Quicksand by Junichirô Tanizaki Page A

mutual deception.
    . . . I’m sure you understand very well what was going on. The fact is, I had deliberately walked into the trap that Mitsuko set up before my very eyes. . . . No, I never asked her what that red stuff was; even now I wonder. Perhaps she smuggled in some of that fake blood they use in the theater.

    â€œThen you aren’t still angry with me about the other day, are you, Sister? You’ll really forgive me?”
    â€œIf you try to deceive me one more time, I will let you die!”
    â€œAnd you won’t get away with treating me so coldly!”
    In less than an hour we were back on the same old intimate terms, and suddenly I began to be afraid my husband might return soon. Now that we were reconciled, after all that had happened, my need for her was stronger than ever. I didn’t want to be apart from her a single moment, and yet as things stood how could we possibly meet every day?
    â€œWhat shall we do? You’ll come again tomorrow, won’t you, Mitsu?”
    â€œIs it all right to come to your house?”
    â€œI can’t say if it’s all right or not.”
    â€œThen let’s both go to Osaka! I’ll phone you tomorrow, anytime you’d like.”
    â€œI’ll phone you too.”
    We went on that way till late afternoon, and Mitsuko began getting dressed to leave. “I’m going home,” she announced. “That husband of yours will be coming back. . . .”
    â€œJust stay a little longer!” Now I was the one to plead.
    â€œDon’t be such a spoiled child!” she said. “You’re so unreasonable. I’ll call you tomorrow for sure—just be patient and wait till then.” She left around five o’clock.
    In those days my husband usually came home by six, but although I thought he might be anxious enough to turn up early, it seems that a certain case he’d been working on was keeping him at the office. An hour later he still hadn’t returned. In the meantime I straightened up the room, made the bed neatly, and picked up the stained socks that Mitsuko had dropped on the floor—she put on a pair of mine when she left to go home—and as I gazed absently at those red stains, I felt as if I were dreaming. How could I explain all this to my husband? Should I even tell him I’d been up here? Should I keep silent? What could I say that would make it possible for us to go on meeting?
    Just as I was revolving those thoughts in my mind, I heard Kiyo call upstairs that the master was home. I stuffed the socks away in a dresser drawer and went down.
    â€œWhat happened after that phone call?” he asked as soon as he saw me.
    â€œI had a terribly hard time,” I said. “Why weren’t you home earlier?”
    â€œI wanted to be, but there was some business I had to take care of. What on earth happened?”
    â€œThey asked me to come right over to the hospital, but I didn’t know whether I should or not. Anyway, I had them let me wait till tomorrow. . . .”
    â€œSo Mitsuko left, did she?”
    â€œYes, but she made me promise to go along with her tomorrow, and then she went home.”
    â€œAren’t you at fault for lending her that book?”
    â€œBut she told me she wouldn’t let anyone else see it—really, I’m in an awful fix! Well, anyhow, I suppose I’ll have to go pay a sick call at the hospital. It’s not as if I’d never heard of Mrs. Nakagawa. . . .”
    With that, I had at least given myself a pretext for going out the next day.

15
    THAT NIGHT I could hardly wait for daybreak, and as soon as my husband left the house, at eight o’clock, I flew to the telephone.
    â€œSister, it’s dreadfully early isn’t it? Are you up already?”
    The voice that came over the receiver was the same one I had heard the day before, but its sweet familiar sound made my heart beat faster