Inspector Imanishi Investigates

FIVE The Woman of the Paper Blizzard

Two months had passed since the murder when one day a man showed up at police headquarters. He handed over a business card that read: “Miki Shokichi, Proprietor, General Store, xx Street, Emi-machi, Okayama Prefecture.” Miki’s father had been missing for three months, ever since he had left on a pilgrimage to Ise Shrine. Miki wondered if his father might be the Kamata railroad yard murder victim.

The former head of the investigation team and Imanishi Eitaro met with Miki Shokichi. Miki seemed like an upright young man in his mid-twenties. He looked just like a country merchant.

“What were the circumstances surrounding your father’s disappearance? Could you tell us in detail?” the section chief asked.

“Yes. My father is named Miki Ken’ichi. He turned fifty-one this year,” the young merchant began. “As you can see from my card, I run a general store in a small town in Okayama Prefecture. In fact, I am not Ken’ichi’s real son. I was adopted. Father lost his wife early and had no children. He hired me to work in his store, and then adopted me into his family. Then I married a local girl.”

“Hm, so it’s what they call getting a son to gain a bride,” Imanishi said as he listened to Shokichi’s simple explanation.

“Yes, that’s it. My father had never been on a pilgrimage to Ise Shrine, and he said he wanted to go once in his life. He told us that he wanted to take his time and also visit Nara and Kyoto. We thought it was a good idea and urged him to go.”

“I see,” the section chief said.

“We encouraged him because he had worked so hard from the time he opened the store about twenty-three years ago to make it the best in town. I know the difficulties my father has faced, so I wanted him to take this time off. When he left, he said he didn’t want to be tied to a schedule. He wanted to enjoy a lazy trip. He sent us postcards along the way.”

“But he never came home?”

“No, he didn’t. Since he had said he didn’t want to plan ahead, we didn’t think anything of it when he didn’t come home right away. But when it got to be three months, we started getting a little worried. So I filed a missing person report with the local police. When I filed the report, they checked their records, and the Kamata case turned up. I was shocked when I saw the police artist’s sketch of the victim’s face. I recognized my father right away. That’s why I rushed to Tokyo. I’m sorry to cause you so much trouble, but I would like to identify the victim.”

Imanishi brought out the victim’s clothing and other belongings and showed them to Miki.

Miki Shokichi’s face twisted in pain. “Those are definitely my father’s things. Father was from the country, so he wore this kind of worn, inexpensive clothes.” His face flushed and his voice cracked.

“We’d like to show you some photographs, just to make sure. We’re very sorry, but we have already cremated the body. We do have a written physical description, though.”

The photographs taken by the Identification Division showed the victim’s battered face from every angle. Miki Shokichi was so shocked he couldn’t breathe, but finally he found a few remaining identifying marks and stated that there was no mistaking his father. Then he bowed his head.

“About how much money did your father have with him when he left on his trip to Ise Shrine?”

Miki knew the amount. It was not a large sum, about eighty thousand yen, enough for one month’s travel expenses and lodgings.

“Your father said that he would be traveling to Ise and Kyoto, but he died in Tokyo. Kamata is near Shinagawa. Did he have any business in that area?” Imanishi asked.

“I’m confused about that. I have no idea why Father would have gone to Tokyo when he said he was going to travel to Ise.”

“He never mentioned Tokyo?”

“No, never. Father would have told us if he had planned to visit Tokyo.”

“Since he died near Kamata Station, could he have visited someone in that area?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Was your father originally from the region where you now live?”

“Yes, he was from Emi-machi in Okayama Prefecture,” Miki Shokichi answered.

“You said he started his general store about twenty-three years ago. What was he doing until that time?”

“As I said before, I was adopted after he started the store, but Father said he had been a policeman.”

“A policeman? And where was that? Was that also in Okayama Prefecture?”

“I think so.”

“So he opened this general store right after he left the police force?” the section chief asked, smiling. He began to identify with the victim who had once been a policeman. “And how is the business doing now? Is it going well?”

“Emi is a little country town in the mountains, and the population is very small, but the store has been doing well since my father opened it.”

