“That would present a problem for me.” Rieko sounded very perturbed. It was unclear what the man at the other end was asking for, but from her responses, it seemed clear that she was refusing. Over the telephone, the man seemed to persist. She responded, “I can’t,” or “That would be difficult for me.”
After about three minutes she hung up the telephone.
“Thank you very much,” Rieko said to the manager and left their room.
She returned to her room and stood listlessly, a sad expression on her face. Rieko stared out the window, thinking. The lights of Shinjuku blurred against the night sky. There were few stars. Rieko closed the curtain and returned to her desk. She opened her notebook, grasped her pen, and sat lost in thought for a while, her chin on her hand. She started to write, pausing often to think. She wrote a line, then crossed it out.
“Must love be a lonely thing?
“Our love has lasted for three years. Yet nothing has been built from this love. It will probably continue on in vain. Forever, he says. The futility of this love tastes empty and feels like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. At night, despair haunts my dreams.”
She heard someone whistle a tune, passing back and forth outside her window. She looked up from her notebook. She stood up. Without looking outside, she turned off the light.
The Imanishis were on their way home after seeing Eitaro’s sister off at the station. Along the way they came across a row of stalls that were still open -among them was a nursery. Imanishi stopped in his tracks.
“I’m just taking a look. I won’t buy anything,” Imanishi reassured his wife.
There were hardly any customers. The shopkeeper encouraged Imanishi, saying that he would give him a real bargain because he was about to close up. Imanishi looked the plants over, but luckily he didn’t find any he wanted. Leaves and newspapers were scattered at his feet. Imanishi stepped down to the sidewalk.
He felt hungry. He spied a sushi shop that was still open. He asked his wife, “Shall we have a few bites of sushi?”
His wife peeked into the shop and said unenthusiastically, “Let’s not. It’s ridiculous to spend money like that. I’ll cook something special tomorrow.”
He was hungry now. Tomorrow’s dinner wasn’t any help. But understanding how his wife felt, Imanishi kept his mouth shut. He continued homeward with a dissatisfied expression on his face. He imagined the texture of the tuna, but he restrained himself.
Now the doors to almost all the stores were closed, and the narrow street was lit only by the light from street lamps. In this light, Imanishi saw a man wandering around, whistling. He was right in front of the new apartment building. He was wearing a beret and a black shirt. It appeared that he had been whistling and wandering around for a while. When the Imanishis approached him, he stopped whistling and casually edged away toward the shadows, his head turned away.
Imanishi glanced at him as they passed.
“If you’re hungry, shall I make some green tea over rice when we get home?” his wife asked.
“Hmm.” Still dissatisfied, Imanishi did not reply.
The man who had been whistling stopped as the couple passed by. He stood in front of the apartment building, staring at one of the lighted windows, but now the light had been turned out.
After the couple had passed by, the man with the beret whistled again toward the now darkened window. The curtain had been drawn. Next to the apartment building was a narrow alley lined with small houses. He could hear a baby crying somewhere. With deliberately loud footsteps, he walked back and forth several times. No one opened the apartment window. He kept this up for about twenty more minutes.
Finally he gave up and walked back to the main street, looking back at the apartment building. He headed for the station. He looked up and down to check for empty taxis, but didn’t see any.
He saw the sushi shop across the street. Through the half-opened doorway he could see three customers seated inside. He crossed the street and entered the shop. Seeing him enter, one of them looked inquiringly at him.
He ordered some sushi.
After staring at his profile, the woman whispered to her companions. The woman searched inside her pocket and brought out a small notebook. Smiling, she approached the man in the beret.
“Pardon me,” she said modestly. “Could you possibly be Miyata Kumo-san from the Avant-Garde Theater?”
The man in the beret abruptly swallowed the sushi he had been eating. Bewilderment briefly clouded his eyes, but he looked at the woman’s face and reluctantly admitted, “Yes, I am.”
“I thought so.” The woman turned around and smiled at her two male companions. “Excuse me, but would you please autograph this for me?”
