, he called for Tetsuyuki.
“A little while ago, a woman came to see you. Since we were in the middle of all that, we sent her away, but it creates a problem when bellboys meet with their friends at the front desk. If it’s an urgent matter, please have them come to the office through the rear entrance.”
“Was she wearing a light blue dress?”
“I didn’t notice what she was wearing, but I think it was light blue.”
Since the police had arrived, Nakaoka went into the office, rubbing the welts on his neck. Tetsuyuki could picture Yōko’s dejected face as she left the hotel and walked toward the ticket gate of the Hankyū Line. That one line she had written on the scrap of paper came to his mind, words so brimming with love that it made his heart ache: “Are you hungry?”
He tried to crush his feelings of jealousy. Just as she had said, it would be strange if a young woman were not moved when a handsome man makes a fuss over her, wouldn’t it? Is there something wrong with that? And even if Yōko was in Ishihama’s embrace many times during that void of “several weeks during the summer,” what of it? She’s no saintly woman. “What a petty, base person I am to dredge up what I should have just let go, and to be consumed by this sinister desire for revenge.”
He glanced at the clock. Nearly forty minutes had passed since the commotion with the gangster. Maybe Yōko would be arriving home about now. That thought made him restless. Dashing out of the hotel, he entered a phone booth. But he had used all his change to call his three friends, and didn’t have a single coin left. Smoothing out a 1,000-yen bill he ran toward a tobacconist’s shop. As he was running, the thought flashed through his mind: She knows me so well, yet she could still let her feelings shift to another man! Even as I was so tormented by that, every day I rode that dirty train back to a room inhabited by a lizard.
At that thought he stuffed the money back into his pocket and turned around. The tremendous honking of a taxicab resounded in the night street. The extremely irate driver honked incessantly. To Tetsuyuki, it was like a factory’s siren, signaling the end of his work for the day.
In a bookstore next to the coffee shop where he had agreed to meet Yuriko, Tetsuyuki leafed through the pages of various magazines. He felt it a bother to have to go to a movie with her, and he was uncertain how he should deal with her afterward.
“I don’t mind if you glance through something, but I can’t do business when people stand here and read entire issues the way you do.” The proprietress of the bookstore was addressing a high school student in another section of the store who was absorbed in a manga book, but her words prompted two or three college students to leave also. Tetsuyuki likewise returned the magazines to the rack and exited. It was already more than a half hour past the time they were to meet.
He reluctantly pushed open the door of the coffee shop and recognized Yuriko’s bowed profile, which reflected an image of loneliness and helplessness and caused some agitation in his mind. What agitated him even more, however, was the expression of unfeigned joy and relief on her face the moment she looked up at him.
“I had to cut three classes today, so I’ve been making phone calls to friends to ask them to answer the roll call for me. That’s why I’m late. Sorry . . .”
“I was thinkin’ you’d be a no-show.” It was the first time Tetsuyuki had hear her speak in her home dialect. Realizing that herself, she covered her mouth and blushed.
“Why? I’m the one who invited you, so of course I’d show up.”
Yuriko added some milk to her untouched coffee, which had grown cold, stirring it with a spoon.
“You don’t add sugar?”
“That’s right.”
“Because you don’t want to gain weight?”
“Yeah.” Then Yuriko mentioned that it was her day off, but asked what he had arranged.
“I’m still just a part-timer, so I can take days off when I want. Tsuruta will get on my case about it later, though.”
Lowering her voice, Yuriko informed him that Tsuruta would soon be forced to quit. In the basement of the hotel there were five exclusive shops specializing in imported goods. From about a year ago, French handbags and Danish silverware had been disappearing. Of course, the showcases were locked even when the shops were open, and at closing time the glass doors were also locked. And yet goods were disappearing, not in large quantities, but in small amounts and over time, so that the owners were not at first aware.
But when they checked sales receipts against their inventory, it became apparent that seven or eight items that had not been sold were missing from the showcases. If it were only one shop, the employees there might come under suspicion. But since all five shops had suffered loss, it was obvious that the criminal was among the hotel employees, the conclusion being reached that an outsider would naturally steal a large quantity all at once, not one thing at a time over an extended period. Thus the hotel management checked its employees’ attendance book against the dates when the items seem to have disappeared, and Tsuruta’s name came up as the one on night duty at those times. All this came to light five days ago, and Tsuruta was on night shift tonight.
“Tonight, from about two a.m., guards will be hiding out in the basement.”
“Who told you this?”
After some hesitation, Yuriko answered. “Nakaoka, at the front desk. He’s an upperclassman from the high school I went to.”
