“I said this not too long ago, but—what he told me was definitely true,”
Jiro answered.
Jiro remembered receiving a letter saying that the child was dead and
then going to see Utako’s father. He had managed to get the address of the
family that had taken the child, and he had even gone to the house to
mourn. But he said nothing of this to Utako now.
“But I don’t regret having had the baby then,” Jiro said suddenly, his
voice powerful.
Utako was surprised. It seemed she might pull away for a moment, but
soon, as if agreeing, she moved closer.
“Even if it had a bad effect on your married life. . . .”
“There was nothing like that. That isn’t true.” Utako shook her head. “It
wasn’t like that.”
They were leaving downtown Odawara, driving on a street lined with
rows of cherry trees.
“At least it wasn’t like that for Someya,” Utako said, correcting herself.
“I don’t think I would have come with you like this if it had been like that.”
Jiro remained silent even when they passed the spa at Yumoto.
It took unexpectedly little time to go from Miyanoshita to Koran by car.
“Last time I came I took the train, and I remember it taking a really long
time. But it was summer then, and there were these magnificent hydrangeas
growing everywhere at the station—it was beautiful,” said Jiro.
“Did you see the amaryllis blooming on the street back there?” Utako
asked.
In Koran there were a number of inns that had been set up after the war,
converted villas of the so-called zaibatsu. The inn they had come to was
one of these—one that had the remains of an old forest in its garden.
