After the Banquet Read Free

jokes and familiar behavior which were likely to amuse men at the height of their powers might wound the pride of men who were once renowned but now living in retirement. Her function as hostess when entertaining such elderly guests would be entirely confined to listening. Later, she would massage them with soft words, and give them the illusion that in this company their former glory had blossomed again.
    The menu at the Setsugoan that evening was as follows.
    SOUP
    White miso with mushrooms and sesame bean curd
    RAW FISH
    Thin slices of squid dipped in parsley
    and citron vinegar
    CASSEROLE
    Sea trout in a broth of red clams,
    sweet peppers, and citron vinegar
    HORS D ’ OEUVRES
    Thrush broiled in soy, lobster, scallops,
    pickled turnips, liquorice-plant shoots
    ENTRÉE
    Duck and bamboo shoots boiled with arrowroot paste
    COOKED FISH
    Two baby carps with sea bass
    broiled in salt in a citron vinegar sauce
    VEGETABLE DISH
    Chestnut dumplings with fern shoots
    and pickled plums
    Kazu wore on this occasion a small-patterned violet-gray kimono with an obi of dark purple dyed in a single band of chrysanthemum flowers in lozenges. A large black pearl was set in her carnelian obi clasp. She had chosen this particular attire with a view to holding in her ample body and giving it greater dignity.
    The day of the reunion was warm and clear. Shortly after dark the former foreign minister, Yuken Noguchi, and the former ambassador to Germany, Hisatomo Tamaki, arrived together at the Setsugoan. Noguchi seemed thin and rather unprepossessing alongside the splendidly built Tamaki, but under the silver hair his eyes were clear and alert; a flash in them told Kazu why this unmistakable idealist was the only one of the assembling guests, all former ambassadors, who had not retired.
    The party was lively and sociable, but the topics of conversation were confined to the past. The most talkative by far was Tamaki.
    The dinner was held in the main reception room of the visitors’ pavilion. Tamaki as he ate leaned on a pillar between the black-lacquered bell-shaped window and the magnificently decorated sliding-doors. The paintings on the doors depicted in brilliant colors a pair of peacocks amidst white peonies. By contrast, the background was a landscape executed in monochromes, a curious mélange of styles in the taste of the provincial aristocracy.
    Tamaki carried in the waistcoat pocket of his London-tailored suit an old-fashioned watch with a gold chain, a present which his father, also a former ambassador to Germany, had received from Kaiser Wilhelm II. Even in Hitler’s Germany this watch had given Tamaki quite a cachet.
    Tamaki was a handsome man and a fluent speaker, a diplomat with aristocratic leanings who had formerly prided himself on his knowledge of the harsh realities of life. His present interests, however, quite transcended the contemporary scene. His mind was entirely preoccupied by recollections of the brilliance of chandeliers at long-ago receptions where five hundred or a thousand guests had congregated.
    “Here’s a story that sends cold chills up my spine every time I think of it. This one is really interesting.” Tamaki’s self-congratulatory introduction would have dampened the enthusiasm of even the most eager listener. “I had never gone for a ride on the Berlin underground in all my time as ambassador, so one day the counselor of the embassy—Matsuyama was his name—dragged me off for the experience. We boarded the train two cars—no, it was more likely three—from the rear. It was fairly crowded when we got on. I happened to look up, when who should I see before me but Goering!”
    Tamaki paused at this point to study his listeners’ reaction, but everyone had apparently heard the story dozens of times, and no response was forthcoming. Kazu, stepping into the breach, chimed in, “But he was a very famous man at that time, wasn’t he? You don’t mean that he was riding on the underground?”
    “He was