Masks by Fumiko Enchi Read Free Book Online Page B

slender, immaculate wife; he saw neither sweetness in the one nor neatness in the other, aware only of the bonds they represented, holding him tightly in their grip.
    Both today and the day before yesterday he had givenlectures, but neither time had Yasuko appeared in the classroom. He had told her to call his office whether or not she came to class, so again today he lingered, even canceling a lecture at another university which would have required him to leave by three. To telephone the Toganō house himself would have been the simplest thing to do, but his conscience would not let him.
    He checked his wristwatch and found that it was already ten minutes past five. There seemed no point in waiting any longer for her to call. He gathered up the proof sheets and stuffed them into his briefcase, then took his overcoat from the corner coatrack and put it on.
    Suddenly the telephone on his desk began to ring. Ibuki, normally slow-moving, dashed back in comical haste and grabbed the receiver, only to drop his elbow dejectedly on the desktop at the sound of a man’s deep voice.
    “Oh, it’s you.” The voice belonged to Mikamé, who seemed quite unconcerned about Ibuki’s disappointment.
    “What kind of a greeting is that? Listen, I found something in a bookstore near the hospital that I want you to see.”
    “More of your pornography?”
    “Wrong. It’s a reprint from an old edition of
Clear Stream.
Prewar. An essay by Mieko Toganō called ‘An Account of the Shrine in the Fields.’ Did you ever read it?”
    “Hmm, no. The Shrine in the Fields…isn’t that the place that comes up in
The Tale of Genji
in connection with the Rokujō lady?”
    “That’s it. I’ve read the novel once or twice myself, in modern translation, to find out what it has to say about spirit possession, and as you know, everything hinges on the Rokujō lady. In all the time I’ve known Mieko, she’s never mentioned having written anything like this, so I never even knew it existed, but this proves she was involved with the subject long before Akio. I found it fascinating, and I thought that as a specialist you’d appreciate it even more.”
    “Thanks. You’re right, I’d like very much to see it. I’ve been thinking I’d like to know more about Mieko Toganō anyway.”
    “Remember that time in Kyoto Station when you told me she and Yasuko could be thought of as different in scale? I disagreed then, but now I’m beginning to see your point.” Plainly the essay had impressed Mikamé deeply. It appeared to have absorbed his interest so completely that he neglected to ask about the remainder of Ibuki’s visit in Kyoto with the two women. Only when Ibuki confessed rather sheepishly to having come back alone with Yasuko on the next afternoon’s express did Mikamé’s interest in her seem to reawaken.
    “That was some chance she took. If I were you, I’d have dragged her off the train at Atami or somewhere.” The clear assumption of passivity on his part made Ibuki smile grimly, curling the corners of his mouth.
    “Let me borrow that article,” he said. “I want to look it over. Are you calling from the hospital?”
    “Yes, but the neuropsychiatry society is meeting today, and I’m about to head over to that coffee shop near your office. We won’t be able to talk, but stop by on your way home, and I’ll give it to you there.”
    “Good. Half an hour okay?”
    “I’ll take a taxi and be there in less than ten minutes.” That settled, Mikamé then asked, “Did Yasuko come to class today?”
    “Not since we got back. I suppose she’s tired out from the trip.” He felt the chill of the concrete floor creep slowly up through his feet.
    —
    At home that evening, Ibuki began to read the pamphlet containing the article. He knew that Mieko Toganō was a tanka poet of the romantic school, with roots in the
Shinkokinshū
aesthetic of “mystery and depth,” and hehad a high regard for the lyrical immediacy of her poems. But the