thousands of lighted candles. A procession of robed priests passed on the other side, their black shadows looming against the stark walls. Hiraoka listened with his cheeks resting on his palms, his eyelids red behind his glasses. That night, around two o’clock, Daisuke had walked alone along the wide avenue of Ōnari, over the tracks that ran straight through the midnight darkness until he arrived at the Ueno woods. There, he stepped into the midst of cherry blossoms lit by street lights.
“It’s nice, you know, cherry blossoms at night without a soul around,” he said.
Hiraoka emptied his glass without a word. Then he spoke, with a touch of pity. “It must be nice, though I’ve never seen it myself. As long as you can go around doing things like that, you’re pretty lucky. Once you get out into the world, it’s not so easy anymore.” Hiraoka seemed to be looking down from above at his friend’s inexperience. But for Daisuke it was not so much the content of the response, but the tone that was absurd. As far as he was concerned, that Easter night counted far more than any practical, worldly experience. So he answered, “I think there’s nothing more worthless than this so-called worldly experience. All it can do is cause pain.”
Hiraoka widened his drunken eyes just perceptibly. “It sounds like your thinking’s changed quite a bit. . . . Wasn’t it your idea that this pain becomes a good, if bitter medicine later on?”
“That’s just a theory I had when I was young and stupid. I gave in to all those conventional proverbs and spouted off nonsense. I don’t know how long ago I tossed that one out.”
“But you’re going to have to get out into the world soon, right? You won’t get away with that kind of thinking then.”
“I’ve been out in the world for some time now. It seems to me that especially since we went our separate ways, my world has grown much bigger. It’s just a different kind of world from the one you went into.”
“Oh, go ahead and brag. You’ll have to give in sooner or later.” “Of course, if I find that I’m starving I’ll give in right away. But why should a person who doesn’t have any wants at the moment strain to taste these inferior experiences? It would be like an Indian buying an overcoat just to be ready for winter.”
For an instant displeasure flickered at Hiraoka’s brow. Gazing ahead with his reddened eyes, he puffed at his cigarette. Daisuke, thinking that he might have gone too far, resumed in a more measured tone: “There’s a fellow I know who doesn’t know the first thing about music. He’s a schoolteacher, and he can’t make it teaching at just one place so he moonlights at three, maybe four other places. You can’t help feeling sorry for him. All he does is prepare a lesson, dash off to the classroom, then move his mouth mechanically. He doesn’t have time for anything else. When Sunday comes around, he calls it a day of rest and sleeps the whole day away. So, even if there’s a concert somewhere or a famous musician from abroad performs here, he can’t go. In other words, he’s going to die without ever having set foot in the beautiful world of music. For me, there’s no inexperience more wretched than that. Experience that’s tied to bread might be sincere, but it’s bound to be inferior. If you don’t have the kind of luxurious experience that’s divorced from bread and water, there’s no point in being human. You’re probably thinking that I’m still a child, but in the luxurious world where I live, I’m your senior by years.”
Tapping the ashes from his cigarette, Hiraoka said in a low, dark voice, “It’s fine if you can stay in that kind of world forever.” His heavy words seemed to drag behind them a curse upon plenty.
The two went outside, drunk. Because of the strange argument they had begun under the impetus of alcohol, they had gotten nowhere with the real business at hand—that is, Hiraoka’s situation.
“Let’s walk a little,” Daisuke suggested. Hiraoka was apparently not as busy as he claimed, for with a few half-hearted protests, he strolled along with Daisuke. Daisuke tried to direct their steps toward the quiet side streets where they might talk more readily, and eventually, the conversation came around.
According to Hiraoka’s account, he had tried working quite hard when he was first transferred. He had done considerable research on the economic conditions of the region in order to learn his new job well. In fact, he had even thought of doing—if given permission—a theoretical study of actual business practices. But his position was not high enough, and he had had to put away his plans and await a future opportunity. Even so, he had tried presenting a number of suggestions to the branch manager, though they had always met with cold indifference. If he so much as mentioned any sophisticated theory, the manager became peevish. His attitude seemed to be, what could a greenhorn like Hiraoka possibly understand? But the manager himself knew nothing. As Hiraoka saw it, his superior was unwilling to deal with him not because he, Hiraoka, was unworthy, but because the manager was afraid. And this was the source of Hiraoka’s chagrin. More than once they had verged on a clash.
As time passed, however, Hiraoka’s annoyance began to fade, and he increasingly felt comfortable in his surroundings. He made an effort to feel that way, and accordingly, the branch manager’s attitude toward him changed bit by bit. There were even times when he took the initiative to ask Hiraoka’s opinion. And since Hiraoka was no longer fresh out of the university, he was careful to avoid complex issues that would be incomprehensible, hence awkward, for the manager.
“But it’s not as if I went out of my way to flatter him or manipulate him,’’ Hiraoka emphasized.
Daisuke answered solemnly, “No, of course not.”
The branch manager began to show concern for Hiraoka’s future. He even promised, half jokingly, that since it was his turn to return to the main office, Hiraoka should go with him. By that time Hiraoka was quite experienced and had gained considerable trust; his social circles had widened, and he no longer had time for study. At that point, he had begun to feel that study would only get in the way of practice anyway.
Just as the branch manager confided everything to him, so Hiraoka had trusted in a subordinate named Seki and consulted him on various matters. This Seki became involved with a geisha and ended up embezzling company funds. When this was exposed, there was no question of Seki’s dismissal, of course, but due to circumstances, it seemed that even the manager might be placed in an awkward situation. Hiraoka had shouldered the responsibility and submitted his resignation.
This was the gist of Hiraoka’s story. Daisuke thought that Hiraoka might have been urged by the manager to tender his resignation, to judge from his last words, “The higher you get in a company, the more you can get away with. If you think about it, it’s really too bad that a fellow like Seki had to get fired for embezzling a piddling sum like that.”
“So the branch manager’s got the best deal of all?” Daisuke asked. “I guess you could look at it that way.” Hiraoka’s response was slurred.
“What happened to the money that fellow took?”
“Oh, it didn’t amount to much, so I paid it off.”
“I’m surprised you had it. It looks as if you were getting a pretty good deal too.”
Hiraoka’s face turned bitter, and he darted a sharp glance at Daisuke. “Even if I was, it’s all gone. Now I’m having a tough time just making ends meet. I borrowed that money.”
“Oh.” Daisuke’s response was calm. He was a man who did not lose his normal tone of voice under any circumstances. And from this tone, subdued but no less apparent, there emerged a note of leisure.
“I borrowed from the manager to cover up that hole.”
“I wonder why he didn’t lend to this fellow Seki himself.”
Hiraoka did not answer and Daisuke did not press the issue. The two walked on in silence.
Daisuke guessed that Hiraoka had not told all, but he knew he did not have the right to take another step forward in pursuit of the truth. Furthermore, he was too much an urbanite to have his curiosity aroused over something like this. Daisuke, who lived in twentiethcentury Japan, Daisuke, who had barely reached the