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СКАЧАТЬ absolutely and to offer each other words of encouragement. On more than a few occasions these words had been translated into action; hence, they firmly believed that the words they exchanged, far from being a mere source of pleasure, always held the possibility of some sort of sacrifice. As soon as one sacrificed, his pleasure immediately turned into anguish: but of this simple truth they went unaware.

      At the end of that year Hiraoka got married and was transferred to a Kansai branch of the bank for which he worked. On the day of their departure Daisuke went to Shimbashi Station to see the young couple off. Clasping Hiraoka’s hand, he cheerfully urged him to come back soon. Hiraoka said it couldn’t be helped, that he had to put in his time. The words were tossed out carelessly, but from behind his glasses there gleamed an almost enviable pride. When he saw this, Daisuke suddenly found his friend odious. He went home and shut himself in his study and spent the rest of the day brooding. He was to have taken his sister-in-law to a concert, but he canceled the engagement, causing her not a little anxiety.

      Hiraoka wrote regularly: a postcard announcing his safe arrival, news of setting up a household, and, when that was over, accounts of his job and hopes for the future. Daisuke responded conscientiously to each letter. Curiously enough, each time he wrote he experienced a certain uneasiness. At times, when he no longer wished to put up with the discomfort, he stopped in the middle. Only when Hiraoka expressed some gratitude for what Daisuke had done in the past did his brush flow easily, allowing him to compose a relatively fluent response.

      In time, however, these exchanges became less frequent, dwindling from once a month to once every two, even three months, until finally, Daisuke did not write at all and began to feel apprehensive about that. Sometimes, just to rid himself of this tension, he moistened an envelope. But after six months had passed in this way, his mind and heart appeared to have undergone a change, so that it no longer mattered whether he wrote to Hiraoka or not. In fact, after establishing his own household he let a year go by before bothering to send his new address, and then he wrote only because it was the season for New Year’s cards.

      Nevertheless, for certain reasons, Daisuke was unable to forget Hiraoka. He remembered him from time to time and occasionally tried to imagine how he might be getting along. But he never went so far as to inquire after him, feeling neither the courage nor the urgency to worry to that extent. In any event, he had let the time slip by until suddenly, two weeks ago, he had received a letter from Hiraoka. In the letter, Hiraoka announced his intention of leaving the branch office soon and returning to Tokyo. He did not, however, want Daisuke to think of the move as one ordered by the office, implying promotion. He had other plans; he had decided to change jobs, and upon his arrival in Tokyo he might have need of Daisuke’s good offices. It was unclear whether the last remark was intended in earnest or simply added as a matter of form, but it was apparent that some drastic change of fortune had befallen Hiraoka. When he realized this, Daisuke was startled.

      Therefore, he was anxious to hear all the details as soon as he saw Hiraoka; unfortunately, their conversation, once derailed, obstinately refused to return. If Daisuke seized an opportune moment and raised the topic himself, Hiraoka would parry, saying he would talk about it at length some day; the talk went nowhere. Daisuke finally suggested, “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other. Why don’t we get something to eat?” But Hiraoka still persisted with his “one of these days, when there’s more time,” until Daisuke simply dragged him to a Western-style restaurant nearby.

      There, the two of them drank a good deal. When they agreed that as far as eating and drinking went they were the same as ever, the ice was broken at last. Daisuke began an animated account of an Easter celebration he had seen two or three days before at St. Nicholas’. The festival had begun at midnight, when all the world was asleep. After circling a long corridor the worshipers entered the sanctuary and were greeted with thousands of lighted candles. A procession of robed priests passed on the other side, their black shadows looming against the stark walls. Hiraoka listened with his cheeks resting on his palms, his eyelids red behind his glasses. That night, around two o’clock, Daisuke had walked alone along the wide avenue of Ōnari, over the tracks that ran straight through the midnight darkness until he arrived at the Ueno woods. There, he stepped into the midst of cherry blossoms lit by street lights.

      “It’s nice, you know, cherry blossoms at night without a soul around,” he said.

      Hiraoka emptied his glass without a word. Then he spoke, with a touch of pity. “It must be nice, though I’ve never seen it myself. As long as you can go around doing things like that, you’re pretty lucky. Once you get out into the world, it’s not so easy anymore.” Hiraoka seemed to be looking down from above at his friend’s inexperience. But for Daisuke it was not so much the content of the response, but the tone that was absurd. As far as he was concerned, that Easter night counted far more than any practical, worldly experience. So he answered, “I think there’s nothing more worthless than this so-called worldly experience. All it can do is cause pain.”

      Hiraoka widened his drunken eyes just perceptibly. “It sounds like your thinking’s changed quite a bit. . . . Wasn’t it your idea that this pain becomes a good, if bitter medicine later on?”

      “That’s just a theory I had when I was young and stupid. I gave in to all those conventional proverbs and spouted off nonsense. I don’t know how long ago I tossed that one out.”

      “But you’re going to have to get out into the world soon, right? You won’t get away with that kind of thinking then.”

      “I’ve been out in the world for some time now. It seems to me that especially since we went our separate ways, my world has grown much bigger. It’s just a different kind of world from the one you went into.”

      “Oh, go ahead and brag. You’ll have to give in sooner or later.” “Of course, if I find that I’m starving I’ll give in right away. But why should a person who doesn’t have any wants at the moment strain to taste these inferior experiences? It would be like an Indian buying an overcoat just to be ready for winter.”

      For an instant displeasure flickered at Hiraoka’s brow. Gazing ahead with his reddened eyes, he puffed at his cigarette. Daisuke, thinking that he might have gone too far, resumed in a more measured tone: “There’s a fellow I know who doesn’t know the first thing about music. He’s a schoolteacher, and he can’t make it teaching at just one place so he moonlights at three, maybe four other places. You can’t help feeling sorry for him. All he does is prepare a lesson, dash off to the classroom, then move his mouth mechanically. He doesn’t have time for anything else. When Sunday comes around, he calls it a day of rest and sleeps the whole day away. So, even if there’s a concert somewhere or a famous musician from abroad performs here, he can’t go. In other words, he’s going to die without ever having set foot in the beautiful world of music. For me, there’s no inexperience more wretched than that. Experience that’s tied to bread might be sincere, but it’s bound to be inferior. If you don’t have the kind of luxurious experience that’s divorced from bread and water, there’s no point in being human. You’re probably thinking that I’m still a child, but in the luxurious world where I live, I’m your senior by years.”

      Tapping the ashes from his cigarette, Hiraoka said in a low, dark voice, “It’s fine if you can stay in that kind of world forever.” His heavy words seemed to drag behind them a curse upon plenty.

      The two went outside, drunk. Because of the strange argument they had begun under the impetus of alcohol, they had gotten nowhere with the real business at hand—that is, Hiraoka’s situation.

      “Let’s walk a little,” Daisuke suggested. Hiraoka was apparently not as busy as he claimed, for with a few half-hearted protests, he strolled along with Daisuke. Daisuke tried to direct their steps toward the quiet side streets where they might talk more readily, and eventually, the conversation came around.

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