The woman’s tone of voice suggested that there was something she was
not saying, something she hesitated to say in front of the other guests. And
when Kozumi walked out into the hall to see her off, the instant he slid the
door shut behind him, the woman let her stiff body slacken. Kozumi could
hardly believe his eyes. This was the way a woman held her body when she
was with a man she had slept with. “Was that your daughter earlier?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t see your wife. . . .”
Kozumi walked out into the entryway ahead of the woman without
answering. He addressed her back as she bent down to put on her sandals in
the entryway.
“So I went all the way to your room, in a town called Yumiura.”
“Yes.” The woman looked back over her shoulder. “You asked me to
marry you. In my room.” “What?”
“I was already engaged to my husband at the time—I told you that, and
refused, but ...”
It was as though Kozumi’s heart had been pierced with a pin. No matter
how bad his memory had gotten, to think that he should entirely forget
having proposed marriage to a young woman—to be almost unable to
remember that young woman—he didn’t even feel surprised, no—it struck
him as grotesque. He had never been the sort of young man to propose
marriage lightly.
“You were kind enough to understand the circumstances that made it
necessary for me to refuse,” the woman said, her large eyes filling with
tears. Then, her short fingers trembling, she took a photograph from her
purse.
“These are my children. My daughter is much taller than I was, but she
looks very much like I did when I was young.”
