An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro Page A

something." "She's disobedient." I gave another laugh, saying: "I suppose so, Ichiro." The tram stop is ten minutes" walk from our house; down the hill to the river, then a little way along the new concrete embankment, and the northbound circuit joins the road just beyond the site of the new housing schemes. That sunny afternoon last month, my grandson and I boarded there for the city centre, and it was on that journey we encountered Dr Saito. I realise I have said very little so far about the Saito family, the eldest son of which is presently involved in marriage talks with Noriko. The Saitos are, all in all, a very different sort of prospect from the Miyakes of last year. The Miyakes were, of course, decent enough people, but they could not, in all fairness, be called a family of any prestige, whereas the Saito family, without exaggeration, is just that. In fact, although Dr Saito and I were not properly acquainted before, I had always known of his activities in the world of the arts, and for years, whenever we had passed in the street, we had exchanged greetings politely to acknowledge our familiarity with each other's reputations. But of course, on the occasion on which we met last month, things had become very different. The tram does not become crowded until it has crossed the river at the steel bridge opposite Tanibashi Station, and so, when Dr Saito boarded one stop after us, he was able to take a vacant seat beside me. Inevitably, our conversation began a little uncomfortably; for the negotiations were at an early, delicate stage, and it did not seem proper to discuss them openly; but then it would have been absurd to pretend they were not going on. In the end, we both praised the merits of "our mutual friend, Mr Kyo"--the go-between in the proposal --and Dr Saito remarked with a smile: "Let us hope his efforts bring us together again shortly." And that was as close as we came to discussing the matter. I could not help noticing the marked contrast between the assured way Dr Saito had responded to the slightly awkward situation, and the nervous, clumsy way the Miyake family had handled things from start to finish last year. Whatever the eventual outcome, one does feel reassured to be dealing with the likes of the Saito family. Otherwise, we talked mainly of small things. Dr Saito has a warm, genial manner, and when he leaned forward to ask Ichiro how he was enjoying his visit, and about the movie we were about to see, my grandson showed no inhibitions about conversing with him. "A fine boy," Dr Saito said to me, approvingly. It was shortly before his stop--he had already put his hat back on--that Dr Saito remarked: "We have another mutual acquaintance. A certain Mr Kuroda." I looked at him, a little startled. "Mr Kuroda," I repeated. "Ah, no doubt that would be the same gentleman I once supervised." "That's right. I came across him recently and he happened to mention your name." "Is that so? I haven't come across him for some time. Not since before the war, certainly. How is Mr Kuroda these days? What is he up to?" "I believe he is about to take up an appointment at the new Uemachi College, where he will teach art. This was how I came across him. I was kindly asked by the college to advise on the appointments board." "Ah, so you don't know Mr Kuroda well." "Indeed not. But I hope to see more of him in future." "Is that so?" I said. "So Mr Kuroda still remembers me. How good of him." "Yes, indeed. He mentioned your name when we happened to be discussing something. I"ve not had the opportunity to talk to him at any length. But should I see him again, I'll mention that I saw you." "Ah, indeed." The tram was crossing the steel bridge and the wheels made a loud clanging noise. Ichiro, who had been kneeling on his seat to see out of the window, pointed out something down in the water. Dr Saito turned to look, exchanged a few more words with Ichiro, then got to his feet as his stop approached. He made a last allusion to "the