A Dark Night's Passing Read online

  “But this is your entire collection, isn’t it? Thanks very much, but I couldn’t possibly accept such a present. At least keep the good ones. After all, I’m only going to give them away to strangers.”

  “No, I’d rather you took them all.”

  They began discussing their recent visit to Yoshiwara. “Now, that woman Tokiko,” Tatsuoka said, “there’s a handsome geisha for you.”

  With a touch of hesitation Kensaku said, “I wonder?” He was not being untruthful. For he had always associated the word “handsome” with a sort of large-scale quality, with an air of confidence, which seemed to him absent in Tokiko. Good-looking perhaps, but not handsome. But he was not being entirely candid, either. He had hesitated, he had given that rather lukewarm reply, because it had suddenly occurred to him that Tatsuoka, too, might be interested in Tokiko. “I don’t know that I would call her handsome,” he added, hoping to sound less negative. “Let’s say she’s good-looking.”

  “That’s all right with me.”

  “Do you like Tokiko?” Kensaku asked, taking the bull by the horns.

  “I’m not sure I want to answer that. How about you?”

  Kensaku was not prepared for the counter-question, and he felt his face go red. “All right, to be honest, I do like her. But if you do too, then I’m quite ready to step aside. I’m not all that fond of her,” Tatsuoka’s large body shook as he laughed. “There’s no need for you to be so retiring, you know. I’m going abroad in two months, remember.”

  “That’s true.”

  “I’m glad,” said Tatsuoka, still smiling. “You looked so gloomy the other night, I was beginning to feel guilty about having taken you to such a place.”

  “But it was unpleasant.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, didn’t you find Sakaguchi a little on the nasty side?”

  “But he’s always like that these days.”

  Kensaku said nothing.

  “I take it you won’t object to going there again?” Tatsuoka said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve arranged to go there with Ishimoto tomorrow.”

  “In that case, let’s go tonight.”

  At about nine that evening the two paid their second visit to Nishimidori. But, alas, Tokiko could not join them. She had gone to the theatre, they were told, and would probably not return before eleven. The maid had remembered Sakaguchi’s mentioning the geisha called Koine during their last visit, and she had tried to get her, but she, too, was not available. Of the geisha affiliated with this teahouse, only Yutaka was free. And so for a second one they were forced to call a geisha sponsored by the teahouse next door. This one turned out to be a rather shabby specimen, hardly the sort to liven up a party. After an hour or so, the two men decided to go home.

  As they were about to leave, the maid—her name was Otsuta—said, “If you are thinking of visiting us again tomorrow, do please telephone us first, perhaps in the early evening.”

  “But I know I’m coming tomorrow,” said Kensaku. “Surely I don’t have to call beforehand?”

  Otsuta was distinctly uncomfortable. “But you see, if you don’t … ”

  Kensaku woke up the next morning at about eight. It was raining heavily outside. The water spilled out of the gutter along the eaves and fell directly onto the ground below. Kensaku listened to the incessant noise and thought, what a nuisance. The rain itself didn’t bother him, but in this downpour it would surely be difficult to maintain the pretext that he was taking Ishimoto to Yoshiwara merely for the sake of having him meet someone who looked like his wife. And what if Ishimoto refused to brave the rain for something so inconsequential? And what if after he had seen her Ishimoto were to turn to him and say, “So you think she looks like my wife, eh?”

  All morning he fretted about the rain. But luckily it began to let up, and by early afternoon it had turned into a drizzle. At last the bookseller, whom he had asked to come during the morning, appeared. “I know I was supposed to come earlier,” he said, “but it was raining far too hard.”

  Kensaku showed him the books that he had piled up in the next room. Fifty yen was what he was offered for them. He then produced an unusually large silver hunter that had belonged to his maternal grandfather. Attached to it was a heavy, cumbersome gold chain. “Could you sell this for me?”

  “Certainly.”

  Kensaku had no idea whether the chain was solid gold or not. He decided he might as well warn the man. “Of course, that may be just gold plate.”

