Five Spice Street

Days later, Madam X made light of the time she had taken her clothes off, and laughed it off as ‘‘epilepsy,’’ which was ‘‘inexplicable, that’s all.’’ She decided to ‘‘meet someone only by chance.’’ She said she had now completely stabilized: indeed, her feelings ‘‘could penetrate the mountain ranges and reach the polar region.’’ Her fingers were becoming more ‘‘velvety and delicate’’ by the day; her ‘‘anxiety wouldn’t return.’’ From then on, sure enough, she seldom went out. She spent the entire day at home and in the snack shop, in every action showing ‘‘refinement and ease’’ (the sister’s words). She kept her eyes down and never looked at other people (even when she was waiting on customers, she was like this; sometimes, she looked at the air over a person’s head or at the ground beneath his feet, but you definitely couldn’t catch a glimpse of her eyes). When she talked with you, she did so in a drifting, hesitant tone which embarrassed you. She herself was unaware of this.

More time went by, and Madam X lived her life quietly. Quite a few men grew interested in her, and she looked them over one by one. Finally, she confirmed that she hadn’t recognized that person from among them. As for them, of course they couldn’t bear her rigorous, cold looks, which defeated them the first time they challenged her, and they gave up thoughts of overstepping their bounds. She said that she would recognize the person she was longing to find. No matter where she was, no matter what the occasion, she would know; there’d be no mistake. He had unique eyes and strong hands and ‘‘hot blood surging through his veins.’’

But sometimes her view was diametrically opposite. ‘‘Maybe that person is just in my imagination.’’ As the sun was setting on a winter day, she sighed and said to her sister, ‘‘I’m not worried about this. Whatever will be, will be. Anyhow, I want to experiment-see how high I can reach. Even if there’s nothing afterwards, I always have to experiment. This is predestined.’’

With that, she turned her face toward the sunlight and asked her sister whether she saw anything in her eyes. Uncomprehending, her sister said it seemed as if her eyes had a few little fish swimming back and forth in them. Madam X told her: certainly not fish, but ‘‘the rays of her very being.’’ Only that person could see these rays of her being, for that person had the same kind of eyes. They would recognize each other by their eyes. Now she felt that her eyes were glowing more each day. ‘‘Their intensity can illuminate everything in the universe.’’

The Way Things Are Done

1. A FEW OPINIONS ABOUT THE STORY'S BEGINNING

If an outsider asked ordinary people on Five Spice Street for details about this story, he might be surprised to learn that they wouldn’t even acknowledge there was any story. None would be willing to waste their breath on it. They’re all too busy, too preoccupied. If an outsider persisted, they’d fly into a rage, deeply insulted.

‘‘We all have a lot to do and can’t be bothered with this trivia. If you want to discuss techniques like developing color film or the relationship between the Constitution and the people-that’s something else: we have to get to the theoretical roots of these questions. Some people with ulterior motives try to attach the present issue of X and Q to things that are of the essence. This modus operandi makes us indignant. Nobody takes X or Q seriously. Ordinarily, we seldom pay them any attention, but as soon as they’re dragged up, it’s as though we attach a lot of importance to them. Whoever raises the issue is luring us down the path of evil. They stretch the net and wait for their quarry. In fact, we don’t have any story.’’ Then they scatter, leaving the visitor behind. They’re all sophisticated, reliable people.