As I was glancing at Chieko-san's postcard, which hadn't moved me in the least when it had arrived the day before yesterday, I felt an uncontrollable yearning for her. And I thought, "If only I could meet her just once before she becomes someone's wife!"
Chieko-san. What a fine name! And her walk, so graceful and light and yet young and girlish! Her clear voice! The two of us had talked together only twice. Once at the house of Ōtake, the principal, when I went to bring him my resignation. And once in her room at Yachigashira with its reddish-brown curtains hanging in the window. That's right, it was when I brought her a copy of Akogare. Both meetings were in Hakodate.
God! It's been twenty months since we parted!
In the streetcar on the way home, I saw a child who very much resembled my Kyōko, whom I haven't seen since my departure last spring. The child was blowing a whistle with a rubber balloon attached to the end, and each time she blew it, she looked at me and hid her face, smiling as though she was embarrassed. I found her so cute and lovable that I could have hugged her.