Inspector Imanishi Investigates

increasingly obnoxious. He casually stretched out his legs toward hers. Startled, she drew her legs in. Pretending not to notice, the man kept his legs stretched out and continued talking to her.

Murayama had heard about young girls being bothered on trains by middle-aged men. He decided to interfere if the man continued to annoy her. Although he tried to read his book, he was unable to concentrate on it. He kept watching the situation across the aisle. She clearly looked irritated, but the man persisted.

Gradually the lights of Tokyo appeared. Some passengers started to take their bags down from the overhead racks. The obnoxious man was still talking. The girl didn’t have to worry about her luggage because all she had was the small case. When the train passed Nakano, she bowed determinedly to the man and stood up. He stood up as well and quickly whispered something to her. She blushed and rushed toward the door. Heedless of Murayama watching, the man hurried after her.

Murayama closed his book and stood up. The train slid into the platform at Shinjuku Station. Murayama walked to the door. The man was standing close behind her, right up against her. He was still murmuring in her ear. It was clear that he was trying to get her to go somewhere with him.

“That’s why I remembered her,” Murayama said to Professor Kawano.

“What an interesting story,” the professor said and smiled. “I’ve heard that there’s an increasing number of such rude men.”

“I was appalled. I’d heard about them, but this was the first time I had seen one in action.”

“But I’m more interested in the young girl and the paper blizzard she was creating. You said it seemed mischievous, but to me it seems poetic.”

“Yes, perhaps it was,” Murayama agreed. “I was more upset by the man’s behavior.”

“It’s interesting that you couldn’t remember her when you saw her, but recalled this in the bookstore. I’ve been asked to write a piece for a magazine. It’s supposed to be a light essay, but I haven’t come up with a good topic. Could I borrow your story?”

“Will it work as an essay?”

“I’ll put in a few flourishes and turn it into a five-page piece.” The professor took out his pocket notebook. “Now, tell me again when did this happen?”

“Let me see. It was May 18 or May 19.”

“Yes, yes. You said it wasn’t hot enough to need the window open.” The professor jotted the date in his notebook.

“Sensei,” Murayama said, sounding concerned, “you won’t use my name, will you?”

“Don’t worry. There’d be no point in bringing your name into this. This story wouldn’t work well in the third person. I’ll write it as if I had experienced it myself.”

“Fine. Readers will like it better that way. How about saying that you took a fancy to the girl yourself?”

“That’d be terrible.” The professor laughed. “Then I would sound like a dirty old man. But Murayama, didn’t you want to think of some reason to approach her when the two of you were alone in the train?”

“No, not really,” Murayama said, a bit bashfully.

“Was she beautiful?”

“I guess you’d say she was. She was on the slender side. And she had a charming face.”

“Yes, well.”

The professor contentedly wrote in his notebook.

Imanishi and his wife decided to walk his sister back to the train station.

“Oyuki-san, why don’t you spend the night?” Yoshiko had asked. But Oyuki wanted to go home, saying that she had housework left to do.

“What did I tell you? You said you came here because you were free to do as you liked since your husband was working nights. But a woman can’t forget about her household after all, can she?” Imanishi teased.

“I guess not,” his sister laughed. “I guess I don’t feel like staying over except when we’ve had a fight.”

It was late, and the streets were almost deserted. Soon they passed the new apartment building. Oyuki stopped to look at it.

“I’d like to own something even half the size of this building,” she sighed.

“You should save all you can of your rent income to use for a down payment,” Imanishi told her and laughed.

“I can’t. That money goes to pay our living expenses. I’d never be able to save enough.”

The three of them started walking again.

A woman came toward them. The light from a shop lit her profile for only the second that she passed in front of it. She was young and slim. Avoiding the Imanishis, she quickened her pace to pass them.

When they had gone a half dozen steps farther, Imanishi’s wife whispered to him, “That’s the girl.”

Imanishi wondered what she meant.

His wife continued, “She’s the girl from the theater company who moved into that apartment house. I told you about her, remember? They were saying she’s an actress in the theater, but that was wrong. She works in the theater office.”

Imanishi turned around, but the girl had already disappeared into the apartment building.

“Since she has such a pretty face, everyone assumed she must be an actress,” Yoshiko explained.

“I wonder which theater group she’s with.”

“They didn’t say.”

“I wonder how much rent they charge for apartments there.” Oyuki’s attention shifted back to the apartment building.

Imanishi’s wife answered, “I think they said it was around six thousand yen. But that’s separate from the deposits, I assume.”

“It must be tough for a theater office girl to pay six thousand yen a month. I wonder if she has a patron helping her.”

They could now see the bright lights in front of the station.

Naruse Rieko, a clerk at the Avant-Garde Theater, entered her studio apartment on the second floor. It was dark inside, but it smelled like her own room. She had just moved in, but already the air inside felt different. She was relieved to feel it surround her. Her apartment was one six-tatami-mat room, newly built, and arranged for efficiency. Rieko turned on the radio, keeping the volume down. The radio helped to keep her company. She had looked in her mailbox on the way up the stairs, but there was nothing, not even a postcard.

She made some toast. The room that had seemed empty suddenly gained some warmth. On this small scale, the process of living had begun. She had some tea with the toast. When she finished eating, she sat idly for a while. The radio was pouring out music. It was not the kind she liked, but she felt too lonely to turn it off.

Rieko went to her desk and took out a notebook. She turned on the lamp but could not begin to write. She rested her chin on her hand, motionless. She could not shape her thoughts easily into sentences.

She heard footsteps in the hallway. They stopped in front of her door. She heard a knock.

“Naruse-san, you have a phone call,” the apartment manager’s wife said.

Rieko frowned because it was too late to be receiving phone calls. “I’m sorry. Thank you.”

She followed the woman down the hallway. The telephone was in the manager’s apartment on the first floor.

“Excuse me,” she apologized. When the door to their apartment opened, she could see the manager reading the evening newspaper in his undershirt. Rieko bowed to him.

The telephone receiver had been left off the hook. Rieko put the receiver to her ear. “Hello, this is Naruse speaking. Who’s calling?” she asked. She did not seem pleased at the answer.

“What are you calling for?” She listened and then said, “No, you can’t. Please don’t.”

With the apartment manager and his wife right there, she kept her voice low. The call was from a man. The manager and his wife were trying to be circumspect, but since they were sitting right next to her, they could overhear her conversation.

“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.”