since my friend had hanged himself, I hardly cared how much my wife relied on her father.
“What about your inner life? There’s something wrong, isn’t there? I got a nasty shock when I saw you sprawled asleep on that dirty floor. When you woke up, too, your face and voice were somehow different from what they used to be. To put it bluntly, you’re headed downhill : you give the impression of being on the skids.”
“I admit my friend’s death took the stuffing out of me. There was the business of the baby as well,” I said in hesitant self-justification.
“Don’t you think it’s going on too long, though?” pressed Takashi. “If it lasts much longer your face will get set in that downhill look. In New York I met a Japanese philosophy student living the life of a dropout, a kind of social pariah. He’d gone to America to study Dewey’s successors, completely lost his faith in life, and that’s how he ended up. You remind me of him, Mitsu—your face, your voice, your whole physical and mental bearing. They’re exactly the same.”
“Your bodyguard told me I was a rat.”
“A rat? The philosopher’s nickname was ‘Rat,’ too,” Takashi said. “I don’t expect you believe me, do you?” he added with an awkward smile.
“I believe you,” I said, and flushed at the obvious self-pity that suffused my voice.
It was true, no doubt. I’d been getting ratlike, just like the philosopher who had lost his faith in life. Ever since the hundred minutes I spent at dawn in the pit intended for the septic tank, I’d been ruminating on the experience. I was perfectly aware that physically and mentally I was going downhill, that the slope I was on must surely lead to a place where the stench of death was even more intense. By now I’d quite clearly elucidated the significance of what had first shown itself as those unexplained aches, all apparently unconnected, in various parts of my body. Not that becoming conscious of their psychological nature had conquered them: on the contrary, the attacks had just become more frequent. Nor had I yet recoveredthat ardent sense of expectation.
“You’ve got to start a new life, Mitsu,” repeated Takashi, stepping up the pressure.
“Yes, you should do as he says,” said my wife, surveying us evenly through eyes narrowed against the light as we stood side by side against the window. “Even I can see that.”
By now Momoko had decked herself out like a miniature Indian bride, all in leather, even down to the ornament in her hair. My wife had just finished helping her into the outfit and was walking toward us. At that moment she wasn’t particularly unattractive, even in the morning light.
“Naturally, I would like to start a new life,” I said seriously. “The point is, where am I to find my thatched hut?” I felt, quite literally, that I needed such a hut with its well-remembered scent of green thatch.
“Why not give up everything you’re doing in Tokyo and come to Shikoku with me? That wouldn’t be a bad way to start, Mitsu,” said Takashi, doing his best to tempt me even as he clearly showed his fear that I would reject the idea outright. “After all, that’s why I took a jet home.”
“Taka—if we’re going to Shikoku, let’s go by car!” put in the youth. “It’ll take the three of us easily even with our luggage inside, and one of us could sleep in the back on the way. I bought a beaten-up old Citroen in case we went.”
“Hoshi’s been living and working at an auto repair place for the last two years,” volunteered Momoko. “He bought the old Citroen—it wasn’t much better than scrap—and fixed it up to make it more or less drivable. All by himself too!”
The young man’s cheeks and the skin round his eyes flushed to an almost indecent degree.
“I’ve already given in my notice at the shop,” he said with an extraordinarily naive air of excitement. “I told the manager the day that Taka’s letter arrived and Momoko came
“What about your inner life? There’s something wrong, isn’t there? I got a nasty shock when I saw you sprawled asleep on that dirty floor. When you woke up, too, your face and voice were somehow different from what they used to be. To put it bluntly, you’re headed downhill : you give the impression of being on the skids.”
“I admit my friend’s death took the stuffing out of me. There was the business of the baby as well,” I said in hesitant self-justification.
“Don’t you think it’s going on too long, though?” pressed Takashi. “If it lasts much longer your face will get set in that downhill look. In New York I met a Japanese philosophy student living the life of a dropout, a kind of social pariah. He’d gone to America to study Dewey’s successors, completely lost his faith in life, and that’s how he ended up. You remind me of him, Mitsu—your face, your voice, your whole physical and mental bearing. They’re exactly the same.”
“Your bodyguard told me I was a rat.”
“A rat? The philosopher’s nickname was ‘Rat,’ too,” Takashi said. “I don’t expect you believe me, do you?” he added with an awkward smile.
“I believe you,” I said, and flushed at the obvious self-pity that suffused my voice.
It was true, no doubt. I’d been getting ratlike, just like the philosopher who had lost his faith in life. Ever since the hundred minutes I spent at dawn in the pit intended for the septic tank, I’d been ruminating on the experience. I was perfectly aware that physically and mentally I was going downhill, that the slope I was on must surely lead to a place where the stench of death was even more intense. By now I’d quite clearly elucidated the significance of what had first shown itself as those unexplained aches, all apparently unconnected, in various parts of my body. Not that becoming conscious of their psychological nature had conquered them: on the contrary, the attacks had just become more frequent. Nor had I yet recoveredthat ardent sense of expectation.
“You’ve got to start a new life, Mitsu,” repeated Takashi, stepping up the pressure.
“Yes, you should do as he says,” said my wife, surveying us evenly through eyes narrowed against the light as we stood side by side against the window. “Even I can see that.”
By now Momoko had decked herself out like a miniature Indian bride, all in leather, even down to the ornament in her hair. My wife had just finished helping her into the outfit and was walking toward us. At that moment she wasn’t particularly unattractive, even in the morning light.
“Naturally, I would like to start a new life,” I said seriously. “The point is, where am I to find my thatched hut?” I felt, quite literally, that I needed such a hut with its well-remembered scent of green thatch.
“Why not give up everything you’re doing in Tokyo and come to Shikoku with me? That wouldn’t be a bad way to start, Mitsu,” said Takashi, doing his best to tempt me even as he clearly showed his fear that I would reject the idea outright. “After all, that’s why I took a jet home.”
“Taka—if we’re going to Shikoku, let’s go by car!” put in the youth. “It’ll take the three of us easily even with our luggage inside, and one of us could sleep in the back on the way. I bought a beaten-up old Citroen in case we went.”
“Hoshi’s been living and working at an auto repair place for the last two years,” volunteered Momoko. “He bought the old Citroen—it wasn’t much better than scrap—and fixed it up to make it more or less drivable. All by himself too!”
The young man’s cheeks and the skin round his eyes flushed to an almost indecent degree.
“I’ve already given in my notice at the shop,” he said with an extraordinarily naive air of excitement. “I told the manager the day that Taka’s letter arrived and Momoko came
Similar Books
