Inspector Imanishi Investigates

by Seichō Matsumoto

  “Sure, I’ll bring you something. I’m sorry to be using the money you were saving up.”

  “It’s all right. It can’t be helped since it’s for your work.”

  Imanishi was determined to come back this time with something in his grasp.

  The following day, he telephoned Yoshimura. “I’m going to Yamanaka in Ishikawa Prefecture tomorrow night.”

  “To Yamanaka?” Yoshimura said, surprised. “You mean the Yamanaka in the song ‘the hot springs of Yamanaka, Yamashiro, or Awazu’? What kind of work is it this time?” Yoshimura asked.

  “It’s that same case,” Imanishi answered, a bit abashed.

  “There are so many connections all over the place, aren’t there?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Imanishi-san, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” Yoshimura’s voice was earnest.

  “Let me see,” Imanishi said. “I’m leaving tomorrow night from Tokyo Station. The train leaves at nine-forty.”

  “I’ll be there to see you off.”

  On Saturday night Imanishi stood on the platform at Tokyo Station with his suitcase in hand. Yoshimura approached through the crowd of people seeing off the travelers.

  “You came after all,” Imanishi smiled.

  “Thank you for all your efforts,” Yoshimura bowed. “It’s not a business trip this time?”

  “I can’t ask to be sent on another expense-paid trip. Luckily, Monday’s a holiday. So it looks like I’m off to enjoy myself. My wife let me use her savings, so I’m grateful. But she’s not too happy about it.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the case. Your wife is very supportive.”

  “That doesn’t matter, really. Actually, I’d like to ask you to do something for me,” Imanishi said, looking around to either side. “Let me tell you.” Drawing Yoshimura close, Imanishi whispered to him.

  Yoshimura opened his eyes wide. “I understand. I’ll make sure that’s done before you return.”

  “Thanks.”

  Just five minutes before the train’s departure time, Yoshiko appeared from the crowd of people.

  “Dear, this is for you to eat on the train.” She held out something wrapped in a cloth.

  “What is it?”

  “Look forward to being surprised when you open it.”

  “Sorry to make you spend money like this,” Imanishi said in an unexpectedly formal way.

  When the train had left the platform and had become a small speck in the distance, Yoshimura turned to Yoshiko standing beside him and said, “It must be tough on you, too. There aren’t many like him, though.”

  “He really loves his work,” Yoshiko responded.

  Dawn came at Sekigahara. Imanishi changed to the Hokuriku Line at Maibara. The morning sun glinted on Lake Yogonoumi. Snow had already fallen in the mountains of Shizugatake. It was just before noon when he changed at Daishoji to a small electric train that headed for the mountains. Yamanaka hot spring was at the end of the line, where the plain narrowed and came up against the mountains. Half of the passengers had come to take the cure at the hot spring. In this distant area, the sounds of the Kansai dialect of the region around Osaka grated on his ears.

  Taking out his notebook, Imanishi asked for directions near the station. His destination was a village at some distance, near the mountains. Imanishi hailed a taxi that followed a country road beside a stream.

  “Is this the first time you’ve been here, sir?” the middle-aged driver asked. When Imanishi answered yes, he asked, “Did you come here for the hot springs?”

  “Yes, I did, but I also want to visit someone I know,” Imanishi answered.

  The cloud over the mountain looked cold.

  “I hardly ever take passengers to this village.”

  “Really? Is it that remote?”

  “There’s nothing there. It’s called a village, but there are only about fifty houses. And they’re all scattered. Only farmers live there, so no one uses taxis.”

  “Is it that run-down a village?”

  “It’s a poor area. In Yamanaka and Yamashiro there are lots of visitors from the Osaka area who liven things up, but just five miles away, there are people who have trouble getting enough to eat. It’s a strange world. Oops…” the driver caught himself, “do you have relatives in this village?”

  “No, I don’t have any relatives there. I’m visiting someone named Yamashita.”

  “Yamashita-san, you say. About half the people in that village are named Yamashita. What’s his given name?”

  “It’s Yamashita Chutaro.”