“That’s not the only reason, is it? He’s in love with an underclassman from his high school, and she’s well aware of it. That inspires me all the more to contend with a rival.” It was a mystery even to Tetsuyuki why such insincere, honeyed words should slip so casually from his lips. He realized what a bind it was putting him in, but he let slip out another phrase as if he were some kind of genius at womanizing. “This is no time for something so idle as watching a movie.”
A smile so slight one would need to strain one’s eyes to see it was playing on Yuriko’s lips. Tetsuyuki was somewhat surprised to sense that she probably had carnal experience with men, but this also brought a strange feeling of relief. What was the quickest way to make Yuriko—this woman possessing both earthiness and a peculiar seductiveness—yield to him? He stood up, paid for the coffee, and then went out into the subterranean mall. A casual remark Tsuruta had made to him about six months ago came to mind.
“That idiot Nakaoka! Whenever he’s on night shift, he puts me on the same shift too. Then he has me keep watch on the front desk while he goes to take a nap for two or three hours. And if I refuse, he’ll dump all kinds of grueling work on me.”
With a start, Tetsuyuki asked Yuriko, “It was a year ago that things began to turn up missing, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, that seems about right.”
“But how far back did they check the attendance book?”
“Hmm, he didn’t mention that . . .”
Yuriko was surprised when Tetsuyuki bought tickets at the movie theater, but she followed him inside and sat next to him. The movie had been heavily advertised, but it turned out to be nothing more than a trivial love game among American adolescents. Pretending to need to use the restroom, he went to a pay phone next to the concession stand and called Tsuruta.
“You’re on night shift today, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“You once mentioned, didn’t you, that whenever Nakaoka was on the night shift, he made you work it too?”
“Yeah, but not tonight.”
“After making you change your schedule and work on the night shift, did he ever treat you to meals or take you out for drinks?”
“What’s up? Did something happen that you’re calling me all of a sudden and asking off-the-wall questions?”
Tetsuyuki said he would explain everything tomorrow, and pressed him to answer.
“Well, he took me out for a drink two or three times.”
Reminding Tsuruta never to tell anyone about this conversation, Tetsuyuki added, “No matter what errand Nakaoka gives you, you absolutely must not go down to the basement tonight.” Tsuruta kept asking why, but he finally sensed the gravity of the situation from the tone of Tetsuyuki’s voice.
“Okay, I won’t go down to the basement tonight. I don’t know what this is all about, but I’ll do as you say. But tomorrow you’ve got to explain all of this to me.”
With that, he hung up. Judging from Tsuruta’s reaction, Tetsuyuki was certain he was not the culprit. As he sat in the smoking area, the thought came to him that this affair was about to become more complicated. It was unlikely that Nakaoka would ever again steal into the import shops in the basement, and the hotel would settle the matter by paying for the stolen goods rather than reporting it to the police.
But whether the ruse used by that gangster last night, or Nakaoka’s scheme to set Tsuruta up as a criminal—both were childish. People end up making fools of themselves as soon as they let their fears run ahead of them. It was odd that even Nakaoka, reputed to be a prodigy among the younger employees, did not understand that if Tsuruta were to be arrested tonight by a guard lying in wait, it would rather serve to expose his own guilt.
At first, Tsuruta would be treated as guilty, but after hearing him out and once again checking the attendance book, Nakaoka’s name was bound to come up. And if they checked it back thoroughly to a year ago rather than just six months, then Tsuruta’s name would vanish and Nakaoka’s would remain.
As he was pondering these things, it occurred to Tetsuyuki that perhaps Yuriko and Nakaoka were in a deep relationship, and that moreover Yuriko knew of Nakaoka’s guilt. Or perhaps the two were complicit in the crime. If that were the case, then what was the meaning of the look she gave him? The lustful feelings he had felt for her vanished without a trace.
Tetsuyuki tried mapping out in his mind the factional strife within the hotel as far as he had been able to grasp it. The company president was already seventy-nine years old, and was for the most part confined to his home in Ashiya as his chronic ailment of sciatica worsened. According to rumors, a replacement would be appointed at next year’s stockholders’ meeting. There were two vice presidents, and both were his sons, but the president did not have much confidence in the business acumen of the elder of the two, and wanted to be succeeded by the younger one, who had more of a knack for practical affairs. Ever since summer a bitter battle had ensued behind the scenes between supporters of these two. Most of those occupying the senior positions were on the side of the younger brother: the manager, Imoto, the head of personnel, Shimazaki, head of dining services . . . all directly connected with the practical affairs of the hotel. Opposing them, such parties as the chief of the business office, the chief of the general affairs office, and the like were carrying the banner of support for the older brother. Tetsuyuki sighed and stood up, recalling that he had once heard Tsuruta say, “Nakaoka works at the front desk, but he’s the pet of the head of the business office.”
