His curiosity aroused, Keitaro tore open the anonymous envelope. His eyes were drawn first to the "My dear Tagawa" on the first line of the ruled foreign-style paper and then to the end of the same line, where "from Morimoto" was written. Keitaro immediately picked up the envelope again and tried reading the postmark, scrutinizing it from various angles, but it was so thinly inked he could not make it out. Giving up, he returned to the contents of the letter, which ran as follows: My sudden disappearance must have surprised you, I dare say. If not you, certainly the Marten and the Owl. [Morimoto had been in the habit of calling the landlord and his wife by these nicknames.] Frankly, I was somewhat in arrears with my rent. I thought if I told them my intentions, they would make things difficult, so I said nothing and acted on my own. The things I left in my room — clothing and other items all packed in a wicker trunk — will, I hope, bring them a considerable sum when they are disposed of. Please tell them they can sell these things or use them in whatever way they wish. But the Marten — you know what an old fox he is — may have already done whatever he wished without my permission. Furthermore, made bold by peaceful attitude, he may, I fear, get you into trouble by asking you, quite preposterously, to make up for the loss of my rent. In that case, take no heed of what he says. Beware of fellows such as the Marten who attempt to prey on persons like you who have emerged into the world fresh from seats of learning. Uneducated though I am, I know how bad it is to bolt without paying one's debts. I really intend to pay up this coming spring. I'll feel very sad if my odd career has led you to doubt my honesty, for it would mean to me the loss of a dear friend. Therefore, let there be no misunderstanding because of what fellows like the Marten say about me.
Morimoto next stated that he was employed as caretaker of the amusement grounds of the Electric Park in Dairen and that he would be in Tokyo next spring to buy some motion pictures, so he was looking forward to seeing Keitaro after this long absence. After that bit of news he cheerfully added a brief description of the various places in Manchuria he had visited. What surprised Keitaro most among these was the scene of a gambling den in Changchun. It was run by a Japanese who had once been captain of a band of bandits on horseback. Hundreds of begrimed Chinese were bustling and jostling there, all with frantic eyes, all emitting some sort of stench. The place was often secretly resorted to by wealthy townspeople deliberately clad in dirty garb. Keitaro thought that Morimoto as well had done heaven knows what there.
Near the end of the letter Morimoto wrote about a bonsai: That potted plum in my room is one I bought from a gardener at Dozaka. Though the tree is not very old yet, it's perfectly suitable for being looked at morning and evening on a boardinghouse windowsill. I want to present it to you as a gift, so please take it to your room. But the tree may have perished in my alcove, untended by people deficient in artistic taste. My cane at least must be in the umbrella stand on the dirt floor at the entrance. It isn't a very good cane in terms of value, but as it was one I habitually used, it's my wish that you accept it as a token from me. Even the Marten and Owl won't object to your taking it. Don't be shy. Just take it and use it.Manchuria is an agreeable spot to live in, especially Dairen. At least for the present, there's hardly any area better where a promising youth like yourself can realize some great expectation. Why not come and live here? If you are so disposed, I think I can take care of you, for since my arrival I've become acquainted with many persons in the Manchurian Railway Company. If you do come, please don't forget to write before you start out. Sayonara.
Keitaro folded the papers and put them into his desk drawer. But neither to the landlord nor his wife did he say anything about Morimoto's letter. The cane remained in the umbrella stand. Each time Keitaro left the house and returned, he saw it and had a queer sort of feeling about it.
2: At the Streetcar Stop
At the Streetcar Stop
Keitaro's friend Sunaga was a soldier's son who nevertheless detested the military. He had majored in law, yet had no interest in civil service or business. He was a rather backward type, at least he seemed so to Keitaro. The father, Keitaro had heard, had been dead these many years, leaving Sunaga and his mother to live an apparently lonely yet tasteful life together. His father had not only reached the high position of army paymaster, but was clever at accumulating funds, so that even now his wife and son were well-off and had none of those discomforts that come with making a living. Sunaga's tendency to lead a retired life was probably half due to the security in which he had been raised, and perhaps it resulted in depriving him of the stimulus of self-exertion. This was shown by the fact that when some of his respectable and helpful relatives were ready, out of respect for the elevated position of his deceased father, to offer help in placing Sunaga in a position that promised a successful career, he remained willful, indulging himself by finding fault with the posts offered and remaining undecided about the course of his life.
"You're too particular. And you're wasting some good opportunities. If you don't like the jobs, at least hand one over to me," Keitaro occasionally importuned Sunaga, half in jest. Sunaga would refuse with a slight smile of sorrow and pity, saying, "Well, unfortunately, they're not being offered to you." Even while knowing he had asked in jest, Keitaro was not pleased by the rejection. His pride flared up, and he told himself he would do everything alone. Still, his temperament was not one that adhered that much to a triviality to maintain any lasting antagonism toward his friend. Furthermore, with his own position still undecided and with no real connections to fall back on, Keitaro could not bear the dreariness of sitting in his boardinghouse room from morning till night. Even when he had nothing to do, he went out for at least half the day and often visited Sunaga. For one thing, Keitaro found it worth going because his friend was seldom out no matter what the hour.
"A job," Keitaro once said to Sunaga, "is of course important, but what I want, even before that, is to come across some event worthy of wonder. Yet no matter how often I ride the streetcars around the city, nothing turns up. I haven't even had my pocket picked yet!" On another occasion he sighed in regret, "I first thought education was a right, but actually I've found it a kind of yoke. Where's the right when after graduating from a university, you can't even find the means of making a living? On the other hand, can we disregard our university status and do as we wish? Definitely not! It restricts us horribly, this education of ours."
Sunaga seemed unsympathetic to both of Keitaro's complaints. In the first place, Keitaro's way of speaking made it difficult for him to know whether his friend was being serious or merely jesting. After one such vehement speech on these fantastic ideas, Sunaga asked in reply, "Well, aside from the question of making a living, what is it you want most?"
Keitaro replied that he wished to do what detectives in the Metropolitan Police do.
"Well, why not do it then? It's quite simple."
"It's not that simple."
And Keitaro offered a serious explanation on why detective work was impossible for him. By the very nature of his profession a detective is a diver who plunges from the surface of society to its depths. Almost no other profession is so suitable for grabbing hold of human mysteries. Moreover, a detective has the undoubted advantage of being able to observe the darker side of mankind without any of the dangers of degrading himself. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that his original purpose lies in disclosing the sins and crimes of others, that his profession is based on the malignant intention of trapping his subjects. Keitaro could not bring himself to do such inhuman actions. All he wanted was to study human beings — no, rather, to look with wonder and admiration at the incredible machinery of humanity operating in the darkness of night. Such was the drift of Keitaro's contention.