Inspector Imanishi Investigates

THIRTEEN A Thread

After his return to Tokyo, Imanishi asked the Nan’ei Film Company for a screening of One Man’s Rage and Windy Clouds of Tone, along with the newsreels that had been shown at the theater. The film company did not grant his request readily. There was no problem about pulling the films out of storage, but the screening room was always booked. New films were completed twice a week, and invitational screenings of these films took precedence. The company was also reluctant to show two films, totaling three and a half hours, at one person’s request.

“Do these films have some relevance to a crime?” Imanishi was asked.

“Not directly. If they were being shown in the movie theaters, I’d go there to see them. They aren’t showing anywhere, so I have no choice but to ask you to screen them for me.”

“We’ll let you know when the screening room becomes free.”

Imanishi waited impatiently three or four days. Finally, he received a telephone call. “The screening room will be open this afternoon.”

Imanishi rushed over. He felt apologetic at having the films shown just for him, but he had to see them.

The Nan’ei Film Company’s screening room was located in the basement of a theater. The screen was about half the width of those in commercial theaters, but the sound was clearer.

The first film was a newsreel. Starting with political news, it went on to social events, then scenes of horrendous traffic jams, the opening ceremony for a local train line, and finally sports topics. Next was Windy Clouds of Tone. It was a period film about fights between two gangs of gamblers featuring some spectacular sword-fighting sequences.

Imanishi watched the action on the screen with unblinking eyes, scrutinizing the faces of all the actors, even the extras.

Windy Clouds of Tone was over in one and a half hours. When the lights came on, Imanishi let out a sigh. Imanishi had examined carefully all who had appeared on the screen-petty gang members, passersby, and lawmen.

After a five-minute rest, the projectionist said, “I’m starting the next one.”

The room darkened and the title One Man’s Rage flashed on the screen. Imanishi knew the cast from the program notes, but he was unable to connect the names with the faces. When he was younger, he had often gone to the movies, and he knew the faces of the older actors, but none of the younger stars looked familiar.

One Man’s Rage was a modern gangster film with much use of pistols. Imanishi peered at the faces of passersby, bar customers, and gangster henchmen. Because it was a contemporary film, the settings showed many parts of Tokyo: the bar areas in the back streets of Ginza, the crowds in Yurakucho, the interiors of large office buildings, and even the warehouses at Harumi Wharf. This meant that there were many people in the background. Imanishi’s objects of study were not the featured actors. On the contrary, he was focusing on the bit players and the extras.

When the film ended, Imanishi sat back in his seat, dumbfounded. He had not seen a single face that meant anything to him.

“We’ve finished showing everything. How was it?” the person in charge asked.

“Thank you. I’m sorry to cause you all this trouble.” Imanishi rose from his seat.

The outdoor light was so bright that he had to shield his eyes for a while.

Miki Ken’ichi had seen Windy Clouds of Tone and One Man’s Rage twice when he was in Ise. There must have been some scene in the movies that had made him curious enough to see these movies twice. The maid at the inn had said that when he returned from the theater Miki was deep in thought. Yet Imanishi had not come across anything that would have prompted Miki’s second viewing of either of the two feature films or the newsreel.

Imanishi returned to headquarters and found a brown envelope on his desk. The return address on the back of the envelope was Jikoen, xx Village, Kojima County, Okayama Prefecture. Imanishi opened the envelope at once. This was what he had been waiting for impatiently. After reading Kirihara Kojuro’s reply he had written a letter of inquiry to Jikoen.

To: Chief Inspector Imanishi Eitaro

First Section, Homicide Division

Tokyo Metropolitan Police Headquarters

This is in response to your inquiry regarding Motoura Chiyokichi.

Motoura-san entered our sanatorium in 1938 through an introduction from the town hall of Nita Town, Nita County, Shimane Prefecture. He received treatment and lived here until his death in October 1957. His death was reported to his registered domicile. (Registered domicile: Number xx, xx Village, Enuma County, Ishikawa Prefecture.)

