Inspector Imanishi Investigates

by Seichō Matsumoto

  “It’s scary here. Let’s not go too far,” Emiko said, hanging onto his arm.

  Ignoring her, Sekigawa continued walking down toward the water.

  “How far are you going to go?” Emiko leaned on him. Her high heels made it difficult for her to walk on the pebbled bank.

  Across the river neon lights flickered in the distance. Stars glittered in the sky.

  Sekigawa stood still and said out of the blue, “Don’t talk so thoughtlessly.”

  “What do you mean?” Emiko asked.

  “I’m talking about inside the cab just now. You can’t tell what the driver overheard. He was listening to everything you said.”

  “You’re right,” Emiko said meekly. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve told you before. You shouldn’t have said that I was the one he saw.”

  “I’m really sorry, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I still don’t think the student noticed anything.”

  Taking a cigarette out of his pocket, Sekigawa cupped his hands to light it. For a moment, half his face was lit up.

  “You’re just trying to fool yourself,” he said in a dry voice, exhaling smoke. “You told me the student across the hall asked you about me.”

  “He doesn’t know who you are. He just asked me what kind of man had come to my room the night before. He was curious. I don’t think he meant anything by it.”

  “See,” Sekigawa said, “his asking you proves that his friend said something to him. I tell you, he recognized my face.”

  “The way the student across the hall asked me about it, it didn’t seem you were recognized.”

  “My picture appears in newspapers next to my articles,” Sekigawa said, staring hard at the dark river. “The guy is a student. It’s very likely that he reads what I write. He might have remembered my photograph.”

  The black surface of the river glinted in the dark. A train crossed a bridge at a distance, and a band of light trailed across the water.

  “That makes me sad,” Emiko said.

  “What does?” The tip of Sekigawa’s cigarette glowed as he inhaled.

  “Well, that you’re so concerned. I feel like I’m becoming a burden to you.”

  They could hear someone whistling across the river in the darkness.

  “You still don’t understand?” Sekigawa said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “It’s a crucial time for me right now. If my relationship with you is discovered now, people will say all kinds of terrible things about me. I have a lot of enemies because my job is to criticize people. If they found out about you, they’d be merciless.”

  “It’s because I’m a bar hostess, isn’t it? If I were the daughter of a prominent family like Waga-san’s fiancée, you wouldn’t have to be so concerned, would you?”

  “I’m not Waga,” Sekigawa said, suddenly angry. “Waga is an opportunist. I’m not like that. I don’t say new and radical things and then behave in old and opportunistic ways. It doesn’t matter at all to me that you work in a bar.”

  “Then…” Emiko said hesitantly. “Then, why are you so concerned about others finding out? I would like to be able to walk with you anywhere.”

  “Why can’t you understand?” Sekigawa clenched his teeth. “You know the position I’m in.”

  “Of course, I know. I know that your work is different from the usual occupation. I really respect that. That’s why I feel happy that you love me. I’d like to brag about you to all my friends if I could. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about us. But that’s how I feel. I do understand, but it still makes me sad sometimes. Like this problem,” she continued. “You told me I had to move right away because that student saw you. I feel I’m always going to be your hidden woman.”

  “Emiko.” Sekigawa turned toward her. “I understand how you feel, but I want you to see it from my perspective. Until the right time, I have to ask you to make this sacrifice for me. It’s an important time for me right now. I’m just starting to make a name for myself. All my efforts up until now and all my hopes for the future could be destroyed by rumors. I don’t want to lose out to any of my friends. My world is like that. It’s a world where scandal can ruin you. Please be patient.”

  Sekigawa took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him.

  Murayama, an arts section editor of a newspaper, was walking alone at night down the back streets of Ginza. Many people were still on the streets. He had just left a bar and, as he walked toward some brightly lit store display windows, he passed a young woman walking on the sidewalk. The light from a display window shone in bands illuminating her profile. He thought he had seen her somewhere before.

  He wondered if he had seen her in a bar. He kept walking toward central Ginza. He went into a bookstore and looked at the new releases. He wandered farther back into the shop, scanning the shelves aimlessly. His attention was caught by a book entitled Have a Pleasant Trip. The instant he saw the book, he remembered.

  He had seen her not long before, on a train on his way back from Omachi in the Shinshu region. The second-class car had been rather empty. The girl had gotten on at Kofu and taken a seat next to the window facing him but across the aisle. She had a pretty face. Although she wasn’t wearing expensive clothes, she wore her clothes with flair. He had gone to Omachi to report on the construction of the Kurobe Valley dam, so it must have been May 18 or May 19. It was a night train, and though it was not hot in the compartment she had opened her window half way as soon as they pulled out of Kofu. But if that were all, he might not have remembered her.

  He was startled out of this recollection when he felt someone tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Murayama.”

  He turned around and saw Kawano, a university professor who also wrote for magazines.

  “What were you thinking about? You looked as if you were far, far away.” Professor Kawano smiled, wrinkling up his eyes behind his glasses.

  Murayama bowed hurriedly.

  “How about having a cup of coffee with me, since I haven’t seen you for a while?” The professor didn’t drink alcohol.

