2.
Impatiently, Takako tried to jam the newspaper that contained the story
in near the bottom of the stack she was making in the corner of the closet,
but she couldn’t make it go in.
She pictured herself squatting there, disgracefully posed, and suddenly
found herself besieged by sinful thoughts.
Hiding the newspaper was not her only sin.
Sliding the closet door shut and turning toward the room, Takako was
startled by the vivid shadow of a tree on the paper-paneled door. A bright
autumn sun was shining outside.
She went out into the garden.
The shadow she had seen was being cast by a holly. The tree was larger
than most hollies and was the only one in their garden that really looked
like a tree.
The holly was speckled with tiny white flowers. Though it was plainly
visible from the sitting room,
Takako couldn’t remember when the flowers had started to bloom. It was
strange that she couldn’t remember.
And now the flowers were falling—the black earth in the tree’s shadow
looked white.
Takako picked up three or four of the small flowers and held them in the
palm of her hand. Each blossom had four round, softly curved petals. The
stamens were long.
Hirata might have noticed the flowers on the holly, but of course he
would know nothing at all of the delicate form of the individual blossoms.
So far neither Takako nor Hirata had mentioned the flowers this autumn.
