Человек в высоком замке

           Hehadofcoursetakenspecialpainswithhisattire;atleasthecouldbeconfidentofhisappearance.Myappearance,hethought.Yes,thatisit.HowdoIappear?Thereisnodeceivinganyone;Idonotbelonghere.Onthislandthatwhitemenclearedandbuiltoneoftheirfinestcities.Iamanoutsiderinmyowncountry.

           Hecametotheproperdooralongthecarpetedhall,rangthebell.Presentlythedooropened.TherestoodyoungMrs.Kasoura,inasilkkimonoandobi,herlongblackhairinshiningtangledownherneck,smilinginwelcome.Behindherinthelivingroom,herhusband,withdrinkinhand,nodding.

           "Mr.Childan.Enter."

           Bowing,heentered.

           Tastefulintheextreme.And—soascetic.Fewpieces.Alamphere,table,bookcase,printonthewall.TheincredibleJapanesesenseofwabi.ItcouldnotbethoughtinEnglish.Theabilitytofindinsimpleobjectsabeautybeyondthatoftheelaborateorornate.Somethingtodowiththearrangement.

           "Adrink?"Mr.Kasouraasked."Scotchandsoda?"

           "Mr.Kasoura—"hebegan.

           "Paul,"theyoungJapanesesaid.Indicatinghiswife."Betty.Andyouare—"

           Mr.Childanmurmured,"Robert."

           Seatedonthesoftcarpetwiththeirdrinks,theylistenedtoarecordingofkoto,Japanesethirteen-stringharp.ItwasnewlyreleasedbyJapaneseHMV,andquitepopular.Childannoticedthatallpartsofthephonographwereconcealed,eventhespeaker.Hecouldnottellwherethesoundcamefrom.

           "Notknowingyourappetitesindining,"Bettysaid,"wehaveplayedsafe.