During the time Motoura-san was a patient in our facility, he received no letters and had no visitors.

For your reference, the following is a copy of the information in our records.

Father: (unnamed) deceased

Mother: (unnamed) deceased

Head of household: Motoura Chiyokichi (eldest son)

Date of birth: October 21, 1905

Date of death: October 28, 1957

Wife: Masa

Date of birth: March 3, 1910

Date of death: June 1, 1935

(Wife, Masa, was second daughter of Yamashita Chutaro, Number xx, Yamanaka Town, Enuma County, Ishikawa Prefecture. Date of marriage: April 16, 1929)

Eldest son: Hideo

Date of birth: September 23, 1931

The records state the above.

General Affairs Section Chief, Jikoen

Imanishi stared at the letter as he slowly smoked an entire cigarette. Being conscientious, he immediately wrote a thank-you letter, then another request for information, asking for the names and addresses of any living relatives or close acquaintances of Yamashita Chutaro, Number xx, Yamanaka Town, Enuma County, Ishikawa Prefecture. He addressed this to the police station in Yamanaka, Ishikawa Prefecture. After rereading the request, Imanishi added, “As we are in urgent need of this information, please expedite this inquiry.”

It was about eight o’clock when Imanishi returned home. The house was dark, and the front door had been locked from the inside. There was an extra key left under a potted plant for Imanishi to use when his wife was out. Opening the door, he turned on the light and saw the note left on the table.

Oyuki-san has come over, and we have gone out to see a movie. Taro is at my parents’ house in Hongo. We should be back by 9:00. There is some food in the kitchen cupboard if you’d like something to eat.

Still in his suit, Imanishi opened the cupboard. There was some sashimi purchased at the local fish store, along with a plate of meat and radishes. Steam rose from the thermos container for the rice, a recent purchase. He carried the dishes to the dining table. Since his wife was not at home, he was not distracted. As he ate, he thought over the content of the response he had received that day from Jikoen in Okayama Prefecture.

He had changed his clothes and was skimming the evening paper with a toothpick in his mouth when he heard the front door open.

“Oh, he’s back,” he heard Yoshiko say. “I’m home,” she said as she entered the room. His sister came in after her, smiling. “I’m sorry. Since Oyuki-san came, I asked her if she wanted to go out.”

“That’s not true. I was the one who asked Yoshiko-san to go out.”

They were covering for each other. The two women continued to talk while they changed their clothes in the next room. Imanishi’s sister was a movie fan and she was talking about the performance of one of the actors. His wife came out in her house clothes.

“Did you eat some supper?”

“Yes, I did.”

“We expected to be back before you.”

“Here, Brother, a present.” Imanishi’s sister held out a bag of roasted chestnuts.

“Hey, aren’t you going home tonight?”

His sister was wearing one of his wife’s house dresses.

“No, my husband is away on business again.”

“You come over when you have a fight with your husband, and you come to stay when he’s off on business. What can I do with you? How was the movie, was it good?”

“So, so.”

Imanishi’s wife and sister continued discussing the movie.

“Actually, I saw some movies today, too,” Imanishi said.

“Oh, did you really?” his sister said, surprised.

“Is that why you were late?” Yoshiko asked.

“Hardly. I went to see the movies for work.”

“Hmm. Do detectives see movies for their work?”

“Depending on the circumstances, yes.”

“What did you see?”

“One Man’s Rage and Windy Clouds of Tone.”

“Oh,” his sister laughed, “they came out quite a while ago.”

“Have you heard of them?”

“I saw them. It must have been about six months ago. They weren’t any good, were they?”

“I suppose not.” Imanishi turned his eyes back to the newspaper.

His wife sat beside him, peeling roasted chestnuts and placing the pieces on the newspaper Imanishi was reading. The articles were not very interesting, but there was nothing else to read:

Revolution in Boring Holes through Ultra Hard Metal Alloy-Using Extra Strength Ultrasonics.