  The bookseller weighed the chain thoughtfully in his hand and said, “I’m sure it’s not. In any case they’ll test it with nitric acid before they buy it. If it’s the real stuff, you’ll get a lot for it.” He put his hand on the pile of books beside him and added, “At least twice what you got for these.” He stopped and looked expectantly at Kensaku. If he was hoping for some sign of enthusiasm from Kensaku, he was disappointed. He now turned his attention to the old-fashioned watch. “This, too, won’t be hard to sell. This sort of watch is particularly popular among sailors. In the tropics, you see, a small watch is no good at all; it just goes haywire in the heat. Anyway, I’ll write as soon as I’ve seen this fellow I know.”

  He wrapped a large square of cloth around the books; then carrying the heavy bundle on his back he left.

  Evening came, and the rain stopped completely. Feeling refreshed after a hot bath Kensaku went out. The sky was beautifully clear. The surface soil on the street had been washed away by the heavy rain, and small pebbles had appeared, clean and shiny. The people he saw walking about all had wet umbrellas in their hands.

  He stopped at a magazine shop that he knew and telephoned Nishimidori. Then he telephoned Ishimoto.

  “I have a guest right now, but I expect him to leave shortly,” Ishimoto said. “If he does, I’ll join you there, I promise.” He then asked how far one had to go after entering the quarter, on which side of the street the house was, and even what characters were used to write “Nishimidori.”

  Kensaku got off the streetcar at Minowa, and walked quickly and determinedly along the embankment, like a man headed for a business meeting. He could see to his right, on the other side of the moat, the bright lights of the houses of the quarter.

  The streams of people coming from three directions—from San’ya, from Dōtetsu, and like Kensaku from Minowa—converged in front of the Nihonzutsumi police station, then poured into the stone-paved street that led to the gateway. Kensaku was one of this crowd.

  The street suddenly deteriorated when one entered the quarter. So as to avoid the mud Kensaku walked along the edge, carefully making his way past one teahouse after another until he reached Nishimidori. There he found Tokiko and the maid Otsuta seated in the entryway, viewing the passing scene and talking casually to each other. They got up when they saw Kensaku, with what seemed to him an air of weary resignation.

  “By yourself today?” Tokiko asked as she followed Kensaku up the stairs.

  “Someone else will be joining us soon.”

  “Mr. Tatsuoka?”

  “No, it’s the husband of the person who I said looked rather like you.”

  “What did you say?”

  Showing some irritation Kensaku said quickly, “His wife looks like you.”

  Tokiko began to laugh. “Oh, I see. It was the word ‘husband’ that threw me off.”

  Three cushions had been placed around the tea table. As Kensaku sat down Tokiko said, “Where are your friends?”

  “I was here with Tatsuoka last night.”

  “Yes, I know. They told me when I stopped by last night. And how is the other gentleman, Mr. Sakaguchi?”

  “I haven’t seen him since that night we were all here.”

  Otsuta came into the room, and she too asked, “Where are your friends?”

  Somehow Kensaku felt he was being censured. He was already feeling a little guilty about having come to such a place all alone. For one so inexperienced as himself, it was all rather out of character. How had he had the gall ev
en to telephone here, as if he were some regular patron of the establishment? No doubt, if he had not had Ishimoto to use as an excuse, he would never have come.

  Tokiko was still amused by her own confusion at Kensaku’s involved remark about the “husband,” and laughingly told Otsuta about it.

  Otsuta looked blank. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, don’t be so dumb. The man’s wife looks just like me, don’t you see?” She pulled herself up in mock imitation of an arrogant lady. “Aren’t you impressed?”

  “Not at all,” said Otsuta.

  Tokiko seemed to Kensaku not quite the same woman that he had met the last time; she was as beautiful as before, however.

  “Next time, do come with the others. The more the merrier, as they say. With all of you here, I can have a bit of fun too. There are guests, you know, who sit and say nothing and expect me to do nothing but play the samisen. If they were all like that, I suppose I could be a really good performer, but there are times when I could just break down and cry.”

  Kensaku remembered what Nobuyuki had said about her. “I hear you dance well.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Someone I know. He said he saw you do a kabuki number once.”

  “Really? Oh, I know, he must have seen me do ‘Kaheiji of the Crescent Moon.’” She was blushing a little.

