Light and dark

[36]

UNFORTUNATELY, TSUDA was not sufficiently drunk to be caught up in this display. Observing from outside the realm of empathy, he was inclined to be critical of what he saw. He wondered, was it sake or his uncle that was making Kobayashi cry? Was it Dostoevsky or Japan’s working class? Whichever should be the case, he well understood that it had scant relation to himself. He was disgusted. And he was uneasy. He gazed at the stains left by tears that had rained from the eyes of his overwrought friend as if they were merely an annoyance.

The man who had been identified as a detective took out again his thin notebook and began scribbling something in pencil. Appearing to notice everything, in the manner of a cat, while immovably composed in a similarly feline way, his behavior made Tsuda uncomfortable. As for Kobayashi, his ebriety had carried him well beyond concern: the detective appeared to be the last thing on his mind. Abruptly he thrust one suited arm in front of Tsuda’s nose.

“If my clothes are soiled, you deride me for being dirty. If I happen to be wearing something bright and clean, you deride me for being bright and clean. So what can I do? What must I do to earn your respect? I implore you to let me know. I may not be much, but I want your respect.”

Smiling stiffly, Tsuda pushed the arm away. Oddly, there was no resistance; as though its original strength had drained away, the arm returned submissively to its former position. But Kobayashi’s mouth was not so docile. Having withdrawn his hand, he opened his mouth at once.

“I can read your mind. I sympathize fervently with the working class. I’m poor as a church mouse myself, but here I am in a brand-new suit — you perceive a contradiction that makes you want to laugh at me.”

“It seems natural enough to have a suit made no matter how poor you are — you can’t very well walk the streets naked. The suit is fine; no one thinks anything about it.”

“Not true. You think I’m just being a dandy. Dressing myself up. You think that’s disgraceful.”

“Maybe you’re right — I should apologize.”

Having concluded he could bear no more, Tsuda finally sought relief in surrender and tried a glib accommodation. Whereupon Kobayashi’s attitude also softened naturally.

“It’s my fault, too. I was wrong. I do enjoy dressing up, I’ll give you that. I’ll concede that as far as it goes, but there’s a reason I had this suit made that you know nothing about.”

It was impossible Tsuda should have known anything about a special reason. Nor did he wish to know. Having come this far, however, he couldn’t avoid asking. Kobayashi, who had spread his arms wide open and was examining his own outfit, responded somewhat forlornly.

“The truth is, I’ll be going into exile in this suit. I’m running away to Korea.”

Tsuda regarded his companion with surprise on his face for the first time. When he had taken the opportunity to point out something that had been bothering him, that Kobayashi’s necktie was twisted to one side, and had bid him straighten it, he resumed listening to his story.

Having worked for a long time at Uncle Fujii’s magazine as an editor and proofreader, writing articles of his own when he could find the time, and making the rounds to places that seemed likely to pay for them, Kobayashi, who had always appeared to be a busy man, had finally found himself unable to endure being in Tokyo any longer and had resolved to cross the water to Korea, where arrangements for his employment at a certain newspaper were nearly concluded.

“When things get this painful, it makes no sense to keep hanging on in Tokyo. I can’t stand living in a place where there’s no future for me.”

Kobayashi spoke as if a future had been prepared and would be awaiting his arrival in Korea, and in the next breath he contradicted his seeming certainty.

“The long and short of it is I may be someone who was always destined to spend my life wandering aimlessly. I can’t settle down. The cruel part is, I want to settle down and the world won’t let me. So what choice do I have but to become a fugitive?”

“You’re not the only one who can’t settle down. I’m not in the least settled down myself.”

“Stop indulging yourself. If you can’t settle down it’s because you’re extravagant. I’m in pain because I’ll have to scramble for a slice of bread until my dying day.”

“But feeling unsettled is a defining predicament of modern man in general. You’re not the only one in pain.”

Kobayashi betrayed no sign of feeling in the least consoled by Tsuda’s words.