Soon after I entered the house, I heard the sound of a rickshaw. In those days, unlike now, there were no rubber tires, so the unpleasant rattling noise reached the ear even from a considerable distance. The vehicle soon stopped before the gate.
I was called out to supper about half an hour later, but the fine clothes worn by the mistress and her daughter still lay discarded, cluttering the next room in disorder. The two, they said, had hurried back so as to be in time for the meal, fearing it would be rude to us if they were late. But the mistress's kindness was almost as good as wasted on K and me. As I sat at the table, I offered only curt greetings, as if grudging my words. K was even more taciturn than I. The two women, having gone out together as parent and child, were in a brighter and more cheerful mood than usual, which made our demeanor all the more conspicuous. The mistress asked me if something was the matter. I answered that I felt a little unwell. And indeed I did feel unwell. Then the daughter put the same question to K. K did not reply, as I had, that he felt unwell. He only said he did not care to speak. The daughter pressed him as to why he did not care to speak. I happened then to raise my heavy eyelids and look at K's face. I felt a curiosity as to what he would answer. K's lips trembled slightly as always. To a stranger, this would have looked exactly like hesitation in replying. The daughter laughed and said he was probably brooding over something difficult again. K's face flushed faintly.
That night I went to bed earlier than usual. Troubled by my saying at supper that I felt unwell, the mistress brought me some buckwheat-tea at about ten o'clock. But my room was already quite dark. The mistress exclaimed in surprise and opened the sliding door a crack. The lamplight from K's desk slanted dimly into my room. K, it seemed, was still up. The mistress sat by my pillow and, saying I had likely caught a cold and had best warm myself, pushed the teacup close to my face. I had no choice but to drink the muddy buckwheat-tea before her eyes.
Late into the night I lay in the dark, thinking. Of course it was merely turning one problem round and round in my head, with no other effect whatsoever. Suddenly I wondered what K might be doing in the next room just now. Half unconsciously, I called out, "Oi." From the other side came the reply, "Oi." K, too, was still awake. I asked through the door whether he was not yet asleep. There was the brief reply that he was about to sleep. "What are you doing?" I asked again. This time K made no answer. Instead, some five or six minutes later, I heard as clearly as if by touch the sliding closet flung open and the bedding laid out. I asked again what time it was. K answered twenty minutes past one. Soon came the puff of the lamp being blown out, and the whole house fell silent in utter darkness.
Yet my eyes only grew the more wakeful in that darkness. Again half unconsciously, I called out to K, "Oi." K answered, "Oi," in the same tone as before. I at last broached from my side the wish to hear more details of what he had told me that morning, and asked if it suited him. I had of course no intention of holding such a conversation through the door, but I thought at least his reply might be had at once. Yet K, who had twice before answered "Oi" so readily when called, now did not respond in kind. "Well, now," he muttered in a low, reluctant voice. I was once more taken aback.