Light and dark

[165]

JUST THEN the ash on Tsuda’s cigarette, which had lengthened to nearly an inch, dropped on the letter. Eyeing the powder scattered across the vertical and horizontal indigo ruling of the manuscript page, he became suddenly aware that until now he hadn’t moved the hand in which he was holding the cigarette. More precisely, his lips and hand at some point had forgotten the cigarette’s existence. Moreover, since finishing the letter and dropping the ash had not occurred simultaneously, he was obliged to acknowledge an interval of vacant time that had been sandwiched between the two events.

What could have accounted for that empty time? It was hard to imagine anything with less relevance to Tsuda intrinsically than this letter. He didn’t know the author. He had no inkling of the connection between the author and Kobayashi. As for the contents, the incidents described were so alien to his own position and circumstances they might have been occurring in another world.

But his observations didn’t end there. Something had startled him. Until now he had been wont to assume that the world was what he beheld in front of him, but just now he had been obliged abruptly to turn and look behind. He had halted in that attitude, his gaze fixed upon an existence opposite to himself. As he stared at that ghostly presence he was encountering for the first time ever, he cried out to himself Ah, this is a person, too! He saw in front of his eyes with blinding clarity the fact that someone at a vast distance from himself was if anything closely connected.

Here he stopped and circled. But he didn’t advance a single step. He went no further than understanding the meaning of the repellant letter in a manner that befitted him.

As Tsuda brushed the cigarette ash off the manuscript paper, Kobayashi, who had been in conversation with Hara, turned at once in his direction. Tsuda had caught a few phrases apparently intended to conclude their business.

“Don’t worry about it…. Something will work out…. You’ll be fine.”

He pushed the letter toward Kobayashi in silence. Leaving it on the table, Kobayashi spoke.

“You read it?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think?”

Tsuda offered no reply. But he felt the need of ascertaining his companion’s intention.

“I don’t see why you had me read this.”

Kobayashi returned the question.

“You don’t see why I had you read it?”

“I don’t even know who the author is.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“Let’s say that doesn’t matter; why should I care?”

“About the author or the letter?”

“Either one.”

“What do you think?”

Tsuda hesitated again. His hesitation was in fact evidence that the meaning of the letter had reached him. It was as if, to put it more clearly, his awareness that he had managed to interpret the letter in his own way was impeding his reply. Presently he spoke.

“In the sense you mean, they’re both irrelevant to me.”

“And what’s the sense I mean?”

“You don’t know?”

“Tell me what you think.”

“I’ve had enough of this.”

Tsuda wondered whether the letter wasn’t intended by Kobayashi to serve the same purpose as the painting. Perhaps he was trying to maneuver him into making a material sacrifice so that he could crow, “What did I tell you? You’ve surrendered after all.” To Tsuda that would amount to an affront beyond enduring. Then let him try, he bridled, let him threaten all he liked with a destitute ghost and see where it would get him. When he spoke, his resentment was audible in his voice.

“How about telling me outright what you were thinking. Like a man!”

“Like a man? Well—” Kobayashi began and, interrupting himself, added, “Fair enough, I’ll explain. Neither this man nor his letter, the contents of his letter, has anything to do with you. Not in the social sense — do you know what I’m saying? Let me also explain ‘social’ while I’m at it to avoid any misunderstanding. Out there in the profane, work-a-day world, you have no obligations where the contents of this letter are concerned.”

“Obviously not.”

“Exactly — no social obligation. But what if you expanded your moral vision a little and then had a look?”

“No matter how I expand, I’m not about to feel an obligation to put my hand in my pocket.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t, being you. But I’m guessing you will feel some sympathy.”

“Sympathy, yes.”

“That’s more than enough, for me. When you talk about sympathy, you mean you’d like to give some money. But the fact is you don’t want to spend any, and that leads to a battle with your conscience that creates anxiety. And with that I’ve achieved my goal.”

So saying, Kobayashi put the letter away and, withdrawing from the same pocket the yen notes from before, spread them on the table.

“Help yourself. Take what you need.”

He looked at Hara.