She held out her well-worn notebook. He grudgingly took out a pen and signed his name with a practiced hand.
SIX The Distribution Of Dialects
Imanishi couldn’t put the Tohoku dialect and the word “Kameda” out of his mind. It was possible that the witnesses had mistaken the accent, but he didn’t think so.
He went out and bought a map of Okayama Prefecture. Miki Ken’ichi had lived in Emi-machi. Starting from there, Imanishi searched the map for Kameda. At first he looked for place names starting with the character “Kame.” The name Kamenoko jumped out at him, but Kameda and Kamenoko didn’t sound similar. He searched further, but could find no other locations beginning with “Kame.” He felt teased by Kamenoko. It had leapt from the map to mock his frustration. He folded the map up. It was time for him to head to work.
The train was crowded. Imanishi was pushed up against the backs of the other commuters. He gazed absently at the posters in the train. One poster was fluttering in the draft from an open window. It was an advertisement for a magazine. He read the words “Trip’s Design” and wondered if trips really have designs. Recent advertisements were so strangely worded that it was impossible to figure out what they meant. Imanishi got off the train at Shinjuku Station and changed to the subway. He saw the same advertisement there. He suddenly thought of something completely unrelated to the posters.
When he arrived at police headquarters, Imanishi went straight to the Public Information Department, which served as headquarters’ public relations arm. Because various pamphlets were published here, this office had a collection of reference books. The section chief was also Imanishi’s former supervisor.
“Hey, it’s unusual to see you here.” The Public Information section chief smiled at Imanishi, who bowed. “I didn’t think I’d see you in a place like this.” Then he joked, “Oh, I know. You’re looking for a book on haiku, right?”
“No, but I’d like to ask you something, if I may,” Imanishi said, a bit stiffly.
“What do you need?” the section chief asked.
“Well, I came to you, sir, because I know you are an expert on many things.”
“I’m not really much of an expert.” The section chief grinned. “But if it’s something I know, I’d be glad to help you.”
“It’s about the Tohoku dialect,” Imanishi began.
“The Tohoku dialect?” The chief scratched his head. “Sorry, but I was born in Kyushu, in the south. I don’t know much about the Tohoku dialect.”
“What I’d like to know is if there are other places in Japan besides the Tohoku region where the Tohoku dialect is spoken.”
“Hmm.” The section chief cocked his head. “You mean if they speak it in a certain locale, not if one individual might speak it. You mean if the population of a certain area speaks that dialect, right?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
“I wonder if that’s a possibility.” The section chief thought it over as he puffed on his cigarette, but he looked doubtful. “I think the Tohoku dialect is unique to the northeastern region. But I have something that might tell you more.”
He stood up and took from the bookshelf behind him a volume from a set of encyclopedias. He hoisted the heavy volume onto his desk and turned the pages. Fin
ding an article, he skimmed through it.
“Read this part here,” he said, pushing the book toward Imanishi.
Imanishi read the article covering different theories on the distribution of dialects. It was of no help.
“You don’t look very happy,” the Public Information chief commented. “Weren’t you satisfied with the article?”
“It’s not that. I wanted to confirm something about dialects to see if I had a usable clue or not.”
“And what would satisfy you would be to find out that the Tohoku dialect is used in some other region. Is that it?”
“Yes,” Imanishi nodded. “But from reading this, I’m convinced that there’s no possibility.”
“Hold on a minute,” the Public Information chief said, thinking of something. “This encyclopedia only gives summaries. It might be better for you to take a look at a more specialized book.” He drummed on the edge of his desk. “A university classmate of mine is a Japanese language specialist at the Ministry of Education. He might be able to give you some information. I’ll call him right now.”
After talking to his friend on the telephone he turned to Imanishi. “He wants you to go to his office and talk to him directly. I’ll write you an introduction if you want to see him.”
“Yes, I’d like to talk to him,” Imanishi said.