Far East Metallurgy Company has succeeded in applying the principle of extrastrength ultrasonics to boring holes through a hard metal alloy, something that had been considered impossible until now. This process will allow for a tenfold increase in manufacturing and has been hailed in various areas as a revolutionary technical accomplishment.

A characteristic of this method is that, because the cutter is not rotated, the hole created is not circular. Ultrasonics is considered to be a process having a…

It was an uninteresting article. Imanishi was easily distracted. His ears picked up the conversation between his sister and his wife.

“The previews are more interesting than the movies, aren’t they?” his wife said.

“That’s true. After all, they pick the most interesting parts to show in the previews,” his sister said.

Imanishi put down his newspaper. “Do they always show previews at movie theaters?”

The answer was, “Of course.”

When Imanishi went to the film company the following day, the staff member he had come to recognize leafed through the booking ledger to find this information. “Oh, yes, we did show a preview. We showed a preview of the next week’s film and a preannouncement of a coming feature.”

“What is a preannouncement?”

“When we release a major feature, we start advertising about a month in advance. The next week’s preview is, as the name says a trailer of the film that will be shown the following week.”

“What was the following week’s movie?”

“It was The Distant Horizon. It was a contemporary film.”

“And the preannouncement?”

“That was for a foreign film.”

“A foreign film? Do any Japanese appear in that film?” Imanishi asked to make sure.

“Of course not. It’s an American movie, so all the scenes are foreign… But there is some snapshot footage of opening night scenes taken in Tokyo. It was a major film and a prince and princess attended the premiere.”

“I see. The preannouncement has shots of that event attached to it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry to ask you again, but could I see both of them?”

“I don’t know,” the staff person cocked his head doubtfully. “We don’t keep the films of the previews in our warehouse forever. When the time comes, we get rid of them. I’d have to check to find out if we still have that piece of film.”

“When you say get rid of, how do you do it?”

“We cut up the film and sell it to a scrap collector.”

“Could you please check to see if you still have the film?”

Imanishi stepped outside. He walked around for about an hour, then returned to the film company.

“I was able to find out,” the staff member said. “We have the preview of the following week’s movie, but we got rid of our preannouncement about the foreign feature. It’s too bad. We sold it to the scrap collector just three days ago.”

Imanishi was able to see the preview, but it was not informative. It was just a collection of scenes from the The Distant Horizon with the director and the cameraman wandering about as well. It lasted only three minutes.

“You said the preannouncement was for a foreign film?”

“Yes.”

“What was the name of that film?”

“It was called The Road of the Century.”

“In addition to scenes from the movie, the preannouncement also had shots from opening night? I hope I’ve understood correctly.”

“Yes, it did.”

“There must have been several prints. Would there be one, perhaps, that might still be left somewhere?”

“I can’t imagine that that would be the case. We usually get rid of all of them at once. But if I find out that there is still a print somewhere, I’ll let you know.”

“I would really appreciate that.” There was nothing else that he could say.

Imanishi telephoned Yoshimura. “Thanks for joining me the other night.”

“No, thank you for treating me,” Yoshimura said.

“Yoshimura, do you like movies?”

“Why are you asking all of a sudden? Yes, I like movies.”

“Did you see one called One Man’s Rage?”

Yoshimura’s laughed. “No, I didn’t see that one.”

Imanishi was disappointed. “How about a foreign movie called The Road of the Century?”

“Yes, I saw that one.”

“Did you see the preannouncement film?”

“You mean the one they show ahead of time to advertise the movie?”

“That’s the one.”

“Let me think… Yes, I did, I saw it.”

“You saw it?”

“Yes, the one with the scenes from the opening night, right?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Imanishi cried out. “I’d like to meet you right away to ask you details about that film.”

“About the film?”

“Yes. Please remember as much as you can about it before we meet.”

Imanishi hurried to the Kamata police station. Yoshimura was working in the detectives’ office, but he joined Imanishi as soon as he spotted him.

