The Ruined Map by Kōbō Abe Page A

indeed, could one trust that falsely smiling face that looked back at me?—“He’s here. A promising young man. Well, don’t hesitate to ask him anything you want.”
    The promising young clerk at length put in a trembling appearance. Perhaps it was in contrast to the director, but he had an unpleasantly bad complexion, and behind his thick glasses his eyes were shifty; along with his baggy trousers he wore rubbers—on inspection, an unprepossessing, undersized young man. The fact that he showed no particular sign of emotion at the director’s introduction was due perhaps not so much to calmness as to the expression on his face, which was one of constant perplexity. He seated himself next to me on the sofa at the end nearest the entrance and answered me in a surprisingly unfaltering way, although in a high, nasal voice. He incessantly pushed up his glasses.
    —“No, I don’t know why. Only because he thought it would be a waste of time to return once he had left the office, I think. He specified S—– station, but then I supposed it was a matter that needed urgent attention.”—“You had no idea of the contents?”—“No, none at all.”—“But you knew the recipient’s address, didn’t you?”—“No, that too I was tohave had handed over to me, along with a map, at the time I received the documents.”—“Didn’t you have a general idea, judging from the situation before and after and from your work at that time?”—“No, even at the time, everybody asked the same thing. I tried to guess, but …”
    —“What about you, sir?” I said, suddenly changing my attack to the director. “You were in a position of controlling the whole affair. You have more of an idea than Tashiro, I imagine, don’t you?”—“No, no, not at all,” he said, lighting a cigarette and waving away the first smoke that went into his eyes. Then, in his normal voice, he continued: “I’m convinced that the knack of dealing with subordinates is never to interfere without good reason in their individual schemes. As for a report, I’m satisfied with the conclusion; and if the conclusion’s first-rate, that’s even better, I always say. Don’t I, Tashiro?”
    —“But, in any case,” I went on, gazing in the neighborhood of the beckoning cat on the ashtray, “you’ve got to admit that the documents were a matter that apparently required great secrecy.” The director was first to react: “Why?”—“Because, it’s true, isn’t it? If they had been unimportant papers they could have been sent through the mails.” Instantly the younger man agreed.—“I said so, didn’t I. Certainly, time was a question. Even if it had been out in the country, special delivery would have got there the next day.”—“Hmm, but the telephone would have been even faster. I don’t think it’s
only
a question of time.”—“But, it must have been a case of handing over something with a personal signature on it, something you couldn’t get over by word of mouth on the telephone, or on the other hand, a case of having something signed.”
    A pretty shrewd character, Tashiro. Turning my bodyninety degrees, I looked straight at him. But his eyes remained fixed ahead. His half-sitting, half-standing posture did not change; only his chair creaked.
    —“Indeed, it’s quite possibly as you say. If that is so, try and draw a map of the rendezvous spot that morning while we’re on the subject—a simple one will do.” The young clerk gave a short nod of assent and bowed only to the director, whereupon he left the room quietly with a light step made more silent by his soundless rubbers. The indentation left by his weight at the end of the sofa slowly rose. The dirty sky was still more tarnished by the grimy windows … a reddish-brown light that cast no shadow. Suddenly, aiming at a beckoning cat on the ashtray, the director thrust out his cigarette and crushed it on the face as he began to chuckle.—“Too bad, wasn’t it,