just this expression on her face. This expression, from looking at cut glass!
There was no jealousy in her.
“Once when your husband was here he and Chiba drank together from
this bottle. He didn’t mention it?”
“No. But Hirata has no taste for this sort of thing. ... I doubt he’d even
notice,” said Takako. She changed the subject. “You said you had been to
eat in Ginza, didn’t you?”
“You know, my taste isn’t very refined either. I find Mr. Hirata
interesting. I like him.”
Takako was looking around the room. Every time her eyes fell on one of
the old architectural photographs on the wall she felt ashamed of her own
husband’s job, a medicine salesman who ran the company’s advertising
department.
“We had western food, it was a lot of fun.” Takako doesn’t seem to be
satisfied with me,’ he was saying. Well, Chiba’s the same way. A woman
like me—I can’t really be intimate with him. I cuddle up to him and so on,
but to tell the truth I sometimes think that you ought to have come here, and
I ought to have gone to Mr. Hirata’s—the two of us should have been
reversed. There’s nothing we can do about it now, of course, but... And if
that’s the case with us, even with us—the Hiratas and the Chibas, two
couples living right next door—1 really think most married couples must
be mismatched. Yet there’s no going back”
Ichiko knew how deeply Takako herself believed what she was saying,
and felt a certain measure of security in knowing that everything was
already settled. It was this that made it possible for her to speak as she did.
Her wheat-colored cheeks seemed full of life.
“That can’t be true. The two of you always get along so well together. I
envy you,’’ said Takako.