“Did your father have any enemies?”

The adopted son shook his head violently. “There is no way that he could have. Everyone respected Father. As you can see from his adopting me, he was always helping others. He was so well thought of that he was forced onto the town council over his protests. There just aren’t people who are as good as Father. He looked after people with problems and everyone said he was as kind as Buddha.”

“It is very sad that someone like that should have met with such an untimely death in Tokyo. We promise to find his murderer,” the section chief said to console the visitor. “I’d like to ask you once more if your father had any plans to visit Tokyo when he left on his tour of Ise, Kyoto, and Nara?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Had your father ever come to Tokyo before?”

“Not as far as I know. I never heard that he had ever lived in Tokyo or even visited Tokyo.”

With permission from the section chief, Imanishi began to ask a few questions.

“Is there a place called ‘Kameda’ near where you live?”

“Kameda? No, there isn’t any place called that.” Miki Shokichi sounded certain.

“Then, did your father have an acquaintance named Kameda?”

“No, I’ve never heard of any such person.”

“Miki-san, this is a very important point, so I’d like you to consider it carefully. You’re sure that the name Kameda means nothing to you?”

Miki thought for a few minutes, but then said, “I don’t recall ever hearing that name. Who could that person be?”

Imanishi looked over at the section chief. The section chief indicated that he could respond.

“Your father and the person we suspect of murdering him had been drinking together at a cheap bar near the scene of the crime. We have witnesses to that effect, and according to them the name Kameda was mentioned in the conversation between your father and this other man. We’re not sure if Kameda is a person or a place, but they both knew the name.”

The shop owner thought some more, but his response was the same. “I’ve never heard that name.”

Imanishi changed his line of questioning. “Miki-san, did your father speak with a Tohoku accent?”

“What?” Miki Shokichi looked startled. “No, Father didn’t have a Tohoku accent.”

It was Imanishi’s turn to be surprised by this answer. “Are you sure of that?”

“Yes, I’m positive. As I told you, I was a shop clerk when I was adopted, but I’ve never heard that Father lived in the Tohoku area. He was born in Emi-machi in Okayama Prefecture, so there would be no reason for him to speak with a Tohoku accent,” Miki said definitely.

Imanishi exchanged looks with the section chief. The fact that the victim had spoken with a Tohoku accent had been one of the main clues. Relying on it, Imanishi had gone all the way to Akita Prefecture. Miki Shokichi’s response had completely negated that lead.

“I’d like to ask you,” Imanishi pressed, “whether your father’s parents, your step-grandparents, were born in the Tohoku region?”

Miki Shokichi answered immediately. “No, they weren’t. Father’s parents were from Hyogo Prefecture in western Japan. They have no connection to northeastern Japan at all.”

Had the witnesses in the bar been mistaken about the victim’s accent? No, that couldn’t be. The customers and the bar girls had all repeated that the victim had spoken with a Tohoku accent. Imanishi was puzzled.

“We’ll probably be in touch with you again about this,” the section chief said to Miki.

“Will it be all right for me to go now?”

“Yes, that will be fine. We’re very sorry about what happened to your father.”

“Thank you very much.” Miki asked, “Do you have any idea who killed my father?”

“We haven’t yet been able to identify him,” the section chief said gently. “But now that we know that the victim was your father, it will be a great help to the investigation. We now have a clearer picture of the situation. I think we’ll be able to arrest the murderer without too much difficulty.”

Miki looked down. “But why did Father come to Tokyo?”

This was exactly what the detectives wanted to know.

Bowing many times, Miki Shokichi left police headquarters. Imanishi saw him to the front door. When he returned, the section chief was waiting.

“What a problem,” the section chief said when he saw Imanishi.

“Yes, it’s a real mess.” Imanishi grimaced. “All my assumptions so far have been completely invalidated. It’s great that we’ve finally identified the victim, but now we’re back to square one.”

