“The war with America and England broke out, but even after the bombings got pretty severe, we didn’t feel like being evacuated to the country, not having any children to tie us down. We figured that we might as well stick to our business until the place got burnt down. Your husband first started coming to our place in the spring of 1944, as I recall. We were not yet losing the war, or if we were we didn’t know how things actually stood, and we thought that if we could just hold out for another two or three years we could somehow get peace on terms of equality. When Mr. Otani first appeared in our shop, he was not alone. It’s a little embarrassing to tell you about it, but I might as well come out with the whole story and not keep anything from you. Your husband sneaked in by the kitchen door along with an older woman. I forgot to say that along about that time the front door of our place was shut every day, and only a few regular customers got in by the back door.

“This older woman lived in the neighborhood, and when the bar where she worked was closed and she lost her job, she often came here with her men-friends. That’s why we weren’t particularly surprised when your husband crept in by the kitchen door with this older woman, whose name was Akichan. I took them to the back room and brought out some gin. Mr. Otani drank his liquor very quietly that evening. Akichan paid the bill and the two of them left together by the back door. It’s odd, but I can’t forget how strangely gentle and refined he behaved that night. I wonder if when the devil makes his first appearance in somebody’s house he acts in such a lonely and melancholy way.

“From that night on Mr. Otani was a steady customer. Ten days later he came alone and all of a sudden produced a hundred-yen note. At that time a hundred yen was a lot of money, more than two or three thousand yen today. He pressed the money into my hand and wouldn’t take no for an answer. ‘Take care of it please,’ he said, smiling timidly. He looked as if he had already been drinking quite a bit, but, as you know, no man can hold his liquor like he can. Just when you think he’s drunk, he suddenly becomes serious and engages in a perfectly rational conversation. No matter how much he drinks I have never seen him unsteady on his feet. They say that a man around thirty is in the prime of life and can hold his liquor best, but it is very rare to find anyone like Mr. Otani. That night he seemed to have drunk quite a bit before he came, and at my place he downed ten glasses of gin as fast as I could set them up. All this was almost entirely without a word. My wife and I tried to start a conversation, but all he did was smile rather shamefacedly and nod vaguely. Suddenly he asked the time and got up. ‘What about the change?’ I called after him. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what to do with it,’ I insisted, to which he smiled wryly and said, ‘Please save it until the next time. I’ll be coming back.’ He went out. Mrs. Otani, that was the one and only time that we ever got any money from him. Since then he has always put us off with one excuse or another, and for three years he has managed without paying a penny to drink up all our liquor almost without assistance.”