  They started talking about the other night. “That Mr. Sakaguchi,” she said, “he’s really good at games, isn’t he?” She closed her white, long-fingered hands, then put one fist over the other, and moved them up and down. “You remember how cleverly he played ‘passing the coin’? What a tease he was! He fooled me every time, I can tell you.”

  Kensaku had no reason to share her enthusiasm for either the game or Sakaguchi’s mastery of it.

  “What’s become of this friend of yours who’s supposed to be coming?”

  “We’ll wait a bit, then I’ll give him a ring.”

  “I hope he’ll appear soon. We can’t do much by ourselves.”

  “The geisha named Koine, I wonder if she’s free?”

  “It’s still early, I’m sure she will be,” Tokiko said hopefully.

  But he showed no further interest in Koine.

  He thought of all the fearfulness and the worrying of the last few days, the careful preparation that had gone into this visit, and wondered what all of that had to do with the banal conversation he was now trying so hard to sustain. Of course he had not come here with the faintest expectation of having a serious tête-à-tête with her. But what they were saying to each other now was so superficial, so flat.

  He told himself that such perhaps was how it should be under the circumstances; that he had been playing his little game all by himself, wrestling with his own little fantasies. Besides, Tokiko was after all trying to be friendly today, however frivolously; she was being more informal, one might say, than she had been on the previous occasion. What more could he expect of her? He had no right to be dissatisfied.

  Tokiko was looking at Kensaku, wondering if he was going to mention Koine again. Seeing that he was not, she said, “I hear that the first time you came, one of you asked for Koine. And then last night, too, you apparently asked for her. Tell me, why are you all so devoted to her?” She looked at him slyly with her expressive eyes, and smiled. She seemed particularly beautiful then.

  “The people here suggested last night that we call her. It was their idea, not mine.”

  “Anyway, let’s call Koine. We can have more fun if there are three of us,” she said, and hurried out of the room. For some reason, Kensaku felt immensely relieved.

  Whatever she was doing downstairs, Tokiko was taking a long time over it. As if suddenly remembering that he had cigarettes on him, Kensaku took one out and began to smoke it casually. He was not a regular smoker, and did not care whether he smoked or not. On the pack was the face of a black native girl: “Samoa,” the brand was called.

  Tokiko came back at last. “Koine can come,” she said as she sat down. She picked up the pack of cigarettes, then holding it out toward Kensaku said playfully, “Is she supposed to be pretty?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Well now, I don’t know. She’s awfully black.”

  “Are you saying being so black, she can’t be pretty?”

  She didn’t answer the question. “Anyway, I like the other girl better—you know, the one with a rose or some such flower stuck in her hair. What was the brand called—was it ‘Alma’? I think she’s very pretty.”

  “I see.”

  “That reminds me, they have Almas downstairs. I’ll go and get a pack.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Kensaku, “I’ll come with you. I want to use the telephone.”

  It was Ishimoto that he called. “The guest just left,” said Ishimoto when he came to the telephone. “I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for me to be going out now. Will you ask me again?”

  Kensaku had by then come to half-expect such an answer, and was not particularly disappointed.

  Ten minutes later Koine appeared. What a beautiful woman, Kensaku thought when he saw her. Her figure was good, and she had a manner that was restrained and exceedingly feminine. She knelt down briefly by the doorway and bowed. “Good evening, Tokiko,” she said with a smile as she stood up. She walked over to the tea table and sat down beside Tokiko.

  “Look at these,” Tokiko said immediately, pushing the two packs of cigarettes toward Koine, “and tell me who you think is the pretty one.”

  Koine peered at the pictures, then shrieked, “You’re joking!” Her laugh was high-pitched, quite incongruous in a woman with her soft, pliant figure and controlled movements.

  To Kensaku she seemed in every way the very opposite of Tokiko. They held themselves so differently, their gestures were so different. And whereas Koine’s skin was rough-grained and appeared thick, Tokiko’s was so fine that when one got close to her, one could see around her temples and her chin the delicate blue lines of her veins.

  Kensaku gradually began to feel less and less tense. With five or six drinks of saké inside him he found himself in a rather cheerful and receptive mood.

