in odd jobs to do at home. But business is bad everywhere these days, and things don’t seem to be going too well.”
“Don’t seem to be going well? But don’t you live in the same house?”
“Well, yes, we live together, but I’ve never really bothered to ask how she’s doing. It’s too much trouble. It seems like she’s always complaining.”
“How about your older brother?” “He works at the post office.”
“Is that all in your family?”
“I have a younger brother, too. He’s at the bank—you might say he’s a step above messenger boy.”
“Then you’re the only one who’s sitting around, right?” “Yes, I guess that’s right.”
“And what do you do when you’re home?”
“Well, most of the time, I guess I sleep. Other times, I go out for walks.”
“Isn’t it a little embarrassing to sit around when everyone else is out earning money?”
“No, not really.”
“Your family must get along extremely well.” “Strangely enough we never seem to fight much.”
“I should think your mother and older brother would want you to get out on your own as soon as possible.”
“You might have a point there.”
“You seem to have an extraordinarily easygoing temperament. Is that how you really are?”
“Well, I don’t see why I should lie about things.” “So you’re a completely carefree sort?”
“Yes, I guess that’s what you’d call me.” “How old is your older brother?”
“Hm . . . he must be going on twenty-six.”
“Then he’ll probably be looking for a wife, isn’t that right? Do you plan to stay on like this even after he gets married?”
“I’ll have to wait and see. When the time comes, I’m sure something will happen.”
“You don’t have any other relations?”
“There’s an aunt. This one runs a freight business in Yokohama.” “Your aunt does?”
“Oh, it’s not really my aunt who runs it; I guess it’s my uncle.” “Couldn’t you get them to give you a job? The freight business must need a lot of people.”
“Well, I’m basically lazy, so I think they’d probably say no.”
“It doesn’t help if you look at yourself like that. You see, the point is, your mother has asked the old woman at my place if we could find something for you to do there.”
“Yes, I’ve heard something like that.” “And how do you feel about it?”
“Well, yes, I’m planning on not being too lazy. ...” “You mean you’d rather come to my place?” “Well, yes, that’s right.”
“But it won’t do if you’re just going to sleep and take walks.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m strong at least. I’ll fill the bathtub and things like that.”
“We have running water so you won’t need to carry water to the tub.”
“Then maybe I can do the cleaning.”
Such were the conditions under which Kadono became houseboy to Daisuke.
Daisuke finally finished his meal and began to smoke. Kadono, who had been sitting with his back propped up against the cupboard, his arms around his knees, decided enough time had passed for him to try another question. “Sensei, how’s your heart this morning?” He had learned of Daisuke’s habit a few days earlier, and his tone was slightly bantering.
“So far it’s all right.”
“You make it sound as if it might be in danger tomorrow. The way you worry over your body, Sensei, you’re going to end up really sick someday.”
“I am sick already.”
Kadono only said “Oh,” and stared at Daisuke’s healthy complexion and the ample flesh about his shoulders, visible even through his clothes. After such conversations Daisuke invariably felt sorry for this youth. He could only think that Kadono’s skull was crammed with the brains of a cow, for he could follow but half a block down the avenue of conversation that ordinary people walked. On the rare occasions when Daisuke so much as turned a corner, he was immediately lost. And of course, he could never set foot on even the bottom rung of a ladder upon which the foundations of logic were vertically laid. As for his sensitivity, it was a sorrier case still. He gave the impression that his nervous system was a network of coarse straw. Observing the state of Kadono’s existence, Daisuke wondered to what end the youth ventured to breathe and subsist. But Kadono idled away unconcerned. Not only was he unconcerned, he tacitly understood that this very idling conferred upon him a claim to kinship with Daisuke and he was apt to behave more than a little triumphantly. Moreover, playing up his body’s dogged strength, he would close in on the sensitive points of his master’s high-strung nature. Daisuke, in turn, regarded his own nerves as the tax he had to pay for his uniquely keen speculative powers and acute sensibilities. It was the anguish that echoed from the achievement of a lofty education; it was the unwritten punishment dealt to natural aristocrats, those designated by heaven. It was precisely by submitting to these sacrifices that he had been able to become what he was. Indeed, there were times when he recognized the very meaning of life in these sacrifices. Kadono could not begin to understand this.
“Kadono, wasn’t there any mail?”
“Mail? Oh yes. A postcard and a letter. I left them on your desk. Shall I get them?”
“I suppose I could go over there.”
Given this uncertain response, Kadono got up and brought the postcard and letter. On the postcard was scribbled in light ink this exceedingly simple message: “Arrived in Tokyo yesterday; put up at above inn; would like to see you tomorrow morning.’’ On the front, the names of an inn at Urajimbōchō and of the sender, Hiraoka Tsunejirō, had been dashed off as carelessly as the message.
“So he’s here already. He must have come in yesterday,” Daisuke murmured as if to himself as he picked up the envelope, which was addressed in his father’s hand. His father first announced that he had returned two or three days before, that there was no particular hurry but that there were many things he wished to discuss and Daisuke was to come as soon as this letter reached him. Then the letter turned to such desultory matters as how it had been too early for the cherry blossoms in Kyoto, how crowded and uncomfortable the express train had been, etc., etc. Folding up the letter, Daisuke compared the two pieces of mail with a peculiar expression on his face. He then summoned Kadono.
“Kadono, will you go make a phone call? To my house.” “Yes, to your house. What should I say?”
“That I have an engagement today—I’m supposed to see someone so I can’t come. I’ll come tomorrow or the day after.”
“I see. To whom?”
“The old man’s come back from a trip and says he wants to talk to me. But you don’t have to get him on the phone. Just give the message to whoever answers.”
“Yes, I will.”
Kadono went out noisily. Daisuke left the morning room and went through the living room to his study. He noticed that it had been nicely cleaned; the fallen camellia had been swept away. He went over to the bookshelves at the right of the vase and lifted a heavy photograph album from the top. Still standing, he undid the gold clasp and began flipping the pages until he came to the middle, where he suddenly rested his hand. There was a portrait of a woman about twenty years old. Daisuke gazed intently at her face.
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