  Sipping coffee in the brightly lit coffee shop, Professor Kawano asked, “What were you thinking about so seriously in the bookstore?”

  “I wasn’t really thinking. I was trying to remember something,” Murayama said. “I’d just passed a girl on the street that I had seen somewhere on a trip.”

  “That sounds intriguing,” the professor responded. “Was it a travel romance?”

  “No, that wasn’t it at all. It really isn’t that interesting.”

  “I’d like to hear about it even if it isn’t interesting. Go on, tell me about it.” The professor’s slightly bucked teeth showed as he smiled and urged Murayama to continue.

  Murayarna said he had been bored with the long train ride that evening. Perhaps it was because he was bored that his attention had been drawn to the young woman who had gotten on at Kofu. Besides her handbag she carried another small canvas bag, like the ones stewardesses use.

  After leaving Kofu, the train ran through a lonely mountainous area. At first the girl read a paperback book. Then, when the train passed Enzan, she opened the window wide. He noticed this because it had let in a cold draft.

  The girl stared out of the window. Because it was dark, she couldn’t have been looking at the scenery. Other than the occasional lonely light from a distant house, there was nothing but a succession of black mountains. He thought that perhaps she hadn’t ridden this train very often. Since she had gotten on at Kofu, he guessed first that she was from Kofu, traveling to Tokyo on a pleasure trip. But her clothing seemed too sophisticated. She had on an ordinary black suit, but she wore it stylishly. She had to be from Tokyo after all. From the side, her face was thin, and she had a slender figure.

  Murayama had turned back to the book he had been reading. Before he could finish one page, the girl once again attracted his attention. She put the canvas bag on her lap and opened it, and then took something whit
e out of it and began throwing it out the train window. The wind whipped in as the train rushed forward. The girl stuck her hand out the window and continued tossing something out. She did this all the way from Enzan to Katsunuma, the next station.

  Then she went back to reading her book. But somewhere between Hajikano and Sasago, she put the book down and again started throwing away whatever it was she had in her bag. Murayama was curious. Pretending he was going to the rest room, he walked to the end of the car. He looked out from the back of the car and saw small, white pieces of paper being tossed by the wind, making a kind of blizzard. He thought she was fighting boredom by this innocent mischief and smiled at her childishness.

  Murayama returned to his seat. He picked up his book and tried to continue reading, but the girl on the other side of the aisle kept distracting him. As the train neared Otsuki, she again put her hand in the bag and started scattering another paper blizzard.

  The train reached Otsuki Station. Some new passengers entered the second-class car. Among them was a fat man about fifty years old who looked around the car. He finally sat down in front of this girl.

  Casually, Murayama continued to watch the girl. She seemed a bit perplexed now that there was someone sitting in front of her. Yet she did not move to close the window. After the train had passed several small stations, she again began scattering small pieces of white paper out into the darkness. The man across from her grimaced because of the cold wind blowing on him from the window, but he just looked at the girl and said nothing.

  Murayama resumed reading, and after a while saw that the girl had closed the window. She was now engrossed in her book. He noticed that the legs beneath the black skirt were lovely.

  Thinking that they were finally nearing Tokyo, Murayama looked up, and saw that the man was talking to the girl. His attitude seemed a shade too amiable. It seemed that he was the one forcing the conversation, while she offered monosyllabic responses.

  The two couldn’t have known each other. The man had boarded the train long after the young woman. He seemed to be chatting with her just to pass the time. But to Murayama it did not appear to be a case of casual conversation. The man was very insistent. He took out a pack of cigarettes, but she shook her head. Next he pulled out some chewing gum, but she wouldn’t take any gum either. The man took this refusal as mere politeness and pressed her again to have some gum. She finally gave in and took a piece, but didn’t unwrap it. The man became increasingly obnoxious. He casually stretched out his legs toward hers. Startled, she drew her legs in. Pretending not to notice, the man kept his legs stretched out and continued talking to her.

  Murayama had heard about young girls being bothered on trains by middle-aged men. He decided to interfere if the man continued to annoy her. Although he tried to read his book, he was unable to concentrate on it. He kept watching the situation across the aisle. She clearly looked irritated, but the man persisted.

  Gradually the lights of Tokyo appeared. Some passengers started to take their bags down from the overhead racks. The obnoxious man was still talking. The girl didn’t have to worry about her luggage because all she had was the small case. When the train passed Nakano, she bowed determinedly to the man and stood up. He stood up as well and quickly whispered something to her. She blushed and rushed toward the door. Heedless of Murayama watching, the man hurried after her.

  Murayama closed his book and stood up. The train slid into the platform at Shinjuku Station. Murayama walked to the door. The man was standing close behind her, right up against her. He was still murmuring in her ear. It was clear that he was trying to get her to go somewhere with him.

  “That’s why I remembered her,” Murayama said to Professor Kawano.

  “What an interesting story,” the professor said and smiled. “I’ve heard that there’s an increasing number of such rude men.”

  “I was appalled. I’d heard about them, but this was the first time I had seen one in action.”

  “But I’m more interested in the young girl and the paper blizzard she was creating. You said it seemed mischievous, but to me it seems poetic.”