“We could have tea here, but the others would be curious, so we wouldn’t be able to talk much.” They entered a small coffee shop across the street from the police station.

“Welcome back,” Yoshimura said to Imanishi. It was their first meeting since Imanishi’s trip to Ise. “How were things there?”

“That’s just what I wanted to talk to you about.” Imanishi told Yoshimura what had happened in detail. “So I haven’t made any progress since I’ve gotten back. The problem is, what did Miki see that made him change his plans? The only thing I can think of is the preannouncement of the foreign film, but the movie company says it’s already been thrown out. Can you remember the content and tell me about it?”

“Give me a moment,” Yoshimura said, crossing his arms. “It was quite a while ago, so I’ve pretty much forgotten… The main portion was the introduction of the movie. They showed scenes from the film.”

“I heard that there were some shots of the premiere in Tokyo.”

“Yes, there were. The prince and princess were there together to see the film, so there were many shots of them.”

“What other scenes were there? I mean other than those of the movie itself.”

“Otherwise…” Yoshimura looked down in an effort to remember.

“What about some celebrities? Maybe in the shots of the theater…” Imanishi said, giving him a lead.

“Yes, there were, there were.” Yoshimura raised his head at once. “There were definitely some shots like that. I can’t remember exactly who they were.”

“Were there any members of the Nouveau group in those shots?”

“Wait a minute. That’s just what I’m trying to recall.” Once again, Yoshimura lowered his head. “There were lots of them. Novelists, directors, movie stars…” he said slowly as if talking to himself. “The words ‘Nouveau group’ weren’t used, but I have a feeling they may have been there. I think there were some young artists. My memory is vague though.”

Imanishi thought he had the general picture. He would assume that the members of the Nouveau group had appeared on the screen. Miki had suddenly decided to go to Tokyo after seeing the face of one of the members of the group. The question was, which member of the Nouveau group had that face belonged to?

Imanishi was still concerned about the latest review by Sekigawa Shigeo. As a detective he was suspicious about everything. Sekigawa’s piece had been fairly easy to understand but Imanishi wasn’t sure whether he should take it at face value. It seemed to be necessary to read between the lines to comprehend what critics really meant.

Sekigawa was not the only member of the Nouveau group upon whom Imanishi’s attention was focused. Imanishi had received two responses to his inquiries about Waga Eiryo. One was a copy of his family register, which had been sent from the Family Register Section of the Naniwa Ward Office in Osaka.

Number 120, 2 Ebisu-cho, Naniwa Ward, Osaka City Father: Eizo

Date of birth: June 17, 1908

Date of death: March 14, 1945

Mother: Kimiko

Date of birth: February 7, 1912

Date of death: March 14, 1945

Himself:

Date of birth: October 2, 1933

Mother, Kimiko, was second daughter of Yamamoto Jiro, registered domicile: Number 47, San-ban-cho, Higashi, Sendai City; marriage to Eizo recorded on May 20, 1929

The other response was from the prefectural high school in Kyoto Prefecture. According to this information, Waga Eiryo had withdrawn from the school in 1948.

Imanishi sat deep in thought. Then he looked at his calendar. The next Monday was a holiday.

“I’ll be going to Ishikawa Prefecture Saturday night,” he told Yoshiko on his return home that evening.

“Are you off again?” She made a face.

“This isn’t a pleasure trip. I can’t take so many days off. So I’m taking advantage of the holiday.”

“Can’t you make it a business trip?”

“I don’t feel I can ask again since I don’t know if I’ll get any results. Do we have enough money?”

“I have some tucked away. Where are you going in Ishikawa Prefecture?”

“Near a hot spring called Yamanaka.”

“Well, that’s a nice place you’re going to. Be sure to bring me back a present.”

Imanishi had never taken his wife to a hot spring. Her comment stung him.

“Sure, I’ll bring you something. I’m sorry to be using the money you were saving up.”

“It’s all right. It can’t be helped since it’s for your work.”

Imanishi was determined to come back this time with something in his grasp.