Once the meeting with the section chief was over, Imanishi had meant to go back to his office. But now he did not feel like returning to the cramped, crowded detectives’ room. He walked out to the back of the building. The thick leaves of the ginko trees towered over his head. Above the leaves was a bright white cloud filled with summer light. Imanishi stared blankly at the treetops. He was still thinking of Kameda and the Tohoku accent. Before he left for home, Imanishi called Yoshimura.

“Yoshimura, we’ve finally identified the victim in the Kamata railroad yard case.”

Yoshimura had already heard. “I understand he was from Okayama Prefecture.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s totally different from what we’d suspected, isn’t it?”

“We were way off base,” Imanishi responded dejectedly. “But now at least we have the victim identified. I may be reassigned to your precinct again, so I might come bothering you.”

“I hope you do.” Yoshimura sounded glad. “I can learn a lot from you if we get to work together again.”

“Don’t say that. My theories on this case have been wrong from the beginning,” Imanishi said.

“This is a chance to start fresh.” Yoshimura tried to reassure him.

“I’d like to get together tomorrow.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

Imanishi left police headquarters shortly after that. It was still light when he got home. The days were longer, but he had also gotten home earlier than usual.

“Why don’t you go over to the bath?” his wife said.

“I’ll take the boy and go for a long soak then.”

Ten-year-old Taro, their only child, ran around the house excitedly, happy that he was going out to the neighborhood bath with his father.

When they came back from the public bath dinner was ready.

While they were gone, Imanishi’s younger sister had come over. She lived in Kawaguchi, on the outskirts of Tokyo. Her husband worked in a foundry, but they had saved up some money and owned a small apartment building.

“Good evening, Brother.” The sister poked her head out of the other room where she was changing out of her street clothes into some comfortable clothes she had borrowed from Imanishi’s wife.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I just arrived.”

Imanishi made a sour face. His sister always involved them in her fights with her husband.

“It’s hot today, isn’t it?” she said as she plopped down beside Imanishi and started to fan herself.

Imanishi stole a glance at her. He could tell by her expression whether or not she had just come from having a fight with her husband. He was relieved. “What is it? Have you two been at it again?” Imanishi talked this way on purpose when he knew that they hadn’t been fighting. When it was obvious that there had been a fight, he tried not to refer to it at all.

“No, not today. Tonight he’s on the night shift, and I’m tired from helping somebody move in all day. So I’ve come for a rest.”

“Who moved in?”

“A new tenant for one of our apartment units.”

“You mean the room that doesn’t get much sunlight?”

His sister had been complaining that this room was hard to rent out.

“She’s a single woman, about twenty-five years old. It didn’t seem like she had anyone else to help her. I felt sorry for her and pitched in.”

“If she’s a woman alone, could she be someone’s mistress?”

“No, she’s not. Although she does work in the entertainment district.”

“Is she a waitress at a fancy restaurant?”

“No, apparently a hostess in a bar in Ginza.”

“If she’s moving into an apartment way out in Kawaguchi, she can’t be working in a very profitable bar.”

Taking his comment as a slight, Imanishi’s sister countered indignantly, “Of course, the locations most convenient to Ginza would be Akasaka or Shinjuku. But apparently the bar customers are a real problem. They make up all sorts of excuses to see her home after the bar closes.”

“Really? So she moved to Kawaguchi to get away from that? Where was she living?”

“She said near Azabu.”

“Is she pretty?” Imanishi asked.

“Yes, very pretty. Why don’t you come and take a look at her some time?”

At that moment Imanishi’s wife entered the room with a bowl of watermelon slices. Imanishi’s sister stuck out her tongue, embarrassed at what she had said.

“Please eat it while it’s cold. Taro, come over here.” Yoshiko called out to Taro who was playing in the yard and set down the bowl. “Oyuki-san says all the units in her apartment building are now rented,” she said to Imanishi.

“So she was just telling me.”

Sekigawa rode in a taxi with Emiko. It was almost midnight, and most of the houses along the route had closed up for the night. The only things that could be seen were what the taxi headlights picked up.

“I’m tired,” Emiko said. “I was thinking of calling in sick today. But I forced myself to go in, since I had promised to meet you.” Emiko held Sekigawa’s hand tightly as they sat in the back seat.