Imanishi got off the train at Hitotsubashi and walked toward the Imperial Palace moat until he came to a weathered white building. It was a small structure with a sign at the entrance identifying it as the National Language Research Center.
He gave his name card to the receptionist. A thin man in his forties came down the stairs, Kuwahara, the Ministry of Education specialist who was the Public Information chief’s classmate.
“So you’re wondering if the Tohoku dialect is used in some other region?” Kuwahara said.
“Yes. I’ve come to ask you if there is a region like that.”
“1 wonder,” the specialist cocked his head. “There are a few instances of the Tohoku dialect being used in areas settled by people from Tohoku. For example, there is an area in Hokkaido that was settled by aa entire village from the Tohoku area, and so the dialect is spoken there. But I haven’t heard of any places on the main island of Honshu. Just what is it that you are checking on? I assume that it’s related to a case.”
Imanishi described the case briefly.
The specialist thought for a while and asked, “Was it really the Tohoku dialect?”
“The witnesses said it sounded like it. The victim and his companion had only a short conversation, so we can’t be certain, but all five witnesses said it seemed to be Tohoku dialect.”
“Is that so? And yet they were not from the Tohoku region?” the specialist asked.
“We discovered later that one of the men-the victim-was not from that area at all. He was from Okayama Prefecture, in the opposite direction.”
“What? Okayama Prefecture?” The specialist muttered to himself. He thought hard for a moment, and said, “Please wait a minute,” and stood up.
He walked over to a bookcase and pulled out a volume. He stood there reading for a while. When he walked back over to where Imanishi sat waiting, he was smiling.
“This book is about the dialects in the Chugoku region.” The specialist handed the thick volume to Imanishi. “Here, why don’t you read this section?”
From the look on the specialist’s face, Imanishi could guess what he had discovered. He eagerly read the passage indicated.
The Chugoku dialect refers to the spoken language of the Sanyo and San’in routes composed of the five prefectures of Okayama, Hiroshima, Yamaguchi, Tottori, and Shimane. The dialect is subdivided into two groups. One is named Unho dialect from the three areas of Izumo, Oki, and Hoki; and the other, used in other areas, we shall term Chugoku main dialect.
Examples of Unho dialect include the existence of the labial sound in the “h’s”; the faintness of the sounds “ie.” “shisu,” and “chitsu”; the existence of the sound “kwo”; and the dominance of the “shye” sound. This has caused scholars to expound various theories to explain the similarities in phonemic phenomena between two widely separated regions. One theory is that the Japan Sea coast region once was in a single phonemic unit that was invaded by the Kyoto area dialect, splitting the linguistic region… The phonemics of Izumo are similar to those of the Tohoku dialect.
When Imanishi had read this far, his heart started pounding. There was another region where the Tohoku dialect was spoken.
Kuwahara had found another source for Imanishi. This was called Map of Japanese Dialects.
“This map illustrates that hypothesis.” Kuwahara pointed.
The map used different colors to indicate the dialect regions. The Tohoku area was colored yellow. The Chugoku region was blue. But within the Chugoku region, one section of Izumo was colored yellow.
“It’s amazing,” Imanishi said, letting out a big sigh.
“This is the first that I’ve heard of it. Thanks to your question, I’ve learned something myself,” the specialist said.
“Thank you very much,” Imanishi said and stood up.
“Has this been helpful?”
“Yes, it’s been very helpful. Thank you for your time.”
It had been worth it to come all this way. Indeed, the results exceeded his expectations. Miki Ken’ichi was from Okayama Prefecture, which was right next to the Izumo area.
Before catching the streetcar, Imanishi stepped into a nearby bookstore and bought a map of Shimane Prefecture. Unable to wait until he reached headquarters, he went into the coffee shop next door to the bookstore. He ordered an ice cream that he didn’t even want and spread the map out on the table. Now he was searching the Izumo area for the syllables “Kame.” The map was full of tiny characters that looked like small insects. It was difficult for him to read each name. Going to the window he searched methodically from the right-hand edge of the map. All of a sudden he found it. There was a town beginning with “Kame.”
