Katazawa hurriedly pushed back his chair and stood up. “I hope I haven’t overstayed my welcome,” he said, as he bowed to her in foreign fashion.
“No, of course not.” Sachiko smiled at him. Her teeth were beautiful and straight. “Thank you very much for coming to visit him.”
“I was relieved to discover that his injury is slight.”
“There’s no need for you to thank him so formally, since this fellow took his time in coming to see me,” Waga said.
“My, my,” Sachiko smiled, and gave the bouquet of flowers to Waga.
“These are very pretty,” Waga said, sniffing the flowers. “They smell wonderful. Thank you.”
As Waga tried to find a place near his pillow to put the bouquet, Katazawa reached for it. He pushed aside a bouquet in order to place Sachiko’s flowers in the center of the room.
“What lovely flowers,” Sachiko said looking at the bouquet that was swept aside. “I wonder who sent those.”
“They’re from Murakami Junko. She pushed her way in here a while ago and insisted on leaving them. She’s been after me for a while, asking me to compose a song for her. So it probably has to do with that. She must be naive. She seems to think that I would write a piece for a singer like her,” Waga said.
Sachiko stifled a laugh.
“It’s not just Murakami Junko,” Katazawa put in. “All kinds of strange people are trying to use us. There are so many second-rate artists around who just don’t know their limits. All they think about is how to use other people.”
“Is that so?” Sachiko asked demurely.
“Yes, it is. They think about how they can use people in order to improve their own reputations. You’d better be careful, too.”
“I don’t think anyone thinks that I’m worth using,” Sachiko said.
“Quite the contrary,” Katazawa waved his hands exaggeratedly. “If you’re not careful, you might find yourself in a terrible situation. Your father is a special person, and your art is new…”
“You mean to say that because I come from a well-known family…” Sachiko said.
Katazawa became flustered. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. Since I’ve known you, I’ve never been conscious of your background.”
“I used to be concerned about that. It was very painful for me because I felt that as an artist I was burdened by my family background. But now it’s different. Waga-
“I can understand that,” the artist agreed wholeheartedly. “Waga’s correct. We must constantly reexamine established concepts. We can’t continue to reinforce present-day systems.” Katazawa’s voice rose.
There was a knock at the door. A gentleman entered, led by a nurse. The nurse handed Waga the man’s card, which indicated the magazine he represented.
“Please accept my sympathies for your recent accident.” He had brought a basket of fruit.
“Thank you.” Waga turned to face his new guest.
Katazawa stepped aside. Sachiko helped Waga move to a chair.
“I’ve come about the matter we arranged before your injury. We would be happy with just some informal comments. Could I trouble you for ten or twenty minutes? I’m sorry to have come while you are still recovering, but our deadline is pressing.”
The topic was “On New Art.” The editor took down what Waga said, nodding and making agreeable responses. Finally, he stood up and bowed to Waga.
“Thank you very much. We also include brief biographical sketches of our contributors. Could I ask you for yours as well? An abbreviated one is fine. It will appear in small type at the end of the piece.”
“Place of origin: Ebisu-cho, 2-120, Naniwa-ku, Osaka City. Present address: Denenchofu, 6-867, Ota-ku, Tokyo. Date of birth: October 2, 1933. Graduated from a Kyoto Prefectural High School. After coming to Tokyo, studied under Professor Karasumaru Takashige of Tokyo University of the Arts. Will that do?” Waga asked.
“Yes, that’s fine. Could I ask why you went to a high school in Kyoto?”
“Well,” Waga said, laughing slightly, “I was sick about the time I was to go to high school and was sent to some business friends of my father’s in Kyoto to rest. I stayed on in Kyoto and went to high school there.”
“So that’s the connection. I understand.” The editor nodded in comprehension.
Katazawa had been sitting in a chair reading a book. When he heard this, he looked over at Waga.
“Thank you very much.” The editor thanked both Waga and Sachiko and stood up. His attitude toward Sachiko was particularly deferential.
“I’ll be going, too,” Katazawa said and stood up.
“Can’t you stay longer?” Sachiko asked.
“No, I have an appointment.”
“That’s just the kind of guy you are. You were just killing time here until your date,” Waga said, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“Is that so, Katazawa-
“No, it’s not like that. I’m meeting some artist friends.”
“You don’t have to hide anything from us. We’d be happy for you,” she said.
“It’s not that at all.” He walked to the door, then he turned around to face his friend. “Waga, take care of yourself.”
“See you.” Waga raised his hand.
At this moment the telephone on the table rang.
Sachiko attempted to answer it, but Waga said, “It’s all right. I’ll get it,” and answered the phone.
“Yes, this is Waga,” he said. “No, I can’t really.”
Sachiko stared into space listening to Waga’s voice. On the wall was an oil painting of some flowers.
“I don’t think I can make the initial deadline, but I’ll make sure that I have it ready in time for the performance.” Waga put down the receiver and turned toward Sachiko.
“Something about work?” Sachiko was smiling.
“Yes. I’ve been asked to compose something for the Avant-Garde Theater. They’re planning to use my music in a dramatic production. I agreed to it before the accident, so I can’t refuse them now. They were asking about that. I took it on because Takebe asked me to.”
“Do you have a concept yet?”
“Yes, I have something vague in mind. But it hasn’t progressed beyond that. That’s the problem.”
“Couldn’t you refuse, since it’s Takebe-
“No, just the opposite. If a friend asks me to do something, it’s harder for me to refuse.”
“I see. But if it’s a composition for a theater piece, wouldn’t you have to do a lot of compromising?”
“Takebe told me to do something daring, but I probably can’t go all out. And the theater group is poor, so my work will basically be donated.”
“I think you should refuse that kind of work. You should be concentrating on the work for your trip to America.”
“You’re right, of course. Having my compositions recognized and played in America, that’s my big chance.”
“I told Father about it. He was delighted. And he said he’s willing to fund your trip.”
Waga’s eyes shone. “Really? That would be a big help. Please tell your father that I am counting on him. I think they’ll be impressed with my work in America.”
“When do you think you might be going?”
“I’d like to leave in November.”
As Katazawa Mutsuo left the hospital for the parking lot, a taxi came through the hospital gates. It stopped beside him. He looked up in surprise to see Takebe Toyoichiro waving his hand out the window. Another man sat beside Takebe.
“Hi.” Katazawa raised his hand and smiled.
“Are you on your way back from seeing Waga?” Takebe asked, sticking his head out of the taxi.
“Yeah. Are you just going?” Katazawa approached the taxi.