“When you moved in did you ask anyone to help you?” Sekigawa asked, looking straight ahead.

“No. The movers carried everything into the apartment. The hard part came after that. Luckily, the woman who owns the apartment building pitched in.” She leaned against Sekigawa. “I wish you’d come to help.” Her voice was both scolding and seductive.

“But I couldn’t possibly.”

“Yes, I understand. But I still wish you could have.”

Sekigawa was silent.

“After I moved out, I realized how convenient my other place was. There was shopping close by, and it was easy to get into town. The place I’m in now seems so far away, it’s depressing. But since you insisted, I guess it couldn’t be helped,” Emiko said.

“No, it couldn’t. And it was your fault anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Emiko’s grip on Sekigawa’s hand tightened. “It wasn’t my fault. You were the one he saw. And even that…”

“Stop it,” Sekigawa said, jerking his head toward the driver.

The driver was speeding now. After they had ridden in silence for some time, they neared a lighted bridge spanning Arakawa River. Sekigawa stopped the cab after they had crossed it.

“Are you sure this is where you want to get out?” the taxi driver asked. Looking at the dark levee that extended along the river, he smirked.

“It’s scary here. Let’s not go too far,” Emiko said, hanging onto his arm.

Ignoring her, Sekigawa continued walking down toward the water.

“How far are you going to go?” Emiko leaned on him. Her high heels made it difficult for her to walk on the pebbled bank.

Across the river neon lights flickered in the distance. Stars glittered in the sky.

Sekigawa stood still and said out of the blue, “Don’t talk so thoughtlessly.”

“What do you mean?” Emiko asked.

“I’m talking about inside the cab just now. You can’t tell what the driver overheard. He was listening to everything you said.”

“You’re right,” Emiko said meekly. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve told you before. You shouldn’t have said that I was the one he saw.”

“I’m really sorry, but…”

“But what?”

“I still don’t think the student noticed anything.”

Taking a cigarette out of his pocket, Sekigawa cupped his hands to light it. For a moment, half his face was lit up.

“You’re just trying to fool yourself,” he said in a dry voice, exhaling smoke. “You told me the student across the hall asked you about me.”

“He doesn’t know who you are. He just asked me what kind of man had come to my room the night before. He was curious. I don’t think he meant anything by it.”

“See,” Sekigawa said, “his asking you proves that his friend said something to him. I tell you, he recognized my face.”

“The way the student across the hall asked me about it, it didn’t seem you were recognized.”

“My picture appears in newspapers next to my articles,” Sekigawa said, staring hard at the dark river. “The guy is a student. It’s very likely that he reads what I write. He might have remembered my photograph.”

The black surface of the river glinted in the dark. A train crossed a bridge at a distance, and a band of light trailed across the water.

“That makes me sad,” Emiko said.

“What does?” The tip of Sekigawa’s cigarette glowed as he inhaled.

“Well, that you’re so concerned. I feel like I’m becoming a burden to you.”

They could hear someone whistling across the river in the darkness.

“You still don’t understand?” Sekigawa said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “It’s a crucial time for me right now. If my relationship with you is discovered now, people will say all kinds of terrible things about me. I have a lot of enemies because my job is to criticize people. If they found out about you, they’d be merciless.”

“It’s because I’m a bar hostess, isn’t it? If I were the daughter of a prominent family like Waga-san’s fiancée, you wouldn’t have to be so concerned, would you?”

“I’m not Waga,” Sekigawa said, suddenly angry. “Waga is an opportunist. I’m not like that. I don’t say new and radical things and then behave in old and opportunistic ways. It doesn’t matter at all to me that you work in a bar.”

“Then…” Emiko said hesitantly. “Then, why are you so concerned about others finding out? I would like to be able to walk with you anywhere.”

“Why can’t you understand?” Sekigawa clenched his teeth. “You know the position I’m in.”

“Of course, I know. I know that your work is different from the usual occupation. I really respect that. That’s why I feel happy that you love me. I’d like to brag about you to all my friends if I could. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about us. But that’s how I feel. I do understand, but it still makes me sad sometimes. Like this problem,” she continued. “You told me I had to move right away because that student saw you. I feel I’m always going to be your hidden woman.”