  “I could ask about him.”

  The road climbed into the mountains from the plain. Narrow fields dotted the valleys between the mountains. The poor condition of the road made the taxi pitch like a boat as it navigated two passes.

  “Mister, that’s the village. As you can see, you can hardly call it a village.”

  Small roofs, placed haphazardly, appeared in the direction the taxi driver pointed. The driver offered to ask for directions, but Imanishi stopped him. He got out of the taxi near half a dozen farmhouses separated by fields. This was an area with considerable snowfall so the eaves of the houses were very deep.

  A young woman stood in front of a house, carrying a baby on her back. She stared at Imanishi as he walked toward her.

  When Imanishi bobbed his head in greeting, she did not even smile. “I’d like to ask you something. Which house belongs to Yamashita Chutaro?”

  “Yamashita Chutaro, oh,” she uttered slowly, “it’s on the other side of the mountain.” She pointed with her chin to the ridge line of the mountain. Her face was rough and freckled from outdoor physical labor.

  “Thank you,” Imanishi said and started to walk away.

  “Mister, wait,” the woman stopped him. “Yamashita Chutaro is no longer in this world.”

  Imanishi had half expected this. If he had been alive, he would have been quite old.

  “I see. When did he pass away?” Imanishi asked.

  “Let me see. It was about twelve or thirteen years ago.”

  “Is there someone at his place now?”

  “Now? His daughter Otae-san lives there with her husband who was adopted into the family.”

  “I see. So his daughter is called Otae-san? And what’s her husband’s name?”

  “He’s Shoji-san. They may not be at home now. They may be out working.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  Imanishi returned to the taxi. When he told the driver that he wanted to go to the other side of the ridge, he looked unhappy.

  “Mister, that’s a terrible road.”

  The road was so narrow it was unclear whether a car could drive through, and it was even more rutted than the road they had come on. But for Imanishi it was essential that the taxi take him there.

  “Sorry, but won’t you try? I’ll make sure to give you a good tip.”

  “I don’t need a tip.” The driver grudgingly agreed to go.

  Rounding the ridge, they came across some different scenery. If it had been the sea, the area would have been an inlet. Some four or five houses lay scattered at the base of the foothills.

  Alighting from the taxi, Imanishi walked along the footpath toward an old woman working her field.

  “Excuse me, could I ask you something?” he called to her politely. “Where is Yamashita Chutaro-san’s house?”

  The old woman straightened up, leaning on her hoe. “Chutaro died many years ago.” She seemed to be suffering from trachoma and had bleary eyes.

  “I understand that the house now belongs to his adopted son, Shoji-san.”

  “Shoji’s house is that one.” The old woman stood up even straighter and pointed a finger caked with dirt to the farthest of the half-dozen houses. It stood on the hillside, so its thatched roof appeared taller than the others.

  When Imanishi thanked her and started to walk on, she called after him, “You won’t find Shoji there now.”

  “Oh, is
he away?”

  “I hear he’s gone to the Osaka area. We don’t need any men to work the fields here until the spring. So they go away to find other work.”

  “Who’s living there now?”

  “Shoji’s wife is there. Otae-san.”

  Imanishi continued along the path. The farmhouses all looked poor. They were small, decrepit, and dirty. As Imanishi walked by, several old people stared at the outsider from their doorways. Stone steps led to the highest house. Imanishi followed the path between the barren fields until he reached the house. A dirty board with the name “Yamashita Shoji” was nailed to an old pillar.

  There was no answer to his knock, so he tried the door. It opened.

  “Hello? Excuse me,” Imanishi called into the darkened interior.

  He caught a glimpse of a small figure that walked slowly toward him without uttering a sound. In the bright light he could see that it was a skinny boy of eleven or twelve years of age, dressed in dirty clothes. He had a large head.

  “Is anyone home?” Imanishi asked the boy.

  The boy raised his eyes in silence. Imanishi gave a start. One eye was completely white. The iris of the other eye was small.

  “Isn’t anyone home?” Imanishi said in a louder voice. He heard a sound from inside the house.

