They had met in Ginza and eaten a late lunch, and afterward Jiro had
walked with Utako to Shinbashi Station. He had looked up at the timetable
for the Tokaido line while Utako was purchasing her ticket.
“Why don’t we go to Hakone?” he had said suddenly.
“Today? Right now?”
She seemed to have been caught off guard.
Jiro hadn’t had any dark ulterior motives in suggesting that they go to
Hakone, certainly nothing to make her stiffen like that.
It was just that Utako was so terribly thin, and the way she fidgeted, as if
she was frightened of something. One could see in her face how much her
nerves had been worn down, and Jiro hadn’t been able to bring himself to
say good-bye to her there.
But if they entered the bath he would have to look directly at Utako’s
changed, worn body. At her body, scarred terribly by seven or eight years
of marriage.
Utako still hadn’t changed into the yukata the inn had provided when
Jiro left for the baths. She hadn’t even removed her socks.
