From the connecting bridge they could see extensive Japanese-style gardens. Birds chirped in the trees, and the neatly pruned azalea bushes were in full flower—once again, blooming out of season.
“Didn’t you say the house would be modest?” said Rintaro.
“I was speaking allegorically. Stop prattling on. Save your breath.”
Rintaro and the cat were whispering furiously to each other, but the woman leading the way didn’t say a single word.
As they walked, the scenery began to change. What had at first appeared to be a traditional Japanese residence underwent a very bizarre transformation.
First, the wooden veranda became a marble staircase, and the extensive gardens that at one moment they had been viewing from the balustrade of a Chinese arched bridge suddenly became those of a Western palace, dotted with exquisite stone fountains and nude statues. And just ahead, beyond Japanese fusuma paper doors painted with delicate bamboo designs, they could see glittering chandeliers and brightly painted vases sitting on art deco tea tables.
“I don’t know about you but I’m getting a headache,” said Rintaro.
“Same here.”
It was the first time the cat had ever agreed with him.
“It’s like they threw a whole bunch of stuff from all over the world together in one place,” Rintaro continued.
“It looks like it’s full, but in fact it’s empty.”
The cat’s response was very Zen.
“There’s no philosophy behind it and no taste. No matter how rich and wonderful it all looks on the outside, when you take off the lid and look inside there’s nothing but a jumble of borrowed junk. It’s the worst kind of ignorance.”
“I think that’s going too far,” said Rintaro.
“I’m just telling it like it is. And anyway, it’s really common. You see it everywhere, every day.”
“This mansion,” said the woman, gently interrupting the cat, “has been decorated to reflect my husband’s rich and varied wealth of experiences and excellent judgment. I imagine it may be beyond your understanding.”
For a split second, Rintaro thought this was some kind of joke. The woman was walking ahead so he couldn’t see her face, but then he realized she sounded far from amused.
There was a strange tension in the air as they advanced farther and farther into the residence. Corridors, staircases, connecting verandas—the distance they were covering was extraordinary. And all the while they passed ivory carvings mixed in among Japanese ink paintings, statues of Venus, katana swords. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason behind the arrangement of any of these ornaments.
The direction they were moving seemed to change without warning, so that they had absolutely no idea where they were in the midst of the chaos.
From time to time, the woman would turn and call over her shoulder, “Are you all right?” Rintaro and his tabby friend had no choice but to nod and follow.
“Even if we were told to leave now, I’m not sure that I would be able to find my way back,” whispered Rintaro.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Proprietor,” said the cat, glancing up at the boy. “I have no idea how to get out of here either.”
As usual, the cat didn’t sugarcoat the truth.
At last, they came to the end of their long journey. They walked down one final, red-carpeted corridor, at the far end of which was a checkered fusuma sliding door. The woman stopped in front of it.
“Thank you for your patience,” she said, placing her hand lightly on the door. It slid open. Rintaro’s eyes grew wide as he took in the contents of the room beyond.