Light and dark

[79]

SHE RECALLED the moment when she met Tsuda for the first time in Kyoto. She had been home for a long-overdue visit with her parents for two or three days when her father had sent her on an errand. She had been obliged to take a sealed letter and a Chinese book in its cloth case to the Tsuda residence eight blocks or so away. She had learned for the first time directly from her father that he had been in and out of bed with a mild case of nerve pain, and that he had from time to time been borrowing books from Tsuda’s father to divert him in his hours of idleness. The errand was returning one volume and bringing home another. Standing at the front of the house, she called inside to announce herself. A large screen was standing open just inside the entrance. As she was gazing curiously at the strange characters that appeared to be dancing on the white parchment, the person who emerged from behind the screen to greet her was neither a maid nor a student houseboy but Tsuda Yoshio himself, in Kyoto at just that time on a visit to his own parents.

Until this moment, they hadn’t met. O-Nobu knew about Yoshio only what she had heard from her father that morning, that he had recently returned and was currently at home. Even this much she had chanced to learn only because her father had decided to borrow another book, written a letter to that effect, and, in passing, had mentioned his friend’s son.

Yoshio had taken from O-Nobu the Chinese book in its case and, for some reason, had studied at length the title, inscribed in imposing calligraphy, A New Anthology of Ming Dynasty Poetry. His prolonged scrutiny of the book obliged O-Nobu to observe him the while. When he lifted his eyes abruptly, it was at once apparent that O-Nobu had been gazing at him intently. O-Nobu would have explained that, having placed her in the position of awaiting his reply, he had left her no choice. “Unfortunately my father isn’t at home just now,” he said, looking up. O-Nobu turned to leave. But he bid her wait and, while she looked on, without a word of explanation or apology, opened the letter addressed to his father. This unhesitating action also attracted O-Nobu’s attention. His behavior was improper. But it was also unmistakably decisive. O-Nobu felt disinclined to characterize him as unmannerly or reckless.

With a glance at the letter, Yoshio had asked O-Nobu to wait at the entrance and had withdrawn to look for the requested book. In just ten minutes he was back and apologized for having detained her to no purpose. The designated volume was not to be found, but as soon as his father returned he would make sure it was delivered. O-Nobu declined to impose to that extent. Promising to come back for it the following day, she went home.

That afternoon, Yoshio had appeared with the book in hand. Quite by chance it was O-Nobu who had gone to the entrance to see who was calling. Once again they came face to face. And this time they took notice of each other at once. The volume in Yoshio’s hand was roughly three times thicker than the one O-Nobu had returned that morning. He had wrapped it in a batik shawl for carrying, and as he lifted it, swinging from his arm, he might have been showing her a bird cage.

Accepting an invitation to come in, he had stepped up to the tatami parlor and spoken with O-Nobu’s father. To O-Nobu it appeared that he engaged effortlessly in a rambling conversation suitable for elders and of no possible consequence or interest to young people, bantering about random subjects of particular interest to her father as if it were no trouble at all. He knew nothing about the book he had brought and even less about the one O-Nobu had returned. He confessed he was unable to read the complex characters in many strokes that filled page after page, but with the four block characters in the title as a guide, Poems of Mei-Cun Wu, he had searched the bookshelves high and low. O-Nobu’s father had thanked him profusely for going to the trouble….

An image of Tsuda in those days flickered in O-Nobu’s mind. He was the same person as now. And yet he wasn’t. Speaking plainly, the same Tsuda had changed. The man who had appeared indifferent in the beginning had gradually been drawn closer to her. She wondered if now he might not gradually move apart. The doubt very nearly constituted her reality. To dispel the doubt she would have to overturn the reality.