Kamedake was west of Yonago, near Shinji. Deep in the hinterlands of Izumo, Kamedake was right in the middle of the zu-zu accent region he’d seen at the Language Research Center. It appeared from the map that Kamedake was a small area bounded on three sides by mountains with the only opening toward the Shinji side. Kameda and Kamedake sounded very much alike. The evidence was finally coming together.
Imanishi hadn’t forgotten that Miki’s adopted son had said, “Father had been a policeman.” Had he been a policeman in Shimane Prefecture? He felt he was on the right track now. He felt a surge of excitement flow through him. When he reached headquarters, he hurried to his section chief. Showing him the map, he explained the linguistic theory in detail from the notes he had taken.
“You’ve made quite a discovery.” The section chief’s eyes glowed. “I think you’re right. So what are you going to do about it?”
“I thought,” Imanishi responded, forcing himself to remain calm, “that since Miki’s son told us that his father had been a policeman before he opened his general store, it’s possible that Miki was stationed in this Kamedake. I’d guess that Miki and the man with him in that bar had known each other when he was stationed there. Perhaps the other man had once lived in Kamedake.”
The section chief took a deep breath and said, “You may be right. Let’s ask the Shimane Prefecture police to find out whether a Miki Ken’ichi ever served as a policeman there. That’s the next step.”
“I’d be grateful if you’d do that,” Imanishi said.
Three days later they received a response from the Shimane prefec-tural police. The section chief showed Imanishi the report as soon as he came in that morning.
As a result of the investigation concerning Miki Ken’ichi, we have discovered that said person served as a policeman in the Shimane Prefecture Police Department from 1928 until 1938. Said person’s record was as follows:
February 1928: officially appointed as Shimane Prefecture policeman, assigned
to Matsue station. June 1929: transferred to Kisuki station, Ohara county; January 1933: promoted to chief of police; March 1933: transferred to Minari station, Nita town, Nita county, assigned to Kamedake substation. 1936: promoted to assistant inspector, became chief of patrol at Minari police station. December 1, 1938: retirement at own request.
Imanishi sighed involuntarily.
“It’s just what you thought, isn’t it?” the section chief said, still at his side. “Miki was a policeman in the hinterlands of Izumo for a long time.”
“That’s right.” Imanishi felt as if he were half dreaming. This time, there was no mistake. For the first time, he felt that he could see the light at the end of a dark maze. He immediately took the map out of his pocket. Kisuki station and Minari station were both in the area where the Izumo dialect was spoken. Miki had spent ten years as a policeman there. No wonder he spoke with a zu-zu accent.
According to Imanishi’s research at the language center, the people of this area swallowed the ends of words. What the witnesses had heard as Kameda had actually been Kamedake.
Imanishi boarded the Izumo limited express at Tokyo Station. It was scheduled to depart at ten-thirty p.m. Usually he traveled with someone, but this time he was alone. For a change, Yoshiko came to the station to see him off.
“What time will you get in?” she asked as they walked along the platform.
“Tomorrow night about eight, I think.”
“That’s over twenty hours. It’s a long way away, isn’t it?”
“Yes, a long way.”
“I’m sorry that you’ll have to be on the train for so long,” Yoshiko said sympathetically.
Yoshiko waved good-bye as the train pulled out of the platform. Imanishi leaned out the window and waved back.
The train was rather empty. Imanishi pulled out the small bottle of whiskey that Yoshiko had given him and took a few sips. In front of him sat a middle-aged woman and a child. She was already leaning against the back of the seat asleep. For a while he read the newspaper, but soon he, too, felt sleepy. There was no one sitting beside him, so he lay across the seat and folded his arms. He used the arm rest as a pillow for a while, but the back of his head started to hurt. He shifted around, but he still felt cramped. Eventually he fell asleep. In his sleep he heard them announce Nagoya Station. He shifted around again.
Inspector Imanishi Investigates Page 10