  The boy continued to look up silently at Imanishi. The eerie eyes of the boy were repugnant to Imanishi, who did not feel pity right away even though it was a child. What he felt most strongly was a sense of abnormality as he gazed at the boy’s pale face.

  A woman in her mid-fifties appeared from the dark interior. Her hair was thin and balding in the front. Her face was pale and puffy.

  “Is this the home of Yamashita Shoji-san?” Imanishi asked, bowing to the woman.

  “Yes, it is,” she nodded gloomily.

  The woman looked at Imanishi with clouded eyes. She seemed to be the mother of the one-eyed boy.

  “I’m an acquaintance of Motoura Chiyokichi-san.” As he said this, he watched her face. The sleepy eyes did not move a bit. “I got to know Chiyokichi-san in Okayama Prefecture. I heard that this was the home of his wife’s family. I happened to be in the area, so I thought I would drop by.”

  “Is that so?” Otae nodded her head slightly. “Please sit down here.”

  This was her first expression of greeting. The boy was still staring at Imanishi with his white eye.

  “Boy, go away,” she waved the boy away. Without saying a word, the boy walked to the back of the house. “Please,” Otae urged Imanishi, who had been watching the boy retreat. She indicated a thin cushion.

  “Thank you.” Imanishi sat down. “Please don’t bother with anything,” he said, as she started to prepare some tea.

  Otae offered a cup of tea on a tray to Imanishi. The tea cup was soiled, but Imanishi gulped down the liquid.

  “I understand that your husband, Shoji-san, is away,” he said.

  “Yes, he’s off to Osaka.” Otae sat facing Imanishi.

  “Through a quirk of fate, I got to know your brother-in-law, Chiyokichi-san. He was a good man.”

  “I’m sure you were kind to him,” Otae bowed her head.

  It appeared that Otae thought that Imanishi was a staff member or a doctor from Jikoen in Okayama. She had assumed that that was where he had become acquainted with Chiyokichi.

  “I heard a lot about Yamanaka hot spring from Chiyokichi-san. I had always wanted to visit, and this time I was able to come. So I thought I would drop by.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I heard that your younger sister Masa-san passed away in 1935, but what happened to her son? I mean the boy who was born to your sister and Chiyokichi-san.”

  “You mean Hideo?” Otae asked.

  “Yes, his name was Hideo. I often heard about him from Chiyokichi-san. I remember hearing that Hideo and his father were separated before Chiyokichi-san entered Jikoen.”

  “Yes. Did Chiyokichi say anything to you about that?”

  “No, not really. He just always wondered what had happened to Hideo.”

  “I suppose so. My sister died four years after she gave birth to Hideo. She probably never had a chance to see him again before she died.”

  “What do you mean? Didn’t your sister return home after she and Chiyokichi-san separated?”

  “You seem to know all about them, so I’ll tell you without hiding anything. My sister parted from Chiyokichi as soon as he got that disease. My sister may have been coldhearted, but it couldn’t be helped, because of the kind of illness he had. But Chiyokichi was so fond of Hideo that he took him on his travels.”

  “What year was that?”

  “It must have been about 1934.”

  “Did Chiyokichi-san have somewhere to go to?”

  “He went around to visit temples to try to cure his disease.”

  “So he went all around the country, did he? Like a pilgrimage?”

  “Yes, I think so. He didn’t send any word to the boy’s mother, my sister,” Otae answered, looking down. “My sister became a maid in a restaurant in Osaka after she parted from Chiyokichi. But that lasted for only a year or so. She got sick and died there.”

  When he first saw her, Imanishi had thought that Otae was a woman without any feelings, but as they talked he realized that she was quite able to express her emotions.

  “So your sister died without knowing what became of Chiyo-kichi-san and Hideo?”

  “Yes. My sister wrote me some letters that said she had no idea where they had gone.”

  “What about now? I mean, Hideo. He’s your nephew, isn’t he? He should be thirty years old this year.”

  “Would he, now?” Hearing that, Otae seemed to be calculating the years. “Has it been that long?”

