The Snow Kimono (16 page)

In the morning, when he awoke, she was gone. The saké cup had been returned to its
place in the cupboard. The half-empty bottle was back on the shelf.

He walked into the bathroom. It was as ordered as if he had only just arrived. The
mosquito netting on the balcony was folded. He leaned over the balustrade. There
were two half-full glasses of saké sitting on the table below. A piece of clothing
was draped carelessly across one of the chairs, as if it had been thrown there. The
garden below was still.

Chapter 14

LATER that same morning, he went to see Soseki again.

Master Ikeda, what can I bring you?

Soseki, my good friend. You know Mrs Kanzai?

Yes, Master Ikeda.

What more can you tell me about her? You said she’s been coming here for years.

Yes, he said. Every year, she comes down from Tokyo.

Tokyo? he said. She told me she came from Osaka. That she was born there. She told
me that she lived near the famous Hamada art store.

No, no. She comes from Tokyo. Her husband is a very well-known industrialist. What
you’re saying doesn’t make sense, Katsuo. She doesn’t have an Osakan accent. Not
a trace.

Yes, Soseki, but neither do I.

Natsumi is not you, Master Ikeda.

Katsuo thought about what Soseki had said. That she
was not from Osaka. She was from
Tokyo.

Do you know anything else about her?

Soseki looked away.

I am sorry, Master Katsuo, he said. But there is something I have not told you. You
remember that first meeting—you pointed her out to me, asking if I knew her. And
then you asked me if I could arrange for you to meet her.

Yes, Soseki.

Well, she asked me first.

Asked you what first?

Mrs Kanzai asked me to find a way to introduce her to you. She had seen you a number
of times, at the markets, walking on the beach. I know why she comes here. It is
an escape from the unhappiness of her life in Tokyo. She is not the only woman who
comes here for the same reason. But Natsumi, Mrs Kanzai, seems so different. She
seems…more lost. So she asked me to introduce her to you. And seeing you had asked
me the same thing, I thought, how perfect. I would do what each of you had asked
me to do.

Why didn’t you tell me?

She asked me not to.

But we are friends, Soseki.

We are. But then, so too are Mrs Kanzai and myself. I have known her for a long time
now.

She told me she was a governess!

A governess?

Yes.

Soseki let out a small owl-like laugh.

Ah, my dear friend, it seems that you are not the only one who can play this particular
game.

So it would appear, Katsuo said.

He looked down to the beach, to where families with their children were already playing.

One last thing, Soseki, he said.

What is that, Katsuo-san?

Did Natsumi, Mrs Kanzai…did she know that I had asked you to introduce us?

She did, Master Katsuo. She did. She told me she wanted to see how determined you
were. Whether you would persist if she made things difficult for you. And now she
knows.

Chapter 15

THERE is a young woman here to see you, Mr Omura.

A year had passed since Katsuo had summoned me to Shirahama, Omura told Jovert late
one afternoon. Katsuo had continued writing to me, telling me of the progress he
was making, of the many conquests he had made, of the places he’d been, the people
he’d met.

Does she have an appointment? I asked.

No, she doesn’t. She seems very upset.

Upset?

Yes, very.

All right, I said. Just give me five minutes and I’ll see her. What time is my next
appointment?

Not till 10.30, she said.

I put what I had on my desk away. Then I picked up the phone: You can send her in
now, I said.

Miss Nakamura came to the door.

Miss, she said. Mr Omura will see you now. She held out her hand and a well-dressed
young woman in her early twenties came through the doorway.

I could see that she would have been very pretty if she had not looked so distressed.
Her eyes, her nose, were red.

But I don’t understand, she said, immediately on entering the room.
You’re
not Tadashi
Omura!

I’m sorry, I said, taken aback, but I
am
Tadashi Omura. At least, I am this Tadashi
Omura. These are my offices.

But you’re not the person I…I met. Last year, in Shirahama.

Shirahama.

You’re not the Tadashi…

But the truth had already dawned on her. I could see her sifting through her memories:
how she and this other Tadashi Omura had met, at a café, in the marketplace, on the
beach. Had he offered to carry something for her, helped her with directions? Perhaps
he’d made some comment about the shrine they were visiting. Permit me to introduce
myself: my name is Tadashi, Tadashi Omura.

If, I thought, I went back through the letters Katsuo had sent me, would she be there
somewhere, on one of those pages—this pretty young girl, that one, the one he had
met in the forest, whose husband had followed her, who had chased him down the mountain?

All at once, she started sobbing, twisting her purse in her hands.

How could I have been so stupid? she was saying.

I got up, went to the door.

Could you come in here for a moment, Miss Nakamura, I said. Bring some tissues, please.

No wonder you weren’t there that night, she said. I mean…I don’t understand, she
said. You…he, Tadashi, was so nice to me.

And this…Tadashi? I said. What did he look like?

She described him to me, his hair, how he was always brushing it back with his hand,
his impeccable clothes, his shoes. She told me how he had described his legal practice.
How, by chance—it had been lying under his coat—she had come across one of the documents
he’d been working on. She had looked at it, seen the address. My name.

I’m sorry, Miss…?

