Toyoko Munekata, a classmate of hers at secondary school, lived on the second floor of the apartment building. Now, she seemed to appear before Kaneko in her dream, berating her: ‘How much longer are you going to carry on this sort of work? A lowly receptionist—a disgrace to our school, I tell you!’
It was not as if she felt resentful towards Toyoko Munekata’s status in any way, nor did she receive such treatment from her. But in her heart of hearts there lurked a feeling that she had fallen behind her in life, and this gave rise to a slight feeling of resentment. Since their schooldays together, there had existed between them an uneasy relationship, with Toyoko demonstrating the part scorn, part pity, that one has towards a stray dog. However, six years before, Toyoko Munekata had suddenly moved into the apartments and from then on had become increasingly immobile.
On that particular day, Miss Tamura had been sitting peacefully at the office window and, in her usual manner, was thinking about having a nap. Without any warning, Toyoko Munekata, whom she normally only met once or twice a year at school reunions, appeared from nowhere in front of her desk. Miss Munekata, watching the startled flush colour her face, took her time and, revelling in Miss Tamura’s reaction, said:
‘Well, well, what a surprise! How long have you been doing this, then? When we last met at the Old Girls’ reunion, I distinctly remember you saying that you were growing roses in your daughter’s nursery garden!’
At the time, she had felt thoroughly humiliated but gradually this weakened and was replaced by a feeling that it had been only natural for Toyoko Munekata to mock her so.
The dream changed, and now Toyoko was wearing thick-lensed glasses and the uniform of a high school girl. The scene was the examination hall, and all around her girls were busy scribbling answers with their pencils, but Kaneko was just sitting there, unable to write anything. Her paper was quite blank. However hard she tried, she couldn’t understand the questions. There was nothing for it but to peep at her neighbour’s paper. The girl beside her was suddenly transformed into Toyoko; she was covering her paper with both hands, purposely refusing to let Kaneko have a look. ‘Please let me see,’ she begged, but it was no use. Suddenly, all the other pupils vanished, leaving her alone with Toyoko.
She felt, as she dreamed, the deep disappointment and worry of that moment.
She cried out in despair, and at that moment awoke, dribbling. The pocket warmer which she had placed in her bosom had slipped over under her armpit. Wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, she peered uneasily out of the window. Surely someone must have heard her cry out! Fortunately, not a soul was to be seen in the gloomy passageway, and all that could be heard was the distant sound of street musicians advertising a shop.
She leaned back in her chair and tried to drive the memories of the nightmare from her mind. She was helped in this by one of the residents coming through the front door; reaching down into the basket by her feet, she drew out the ball of wool and knitting needles and began to count the stitches. But she couldn’t keep her mind on her knitting. She seemed to hear the echo of Toyoko’s mocking voice lingering in a corner of the room, and could not overcome her depression.
Every now and then she put down her knitting and, resting her elbows on the desk, wondered why it had to be that a classmate whom she had hardly seen for so many years had fortuitously moved into this block of flats. She cursed the cruel irony of the situation, but did not know who to blame. Short of being angry with Toyoko, there was nothing she could do. And the annual class reunion was imminent. Since Toyoko had become a resident, Kaneko had not attended a single reunion. Every time, Toyoko had set off in her best clothes, never bothering to suggest that Kaneko accompany her. ‘Can’t I even do such a simple thing as attend a class reunion once a year… just a little white lie, that was all… It was a small enough pleasure for me, but…’ Thinking these thoughts, she began to feel more and more resentful towards Toyoko. Just at that moment, the front door opened, and a young man in a suit came to her window.
‘I’m from S University, and I was wondering if by any chance this is the residence of Professor Toyoko Munekata?’
Kaneko’s head swam as she suddenly heard the name of the woman who had been occupying her thoughts. Nobody had come to call on Toyoko for at least six months. For a few seconds she just sat and gazed blankly at the visitor and then, remembering her role, stood up and offered to conduct him to Miss Munekata’s room. And pulling open the drawer in her desk, she took out one of the numbered tallies which males had to wear when visiting the building.
‘Excuse me, but could you put this round your neck? It’s the rule for gentlemen who visit here, you see.’
The young man smiled graciously and, timidly extending his left hand to receive the tally, asked, ‘How is Professor Munekata progressing with her important labours?’
Kaneko at first could not believe that this question was being addressed to her, and then was annoyed at having to honour Toyoko with the title of ‘professor’. However, she at last recovered her wits sufficiently to chat to the young man.
‘Professor Munekata always seems to be very busy. Whenever I pass her room, she seems to be busy with her studies—yes, and something else, she’s really fussy about fresh air. The handle on her window doesn’t work too well, so from time to time she complains to us about it. But however much we get it mended, it soon breaks again. Sometimes she leaves her door open, complaining of the lack of oxygen in her room. At such times, when I pass by, I notice she’s always sitting at her desk. Everyone here remarks on how hard she works. Oh, and please don’t forget to let me have the tally back when you leave; sometimes, guests forget and go out wearing their tallies.’
Meanwhile, she conducted him up the stairs. As she became more relaxed, she noticed that he was carrying a wrapped box of cakes, and realised that he was paying a formal call.
The door was ajar, and Toyoko could be seen sitting at her desk.
‘Excuse me. You have a visitor.’ She knocked, but there was no reply. Toyoko seemed to be engrossed in the paper before her on the desk. It was at least one minute before she turned towards the door and stood up.
‘Who is it?’
‘I’m from S University, but—’
‘Come in, then.’
She beckoned the guest into the room and then, ignoring Kaneko, shut the door in her face. Kaneko bit back her humiliation and made her way downstairs, pausing every now and again to look at her palm. No, her line of destiny was too short, and also broken in two parts.
‘Indeed, it has been long since I had the pleasure of meeting you. Today, I have come to call on you, Professor, and receive the manuscript.’
The young visitor stood before Toyoko, bowing politely and behaving with correctness. His hostess showed little concern; without bothering to offer him tea and cakes, she just pointed to a threadbare cushion on the floor. She then turned her back on him and stood by the large old-fashioned desk, left to her by her husband, which dominated the room. It was covered with manuscripts and ink-stained pens, bespeaking a busy existence.
There being no reply to his remark, the visitor sat uncomfortably on the worn cushion, and, looking up at Toyoko, who was sitting on a swivel chair at the desk, returned to the topic.
‘We disciples of the late Professor realise how much toil you are giving to the correction of the manuscripts he left you. We feel that the time has now arrived for us to offer you what assistance we can.’