To the Spring Equinox and Beyond by Natsume Sōseki

the fact that it was beyond his comprehension aroused his curiosity. While he still remembered the riddle, though, he wrote the words down on a slip of paper just as the old woman had recited them and slid the scrap into his desk drawer.
    As to whether or not he should take steps to see Taguchi again, Keitaro interpreted the old woman's advice as conclusive. Not that he was going to go because he believed in fortune-telling, but simply because his fortune-teller had given an impetus to what he himself had been on the point of actually doing.
    Keitaro thought of going to Sunaga to learn if his uncle had returned from Osaka, but the automobile incident still weighed so heavily on his mind that he lacked the courage to direct his steps there. He found it equally difficult to phone. Ultimately he decided to write Sunaga a letter. After stating briefly the circumstances of his interview with Taguchi in nearly the same way he had recited them to Sunaga's mother a few days ago, he asked Sunaga to inquire whether or not Taguchi was back from his trip. If so, he would be most grateful if the uncle could spare some time from his busy schedule, since he was himself totally free and would be able to visit whatever the hour on the appointed day. The tone of the letter suggested that Keitaro had utterly forgotten his hot-tempered determination of the other day.
    When Keitaro mailed the letter, he expected Sunaga's reply the next day. But with two days and even three passing without a response, a slight anxiety began to trouble him, and mixed into this anxiety was a remorse for the shame he might be put to for ever being influenced by the words of a fortune-teller.
    Suddenly on the morning of the fourth day Taguchi telephoned him.

    When Keitaro picked up the receiver, he was surprised to hear Taguchi's own voice asking simply if he could come at once. He would leave immediately, he replied, but thinking it too abrupt and uncivil to hang up with merely a curt answer, he asked whether Sunaga had said anything about him.
    "Yes, Ichizo told me of your request, but to save trouble, I called up myself. I'll be waiting. Come at once, please."
    The voice stopped there. Keitaro put on his hakama, thinking this time it finally looked good on him. From the rack he took down a soft felt hat he had recently purchased, and he left in cheerful spirits, his face animated by fresh hope for the future. The sun had melted the morning frost and was now shining mildly over the streets. There was no sign of a wintry wind to sweep away the brightness. On the streetcar rushing along the thoroughfare, Keitaro felt as if he were cleaving his way through bright light.
    Unlike the other day, the entrance to Taguchi's house was very quiet. When the same hakama- clad houseboy came to answer the bell, Keitaro felt somewhat awkward. He could not say, of course, that he was sorry for his previous conduct, so with a look of innocence on his face, he politely offered the purpose of his visit. Whether remembering Keitaro or not, the houseboy merely replied, "Yes, sir," and took his calling card inside. He returned saying, "This way please," and ushered Keitaro in.
    Keitaro donned the pair of slippers the houseboy put before him and was shown into the Western-style drawing room, but he was puzzled about which one of several chairs he should take there. His humble thought that the smallest would be safest made him choose one in an inconspicuous place—a lightweight, high-backed chair with neither arms nor ornament.
    Presently the master of the house appeared. With formal expressions he was not used to uttering, Keitaro offered the usual salutations used in meeting someone for the first time and expressed his appreciation for the interview. But the other took little notice of these words and merely responded with an occasional "Hmm." Further, he said nothing when Keitaro came to a halt.
    Keitaro was not so much disappointed in Taguchi's attitude as he was embarrassed at finding