The following day, he telephoned Yoshimura. “I’m going to Yamanaka in Ishikawa Prefecture tomorrow night.”

“To Yamanaka?” Yoshimura said, surprised. “You mean the Yamanaka in the song ‘the hot springs of Yamanaka, Yamashiro, or Awazu’? What kind of work is it this time?” Yoshimura asked.

“It’s that same case,” Imanishi answered, a bit abashed.

“There are so many connections all over the place, aren’t there?”

“I guess so.”

“Imanishi-san, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” Yoshimura’s voice was earnest.

“Let me see,” Imanishi said. “I’m leaving tomorrow night from Tokyo Station. The train leaves at nine-forty.”

“I’ll be there to see you off.”

On Saturday night Imanishi stood on the platform at Tokyo Station with his suitcase in hand. Yoshimura approached through the crowd of people seeing off the travelers.

“You came after all,” Imanishi smiled.

“Thank you for all your efforts,” Yoshimura bowed. “It’s not a business trip this time?”

“I can’t ask to be sent on another expense-paid trip. Luckily, Monday’s a holiday. So it looks like I’m off to enjoy myself. My wife let me use her savings, so I’m grateful. But she’s not too happy about it.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case. Your wife is very supportive.”

“That doesn’t matter, really. Actually, I’d like to ask you to do something for me,” Imanishi said, looking around to either side. “Let me tell you.” Drawing Yoshimura close, Imanishi whispered to him.

Yoshimura opened his eyes wide. “I understand. I’ll make sure that’s done before you return.”

“Thanks.”

Just five minutes before the train’s departure time, Yoshiko appeared from the crowd of people.

“Dear, this is for you to eat on the train.” She held out something wrapped in a cloth.

“What is it?”

“Look forward to being surprised when you open it.”

“Sorry to make you spend money like this,” Imanishi said in an unexpectedly formal way.

When the train had left the platform and had become a small speck in the distance, Yoshimura turned to Yoshiko standing beside him and said, “It must be tough on you, too. There aren’t many like him, though.”

“He really loves his work,” Yoshiko responded.

Dawn came at Sekigahara. Imanishi changed to the Hokuriku Line at Maibara. The morning sun glinted on Lake Yogonoumi. Snow had already fallen in the mountains of Shizugatake. It was just before noon when he changed at Daishoji to a small electric train that headed for the mountains. Yamanaka hot spring was at the end of the line, where the plain narrowed and came up against the mountains. Half of the passengers had come to take the cure at the hot spring. In this distant area, the sounds of the Kansai dialect of the region around Osaka grated on his ears.

Taking out his notebook, Imanishi asked for directions near the station. His destination was a village at some distance, near the mountains. Imanishi hailed a taxi that followed a country road beside a stream.

“Is this the first time you’ve been here, sir?” the middle-aged driver asked. When Imanishi answered yes, he asked, “Did you come here for the hot springs?”

“Yes, I did, but I also want to visit someone I know,” Imanishi answered.

The cloud over the mountain looked cold.

“I hardly ever take passengers to this village.”

“Really? Is it that remote?”

“There’s nothing there. It’s called a village, but there are only about fifty houses. And they’re all scattered. Only farmers live there, so no one uses taxis.”

“Is it that run-down a village?”

“It’s a poor area. In Yamanaka and Yamashiro there are lots of visitors from the Osaka area who liven things up, but just five miles away, there are people who have trouble getting enough to eat. It’s a strange world. Oops…” the driver caught himself, “do you have relatives in this village?”

“No, I don’t have any relatives there. I’m visiting someone named Yamashita.”

“Yamashita-san, you say. About half the people in that village are named Yamashita. What’s his given name?”

“It’s Yamashita Chutaro.”

“I could ask about him.”

The road climbed into the mountains from the plain. Narrow fields dotted the valleys between the mountains. The poor condition of the road made the taxi pitch like a boat as it navigated two passes.

“Mister, that’s the village. As you can see, you can hardly call it a village.”