  They began playing their first parlor game. This was seeing who could smoke an Alma cigarette up to the gold tip without dropping the ash.

  “You’ve reached the ‘l’ in ‘Alma,’” Kensaku told Koine.

  Holding a fan—it had a picture of a dayflower painted on it—under the cigarette, Koine smoked a little more. Then gingerly she held the cigarette out to him and said, “Where am I now?”

  “You are about to reach the ‘A.’ ”

  She giggled. “But even after I’ve finished the letters, there will still be a quarter of an inch to go before I get to the gold tip. I don’t see how I can make it.”

  Tokiko, who was competing with her, said nothing and continued to puff away nonchalantly.

  At last the ash on Koine’s cigarette fell off. “Oh!” she cried, jerking her body as if to avoid the ash. At that moment the ash on Tokiko’s cigarette also dropped and landed squarely on the tea table. “Really, Koine!” she said, giving Koine an irritated sidelong glance. “I’m sorry,” said Koine. Tokiko said nothing. “Do forgive me,” Koine said, laughing. Tokiko threw what was left of her cigarette in the ashtray. “You’ll clean up the mess, won’t you?” She looked with distaste at the cloud of smoke drifting about above her head, then stood up abruptly and walked out of the room. Koine brought out a couple of sheets of tissue paper, folded them neatly, and with solemn care swept the ashes off the table onto her fan.

  After a while Tokiko came back. She stopped briefly at the doorway, posed as though for a photograph. “Quick, let’s hear it,” she said to Kensaku. She was referring to a remark he had made earlier, that a woman is at her most beautiful just as she steps into a room.

  “I managed to persuade the madam and Otsuta to join us,” she said as she sat down beside Koine. She helped herself to a cigare
tte, then eyed Koine thoughtfully. “No, I’d better not,” she said and moved to the other side of the table. She then calmly proceeded to light her cigarette. Koine was incredulous. “What cheek!” she finally managed to say, then burst into high-pitched laughter.

  When the madam and Otsuta appeared they immediately began playing vingt-et-un.

  It was one in the morning when Kensaku left in a rickshaw. The ride to Akasaka seemed to him almost interminable. Yet it was a fine moonlit night, washed clean by the earlier rain. And when he saw the double bridge bathed in moonlight as they sped beside the Imperial Palace moat, he felt tranquil and refreshed.

  There was a letter from the bookseller when he got home. The chain was indeed not gold plate, it said, but it contained rather a lot of copper, and so fetched less money than one might have wished. Alas, the watch, too, turned out to be of little value, and all the bookseller could get for it was what the metal would fetch melted down.

  5

  Kensaku’s feelings toward Tokiko underwent a remarkable change after his second meeting with her. He still thought her beautiful, he still liked her. But now there was none of that oppressiveness, that disquiet which before had accompanied his thoughts of her; instead there was a sense of lightheartedness, a sense of comfort at last. And he would remember with a touch of disbelief how anxiously and with what effort he had arranged the second meeting. Had he lost all sense of proportion then?

  Of course, this change of mood in him had been in part brought about by Tokiko’s own attitude. But perhaps there was a more important cause. Perhaps this new sense of comfort he now enjoyed had come into being mostly because he had needed it and sought it. It was perhaps his way of regaining some of the confidence he had lost through the Aiko affair.

  A part of him now wanted to push the relationship with Tokiko further; another part of him wanted to draw back, fearful lest he be hurt again. No wonder, for that earlier experience had left scars on him that still felt very raw at times.

  Aiko’s father had been from the Mito domain, a practitioner of Chinese medicine. Why, Kensaku did not know, but Aiko’s mother had been given to this doctor in marriage as an adopted daughter of Kensaku’s maternal grandparents. At any rate, this lady and Kensaku’s mother had been very close friends from childhood. And after Kensaku’s mother died, this lady would often talk to him about her. “Your mother was a good person,” she would say. “Terribly emotional she was, easily moved, and very kind.” As girls they had been madly fond of the theatre; once they were caught impersonating actors by Kensaku’s grandmother, and were roundly scolded.