The Setting Sun

I stepped inside, cast a glance around the room, and saw him. I felt as if I were dreaming. He was different. Six years. He had become an entirely different person.

Was he my rainbow, M.C., my reason for living? Six years. His hair was as unkempt as before, but it had now become sadly lusterless and thin. His face was bloated and sallow, and the rims of his eyes, a harsh red. Some of his front teeth were missing, and his mouth was continually mumbling. He gave me the feeling of an old monkey squatting with its back hunched over in the corner of a room.

One of the girls noticed me and flashed a signal with her eyes to Mr. Uehara. Still seated, he stuck out his long neck in my direction and expressionlessly motioned me in with his chin. The other members of the party went on with their loud merry-making, seemingly indifferent to me, although they did in fact move a little closer, to make room for me next to Mr. Uehara.

I sat down without saying anything. Mr. Uehara filled my glass with sake to the brim. He then filled his own and muttered hoarsely, “Drink up!”

Our glasses weakly touched and made a sad little clink.

“Guillotine, guillotine, shooshooshoo,” shouted someone, and the chant was taken up by another man, “Guillotine, guillotine, shooshooshoo.” They banged their glasses together with a loud clanging and gulped down more sake. Group after group took up this meaningless refrain, and again and again they banged their glasses and drained them. It was as if that imbecilic rhythm were furnishing them with the impetus to pour the liquor wildly down their throats.

No sooner did one of their number lurch off, mumbling his excuses, than a new guest would straggle in and, with a bare nod to Mr. Uehara, wedge his way into the party.

“Mr. Uehara, you know, over there is a place called Ahahah. How would you best pronounce it? Is it Ah-ah-ah or Ahah-ah?” The man leaning forward to ask this question was the actor, Fujita, whom I distinctly remembered having seen on the stage.

“It’s Ahah-ah. You should say, Ahah-ah, the liquor at Chidori is not cheap.” This from Mr. Uehara.

One of the girls: “The only thing you talk about is money.”

A young gentleman: “Is ‘two swallows for a farthing’ expensive or cheap?”

Another gentleman: “It says in the Bible that you have to pay the last farthing. One man got five talents, another got two talents, and another one—what a horribly long-winded parable that is! Christ’s bookkeeping was remarkably detailed.”

Another gentleman: “What’s more he was a drinker. It’s funny how many parables about liquor you find in the Bible. The Bible criticizes people who like wine, but you note it doesn’t say a word about the man who drinks liquor, only about the man who is fond of it. That proves Christ was quite a drinker. I’ll bet he could have put away two quarts at one sitting.”

“That’s enough, enough. Ye who are frightened by virtue are trying to use Jesus as an excuse.—Let’s drink! Guillotine, guillotine, shooshooshoo.” Mr. Uehara violently banged his glass against the glass of the youngest and prettiest of the girls and took a deep gulp. The liquor dribbled from the corners of his mouth down to his chin, which he savagely wiped with h

is palm. Then he gave out with five or six enormous sneezes.

I stood up quietly and went to the next room. I asked the madam, a pale thin woman who looked unwell, for the lavatory. When I crossed through the room on the way back to the party, Chie, the pretty young girl I had noticed before, was standing there, apparently waiting for me.

“Aren’t you at all hungry?” she asked with a friendly smile.

“No. I have some bread with me.”

“We haven’t much to offer, but please take what there is,” said the sick-looking madam, leaning wearily over the heater. “Please have a bite in here. If you stay with those drunkards, you won’t get a thing to eat all night. Please sit down, here, next to Chie.”

“Hey, Kinu, we’re out of liquor,” shouted a gentleman in the next room.

“Coming!” the maid named Kinu cried as she emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of ten saké bottles.

“Just a minute,” the madam stopped her, “Let’s have two bottles over here.” She added with a smile, “And Kinu, I’m sorry to bother you, but please go to Suzuya’s and get two bowls of noodles as quick as you can.”

I sat next to Chie by the heater and warmed my hands.

“Do sit more comfortably. Here, on a cushion. Hasn’t it turned cold! Aren’t you drinking anything?” The madam poured some sake from the bottle into her cup and then filled our two cups.

The three of us drank in silence.

“You both can hold your liquor, I see!” the madam said in a curiously intimate tone.

There was a rattle as the front door was opened. “I’ve brought it, Mr. Uehara,” a young man’s voice said. “The owner’s so tight I barely managed to get ten thousand yen even after holding out for twenty thousand.”

“A check?” Mr. Uehara’s hoarse voice barked.

“No, it’s in cash. I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right. I’ll give you a receipt.”