Tanizaki Jun’ichirō
One summer afternoon, I went out to go browsing with Tanizaki and Kamita. On that day, Tanizaki wore a red necktie with his black suit. I felt as though romanticism was symbolized by this magnificent tie. And of course I was not the only one. The people we passed, men and women alike, surely received the same impression. There was not a single person we passed by who did stare at Tanizaki’s face as we passed by. However, no matter what was said Tanizaki would not recognize this fact. “He’s lookin’ at you! You in your travelling coat.”
It was true that I had borrowed my father’s travelling coat instead of wearing my summer coat. However, the travelling coat was what was worn by the master of tea ceremonies and the priest of my family temple. The masses’ surprise could not possibly equal that at that of the unique tie that looked like a single rose. And yet, as Tanizaki, like me, was a poet who did not hold logic in high esteem, I thought to do nothing besides forcing Tanizaki to see the truth, more forcefully this time.
In a little while we sat down in some café hidden in Jinbō. We had come in to get some carbonated water or something to cool our dry throats. Even after I had placed my order, I stared with rapt attention at the burning beacon of romanticism at Tanizaki’s throat. Then, a waitress, her makeup coming off, approached our table with cups in both hands. The cups, in truth, were full of limpid water with throbbing tiny bubbles. The waitress lined the cups in front of us, one by one. And then—I still recall vividly that waitress’s words! She left one hand on the table, as if it was difficult for her to leave, and then peered closely at Tanizaki’s chest.
“My! You’re wearing a necktie of a fine color!”
Ten minutes later, when I got up from the table I tried to give her a fifty sen tip. Tanizako, like all Tōkyōites, felt scorn for the needless act of tipping. Even at the time I am sure that the fifty sen tip did not evade Tanizaki’s derision.
“Really, was she of any help?”
Not feeling shamed by my elder’s derision, I gave the wrinkled bill to the waitress. She had done more than just bring us glasses of carbonated water. Indeed, for me she had given me a boon from on high concerning the truth about the red necktie. To this day I have yet to give a fifty sen tip with such sincerity.