“Emiko.” Sekigawa turned toward her. “I understand how you feel, but I want you to see it from my perspective. Until the right time, I have to ask you to make this sacrifice for me. It’s an important time for me right now. I’m just starting to make a name for myself. All my efforts up until now and all my hopes for the future could be destroyed by rumors. I don’t want to lose out to any of my friends. My world is like that. It’s a world where scandal can ruin you. Please be patient.”

Sekigawa took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him.

Murayama, an arts section editor of a newspaper, was walking alone at night down the back streets of Ginza. Many people were still on the streets. He had just left a bar and, as he walked toward some brightly lit store display windows, he passed a young woman walking on the sidewalk. The light from a display window shone in bands illuminating her profile. He thought he had seen her somewhere before.

He wondered if he had seen her in a bar. He kept walking toward central Ginza. He went into a bookstore and looked at the new releases. He wandered farther back into the shop, scanning the shelves aimlessly. His attention was caught by a book entitled Have a Pleasant Trip. The instant he saw the book, he remembered.

He had seen her not long before, on a train on his way back from Omachi in the Shinshu region. The second-class car had been rather empty. The girl had gotten on at Kofu and taken a seat next to the window facing him but across the aisle. She had a pretty face. Although she wasn’t wearing expensive clothes, she wore her clothes with flair. He had gone to Omachi to report on the construction of the Kurobe Valley dam, so it must have been May 18 or May 19. It was a night train, and though it was not hot in the compartment she had opened her window half way as soon as they pulled out of Kofu. But if that were all, he might not have remembered her.

He was startled out of this recollection when he felt someone tapping him on the shoulder.

“Murayama.”

He turned around and saw Kawano, a university professor who also wrote for magazines.

“What were you thinking about? You looked as if you were far, far away.” Professor Kawano smiled, wrinkling up his eyes behind his glasses.

Murayama bowed hurriedly.

“How about having a cup of coffee with me, since I haven’t seen you for a while?” The professor didn’t drink alcohol.

Sipping coffee in the brightly lit coffee shop, Professor Kawano asked, “What were you thinking about so seriously in the bookstore?”

“I wasn’t really thinking. I was trying to remember something,” Murayama said. “I’d just passed a girl on the street that I had seen somewhere on a trip.”

“That sounds intriguing,” the professor responded. “Was it a travel romance?”

“No, that wasn’t it at all. It really isn’t that interesting.”

“I’d like to hear about it even if it isn’t interesting. Go on, tell me about it.” The professor’s slightly bucked teeth showed as he smiled and urged Murayama to continue.

Murayarna said he had been bored with the long train ride that evening. Perhaps it was because he was bored that his attention had been drawn to the young woman who had gotten on at Kofu. Besides her handbag she carried another small canvas bag, like the ones stewardesses use.

After leaving Kofu, the train ran through a lonely mountainous area. At first the girl read a paperback book. Then, when the train passed Enzan, she opened the window wide. He noticed this because it had let in a cold draft.

The girl stared out of the window. Because it was dark, she couldn’t have been looking at the scenery. Other than the occasional lonely light from a distant house, there was nothing but a succession of black mountains. He thought that perhaps she hadn’t ridden this train very often. Since she had gotten on at Kofu, he guessed first that she was from Kofu, traveling to Tokyo on a pleasure trip. But her clothing seemed too sophisticated. She had on an ordinary black suit, but she wore it stylishly. She had to be from Tokyo after all. From the side, her face was thin, and she had a slender figure.

Murayama had turned back to the book he had been reading. Before he could finish one page, the girl once again attracted his attention. She put the canvas bag on her lap and opened it, and then took something white out of it and began throwing it out the train window. The wind whipped in as the train rushed forward. The girl stuck her hand out the window and continued tossing something out. She did this all the way from Enzan to Katsunuma, the next station.

