a bad case of pleurisy set in. The fluid's been accumulating, so his heart is slightly out of place."
Her own voice was clear and crisp as she handed her husband a handkerchief and forced him to take some water. I was surprised by the speed and energy of each of her actions. How conspicuously youthful the color of her arms, the roundness of her calves!
"I have no friends to confide in, so I thought... you... you would do me the favor of listening. It's... such a humiliating story... So humiliating I can't tell it to just anyone."
I forced myself to look at his face, which was too weak and dried up to convey the violence of his emotions. It wasn't a pretty sight, yet I was reminded of my own good health. It caused me to feel self-confident, even superior.
"I'm no saint. And I'm not a person you tell secrets to. But I thought I'd better come up to see you. It was rude of me just to drop in," I said.
"I... I don't expect you to do... anything in particular for me. I just wanted to talk to someone like you. It's unbearable to be lonely," he said.
He looked much younger than me. He had been good-looking. Those clear, nervous, agitated eyes seemed to be anticipating my thoughts way ahead of time. The slightest change in my face caused a shadow of fright to skirt across his eyes. For a fraction of a second a bright trace of insanity was glittering in that shadow.
"Lately my wife keeps saying she wants to die. Not me. I've... things I want to do."
"You have? I envy you. There's not a single thing I care to do."
"You're wrong. You don't realize... you're doing something already. I will too. I'll do... what I couldn't do during the war. I must do it! I've been totally useless... up to now. This time at least... I'll do what I want! I'll get strong! I'll do something... to destroy men like Karajima! If I can't... then I'm going to be a thousand times more evil than he is!"
The feverish and excited invalid had been overexerting himself by speaking. I knew he'd die soon. It was strongly foreshadowed by his yellow skin, by the bridge of his thin nose. It was obvious he'd never achieve any of his goals. I felt no pity, only oppression.
"I've no contact with anyone... any longer. They all... hate me. She's cheated on me, and... I'm living off the money she gets from him. It's not right... to let this pass! It's terrible... to be buried with such shame. Without wiping out even a small portion of it!"
Her husband's remarks about her made her glance at me, her beautiful eyebrows shaped into a frown.
"It's terrible... to be hated," he said, stopping momentarily to regulate his breathing. Then he recounted the dream he had the night before.
He had become a leper. The offensive odor given off by his mouth and body made him unbearable to his wife. Seeing her frightened face fill with hatred, he felt he was losing his mind. She ran away and he pursued her, catching her, holding her tight, that terrible odor coming out of his mouth and from his body so that he had finally become aware of his own stench. She spat at him, cursing him, then fled. His loneliness had made him cry out.
"When I woke up and found I'd only been dreaming, I felt I was lucky not to have leprosy. I really felt relieved my sickness was just ordinary."
"That's all you dream about, isn't it?" she said. She looked tense as she prepared our tea. She was trying to smile but couldn't.
"My dream's about Karajima. I murder him in my dream."
She spoke casually, but her words sounded theatrical, melodramatic. They had the false ring of something feminine. Her husband's eyes became even more dismal.
"Mr. Sugi!" he suddenly cried out in a high thin voice. "I can't believe her! While Karajima's alive, I can't believe anything she says!"
Again he began crying. This time he didn't try to stifle it, crying openly, strange sounds in his throat mixed in with his words.
"You shouldn't talk like that in front of Mr. Sugi! It's too cruel! It's too much!"
"You keep on lying, that's why!"
"No matter what I say, you take it as a lie! I can't go on living like that!"
"You're living, aren't you? Aren't you living without a care in the world?"
His crying, staccato-like voice was a sick man's. But her tearful voice, even as she tried to suppress it, was bursting with the vigor of youth. Those two sobbing voices continued, sometimes intermingling, sometimes separating.
I took out one of the imported cigarettes I had received the day before. I had no matches, and she quickly pulled out a box of foreign-make from her pocket. She smiled, embarrassed by the tears on her cheeks.
"Oh, your tea's cold! Well, I'll serve you a nice lunch!"
I begged off since I wasn't feeling well. "It's my stomach."
"You're not going home!"
Her husband stopped crying, his expression changed, I imagined, since he thought I was about to leave at that moment. The look of sadness in his eyes seemed to indicate he didn't know what to do. It was as if I had suddenly struck him.
"I guess it's unpleasant to see something like this. But please stay. Just a little longer. We've no one to rely on. You're the only one we can trust."
"Oh, it hasn't been that unpleasant. It's just that I—" I wanted to say I couldn't stand being trusted. But I stopped for that would have sounded phony. In a situation of this sort, no matter how seriously I might have used such words, they would have been superficial. I had long stopped being in dead earnest about anything.
The couple recovered their composure and reverted to small talk. I sat ten more minutes before standing up.
"Can I join you for lunch next time? Frankly, the oysters I ate last night didn't agree with me."
The invalid was resigned, yet satisfied. A gentle expression was on his face.
"Please come again. I'll be waiting."
"I will. I'm glad I came. I like you both, more than I thought I would. I've really felt close to you."
That was true. I had sensed that they had been ashamed of themselves, that they were grappling, however hopelessly, with life in all seriousness. They had suffered between themselves long enough. After my words I saw a genuine look of pleasure light up the man's eyes. It wasn't an exaggeration to call it that. For quite a while I hadn't seen anything that simple and straightforward. He automatically offered me his thin hand, but he pulled it back fearfully.
She came with me when I was going downstairs. As she went alongside me, she was almost touching me.
"I was delighted you came today," she said, turning at once to face me before opening the downstairs door.
It seemed odd to hear her say, "Don't desert us, please. If you do, we won't forgive you! My husband will hold a grudge against you, and so will I!" Her words didn't sound that flippant, for apparently she had really given some thought to not being taken lightly. In fact, I found her words strangely profound.
"Don't be disgusted with me. Please protect me. Lend me some of your strength, and I'll come back to life again." She suddenly lowered her voice. "He may even die tomorrow.