Small roofs, placed haphazardly, appeared in the direction the taxi driver pointed. The driver offered to ask for directions, but Imanishi stopped him. He got out of the taxi near half a dozen farmhouses separated by fields. This was an area with considerable snowfall so the eaves of the houses were very deep.

A young woman stood in front of a house, carrying a baby on her back. She stared at Imanishi as he walked toward her.

When Imanishi bobbed his head in greeting, she did not even smile. “I’d like to ask you something. Which house belongs to Yamashita Chutaro?”

“Yamashita Chutaro, oh,” she uttered slowly, “it’s on the other side of the mountain.” She pointed with her chin to the ridge line of the mountain. Her face was rough and freckled from outdoor physical labor.

“Thank you,” Imanishi said and started to walk away.

“Mister, wait,” the woman stopped him. “Yamashita Chutaro is no longer in this world.”

Imanishi had half expected this. If he had been alive, he would have been quite old.

“I see. When did he pass away?” Imanishi asked.

“Let me see. It was about twelve or thirteen years ago.”

“Is there someone at his place now?”

“Now? His daughter Otae-san lives there with her husband who was adopted into the family.”

“I see. So his daughter is called Otae-san? And what’s her husband’s name?”

“He’s Shoji-san. They may not be at home now. They may be out working.”

“Thank you very much.”

Imanishi returned to the taxi. When he told the driver that he wanted to go to the other side of the ridge, he looked unhappy.

“Mister, that’s a terrible road.”

The road was so narrow it was unclear whether a car could drive through, and it was even more rutted than the road they had come on. But for Imanishi it was essential that the taxi take him there.

“Sorry, but won’t you try? I’ll make sure to give you a good tip.”

“I don’t need a tip.” The driver grudgingly agreed to go.

Rounding the ridge, they came across some different scenery. If it had been the sea, the area would have been an inlet. Some four or five houses lay scattered at the base of the foothills.

Alighting from the taxi, Imanishi walked along the footpath toward an old woman working her field.

“Excuse me, could I ask you something?” he called to her politely. “Where is Yamashita Chutaro-san’s house?”

The old woman straightened up, leaning on her hoe. “Chutaro died many years ago.” She seemed to be suffering from trachoma and had bleary eyes.

“I understand that the house now belongs to his adopted son, Shoji-san.”

“Shoji’s house is that one.” The old woman stood up even straighter and pointed a finger caked with dirt to the farthest of the half-dozen houses. It stood on the hillside, so its thatched roof appeared taller than the others.

When Imanishi thanked her and started to walk on, she called after him, “You won’t find Shoji there now.”

“Oh, is he away?”

“I hear he’s gone to the Osaka area. We don’t need any men to work the fields here until the spring. So they go away to find other work.”

“Who’s living there now?”

“Shoji’s wife is there. Otae-san.”

Imanishi continued along the path. The farmhouses all looked poor. They were small, decrepit, and dirty. As Imanishi walked by, several old people stared at the outsider from their doorways. Stone steps led to the highest house. Imanishi followed the path between the barren fields until he reached the house. A dirty board with the name “Yamashita Shoji” was nailed to an old pillar.

There was no answer to his knock, so he tried the door. It opened.

“Hello? Excuse me,” Imanishi called into the darkened interior.

He caught a glimpse of a small figure that walked slowly toward him without uttering a sound. In the bright light he could see that it was a skinny boy of eleven or twelve years of age, dressed in dirty clothes. He had a large head.

“Is anyone home?” Imanishi asked the boy.

The boy raised his eyes in silence. Imanishi gave a start. One eye was completely white. The iris of the other eye was small.

“Isn’t anyone home?” Imanishi said in a louder voice. He heard a sound from inside the house.

The boy continued to look up silently at Imanishi. The eerie eyes of the boy were repugnant to Imanishi, who did not feel pity right away even though it was a child. What he felt most strongly was a sense of abnormality as he gazed at the boy’s pale face.