Then she went back to reading her book. But somewhere between Hajikano and Sasago, she put the book down and again started throwing away whatever it was she had in her bag. Murayama was curious. Pretending he was going to the rest room, he walked to the end of the car. He looked out from the back of the car and saw small, white pieces of paper being tossed by the wind, making a kind of blizzard. He thought she was fighting boredom by this innocent mischief and smiled at her childishness.

Murayama returned to his seat. He picked up his book and tried to continue reading, but the girl on the other side of the aisle kept distracting him. As the train neared Otsuki, she again put her hand in the bag and started scattering another paper blizzard.

The train reached Otsuki Station. Some new passengers entered the second-class car. Among them was a fat man about fifty years old who looked around the car. He finally sat down in front of this girl.

Casually, Murayama continued to watch the girl. She seemed a bit perplexed now that there was someone sitting in front of her. Yet she did not move to close the window. After the train had passed several small stations, she again began scattering small pieces of white paper out into the darkness. The man across from her grimaced because of the cold wind blowing on him from the window, but he just looked at the girl and said nothing.

Murayama resumed reading, and after a while saw that the girl had closed the window. She was now engrossed in her book. He noticed that the legs beneath the black skirt were lovely.

Thinking that they were finally nearing Tokyo, Murayama looked up, and saw that the man was talking to the girl. His attitude seemed a shade too amiable. It seemed that he was the one forcing the conversation, while she offered monosyllabic responses.

The two couldn’t have known each other. The man had boarded the train long after the young woman. He seemed to be chatting with her just to pass the time. But to Murayama it did not appear to be a case of casual conversation. The man was very insistent. He took out a pack of cigarettes, but she shook her head. Next he pulled out some chewing gum, but she wouldn’t take any gum either. The man took this refusal as mere politeness and pressed her again to have some gum. She finally gave in and took a piece, but didn’t unwrap it. The man became increasingly obnoxious. He casually stretched out his legs toward hers. Startled, she drew her legs in. Pretending not to notice, the man kept his legs stretched out and continued talking to her.

Murayama had heard about young girls being bothered on trains by middle-aged men. He decided to interfere if the man continued to annoy her. Although he tried to read his book, he was unable to concentrate on it. He kept watching the situation across the aisle. She clearly looked irritated, but the man persisted.

Gradually the lights of Tokyo appeared. Some passengers started to take their bags down from the overhead racks. The obnoxious man was still talking. The girl didn’t have to worry about her luggage because all she had was the small case. When the train passed Nakano, she bowed determinedly to the man and stood up. He stood up as well and quickly whispered something to her. She blushed and rushed toward the door. Heedless of Murayama watching, the man hurried after her.

Murayama closed his book and stood up. The train slid into the platform at Shinjuku Station. Murayama walked to the door. The man was standing close behind her, right up against her. He was still murmuring in her ear. It was clear that he was trying to get her to go somewhere with him.

“That’s why I remembered her,” Murayama said to Professor Kawano.

“What an interesting story,” the professor said and smiled. “I’ve heard that there’s an increasing number of such rude men.”

“I was appalled. I’d heard about them, but this was the first time I had seen one in action.”

“But I’m more interested in the young girl and the paper blizzard she was creating. You said it seemed mischievous, but to me it seems poetic.”

“Yes, perhaps it was,” Murayama agreed. “I was more upset by the man’s behavior.”

“It’s interesting that you couldn’t remember her when you saw her, but recalled this in the bookstore. I’ve been asked to write a piece for a magazine. It’s supposed to be a light essay, but I haven’t come up with a good topic. Could I borrow your story?”

“Will it work as an essay?”

“I’ll put in a few flourishes and turn it into a five-page piece.” The professor took out his pocket notebook. “Now, tell me again when did this happen?”

“Let me see. It was May 18 or May 19.”

“Yes, yes. You said it wasn’t hot enough to need the window open.” The professor jotted the date in his notebook.

“Sensei,” Murayama said, sounding concerned, “you won’t use my name, will you?”

“Don’t worry. There’d be no point in bringing your name into this. This story wouldn’t work well in the third person. I’ll write it as if I had experienced it myself.”