Keiko Yam…She hesitated. I’m sorry, she said. I feel so foolish. It doesn’t matter
who I am. You know, that’s why I went back to Shirahama this summer. I was hoping
to see him again. But I see what has happened now. I’ve been misled. Made a fool
of.

She dried her eyes, dabbed her nose.

I can’t believe it, she said. He was
so
nice to me. So nice, she said again, as though
remembering. Do you have any idea who he might be?

I signalled for Miss Nakamura to leave us. She bowed, turned and pulled the door
to after her.

No, I said. I was in Shirahama last year myself. On business. Some of my papers were
stolen. They had my name on them. This person must have taken them.

I see, she said. What a pity. I would so have liked to have seen you…to have seen
him again.

She got up. Put the tissues in her purse. Brushed her skirt down.

Thank you, Mr…Mr Omura, she said. For being so kind.

I came out from behind my desk. She bowed a number of times, then looked up at me.
I saw her scrutinising my face one last time, as if she were thinking, if only I
could get behind this mask, then I might still find the real Tadashi hiding there.

You’re welcome, Miss…Keiko, I said, bowing.

She turned and walked towards the door. I followed her.

Could you show Miss Keiko out, please, Miss Nakamura.

Certainly, Mr Omura.

I pulled the door closed. I went back to my desk. To think about what had just happened,
and what to do about it.

You can
not
do this, Katsuo, I said. These childish pranks. We are not at university
anymore.

In the end, after much asking around, I had found his house, or the place where he
was lodging, in one of Osaka’s poorest suburbs. The house was shabby beyond belief.

The old woman who answered my knock at the door greeted me still holding a dirty
tea towel. She was drying her hands with it.

I am looking for a Mr Katsuo Ikeda, I said. Is this where he lives?

Without speaking, but not before she had given me one last look, she flicked the
towel over her shoulder and disappeared back down the corridor. I could hear her
hollow footsteps retreating. Then I heard voices, a door close, more footsteps. Then
nothing. I waited. Another set of footsteps came down the hallway.

Katsuo could not have been more surprised to see me than if I had waylaid him.

Tadashi! What are you doing here? How did you get this address?

Katsuo, I said.

We were like two sparring partners waiting for the bout to begin.

Aren’t you going to invite me in?

He stood aside, gestured with his hand. He led me down to his room at the end of
the corridor. In it, there was a narrow bed. An old wooden desk. Writing pens, paper.
A small statue, incongruously beautiful. A piece of threadbare carpet, makeshift
bookshelves overflowing with books. On the walls, a few woodblock prints.

He didn’t waste any time.

So, Tadashi, what is it?

A young woman came to see me the week before last, I said.

He reached for his packet of cigarettes, held it out to me.

No, thanks, I said.

He took one out from the pack. Lit it.

Her name was Keiko, I said.

Keiko, he repeated.

Yes, Keiko.

Dear little Keiko, he said, exhaling.
Such
a pretty girl. Yes, I remember her. She
reminded me of Mount Fuji. Mount Fujis.

She came to see me, I said. She thought I was you. You told her your name was Tadashi
Omura.

He inhaled on his cigarette.

What did she say?

What do you mean, what did she say? She was upset.

And that was all?

I realised now what he was after. He wanted to know what she’d thought of him.

That was it, I said.

He stood there observing me as though I was an insect.

You can’t keep using people, Katsuo. Keiko. Me. I have a career now, which I’ve worked
hard for.

He still didn’t say anything.

It
was
you, wasn’t it, that time when I came to see you? You took one of my documents.
One that had my name on it. To use. To impress someone, someone young, like Keiko.
To get her to believe you were someone you weren’t.

To impress her? he said.

He walked over to his bookshelf, retrieved a sheet of paper.

Here’s your precious document, Tadashi, he said. I don’t need it anymore. Not that
I ever did. You have no idea how long it took her to find it.

He threw it across to me.

And just so you know, Tadashi, I could not care less about your career. Or your stupid,
self-serving moral principles. Because you know what you are, Tadashi…

I could feel his anger building. He was speaking slowly now, with deliberate emphasis,
as if he was explaining something to a dim-witted child, something he’d explained
a thousand times before.

You-are-just-a-footnote, he said. A footnote. To-my-life. You-are-a-
nothing
, a zero,
a meaningless cipher. He spat the words out. You’re what happens when history blinks.
Don’t you see? You don’t exist. Except as a function of me. You and your stupid,
stupid
career!

He seemed momentarily lost for words.

You have
no
idea, he said. None.

He turned to look at the bookshelves.

Oba-san! he shouted. Oba-san!

I heard footsteps hurrying.

He was still staring at the bookshelves. It was almost as if he didn’t recognise
what they were. He reached out with his hand. At first, I thought he was going to
take something down, a particular volume, something to give me, as he had done in
the past, something that would show me where I had gone wrong. Instead, with one
powerful sweep of his arm, he swept a whole shelf of books to the floor.

None! he shouted. You stick to the law, Tadashi. You don’t know it yet, but you and
your principles are like cement. You’re already set. Imagine what you’ll be like
when you’re sixty!
Another row of books came crashing down. You won’t be able to
move
! So don’t you stand in judgement of me. I
choose
to do what I do.