A woman in her mid-fifties appeared from the dark interior. Her hair was thin and balding in the front. Her face was pale and puffy.

“Is this the home of Yamashita Shoji-san?” Imanishi asked, bowing to the woman.

“Yes, it is,” she nodded gloomily.

The woman looked at Imanishi with clouded eyes. She seemed to be the mother of the one-eyed boy.

“I’m an acquaintance of Motoura Chiyokichi-san.” As he said this, he watched her face. The sleepy eyes did not move a bit. “I got to know Chiyokichi-san in Okayama Prefecture. I heard that this was the home of his wife’s family. I happened to be in the area, so I thought I would drop by.”

“Is that so?” Otae nodded her head slightly. “Please sit down here.”

This was her first expression of greeting. The boy was still staring at Imanishi with his white eye.

“Boy, go away,” she waved the boy away. Without saying a word, the boy walked to the back of the house. “Please,” Otae urged Imanishi, who had been watching the boy retreat. She indicated a thin cushion.

“Thank you.” Imanishi sat down. “Please don’t bother with anything,” he said, as she started to prepare some tea.

Otae offered a cup of tea on a tray to Imanishi. The tea cup was soiled, but Imanishi gulped down the liquid.

“I understand that your husband, Shoji-san, is away,” he said.

“Yes, he’s off to Osaka.” Otae sat facing Imanishi.

“Through a quirk of fate, I got to know your brother-in-law, Chiyokichi-san. He was a good man.”

“I’m sure you were kind to him,” Otae bowed her head.

It appeared that Otae thought that Imanishi was a staff member or a doctor from Jikoen in Okayama. She had assumed that that was where he had become acquainted with Chiyokichi.

“I heard a lot about Yamanaka hot spring from Chiyokichi-san. I had always wanted to visit, and this time I was able to come. So I thought I would drop by.”

“Is that so?”

“I heard that your younger sister Masa-san passed away in 1935, but what happened to her son? I mean the boy who was born to your sister and Chiyokichi-san.”

“You mean Hideo?” Otae asked.

“Yes, his name was Hideo. I often heard about him from Chiyokichi-san. I remember hearing that Hideo and his father were separated before Chiyokichi-san entered Jikoen.”

“Yes. Did Chiyokichi say anything to you about that?”

“No, not really. He just always wondered what had happened to Hideo.”

“I suppose so. My sister died four years after she gave birth to Hideo. She probably never had a chance to see him again before she died.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t your sister return home after she and Chiyokichi-san separated?”

“You seem to know all about them, so I’ll tell you without hiding anything. My sister parted from Chiyokichi as soon as he got that disease. My sister may have been coldhearted, but it couldn’t be helped, because of the kind of illness he had. But Chiyokichi was so fond of Hideo that he took him on his travels.”

“What year was that?”

“It must have been about 1934.”

“Did Chiyokichi-san have somewhere to go to?”

“He went around to visit temples to try to cure his disease.”

“So he went all around the country, did he? Like a pilgrimage?”

“Yes, I think so. He didn’t send any word to the boy’s mother, my sister,” Otae answered, looking down. “My sister became a maid in a restaurant in Osaka after she parted from Chiyokichi. But that lasted for only a year or so. She got sick and died there.”

When he first saw her, Imanishi had thought that Otae was a woman without any feelings, but as they talked he realized that she was quite able to express her emotions.

“So your sister died without knowing what became of Chiyo-kichi-san and Hideo?”

“Yes. My sister wrote me some letters that said she had no idea where they had gone.”

“What about now? I mean, Hideo. He’s your nephew, isn’t he? He should be thirty years old this year.”

“Would he, now?” Hearing that, Otae seemed to be calculating the years. “Has it been that long?”

“You haven’t heard anything about him?”

“No, nothing. I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive.”

“Chiyokichi-san told me that he had entered Jikoen in Okayama in 1938 and that he had parted with his son in the countryside in Shimane Prefecture.”

“Is that so? I didn’t know anything about that.”