“Fine. Readers will like it better that way. How about saying that you took a fancy to the girl yourself?”

“That’d be terrible.” The professor laughed. “Then I would sound like a dirty old man. But Murayama, didn’t you want to think of some reason to approach her when the two of you were alone in the train?”

“No, not really,” Murayama said, a bit bashfully.

“Was she beautiful?”

“I guess you’d say she was. She was on the slender side. And she had a charming face.”

“Yes, well.”

The professor contentedly wrote in his notebook.

Imanishi and his wife decided to walk his sister back to the train station.

“Oyuki-san, why don’t you spend the night?” Yoshiko had asked. But Oyuki wanted to go home, saying that she had housework left to do.

“What did I tell you? You said you came here because you were free to do as you liked since your husband was working nights. But a woman can’t forget about her household after all, can she?” Imanishi teased.

“I guess not,” his sister laughed. “I guess I don’t feel like staying over except when we’ve had a fight.”

It was late, and the streets were almost deserted. Soon they passed the new apartment building. Oyuki stopped to look at it.

“I’d like to own something even half the size of this building,” she sighed.

“You should save all you can of your rent income to use for a down payment,” Imanishi told her and laughed.

“I can’t. That money goes to pay our living expenses. I’d never be able to save enough.”

The three of them started walking again.

A woman came toward them. The light from a shop lit her profile for only the second that she passed in front of it. She was young and slim. Avoiding the Imanishis, she quickened her pace to pass them.

When they had gone a half dozen steps farther, Imanishi’s wife whispered to him, “That’s the girl.”

Imanishi wondered what she meant.

His wife continued, “She’s the girl from the theater company who moved into that apartment house. I told you about her, remember? They were saying she’s an actress in the theater, but that was wrong. She works in the theater office.”

Imanishi turned around, but the girl had already disappeared into the apartment building.

“Since she has such a pretty face, everyone assumed she must be an actress,” Yoshiko explained.

“I wonder which theater group she’s with.”

“They didn’t say.”

“I wonder how much rent they charge for apartments there.” Oyuki’s attention shifted back to the apartment building.

Imanishi’s wife answered, “I think they said it was around six thousand yen. But that’s separate from the deposits, I assume.”

“It must be tough for a theater office girl to pay six thousand yen a month. I wonder if she has a patron helping her.”

They could now see the bright lights in front of the station.

Naruse Rieko, a clerk at the Avant-Garde Theater, entered her studio apartment on the second floor. It was dark inside, but it smelled like her own room. She had just moved in, but already the air inside felt different. She was relieved to feel it surround her. Her apartment was one six-tatami-mat room, newly built, and arranged for efficiency. Rieko turned on the radio, keeping the volume down. The radio helped to keep her company. She had looked in her mailbox on the way up the stairs, but there was nothing, not even a postcard.

She made some toast. The room that had seemed empty suddenly gained some warmth. On this small scale, the process of living had begun. She had some tea with the toast. When she finished eating, she sat idly for a while. The radio was pouring out music. It was not the kind she liked, but she felt too lonely to turn it off.

Rieko went to her desk and took out a notebook. She turned on the lamp but could not begin to write. She rested her chin on her hand, motionless. She could not shape her thoughts easily into sentences.

She heard footsteps in the hallway. They stopped in front of her door. She heard a knock.

“Naruse-san, you have a phone call,” the apartment manager’s wife said.

Rieko frowned because it was too late to be receiving phone calls. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

She followed the woman down the hallway. The telephone was in the manager’s apartment on the first floor.

“Excuse me,” she apologized. When the door to their apartment opened, she could see the manager reading the evening newspaper in his undershirt. Rieko bowed to him.

The telephone receiver had been left off the hook. Rieko put the receiver to her ear. “Hello, this is Naruse speaking. Who’s calling?” she asked. She did not seem pleased at the answer.

“What are you calling for?” She listened and then said, “No, you can’t. Please don’t.”

With the apartment manager and his wife right there, she kept her voice low. The call was from a man. The manager and his wife were trying to be circumspect, but since they were sitting right next to her, they could overhear her conversation.

