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38 Mori Ōgai

glass door; after hesitating a moment, Watanabé entered the one on the left on which were written the characters for Entrance.

Inside he found a wide passage. By the door was a pile of little Japanese cloths for wiping one’s shoes and next to these a large Western door-mat. Watanabé’s shoes were muddy after the rain and he carefully cleaned them with both implements. Apparently in this restaurant one was supposed to observe the Western custom and wear one’s shoes indoors.

There was no sign of life in the passage, but from the distance came a great sound of hammering and sawing. The place was under reconstruction, thought Watanabé.

He waited a while, but as no one came to receive him, he walked to the end of the passage. Here he stopped, not knowing which way to turn. Suddenly he noticed a man leaning against the wall a few yards away with a napkin under his arm. He went up to him.

“I telephoned yesterday for a reservation.”

The man sprang to attention. “Oh yes, sir. A table for two, I believe? It’s on the second floor. Would you mind coming with me, sir.”

The waiter followed him up another flight of stairs. The man had known immediately who he was, thought Watanabé. Customers must be few and far between with the repairs underway. As he mounted the stairs, the clatter and banging of the workmen became almost deafening.

“Quite a lively place,” said Watanabé, looking back at the waiter.

“Oh no, sir. The men go home at five o’clock. You won’t be disturbed while you’re dining, sir.”

When they reached the top of the stairs, the waiter hurried past Watanabé and opened a door to the left. It was a large room overlooking the canal. It seemed rather big for just two people. Round each of the three small tables in the room were squeezed as many chairs as could possibly be fitted. Under the window was a huge sofa and next to it a potted vine