  “Yes, perhaps it was,” Murayama agreed. “I was more upset by the man’s behavior.”

  “It’s interesting that you couldn’t remember her when you saw her, but recalled this in the bookstore. I’ve been asked to write a piece for a magazine. It’s supposed to be a light essay, but I haven’t come up with a good topic. Could I borrow your story?”

  “Will it work as an essay?”

  “I’ll put in a few flourishes and turn it into a five-page piece.” The professor took out his pocket notebook. “Now, tell me again when did this happen?”

  “Let me see. It was May 18 or May 19.”

  “Yes, yes. You said it wasn’t hot enough to need the window open.” The professor jotted the date in his notebook.

  “Sensei,” Murayama said, sounding concerned, “you won’t use my name, will you?”

  “Don’t worry. There’d be no point in bringing your name into this. This story wouldn’t work well in the third person. I’ll write it as if I had experienced it myself.”

  “Fine. Readers will like it better that way. How about saying that you took a fancy to the girl yourself?”

  “That’d be terrible.” The professor laughed. “Then I would sound like a dirty old man. But Murayama, didn’t you want to think of some reason to approach her when the two of you were alone in the train?”

  “No, not really,” Murayama said, a bit bashfully.

  “Was she beautiful?”

  “I guess you’d say she was. She was on the slender side. And she had a charming face.”

  “Yes, well.”

  The professor contentedly wrote in his notebook.

  Imanishi and his wife decided to walk his sister back to the train station.

  “Oyuki-san, why don’t you spend the night?” Yoshiko had asked. But Oyuki wanted to go home, saying that she had housework left to do.

  “What did I tell you? You said you came here because you were free to do as you liked since your husband was working nights. But a woman can’t forget about her household after all, can she?” Imanishi teased.

  “I guess not,” his sister laughed. “I guess I don’t feel like staying over except when we’ve had a fight.”

  It was late, and the streets were almost deserted. Soon they passed the new apartment building. Oyuki stopped to look at it.

  “I’d like to own something even half the size of this building,” she sighed.

  “You should save all you can of your rent income to use for a down payment,” Imanishi told her and laughed.

  “I can’t. That money goes to pay our living expenses. I’d never be able to save enough.”

  The three of them started walking again.

  A woman came toward them. The light from a shop lit her profile for only the second that she passed in front of it. She was young and slim. Avoiding the Imanishis, she quickened her pace to pass them.

  When they had gone a half dozen steps farther, Imanishi’s wife whispered to him, “That’s the girl.”

  Imanishi wondered what she meant.

  His wife continued, “She’s the girl from the theater company who moved into that apartment house. I told you about her, remember? They were saying she’s an actress in the theater, but that was wrong. She works in the theater office.”

  Imanishi turned around, but the girl had already disappeared into the apartment building.

  “Since she has such a pretty face, everyone assumed she must be an actress,” Yoshiko explained.

  “I wonder which theater group she’s with.”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “I wonder how much rent they charge for apartments there.” Oyuki’s attention shifted back to the apartment building.

  Imanishi’s wife answered, “I think they said it was around six thousand yen. But that’s separate from the deposits, I assume.”

  “It must be tough for a theater office
girl to pay six thousand yen a month. I wonder if she has a patron helping her.”

  They could now see the bright lights in front of the station.

  Naruse Rieko, a clerk at the Avant-Garde Theater, entered her studio apartment on the second floor. It was dark inside, but it smelled like her own room. She had just moved in, but already the air inside felt different. She was relieved to feel it surround her. Her apartment was one six-tatami-mat room, newly built, and arranged for efficiency. Rieko turned on the radio, keeping the volume down. The radio helped to keep her company. She had looked in her mailbox on the way up the stairs, but there was nothing, not even a postcard.

  She made some toast. The room that had seemed empty suddenly gained some warmth. On this small scale, the process of living had begun. She had some tea with the toast. When she finished eating, she sat idly for a while. The radio was pouring out music. It was not the kind she liked, but she felt too lonely to turn it off.

  Rieko went to her desk and took out a notebook. She turned on the lamp but could not begin to write. She rested her chin on her hand, motionless. She could not shape her thoughts easily into sentences.

  She heard footsteps in the hallway. They stopped in front of her door. She heard a knock.

  “Naruse-san, you have a phone call,” the apartment manager’s wife said.

  Rieko frowned because it was too late to be receiving phone calls. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

  She followed the woman down the hallway. The telephone was in the manager’s apartment on the first floor.

  “Excuse me,” she apologized. When the door to their apartment opened, she could see the manager reading the evening newspaper in his undershirt. Rieko bowed to him.

  The telephone receiver had been left off the hook. Rieko put the receiver to her ear. “Hello, this is Naruse speaking. Who’s calling?” she asked. She did not seem pleased at the answer.

  “What are you calling for?” She listened and then said, “No, you can’t. Please don’t.”

  With the apartment manager and his wife right there, she kept her voice low. The call was from a man. The manager and his wife were trying to be circumspect, but since they were sitting right next to her, they could overhear her conversation.