I am very, very sorry to be calling you so early in the morning. I do hope I haven't awakened you, said Mr. Mamiya, sounding genuinely apologetic.
I assured him that it was all right: I woke up every morning shortly after six.
He thanked me for my postcard and explained that he wanted to reach me before I left for work this morning, adding that he would be most grateful if I could see him briefly today during my lunch break. He was hoping to take an evening bullet train back to Hiroshima. He had planned to have more time here, he said, but something had come up that made it necessary for him to return home as soon as possible.
I pointed out that I was presently unemployed, that I was free all day, and that I could see him at his convenience, be it morning, noon, afternoon, or whenever.
But surely you must have something planned at some point in the day? he inquired with the utmost politeness.
I had no plan at all, I replied.
That being the case, might I be permitted to call upon you at your residence this morning at ten o'clock?
That would be fine.
Only after I hung up did it occur to me that I had forgotten to tell him how to find our house from the station. Oh, well, I figured, he knows the address; he can make his way here if he wants to.
Who was that? asked Kumiko.
The guy who's distributing Mr. Honda's keepsakes. Hes going to bring mine here later this morning.
No kidding? She took a sip of coffee and spread butter on her toast. That's very nice of him.
Sure is.
By the way, she said, shouldn't we-or at least you-go to pay our respects at Mr. Honda's: burn a stick of incense, that sort of thing?
Good idea. I'll ask him about that.
Preparing to leave the house, Kumiko asked me to zip her dress up. It was a tight fit, and closing the zipper took some doing. She was wearing a lovely fragrance behind her ears- something perfect for a summer morning. New cologne? I asked. Instead of answering, she glanced at her watch and reached up to fix her hair.
I'm late, she said, and took her handbag from the table.
I had straightened up the little room that Kumiko used for work and was emptying the wastebasket when I noticed a yellow ribbon she had discarded. It was peeking out from under a crumpled sheet of writing paper and a few pieces of junk mail. Its bright, glossy yellow was what had caught my eye. It was the kind of ribbon used to wrap presents, the bow tied in the shape of a flower. I lifted it from the wastebasket and examined it. The ribbon had been discarded along with some wrapping paper from the Matsuya department store. Under the paper was a box with the Christian Dior label. The lining inside the box formed the shape of a bottle. Judging from the box, this had been a pretty expensive item. I took it with me to the bathroom and opened Kumiko's cosmetics cabinet. Inside was a virtually unused bottle of Christian Dior eau de cologne, shaped like the hollow in the box. I opened the bottles gold- colored cap and took a sniff. It was the same fragrance I had smelled from behind Kumiko's ears. I sat on the sofa, drinking the rest of my morning coffee and collecting my thoughts.
Someone had obviously given Kumiko a gift. An expensive gift. Bought it at the Matsuya department store and had it wrapped with a ribbon. If the person who did this was a man, he was someone close to Kumiko. Men didn't give women (especially married women) cologne unless their relationship was a close one. If a woman friend had given it to her ... But did women give eau de cologne to other women? I could not be sure. One thing I could be sure of, though, was that there was no particular reason for Kumiko to be receiving presents from other people at this time of year. Her birthday was in May. So was our anniversary. She might conceivably have bought herself a bottle of cologne and had it wrapped with a pretty ribbon. But why?
I sighed and looked at the ceiling.
Should I ask her about it directly? Did somebody give you that cologne? She might answer: Oh, that. One of the girls at work had a personal problem I helped her out with. Its too long a story to go into, but she was in a jam, so I did it to be nice. This was a thank-you gift. Wonderful fragrance, don't you think? Its expensive stuff!
OK, that makes sense. That does it. No need to ask the question. No need to be concerned.
Except I was concerned. She should have said something to me about it. If she had time to go to her room, untie the ribbon, tear off the wrapping paper, open the box, throw all three in the wastebasket, and put the bottle in her cosmetics cabinet, she should have been able to come to me and say, Look at this present I got from one of the girls at work. Instead, she had said nothing. Maybe she had thought it wasn't worth mentioning. Now, however, it had taken on the thin veil of secrecy. That was what was bothering me.
I looked at the ceiling for a long time. I tried to think about something else, but my mind wouldn't cooperate. I kept thinking about Kumiko at the moment I zipped up her dress: her smooth white back, the fragrance behind her ears. For the first time in months, I wanted a smoke. I wanted to put a cigarette in my mouth, light the tip, and suck the smoke into my lungs. That would have calmed me down somewhat. But I didn't have any cigarettes. I found a lemon drop and sucked on that.
At ten of ten, the phone rang. I assumed it was Lieutenant Mamiya. This house was not easy to find. Even people who had been here more than once got lost sometimes. But the call was not from Lieutenant Mamiya. What I heard coming from the receiver was the voice of the enigmatic woman who had phoned me the other day.
Hi, honey, its been a while, she said. How'd you like it last time? Did I get you going a little bit? Why'd you hang up on me? And just when things were getting interesting!
For a split second, I thought she was talking about my recent wet dream of Kano. But that had been a different story. She was talking about the day she called me when I was cooking spaghetti.
Sorry, I said, but I'm pretty busy right now. I'm expecting a visitor in ten minutes, and I've got to get the place ready.
You're awfully busy for somebody who's supposed to be out of work, she said, with a sarcastic edge. The same thing had happened last time: her tone of voice changed from one second to the next. You're cooking spaghetti, you're expecting a visitor. But thats all right. All we need is ten minutes. Lets talk for ten minutes, just you and me. You can hang up when your guest arrives.
I wanted to hang up without saying a word, but I couldn't do it. I was probably still upset about Kumiko's cologne. I probably felt like talking to someone, and it didn't much matter who.
Look, I said, I don't have any idea who you are. I picked up the pencil lying beside the phone and twirled it in my fingers as I spoke. Are you sure I know you?
Of course you do. I told you last time. I know you and you know me. I wouldn't lie about a thing like that. I don't have time to waste calling complete strangers. You must have some kind of blind spot in your memory.
I don't know about that. Really, though- Enough, she said, cutting me off. Stop thinking so much. You know me and I know you. The important thing is-well, look at it this way: I'm going to be very nice to you. But you don't have to do a thing. Isn't that marvelous? You don't have to do a thing, you have no responsibilities, and I do everything. Everything. Don't you think thats great? So stop thinking so much. Stop making everything so complicated. Empty yourself out. Pretend you're lying in some nice, soft mud on a warm spring afternoon.
I kept silent.
You're asleep. You're dreaming. You're lying in nice, warm mud. Forget about your wife. Forget you're out of work. Forget about the future. Forget about everything. We all come out of the warm mud, and we all go back to it. Finally- Oh, by the way, Mr. Okada, when was the last time you had sex with your wife? Do you remember? Quite some time ago, wasn't it? Yes, indeed, maybe two weeks now.