The Naked Ear: 51
“This is it here,” said Tazawa. Peering through the darkness, Maeda made out a squat featureless concrete building, five or six stories high.
“What time is it?”
“See the light in the third floor window? That’s him. The light means he’s up and receiving visitors. You don’t have to stand on ceremony with Rogozhin. Like all Russians, he loves to talk. He lives to talk. His mind is on fire, and he sets other minds on fire. That, in a nutshell, is Rogozhin. Come.”
“No.”
“No what?”
Tazawa opened the door and ushered Maeda into a well-lit dark-green hallway. “There’s no elevator.” He led the way, Maeda following almost against his will, up a flight of stairs, then up another. “Here.” He rapped three times on the door, three evenly-spaced knocks---a signal? There was no answer. “He’s asleep,” Maeda whispered. Tazawa said nothing, but Maeda noticed that he seemed not in the least put out by the awkwardness of the situation; he was calm and showed no sign of impatience. A minute or so went by. Maeda had just opened his mouth to say, “Come on, let’s go,” when suddenly, no premonitory sounds indicating it was about to happen, the door opened---but it was not Rogozhin who faced them; rather it was a young woman, rather homely, slightly pockmarked, a little on the plump side, or maybe it was the shapeless yellow sweatshirt she wore that made her look that way. She peered at them inquiringly through narrowed eyes. “Maybe,” thought Maeda vaguely, “she’s shortsighted and can’t see us clearly.”
“Tomoko, it’s me,” said Tazawa familiarly.
The young woman’s expression did not alter in the least.
“Is he up?”
“Yes.”
“May we come in? I’ve brought a friend. Don’t worry, he’s one of us.”
Tomoko stood slightly aside, as if to suggest---so it seemed to Maeda---that she was not barring the door but not extending an invitation either. Tazawa walked past her into the flat. Maeda followed. Tomoko closed the door behind them.
The room was brightly, almost dazzlingly lit by a floor lamp beside the armchair on which Rogozhin sat at his ease, his left leg crossed over his right. He wore dark glasses and a blue-and-white striped bathrobe. His thin fair hair looked damp, as though he had not long before stepped out of the shower. Tomoko seated herself on the white couch next to the armchair. She sat leaning forward, her elbows on her knees and her chin resting in her hands. There was something somehow tense and expectant in her posture, but her lowered eyes, to Maeda at least, seemed more vacant and indifferent than anything else.
“Why is the room so bright, if he has trouble with his eyes?” Maeda thought, his own eyes recoiling from the unpleasant pressure of the glare. Suddenly he remembered Yoshiko. “How could I have forgotten her?” It was strange---Yoshiko, after all, had been his reason for asking Tazawa for Rogozhin’s address in the first place---but the fact was that on the way here, perhaps due in some way to Tazawa’s presence, she had more or less slipped his mind. He fixed a sharp gaze on Rogozhin, but before he could speak Rogozhin rose to his feet and said with a smile, “Maeda-san, what a surprise.”
“Where’s Yoshiko?”
“She’s asleep. She was exhausted. Maeda-san, forgive me if I seem to intrude in your private affairs, but I think sometimes you have no idea what Yoshiko suffers on your account.”
“I’ve come to take her home.”
“She is free to go, of course, if she likes. If she prefers to stay, however, she is here under my protection.”
“You have no right…” He broke off. “What’s that?”
His attention had been drawn to a picture on the wall to his left, above the couch on which Tomoko sat. It was more a sketch than a painting. Three men in kimono kneeled on the floor. The men on the left and right wore traditional samurai swords; the hands of the man in the middle were shackled. “That’s Watanabe Kazan.”
“Yes. Do you know it?”
“Where did you get it?”
“The original is at the Tahara Municipal Museum on the Izu Peninsula. I bought this at the museum gift shop. It’s a splendid museum. Have you seen it?”
“No, I… no.”
“That’s one of two prison sketches. I have the other one as well; it’s in the room where Yoshiko is sleeping.”
“She can sleep at home. She is my wife; I…”
“Maeda-san, listen to me. She came to me of her own free will in a very distressed state. It is not my nature to come between a man and his wife. You have my word of honor that there is nothing between us which you would have cause to resent. That we are close I do not deny. She herself defined our relationship: we are, she said, ‘brother and sister.’ I beg you, therefore, to let her sleep, and when she wakes up… She loves you very much, Maeda-san. Very much. It is for you to ask yourself whether you are worthy of such love.”
Maeda lowered his eyes. “I am not.”
“No. In that case, may I suggest the next step…”
“But worthy or not…”
“You are her husband. I quite agree, and as soon as she wakes…”
Tomoko rose suddenly. “I think I’ll go for a walk. Maeda-san, won’t you come with me?”
Maeda gaped at her in astonishment. He didn’t know what to say, and Tomoko’s offhand manner---she scarcely glanced at him---only increased his bewilderment. “Goodbye, Rogozhin-san. Thank you for the tea. I’ll be sure to mention your idea to my grandfather. Come,” she said to Maeda. “Let’s go.”
Next episode: to everything there is a season
[Your Name Here]
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