Light and dark

[182]

WAITING FOR a reply, Tsuda might have been tipped as easily as a vessel with uneven legs. When the maid failed to return as quickly as he had expected, he grew even more agitated.

I can’t believe she’d turn me down.

He had used Madam Yoshikawa’s name because he was already considering that unlikely possibility. The get-well gift in Madam’s name ought to release Kiyoko from whatever constraint she might be feeling toward him. Even assuming her principal desire was avoiding the unpleasantness of a meeting or the suspicion that might arise as a result, it seemed only natural that she should want to thank the bearer of the fruit basket in person. Believing that he had devised what anyone could see was an inspired and altogether natural strategy, and unable to avoid feeling for that reason the more troubled by the maid’s tardiness, Tsuda flicked away the cigarette he had begun to smoke, stepped out to the engawa, gazed vacantly at the red and orange koi swimming silently in the pond, and petted the nuzzle of the dog sleeping beneath the eaves. By the time he heard the sound of the maid’s slippers turn the corner of the hall, he was so worked up he felt the need of collecting himself sufficiently to display some degree of composure on the surface.

“Where were you?”

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

“Not a problem.”

“I was making myself useful.”

“Doing what?”

“I tidied up the room. And I did the lady’s hair. So I wasn’t that long.”

Tsuda didn’t think a woman’s hair could be done up so easily.

“Chignon? Butterfly?”

The maid merely laughed.

“Go and see for yourself.”

“See for myself? Will that be all right? I’ve been waiting here for an answer since you left.”

“Gracious, I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten the most important part — she says please feel free.”

Relieved, Tsuda made certain half in jest as he stood up.

“She said that? It won’t be a bother? I don’t want to get over there and feel bad for having imposed.”

“Are you always so distrustful? If you are, Madam must be—”

“Who do you mean? Madam Seki or my wife?”

“You must know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Honestly?”

Tsuda retied his obi, and as he was on his way out the maid, who had circled around behind him, draped his kimono jacket over his shoulders.

“This way?”

“I’ll show you.”

The maid led the way. As they came to the familiar mirror, the memory of having wandered these halls as a sleepwalker the night before flickered in Tsuda’s mind.

“So this is where it is!”

The words escaped him on their own. Ignorant of the circumstances, the maid’s inquiry was innocent.

“Where what is?”

Tsuda essayed a deception.

“I’m saying this is where I ran into a ghost last night.”

The maid winced.

“What a thing to say! As if we had ghosts here! You really shouldn’t—”

Tsuda, understanding that his joke about an establishment in the guest business had been in poor taste, glanced up at the second floor knowingly.

“Seki-san’s room must be up there.”

“How in the world did you know?”

“I know things.”

“Magic eyes?”

“A magic nose — I nose things out.”

“Like a dog.”

This exchange, begun halfway up the stairs, was already in earshot of Kiyoko’s room, the nearest to the landing. Tsuda was aware of this.

“While I’m at it, I’ll nose out Seki-san’s room — watch closely.”

The light slap of his slippers stopped at the door to Kiyoko’s room.

“This is it.”

Peering up at Tsuda askance, the maid burst out laughing.

“I told you.”

“You have some nose, all right. Keener than a hunting dog’s.”

The maid was laughing heartily, but no response to her hilarity issued from inside the room. It was impossible to tell whether anyone was there; the interior was quiet as before.

“Your visitor is here, Ma’am.”

Calling in to Kiyoko, the maid slid the well-seated shoji all the way back.

“May I come in?”

Stepping into the room as he spoke, Tsuda halted in surprise. He had been prepared to come face to face with Kiyoko, but the room appeared to be empty.