Light and dark

[171]

THE IMAGE of the village that coalesced nebulously, enfolded in something that was neither distinguishably mist nor the color of night, appeared to be altogether a desolate dream. Gazing into the darkness that extended vastly beyond the reach of the flickering lights nearby, Tsuda felt that he was standing unmistakably in a dream.

I seem to be following this unending dream where it leads me. Since before I left Tokyo, strictly speaking since before Madam Yoshikawa suggested coming to this hot springs, for that matter since before I married O-Nobu — No, it goes back even further; the truth is I’ve been haunted by this seeming dream from the minute Kiyoko turned away from me. And here I am, pursuing it. I can see in hindsight that I’ve been carrying this dream with me all this while, now I must wonder whether I’ll awaken from it the minute I reach my destination. Madam Yoshikawa thinks so. And since I’m on this journey because I agreed with her, I must share her opinion. But will that turn out to be a fact? Will my dream vanish without a trace? Can it be that I’m standing in the middle of this desolate village as insubstantial as a dream for no other reason than my certainty it will? The eaves so low they enter my vision, the narrow road that appears to have been paved with gravel only recently, the faint shadows cast by naked bulbs, the thatched roofs beginning to sag, the one-horse carriage with its yellow hood down, and, rendering this configuration that might be ancient or new the more dreamlike to me, the chill of the night in my bones and the darkness — might this blur of impressions symbolize the destiny I’ve brought with me all this way? A dream until now, the present a dream, what lies ahead a dream that I’ll take back with me to Tokyo. There’s no guarantee this whole affair won’t end that way. On the contrary, it very likely will! Then why did I set out from Tokyo in the rain and come all this way? Because I am, after all, a fool? If only that were clear, that I am a fool, I could turn back even from here—

This reflection occurred all at once. In just seconds the entire sequence with its own logic, the parts interlocked as though in an embrace, traversed his mind embedded in a reverie. But just seconds later he was no longer his own master. Out of nowhere a young man suddenly appeared and took his luggage. Before he knew it, the youth had dragged him into a tea shop on the street and in a brief space of busy time had ascertained, with a degree of charm Tsuda found surprising, at which inn he was booked and whether he preferred a rickshaw or a horse and carriage.

Shortly he was escorted to a carriage with the canvas hood lowered. He was surprised yet again to discover that the passenger who took a seat opposite him with a murmured “By your leave” was the same young man.

“You’re going, too?”

“If you wouldn’t mind—”

The young man turned out to be the hostler at Tsuda’s inn.

“We have our banner.”

Craning his neck, Tsuda glanced at the red banner thrust into a corner of the coachman’s seat. In the dark he couldn’t make out the crest. The banner flapped noisily in the wind created by the speed of the carriage, streaming back in Tsuda’s direction. He hunched his shoulders and raised the collar of his coat.

“The nights are getting a mite colder.”

As the hostler was sitting with his back to the coachman’s platform and taking none of the wind in his face, the remark struck Tsuda as somehow impertinent.

He had the feeling there were paddies on both sides of the road. And he thought he could hear from time to time the sound of a stream running between the road and the paddies. He also sensed that the paddies were sharply hemmed in by mountains on both sides.

Baring to the wind only that portion of his face he was unable to cover between his hat and his overcoat, Tsuda fell silent and purposely closed his eyes as if he were bracing himself against the cold. The young man, apparently finding this easier himself, made no effort to break the silence.

All of a sudden, Tsuda felt a tremor in his heart.

“Are there lots of guests?”

“By your leave, quite a number.”

“About how many?”

The youth’s reply, which didn’t include a number, was, if anything, defensive.

“Right now, being it’s this time of year, we’re not so full. Around New Year’s and then again in summer, July and August anyway, that’s when we’re really busy. At times like that we have to turn guests away if they show up without a reservation.”

“So it’s slow just now?”

Yes — please stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you staying with us because you’ve been ill?”

“You could say that.”

His purpose had been to inquire about Kiyoko, but having come this far he suddenly faltered. He felt embarrassed. He couldn’t bear to say her name. On top of that it occurred to him it might cause trouble later. Turning away from the young man and leaning back against the carriage seat, he closed his eyes again.