He had idle visitors frequently enough. The building seemed to arouse curiosity. Most of them had children and came in at the children’s urging. Tōru would lift them up to the telescope, and that would be that. This pair had been different. They had come as if trying to pry into something, and left as if they had stolen something. Something that Tōru himself had not been aware of. It was five in the afternoon. Rain was threatening, and darkness came early. The long line of indigo across the sea was like a great badge of mourning. It gave an air of repose. A single cargo ship was visible, far to the right. There was a telephone call from Yokohama informing him of a sailing. There were no other calls. It was time for dinner, but he was not hungry. He turned on the desk light and leafed through pages of ship funnels. They were good for driving away boredom. He had his favorites among them, and reveries about them. He liked the mark of the Swedish East Asia Line, three yellow crowns on a white circle, and he liked the elephant of Osaka Dockyards.