  “You haven’t heard anything about him?”

  “No, nothing. I don’t even know if he’s dead or alive.”

  “Chiyokichi-san told me that he had entered Jikoen in Okayama in 1938 and that he had parted with his son in the countryside in Shimane Prefecture.”

  “Is that so? I didn’t know anything about that.”

  “He didn’t know what had happened to Hideo after that. That was what Chiyokichi-san was concerned about. You haven’t heard anything about Hideo’s whereabouts?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “Have there been any requests from any local offices for Hideo’s registry of residence or copies of his family register?”

  “No, there haven’t. I know the village official. He says that if Hideo had died somewhere, the notice would come to the village office.”

  “I see.”

  Otae sighed. “My sister was unfortunate. She married Chiyokichi without knowing that he had such a cruel disease. When he became ill, she was shocked. She was worried that Hideo might catch the disease because Chiyokichi dragged him around with him on his travels. My sister died after suffering a lot.”

  “I’d like to ask you one more question,” Imanishi said. “Have you occasionally seen a young man, a stranger, wandering around here?” Imanishi asked this question, thinking that Hideo might have come back to his mother’s home.

  “No, I’ve never seen anyone like that.”

  At the end of his visit Imanishi showed Otae a photograph he had cut out of a newspaper.

  “I don’t know,” Otae said, cocking her head in doubt after gazing at it a while. “He was only four years old when I saw the boy last, so I can’t say one way or the other whether he looked like this person.”

  “Does he look at all like your sister or Chiyokichi-san?”

  “Well, he doesn’t look like his father. Now that you say so, perhaps he looks a bit like my sister around the eyes, but I can’t be sure.”

  Imanishi left the Yamashita home. Otae saw him off at the doorway. She watched, standing with her back to the dark doorway, as Imanishi drove off in the taxi.

  Imanishi turned around twice to wave to her. This house and the entire village were dreary. As the taxi drove off, he saw the
one-eyed boy standing by the roadside, looking up at him. Imanishi felt depressed. The boy was about the same age as his son, Taro.

  At Yamanaka, Imanishi left the taxi and entered the first restaurant he saw.

  “Give me a bowl of soba buckwheat noodles.” As he sipped the soup in the bowl, he heard the financial news on the radio.

  … We now bring you the stock market report. First the major trends. In the morning Tokyo market, encouraging factors caused trading to progress smoothly, with a gradual increase in profit-taking and mixed changes in prices. Next, in general issues, there was selective buying of stocks in chemicals, automotive machinery, metal industry, late-issue coal, and paper. High-yield electrical stocks were also traded… Nagoya Sugar 188 yen, unchanged. Osaka Sugar not traded. Shibaura Sugar not traded. Toyo Sugar not traded. Tensai Sugar 205 yen, unchanged. Yokohama Sugar 340 yen, unchanged. Snow Brand Dairy Products 148 yen, unchanged. Kirin Beer 550 yen, unchanged. Takara Brewing 163 yen, unchanged…

  Unchanged, unchanged… he thought. Imanishi felt that these words described his achievements, too. He had moved around a lot, but how much progress had he made?

  Imanishi imagined the curve of the stock market figures, with its large and small valleys. Suddenly he thought of the piece of paper he had picked up near the location where the body of the actor Miyata Kunio had been discovered. That had also been an arrangement of statistics. When he finished eating his noodles, he took out his notebook and reread the numbers he had copied down.

  1953: 25,404

  1954: 35,522

  1955: 30,834

  1956: 24,362

  1957: 27,435

  1958: 28,431

  1959: 28,438

  Did these figures have anything to do with Miyata’s death?

  Imanishi closed his notebook. He intended to board the night train. He had done what he had come here for, and he did not feel like spending a leisurely night soaking in the hot spring. He left the noodle shop. Shops lined the street, all with similar souvenirs for sale, mostly towels and sweets. He bought some sweets for Taro. Then he saw a Wajima lacquerware obi clip in a display case. Seeing that he was gazing at it, a saleswoman came over to him.

  “Welcome. About what age is the lady it is for?”