A spring-time case

by Jun'ichiro Tanizaki

“In any case, you will go there and see her for yourself,” concluded Kinzo. “I’ve left a word at Obanaya’s so they will take care of you, if you go alone.”

Apart from what had been remarked concerning Tokubey, that was certainly not palatable, all else seemed to point to one and the same theory, as Shinsuké went over and put them together. Hearty drinking, sophistication, unwarrantable gaiety, and all this plausibly fitted to her case as he conceived it in her downward slide. Let her appear as dissolute as she would for aught he cared, thought Shinsuké, if only she had remained faithful to himself.

On the morrow Shinsuké shaved himself, and his mole marks were washed off in the bath. He had again given himself the neat and spruce air of former days. Even though the blot once left on his mind by his dire crimes was never to be washed out, his eyes had the same look of frank appeal and trustfulness, and his fresh-coloured, rounded cheeks betrayed no trace of pallid anguish. And now there was the remotest chance, so remote as to be almost negligible, that Shinsuké might be seen on the way by the boatman Seiji, who, in such event, might be goaded into any sort of covert, cowardly assault upon him by the fear of his past being divulged through him;—this the thoughtfulness of Kinzo. Arrangements had been made, therefore, for the young man to leave in the palanquin about the closing in of evening, when little exposure on his part would be necessary. And was not the meeting about to be with Somékichi this night,—was it not going to be his leave taking of her, and of this world?

“Well, then, I must bid you a good-bye,” said Shinsuké in his deeply moved voice, putting his hands low, as the time of his departure drew near.

“Now, come to think of it, but this may be the last time we see one another. If this girl, Somékichi, turns out to be your girl, Tsuya chan, you need not trouble yourself to come back here, and you will take yourself straight to the officer, to-morrow. It will be mighty hard for you—I know—, but if you let her keep you a couple or so days, you will lose your grip on yourself. If you account for yourself like a true man, you can leave the rest to me. And let your mind be at ease about your old man, too; for I’ll take good care of him!”

What Kinzo had seen of the young man, of the creditable way he had carried himself since coming under his shelter, led him to the trusting belief he would not efface himself were he given a free hand now. There was a fear none the less that Shinsuké, under the sway of Tsuya’s mind, might take his life into his own hand even as she might hers. Wherefore, he put Shinsuké under probation as he asked—

“How would you intend to do by Tsuya chan, if you saw her?”

“I’ll persuade her out of what she is doing,” his answer was prompt and clearly enunciated, as coming from a firmly set mind. “I will see that she goes back to her father’s home.”

“That’s the word!” Kinzo was pleased. “Now, you are talking like the good honourable soul that I used to know before.” Then, he took out a bundle of money and placed it before Shinsuké for his farewell present. Shinsuké declined it as not needed for his purpose, since he had had savings from his business during these four months. With ready acquiescence, Kinzo took back his offering. He felt that the young man would not benefit himself by having on him more money than really necessary.

There was on that evening a faint breath of wind that came bearing a balmy warmth out of the south, and in the moonbeams coming through the wreaths of gauzy mist, the face of each soul passing in the street appeared so softly white as the magnolia flower as even to suggest its fragrance,—one of those eves that spring, only in the fullness of her heart, can bear forth. Shinsuké’s palanquin went straight on through the Takabashi line, and to the Kuroecho; a turn to the left before the first “torii” or gateway to the Hachiman temple, the carriage came to a halt in front of the entrance porch of the Obana-ya. Tea-houses were not unknown to him; yet never had he been to one placed, as this was, in the heart of a gay quarter.