“He didn’t know what had happened to Hideo after that. That was what Chiyokichi-san was concerned about. You haven’t heard anything about Hideo’s whereabouts?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“Have there been any requests from any local offices for Hideo’s registry of residence or copies of his family register?”

“No, there haven’t. I know the village official. He says that if Hideo had died somewhere, the notice would come to the village office.”

“I see.”

Otae sighed. “My sister was unfortunate. She married Chiyokichi without knowing that he had such a cruel disease. When he became ill, she was shocked. She was worried that Hideo might catch the disease because Chiyokichi dragged him around with him on his travels. My sister died after suffering a lot.”

“I’d like to ask you one more question,” Imanishi said. “Have you occasionally seen a young man, a stranger, wandering around here?” Imanishi asked this question, thinking that Hideo might have come back to his mother’s home.

“No, I’ve never seen anyone like that.”

At the end of his visit Imanishi showed Otae a photograph he had cut out of a newspaper.

“I don’t know,” Otae said, cocking her head in doubt after gazing at it a while. “He was only four years old when I saw the boy last, so I can’t say one way or the other whether he looked like this person.”

“Does he look at all like your sister or Chiyokichi-san?”

“Well, he doesn’t look like his father. Now that you say so, perhaps he looks a bit like my sister around the eyes, but I can’t be sure.”

Imanishi left the Yamashita home. Otae saw him off at the doorway. She watched, standing with her back to the dark doorway, as Imanishi drove off in the taxi.

Imanishi turned around twice to wave to her. This house and the entire village were dreary. As the taxi drove off, he saw the one-eyed boy standing by the roadside, looking up at him. Imanishi felt depressed. The boy was about the same age as his son, Taro.

At Yamanaka, Imanishi left the taxi and entered the first restaurant he saw.

“Give me a bowl of soba buckwheat noodles.” As he sipped the soup in the bowl, he heard the financial news on the radio.

… We now bring you the stock market report. First the major trends. In the morning Tokyo market, encouraging factors caused trading to progress smoothly, with a gradual increase in profit-taking and mixed changes in prices. Next, in general issues, there was selective buying of stocks in chemicals, automotive machinery, metal industry, late-issue coal, and paper. High-yield electrical stocks were also traded… Nagoya Sugar 188 yen, unchanged. Osaka Sugar not traded. Shibaura Sugar not traded. Toyo Sugar not traded. Tensai Sugar 205 yen, unchanged. Yokohama Sugar 340 yen, unchanged. Snow Brand Dairy Products 148 yen, unchanged. Kirin Beer 550 yen, unchanged. Takara Brewing 163 yen, unchanged…

Unchanged, unchanged… he thought. Imanishi felt that these words described his achievements, too. He had moved around a lot, but how much progress had he made?

Imanishi imagined the curve of the stock market figures, with its large and small valleys. Suddenly he thought of the piece of paper he had picked up near the location where the body of the actor Miyata Kunio had been discovered. That had also been an arrangement of statistics. When he finished eating his noodles, he took out his notebook and reread the numbers he had copied down.

1953: 25,404

1954: 35,522

1955: 30,834

1956: 24,362

1957: 27,435

1958: 28,431

1959: 28,438

Did these figures have anything to do with Miyata’s death?

Imanishi closed his notebook. He intended to board the night train. He had done what he had come here for, and he did not feel like spending a leisurely night soaking in the hot spring. He left the noodle shop. Shops lined the street, all with similar souvenirs for sale, mostly towels and sweets. He bought some sweets for Taro. Then he saw a Wajima lacquerware obi clip in a display case. Seeing that he was gazing at it, a saleswoman came over to him.

“Welcome. About what age is the lady it is for?”

Somewhat embarrassed, Imanishi answered, “She’s about thirty-seven,” giving his wife’s age.

“Then, these would be most appropriate.” The saleswoman placed five or six obi fasteners on the counter.

Imanishi chose one from among them and asked to have it wrapped. This was the only present he bought for his wife at Yamanaka hot spring.