“I get it. Nakaoka isn’t so stupid that he’d pilfer bracelets and handbags.” Tetsuyuki unconsciously mumbled these words aloud. Was it a big gamble to wave a flag of righteousness at the stockholders’ meeting after piling up black marks against responsible parties in the faction supporting the younger brother? Well, that was the only hand they had left to play in order to make the older brother president, Tetsuyuki told himself. He thought that glance of Yuriko’s was probably suggested to her by Nakaoka. If it could be shown that someone whom Section Chief Shimazaki had recommended for employment without even being formally tested for the position—who before even formally being employed—had seduced a female employee, then it would disgrace not only Shimazaki but those over him as well. And if a bellboy were committing theft and gangsters were extorting money, then the responsibility would lie with the manager.
Tetsuyuki returned to his seat.
“What’s wrong? You were gone a long time, weren’t you?” Yuriko asked in a low voice. Keeping his eyes on the screen, Tetsuyuki leaned over to Yuriko’s ear.
“I just called Tsuruta to warn him not to go down to the basement tonight, or he’ll fall into Nakaoka’s trap. And Tsuruta warned me not to get carried away and touch you, or I’d fall into the same trap.”
The image on the screen was reflected with distortion in both of Yuriko’s eyes. Grabbing her by the wrist, Tetsuyuki hurried back to the bench in the smoking area.
“I don’t care if it spoils my chances for employment at the hotel. I feel I’d like to take you to some cheap hotel and sleep with you, but do you think Nakaoka is going to marry you? You made a bad bet. You’ll let a milksop like Nakaoka have his fun with you, and then you’ll be dumped.”
Yuriko glared at him for an uncannily long time, finally saying, “I have no wish to marry Nakaoka. I’m the one who’s having fun with him. If that weren’t the case, then I wouldn’t have told you what’s going to happen tonight.”
Ignoring her, Tetsuyuki began to walk down the hallway of the theater. Behind him came Yuriko’s voice, “I’ve really come to like you.”
Unfazed, he continued walking.
“I’m going to go to the hotel right now and tell everyone that you raped me.” Tetsuyuki came to a standstill and turned around. “Even if it’s a lie, everyone will believe me because I’m a woman.”
“I’m not bluffing. I really don’t care if it turns out that I can’t get hired there.” Tetsuyuki was overcome with a strange sense of wretchedness as he spoke those words.
“I really do like you, and I was waiting for you to ask me out. That has nothing to do with Nakaoka. He knows nothing about our date today.”
Tetsuyuki was about to respond, but just said “Goodbye” and walked out of the theater. A gentle rain was falling. Perhaps Yuriko really meant what she said. But the more he sensed that she meant it, the more his feelings for her withered. And so did his feeling that she had been nothing more than a prop in his scheme for revenge on Yōko. And so did his fear that one misstep might have resulted in a new object of his love.
That night, Tetsuyuki took the Hankyū Line to Mukonosō Station. He was so impatient that he misdialed three times, and finally said to Yōko, “I surrender. There’s no way I could ever claim victory over you.”
“Where are you now?”
“At Mukonosō Station.”
Five minutes had not passed before he saw her running toward him.
“What do you mean that you ‘surrender’?” Yōko asked as she tried to catch her breath.
“I was fighting a unilateral war.”
“With . . . ?”
“With myself.”
Yōko took him to the two-story house she had rented, unbeknownst to her parents. Both the bathtub and the toilet had been polished to a shine, over the windows were hung curtains she had sewn herself, and a small chest of drawers had been placed in the upstairs six-mat room. Yōko crouched down behind him.
“Say you’re sorry!”
“What for?”
“For dredging up that stuff about the summer . . .”
“No.”
“Why?”
Tetsuyuki brought her around in front of him and, with her in his embrace, lay down on the floor as he pressed her to talk. “You explain to me everything that happened during those few weeks of the summer. How many times did you meet with Ishihama?”
“Two or three times.”
“That’s all?”
Yōko nodded.
“And it’s true that nothing went on between you?”
Suddenly shaking her head furiously, she pushed him away and, retreating to a corner of the room, tears welled up in her eyes.
“I don’t like you when you ask me things like that.”
“Because there’s something you don’t like to be asked about?”
“Idiot!”
“Well, then tell me in a way that will persuade me.”
“No matter how many times I say it, you won’t give up.”
“Then nothing went on between you?”
“Nothing!”
“I don’t like the way you say that. As if you find saying it a bother. How about putting your heart into it when you say it? This is the only thing you’re inconsiderate about.”
“Nothing went on. We didn’t even hold hands.”
Tetsuyuki got down on all fours and, like a puppy, nestled his head against Yōko’s breast.
“I have a feeling that even after we’re married, you’re going to keep bringing this up.” Mumbling those words, she began to bite his lips.