walking stick sufficiently worrisome to cause him to change his lodgings.
On that day as usual, the walking stick was in the umbrella stand, its snakehead turned toward the clog box. Looking sideways at it, Keitaro went up to his room. Presently, he sat down at his desk and began writing to Morimoto. First he thanked him for his letter, then wanted to add a few lines to explain why he had not replied sooner. But if he were to state the reason point-blank, he would have had to write that he could not bring himself to correspond due to the dishonor attached to having among his acquaintances a vagabond like him. Since that obviously would not do, he glossed everything over by writing simply that he had been too busy running around for what Morimoto knew only too well. Next, Keitaro put in a few congratulatory words on Morimoto's finding a good position in Dairen, and he followed these with the considerate remark: "At this time when Tokyo is getting colder by the day, how difficult the frost and wind in Manchuria must be. I imagine it is quite trying physically. Please take every precaution against illness."
As far as Keitaro was concerned, this last part was actually his main reason for writing. Therefore, he wanted to so word it aptly and in as many lines as possible so that it would convey sympathy to the person addressed and seem quite sincere to whoever happened to read it. On rereading his words, however, he was somewhat disappointed to find them as stale as those used by common people in offering compliments of the season. But as he had known beforehand, it was only-natural that they lacked the passionate warmth with which a love letter to one's sweetheart is phrased. So under the pretext that he was a poor writer and that no amount of revision could improve it, he let it stand and continued.
As for the disposal of the items Morimoto had left in the boardinghouse, Keitaro felt he ought to add something about them if only for the sake of courtesy. But he had no intention of asking the landlord what he had done with them, though without doing so Keitaro could not give Morimoto a detailed report. As he held his writing brush in midair, he thought about it a while.
"You asked me," he wrote at last, "to tell the landlord that he could do whatever he wished with your things. But please understand, as your own clairvoyance has already told you, that the Marten disposed of your property even before I had a chance to say something about it. You also offered me your plum bonsai, but I couldn't accept it because no trace remained either of its form or shadow. I merely want to thank you for your kind intention. Also . . ."
He again came to a halt. He had at last reached the point where he had to mention the walking stick. He was by nature too honest to write the lie that he had gratefully accepted the gift and was carrying it on his daily walks. Still less could he write that in spite of the gratitude he owed Morimoto for his kindness, he did not want it.
"The cane," he was driven to state, "is still in the umbrella stand. And it is standing there as if waiting day and night for the return of its owner. Even the Marten doesn't dare touch that snakehead. Each time I see it, I cannot help but admire your skill as a carver."
With this random compliment Keitaro tried to obscure the actual situation.
As he was writing Morimoto's address on the envelope, he attempted, though without success, to recall Morimoto's first name. He was forced to write only, "Mr. Morimoto, Official in Charge of Amusements, Electric Park, Dairen."
Because of the previous difficulties, the letter ought not to be seen by the landlord or his wife, so Keitaro could not call the maid to tell her to take it to the mailbox. He concealed the letter in his kimono sleeve, intending to mail it on his after-dinner walk. But just as he reached the foot of the cold stairs on his way out, he received a phone call from Sunaga.
What his friend wanted to tell him was that
On that day as usual, the walking stick was in the umbrella stand, its snakehead turned toward the clog box. Looking sideways at it, Keitaro went up to his room. Presently, he sat down at his desk and began writing to Morimoto. First he thanked him for his letter, then wanted to add a few lines to explain why he had not replied sooner. But if he were to state the reason point-blank, he would have had to write that he could not bring himself to correspond due to the dishonor attached to having among his acquaintances a vagabond like him. Since that obviously would not do, he glossed everything over by writing simply that he had been too busy running around for what Morimoto knew only too well. Next, Keitaro put in a few congratulatory words on Morimoto's finding a good position in Dairen, and he followed these with the considerate remark: "At this time when Tokyo is getting colder by the day, how difficult the frost and wind in Manchuria must be. I imagine it is quite trying physically. Please take every precaution against illness."
As far as Keitaro was concerned, this last part was actually his main reason for writing. Therefore, he wanted to so word it aptly and in as many lines as possible so that it would convey sympathy to the person addressed and seem quite sincere to whoever happened to read it. On rereading his words, however, he was somewhat disappointed to find them as stale as those used by common people in offering compliments of the season. But as he had known beforehand, it was only-natural that they lacked the passionate warmth with which a love letter to one's sweetheart is phrased. So under the pretext that he was a poor writer and that no amount of revision could improve it, he let it stand and continued.
As for the disposal of the items Morimoto had left in the boardinghouse, Keitaro felt he ought to add something about them if only for the sake of courtesy. But he had no intention of asking the landlord what he had done with them, though without doing so Keitaro could not give Morimoto a detailed report. As he held his writing brush in midair, he thought about it a while.
"You asked me," he wrote at last, "to tell the landlord that he could do whatever he wished with your things. But please understand, as your own clairvoyance has already told you, that the Marten disposed of your property even before I had a chance to say something about it. You also offered me your plum bonsai, but I couldn't accept it because no trace remained either of its form or shadow. I merely want to thank you for your kind intention. Also . . ."
He again came to a halt. He had at last reached the point where he had to mention the walking stick. He was by nature too honest to write the lie that he had gratefully accepted the gift and was carrying it on his daily walks. Still less could he write that in spite of the gratitude he owed Morimoto for his kindness, he did not want it.
"The cane," he was driven to state, "is still in the umbrella stand. And it is standing there as if waiting day and night for the return of its owner. Even the Marten doesn't dare touch that snakehead. Each time I see it, I cannot help but admire your skill as a carver."
With this random compliment Keitaro tried to obscure the actual situation.
As he was writing Morimoto's address on the envelope, he attempted, though without success, to recall Morimoto's first name. He was forced to write only, "Mr. Morimoto, Official in Charge of Amusements, Electric Park, Dairen."
Because of the previous difficulties, the letter ought not to be seen by the landlord or his wife, so Keitaro could not call the maid to tell her to take it to the mailbox. He concealed the letter in his kimono sleeve, intending to mail it on his after-dinner walk. But just as he reached the foot of the cold stairs on his way out, he received a phone call from Sunaga.
What his friend wanted to tell him was that
Similar Books
