Thus had Daisuke evolved in his private, distinctive world, which bore almost no resemblance to Hiraoka’s. (It is a regrettable phenomenon that behind every evolution, past and present, lies regression.) But Hiraoka knew nothing of Daisuke’s development. He seemed to regard him as the same naive youth of three years ago. If he were to bare his soul before this little master and confide to him all his weaknesses, it might be like a farmhand’s tossing horse manure before the startled young lady of the house. Better not take such a risk and incur Daisuke’s displeasure—this was how Daisuke read Hiraoka’s thoughts. It seemed to him stupid that Hiraoka walked along without answering him. To the extent that Hiraoka regarded him as a child— perhaps even more so—Daisuke had begun to view Hiraoka in the same light. But when the two resumed their conversation some two or three blocks later, not a trace of this feeling showed.
“So, what are you planning to do from now on?” “Well …”
“Maybe, with all the experience you’ve built up, it would be best to stay in the same business?”
“Well, that would depend on the circumstances. Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk it over with you. What do you think, is there a chance I could get something in your brother’s company?”
“I’ll ask him about it; I have to go home anyway in the next two or three days. But I wonder …”
“If there isn’t anything in business, I’m thinking of trying the newspapers.”
“That might not be bad either.”
The two walked toward the streetcar stop. Hiraoka, who had been watching the top of the train approaching in the distance, suddenly announced that he was going to take it. Daisuke assented without attempting to detain him, but neither did he make any move to part. He walked on to the red pole marking the stop. There he asked, “How’s Michiyo-san?”
“She’s the same as ever, thanks. She sends her regards. I was going to bring her today, but the train ride must not have agreed with her; she was complaining of a headache so I left her at the inn.”
The streetcar came to a halt before the two. Hiraoka started to hurry toward it, but stopped at Daisuke’s warning. It was not his train.
“That was a shame about the baby.”
“Yes, it was too bad. Thanks for your card. It might as well not have been born if it was going to die.”
“And—since then?”
“No, nothing yet. There’s probably no chance now. Her health isn’t too good.”
“Well, when you’re moving around like this, it’s probably easier not to have a kid.”
“That’s true, too. Maybe if I were single like you, it’d be even better—more relaxed.”
“Well, why not become single?”
“Don’t kid me. Anyway, my wife keeps wondering if you’ve go tten married yet:’
The streetcar arrived.
CHAPTER III
DAISUKE’S FATHER, NAGAI TOKU, was old enough to have seen the battlefield during the Restoration, but he was still in robust health. After quitting the civil service he had entered the business world, and while trying his hand at this and that, money had seemed to accumulate naturally, until, in some fourteen or fifteen years’ time, he had found himself a wealthy man.
Daisuke had an older brother named Seigo. After finishing school, he had gone straight into a company with which his father had ties, so that by now he held a position of considerable authority. He had a wife, Umeko, and two children. The older of these was a boy, Seitarō, now fifteen years of age. The girl, Nui, was three years younger.
Besides Seigo, there was an older sister, but she had married a diplomat and they now made their home in the West. There had been another brother between Seigo and this sister, and still another between her and Daisuke, but both of them had died young. Their mother was dead as well.
Such was the composition of Daisuke’s family. The married sister and Daisuke, who had recently set up his own household, were gone, so that left five people, including the children, in the main house.
Once a month without fail, Daisuke went home for money. He lived on money that could be specified neither as his father’s nor his brother’s. When bored, he went more frequently. He would tease the children, play a game of go with the houseboy, or engage his sister-in-law in theater talk.
Daisuke was fond of his sister-in-law. Hers was a character in which Tempō mannerism and Meiji modernism were ruthlessly patched together. Once she had gone to the trouble of ordering an inordinately expensive piece of brocade with an unpronounceable name through her sister in France. She had cut it up with four or five other people to fashion into obi. Later, when it was discovered that the material had been exported from Japan, the family had a good laugh. It was Daisuke who had investigated the matter by checking the display cases of Mitsukoshi. Umeko also liked Western music and was easily persuaded to accompany Daisuke to his concerts. At the same time, she showed an unusual interest in fortunetelling, idolizing Sekiryūshi and a certain master Ojima. On two or three occasions Daisuke had tagged along in a ricksha to keep her company on her visits to these fortunetellers.
These days, Seitarō was completely absorbed in baseball and sometimes Daisuke would toss him a few pitches. He was a child with a peculiar ambition: every year, at the beginning of the summer when all the hot-potato venders converted into ice parlors, Seitarō liked to be the first to run over and buy ice cream, well before the first hint of perspiration. When there was no ice cream, he contented himself with ices and still came home triumphant. Lately, he was saying that he wanted to be the first person to enter the new sumō wrestling hall as soon as it was completed. Once he asked if Daisuke knew any wrestlers.
Nui was given to answering everything with “I’m warning you, you’d better watch out.’’ She also changed her hair ribbon several times a day. She had recently begun violin lessons, and as soon as she got home, she would practice what she had learned, producing sawlike noises. But she would never play if someone was watching. Since she shut herself up in her room and squeaked away, her parents thought she must be quite good. Daisuke was the only one who would ever peek in on her, at which times she would scold, “You’d better watch out.”
Daisuke’s brother was often away from the house. When he was especially busy the only meal he took at home was breakfast. The children had no idea what he did with the rest of his day and Daisuke was equally ignorant on this point. In fact, he had decided that it was preferable not to know; as long as it was unnecessary, he did not probe into his brother’s outside activities.
Daisuke was enormously popular with the children, reasonably so with his sister-in-law. With his brother, he could not tell. On the rare occasions when they met, they exchanged stories about their experiences with women. They talked perfectly nonchalantly, like men of the world trading common gossip.
Daisuke’s biggest headache was his father, who, in spite of his age, kept a young mistress. Daisuke had no objections to this; indeed, he was rather in favor of it, for he thought that it was only those who lacked the means who attacked the practice. His father was quite a disciplinarian. As a child, there were times when this had sorely troubled Daisuke, but now that he was an adult, he saw no reason why he should let it disturb him. No, what bothered Daisuke was that his father confused his own youth with Daisuke’s. Hence, he insisted that unless Daisuke adopted the same goals with which he himself had ventured into the world long ago, it would not do. Since Daisuke had never asked what would not do, the two had not quarreled. As a child, Daisuke was possessed of a violent temper and, at eighteen or nineteen, had even come to blows with his father once or twice. But time passed and soon after he finished school, his temper had suddenly subsided. Since then,