“There you are!” he roared. “Working like an old man! What has Tama done to you? You used to be a companion, but now you are nothing but Tama’s husband!”
Bunji bellowed out a laugh and the two clerks made themselves busy over their desks as if they saw and heard nothing.
“I am also Jiro’s father,” I-wan said, smiling a little, and looking up from his desk.
“A man is always someone’s father, sooner or later,” Bunji retorted. “Come, stop work, I-wan.”
“To do what?” I-wan inquired.
“Come out with me to a café,” Bunji said. “No more work — you may also stop work,” he declared to the two clerks. They rose instantly and bowed and remained standing. I-wan said nothing. He knew that as soon as Bunji went away they would return to work until five o’clock, which was the proper end to their day. But, it occurred to him, here might be his good chance to talk deeply with Bunji and to discover what had come to change him. He rose therefore and put on his hat.
“I will come,” he said. He nodded at the two clerks, who perfectly understood that he was humoring the son of the proprietor of the business, and then walked with Bunji out into the street.
It was autumn, and vendors were carrying on poles across their shoulders baskets of potted chrysanthemums of every size and color. Two years ago when he and Tama were first married they had bought them to plant in a corner of their garden, and now they had spread until this year they were a knot of color. Mr. Muraki looked at them and disapproved. He said, “There should be no temporary distraction of flowers in a garden.” But Tama wanted them and so they had been kept. At this moment I-wan saw a vendor carrying an especial flower which she loved, whose petals were red and gold together, and he stopped and said to the man, “Do you know the road which winds up the west side of the mountain from the city?”
The man nodded vehemently.
“Go up until on the right you see a small house roofed in green tiles which looks out between two great pines to the sea, and go in and tell the mistress her husband sent you.”
“How will she know I saw you?” the man asked shrewdly.
“Look at me,” I-wan replied. “Tell her how I look — and say also, if she doubts, that I am a Chinese.”
“So,” the man said wondering, “you are a Chinese! But you look much like us. I have never seen a Chinese before. But of course everyone has heard of them.”
He looked as though he were long of wind, and I-wan nodded to dismiss him and went on with Bunji.
“I suppose Tama is an obedient wife now and no longer a moga,” Bunji said, half sneering as he spoke. “I suppose she will buy the flowers like a good Japanese wife.”
“She won’t buy them if she doesn’t want them at his price,” I-wan said reasonably. Bunji was just drunk enough so he must not mind what he said.
“You Chinese!” Bunji said scornfully. “Hah, you Chinese!” He shook his head largely.
They were passing a small cafe now with a few outdoor tables and chairs, and he sat down heavily at a table and slapped the metal top so that it sounded like a tin drum. A thin-faced girl ran out.
“Beer!” Bunji shouted. “I suppose you can drink beer?” he inquired of I-wan.
“Certainly,” I-wan replied.
“Beer for one,” Bunji cried to the girl. “For me, whisky.”
“So—” the girl whispered.
“At once!”
She disappeared.
“I hate the English, so I drink their whisky,” Bunji explained when she was gone.
“You used not to drink much,” I-wan replied.
“Oh, so,” Bunji retorted, “yes, I used to be a very good boy, didn’t I? Well, now I am better. I know how to drink and I know other things also.”
The street was quiet in the afternoon sun, but it was a small street. Across it a woman bathing her child looked up curiously.
“Let us go inside,” I-wan suggested. “That woman is listening to you.”
“Women,” Bunji declared in a loud Voice, “are all fools.” He laughed senselessly, rose, stumbled, and would have fallen if I-wan had not caught him. They went into the little cafe and sat down in a corner and the girl came with bottles and cups. I-wan paid her and gave her an extra coin.
“Turn on the phonograph as long as it will last for that, and when it is used, come to me again and I will add another to it,” he said. In a moment the room was full of scraping noisy music, and no one could hear Bunji except I-wan. I-wan began to sip his beer and Bunji poured himself whisky and drank it by mouthfuls.
“Nevertheless, I am going to be married,” he announced to I-wan.
“Have you so decided?” I-wan inquired politely.
“Yes,” Bunji declared, “it is the only thing. Poor Akio!” he sighed and shook his head. “He never learned that all women are alike.”
I-wan did not answer and he hiccoughed once and repeated, “Women are alike, I say!”
“I don’t know women,” I-wan replied.
“It is not necessary to know women,” Bunji repeated. “I tell you, they are alike!”
I-wan did not reply to this. It was, after all, he thought, a waste of time to talk to Bunji drunk and growing more drunk.
“So,” Bunji went on, “I invite you to my wedding. Who is the bride? I don’t know, I don’t care. I told my father yesterday, ‘It is time I married. Please get me a wife.’ That is what I said, ‘Get me a wife.’ He said, ‘Who?’ I said, ‘Any woman, any at all. They are all alike.’”
Bunji glared at I-wan, poured his glass full of whisky, spilling it and drinking it together, as I-wan looked away. He had seen men in Japan drunk often enough, farmers along the roadside roaring their way home from the markets, half their day’s profits burning in their bellies and their brains, young men in restaurants and old men even. He had grown used to a sight he had never seen in his own country, where men drank while they ate, without drunkenness. Even though they drank more than men did here, they were not so easily disturbed by it. Perhaps their natures were in greater equilibrium.
Suddenly, to his surprise, he saw Bunji begin to sob. Bunji sat upright, his face working hideously and the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“I swear I didn’t want to do it,” he sobbed. “Why did I do it then?”
This he inquired of I-wan in a broken and piteous voice. I-wan was wholly bewildered, having an instant before seen him shouting and boisterous. “What did you do?” he asked.
“They were all doing it, you understand,” Bunji said. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “That is — all except the captain of my regiment. You understand, I was lieutenant. I kept my eyes on the captain. I said—”
He was fumbling for his glass, found it and swallowed a mouthful and coughed and shook his head and shuddered.
“Tell me, I-wan,” he whispered. “Have I drunk enough, do you think?”
“More than enough,” I-wan replied gravely.
“Ah, there you are wrong!” Bunji cried in triumph. “I drink until I see the tables begin to circle in the air. Then I know it is enough. But they are still in place. So — I must keep on.” He sighed, and drank again. “What was I telling you?” he asked abruptly.
“You said you kept your eyes on the captain,” I-wan re minded him.
“I did,” Bunji said eagerly. His thick lips were trembling constantly, and a twitch began to jerk his left eye. “The men, you see, I considered beneath me. After all, my father is a man of wealth. And influence. General Seki — is my friend. Through him — I was lieutenant. So I said, ‘I am not a common soldier.’ I was right, wasn’t I?” he demanded angrily of I-wan.