“That would present a problem for me.” Rieko sounded very perturbed. It was unclear what the man at the other end was asking for, but from her responses, it seemed clear that she was refusing. Over the telephone, the man seemed to persist. She responded, “I can’t,” or “That would be difficult for me.”

After about three minutes she hung up the telephone.

“Thank you very much,” Rieko said to the manager and left their room.

She returned to her room and stood listlessly, a sad expression on her face. Rieko stared out the window, thinking. The lights of Shinjuku blurred against the night sky. There were few stars. Rieko closed the curtain and returned to her desk. She opened her notebook, grasped her pen, and sat lost in thought for a while, her chin on her hand. She started to write, pausing often to think. She wrote a line, then crossed it out.

“Must love be a lonely thing?

“Our love has lasted for three years. Yet nothing has been built from this love. It will probably continue on in vain. Forever, he says. The futility of this love tastes empty and feels like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. At night, despair haunts my dreams.”

She heard someone whistle a tune, passing back and forth outside her window. She looked up from her notebook. She stood up. Without looking outside, she turned off the light.

The Imanishis were on their way home after seeing Eitaro’s sister off at the station. Along the way they came across a row of stalls that were still open -among them was a nursery. Imanishi stopped in his tracks.

“I’m just taking a look. I won’t buy anything,” Imanishi reassured his wife.

There were hardly any customers. The shopkeeper encouraged Imanishi, saying that he would give him a real bargain because he was about to close up. Imanishi looked the plants over, but luckily he didn’t find any he wanted. Leaves and newspapers were scattered at his feet. Imanishi stepped down to the sidewalk.

He felt hungry. He spied a sushi shop that was still open. He asked his wife, “Shall we have a few bites of sushi?”

His wife peeked into the shop and said unenthusiastically, “Let’s not. It’s ridiculous to spend money like that. I’ll cook something special tomorrow.”

He was hungry now. Tomorrow’s dinner wasn’t any help. But understanding how his wife felt, Imanishi kept his mouth shut. He continued homeward with a dissatisfied expression on his face. He imagined the texture of the tuna, but he restrained himself.

Now the doors to almost all the stores were closed, and the narrow street was lit only by the light from street lamps. In this light, Imanishi saw a man wandering around, whistling. He was right in front of the new apartment building. He was wearing a beret and a black shirt. It appeared that he had been whistling and wandering around for a while. When the Imanishis approached him, he stopped whistling and casually edged away toward the shadows, his head turned away.

Imanishi glanced at him as they passed.

“If you’re hungry, shall I make some green tea over rice when we get home?” his wife asked.

“Hmm.” Still dissatisfied, Imanishi did not reply.

The man who had been whistling stopped as the couple passed by. He stood in front of the apartment building, staring at one of the lighted windows, but now the light had been turned out.

After the couple had passed by, the man with the beret whistled again toward the now darkened window. The curtain had been drawn. Next to the apartment building was a narrow alley lined with small houses. He could hear a baby crying somewhere. With deliberately loud footsteps, he walked back and forth several times. No one opened the apartment window. He kept this up for about twenty more minutes.

Finally he gave up and walked back to the main street, looking back at the apartment building. He headed for the station. He looked up and down to check for empty taxis, but didn’t see any.

He saw the sushi shop across the street. Through the half-opened doorway he could see three customers seated inside. He crossed the street and entered the shop. Seeing him enter, one of them looked inquiringly at him.

He ordered some sushi.

After staring at his profile, the woman whispered to her companions. The woman searched inside her pocket and brought out a small notebook. Smiling, she approached the man in the beret.

“Pardon me,” she said modestly. “Could you possibly be Miyata Kumo-san from the Avant-Garde Theater?”

The man in the beret abruptly swallowed the sushi he had been eating. Bewilderment briefly clouded his eyes, but he looked at the woman’s face and reluctantly admitted, “Yes, I am.”

“I thought so.” The woman turned around and smiled at her two male companions. “Excuse me, but would you please autograph this for me?”

She held out her well-worn notebook. He grudgingly took out a pen and signed his name with a practiced hand.