PRESENTLY THE carriage approached a large boulder darkly obstructing the road and had to veer sharply around its base. It appeared that the opposite bank of the river was also blocked by what might have a fragment of the same rock. The coachman, who had jumped down from his perch, took hold of the horse’s bridle.
On one side a large tree soared so high it blocked the sky. This giant, which, judging from the enormous shadow it cast in the moonlight, appeared to be an ancient pine, and the sound of a rapids that had become abruptly audible, induced in Tsuda, who had not been outside the city in a long while, an unexpected change in mood. It was as if a forgotten memory had been recalled.
So things like this always existed in the world; how can I have forgotten until now?
Unfortunately this moment of nostalgia did not arise and fade in isolation. An image of the woman he was on his way to meet promptly traced itself in his mind. Nearly a year had passed since they had separated, and in all that time he was not aware of having forgotten her for even a minute. And what was he doing now, swaying down a night road in this carriage, if not single-mindedly pursuing her shadow? The coachman, lamentably, as if he were afraid of running late, had been lashing the horse’s skinny rump with his intemperate whip for some time. How was he himself, Tsuda wondered, pursuing his memory of the woman he had lost, any different from this bony nag? And if this miserable animal snorting through his nose was himself, then who was applying a harsh whip? Madam Yoshikawa? No, that was too black and white. Was it himself, then? Preferring to avoid a precise conclusion, Tsuda tossed the question aside but was unable to avoid moving beyond it in his thoughts.
Why am I going to meet her? To remember her forever? But haven’t I remembered her until now without a meeting? To forget her, then? Maybe that’s it. But will I be able to forget her once we meet? Maybe, maybe not. Just now the color of the pines and the sound of the water put me in mind of mountains and valleys I had completely forgotten. How will I be affected by this woman I absolutely haven’t forgotten, the woman who dances in my imagination, the woman I’ve followed here from Tokyo?
In the chill mountain air, Tsuda felt his existence being swallowed up by the same color of night that was blurring the mountains mysteriously, and he was afraid. He felt horrified.
With his hand still on the horse’s bridle, the coachman made his way carefully across the bridge that spanned the rapids, dashing white foam against the rocks as they roared below. As they cleared the bridge, Tsuda made out a number of lights and assumed they had arrived. He even considered the possibility that one of those lights might even now be shining on Kiyoko.
Those lights are beacons. I have no choice but to follow them to my destiny.
Tsuda was hardly a poet; these words wouldn’t have come to him normally. But there was no other way of describing what he felt. He leaned forward toward the youth.
“It seems we’ve arrived. Which place is yours?”
“It’s just ahead.”
The road through the hot-springs village was so narrow the carriage could barely pass. Moreover, it wound and twisted through the village in an irregular way that seemed intentional and prevented the coachman, back on his seat, from using his whip. Even so, it took only five or six minutes to reach the inn. There wasn’t much to the village, not against the vastness of the mountains and valleys.
As the hostler had predicted, the inn was hushed. It wasn’t the lateness of the hour or the size of the building; this was a quietness that could be explained only by a virtual absence of guests, and when Tsuda had been shown to his own room he felt glad of the happy coincidence that had brought him here at just the right season. By natural inclination he would have chosen to be among people, but he had an agenda.
“Is it this way during the day?” he inquired of the maid facing him across his supper tray.
“Yes.”
“The place feels empty.”
The maid, referring to the “new wing,” “the annex,” and “the main building,” explained the silence.
“It’s that big? It seems you’d lose your way without a map.”
Tsuda had to ascertain Kiyoko’s whereabouts. But he was no more able to put a direct question to the maid than to be straightfor ward with the hostler.
“I suppose there aren’t many people who come alone? To a place like this.”
“Some do.”
“Men, I suppose. I can’t imagine a woman staying here by herself.”
“We have someone now.”
“You don’t say. Is she sick, I wonder?”
“She might be.”
“What’s her name?”
Because it wasn’t one of her rooms, the maid didn’t know.
“Is she young?”
“Oh, yes, and beautiful.”
“Is that so? I’d like to see for myself.”
“She passes by here on her way to the baths. You can see her anytime.”
“Excellent.”
When he had learned which direction the woman’s room was in, Tsuda had the maid take the tray away.