3.
Hirata stood on a street in Yotsuya Shio-cho, waiting for an empty taxi.
He was neither particularly cautious nor particularly nervous, but it was
his custom when hailing taxis to get in only after he had inspected both the
vehicle and its driver.
On this occasion, as on others, he hailed a taxi with a pleasant-looking
old man in the driver’s seat.
“Namiki Street in Ginza.”
When they arrived at Yotsuya, the driver asked vacantly, “Which way do
you want to go?’
“What? Either way is fine.”
“Should I go right?”
Hanzomon was straight ahead, Akasaka was off to the right. Coming as
they had from Shio-cho, it made the mosf sense to continue straight
through the intersection, but there was hardly any difference between that
and going right, heading into Ginza from Akasaka.
The taxi turned right.
Like most old men, the driver was quiet. Hirata relaxed and sat gazing
out at four or fi.ve swans floating in a corner of the moat, close to Benkei
Bridge.
“They seem to have released swans here, too—do you know how long
they’ve been here? This is the fírst time I’ve seen them,” he said to the
driver, but there was no response.
Ten or so rather large waterfowl came flapping down. They were wild
birds, their wings not clipped like the swans’. Hirata felt how close winter
was, when one often saw flocks of waterfowl in the moat.
