Free Quicksand by Junichirô Tanizaki Page B

of how we put them on to have our picture taken together. My anger flared up again: Oh, I should never have had that kimono made! I wanted to fly at her and rip it to shreds—really, if we had been alone I might have done just that!
    Watanuki seemed to sense this, and before we could say a word he urged us to get ready to leave and went to change clothes himself. Afterward, in spite of the protests of the hotel staff, he insisted on giving them some of the money I’d brought, to settle the bill. And, intent on avoiding the least risk, he had another request for me:
    â€œOh, yes, Mrs. Kakiuchi . . . I’m sorry to trouble you, but I think it would be best if you made a phone call now to your own house, and to Mitsuko’s too.”
    I’d been worried about things at home myself, so I telephoned our maid and asked her: “Have you heard anything from Mitsuko’s family? I’m just about to take her back, and then I’ll come home.”
    â€œYes,” she replied, “there was a phone call a little while ago, but I didn’t know what to tell them. So I didn’t say anything about the time, just that you both went in to Osaka.”
    â€œHas my husband gone to bed?”
    â€œNo, he’s still up.”
    â€œTell him I’ll be home soon,” I said.
    Then I called Mitsuko’s house. “We went to the movies at the Shochiku tonight,” I told her mother when she came to the phone, “and after that we were so hungry we dropped in at the Tsuruya restaurant. It’s getting awfully late; I’ll bring Mitsuko back right away.”
    Mitsuko’s mother only said: “Oh, is that what happened? It’s so late that I telephoned your house.” From the way she spoke, it was clear she hadn’t heard anything from the police.

    Things seemed to be turning out well, and we decided to leave by taxi as soon as possible. The young man had only about half of the thirty yen left, but he began passing out tips to the inn servants to make sure there would be no further trouble, telling them just what to say in case of any investigation by the authorities. Even at such a time he seemed incredibly thorough. Finally we left—I had arrived a little after ten and had spent about an hour there, so it must have been past eleven. Then I remembered I’d had Ume wait for me, and I went out and called to her—she was walking up and down the little street—and had her get in the taxi. Watanuki calmly climbed in too, declaring: “I’ll come along part of the way.”
    Mitsuko and I were side by side in the back seat, and Ume and Watanuki perched on the little folding seats facing us. All four of us sat there across from each other without a word as the taxi sped along. When we came to the Muko Bridge, Watanuki at last broke the silence.
    â€œWhat do you want to do?” he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “I wonder if you shouldn’t be coming home on the train. . . . How about it, Mitsuko?” he asked. “How far do you want to go by taxi?”
    That was because Mitsuko lived only five or six hundred yards from the Ashiyagawa station, in the hills west of the river, near the famous Shiomizakura cherry grove. Still, it was a fearfully dangerous road through a lonely pinewoods where there’d been many rapes and robberies; when Mitsuko came home at night, even along with Ume, she always took a taxi from the station. I suggested changing taxis at Ashiyagawa, but Ume said that would never do, the local drivers knew them, so we ought to get another taxi before that.
    All this time Mitsuko kept silent. Occasionally she gave a little sigh and fixed her gaze on Watanuki, across from her, as if telling him something in secret. He looked back at her the same way and said: “Well, maybe we ought to leave this taxi at Narihira Bridge.”
    I knew very well why he was proposing that. The path to the