From the rear of the relatively quiet stage, the sounds of the property master’s hammer from time to time ringing out across the theater awakened a sense of anticipation. And the wooden clappers striking behind the curtain at intervals rang in the ears like night alarms attempting to focus scattered attention on a single point.
What was odd was the audience. Without a word of complaint about this long intermission with nothing to do, appearing ever so content, people supped with equanimity on the scattered excitement as they were swept along unprotestingly by the passage of time. They were tranquil. They appeared happy. They seemed drunk on the breath they inhaled from one another, and when they began to sober up a little they had only to shift their eyes to another’s face. There they would immediately discover something lulled and mellow. And they were able to assimilate at once their neighbor’s mood.
Returning to their seats, the girls glanced around them with what appeared to be pleasure. As if by prearranged signal, they turned in the direction of the Madam Yoshikawa. The binoculars were no longer trained on them. But neither was their owner anywhere in sight.
“She’s disappeared.”
“It seems so.”
“Shall I try to find her?”
Yuriko lifted her own opera glasses to her eyes.
“She’s not there—she’s gone off somewhere. She’s fat enough for two people so there’s no way I could miss her if she was there.”
Yuriko lowered the ivory glasses. Coming from a girl who still wore her obi so high that it obscured the beautiful pattern of beasts and flowers on her back, the remark was hardly appropriate for use in public: her elder sister, projecting grown-up authority even as she tightened her mouth to conceal her amusement, spoke admonitorily.
“Yuriko-san!”
The younger sister offered no reply. Looking slightly disgruntled as before, an expression that seemed to be exclaiming “What’s the problem?” she turned pointedly to her sister.
“I want to go home now. I wish Father would hurry and get here.”
“If you want to leave, you may. It doesn’t matter if Father isn’t here.”
“I’d better stay.”
She didn’t budge. Sitting alongside this contrary cousin as she carried on like a child, O-Nobu turned to her aunt with a show of discretion appropriate to her age.
“Shall I find Mrs. Yoshikawa and just say hello? It seems rude to ignore her.”
To tell the truth, O-Nobu wasn’t overly fond of this matron. Nor did it seem to her that the other party liked her any better. She even had a vague explanation: that the awkwardness between them had occurred because Madam had taken a dislike to her from the moment they had met. She was furthermore confident that this had occurred despite the fact that she had given her no cause. O-Nobu had realized when the binoculars had been trained on her a while ago that she would be obliged to pay her respects, but she had been unable at the time to summon the courage required and was therefore hoping as she consulted her aunt, having converted her internal uneasiness into a question, that she would help her fulfill her obligation more easily by going to greet Madam Yoshikawa herself and taking her along.
Her aunt replied at once.
“That’s a good idea. Do go and find her.”
“But she isn’t there now.”
“Of course she is, probably in the corridor.”
“But—then I’ll go, but you come too, please.”
“I was planning—”
“You won’t come with me?”
“I suppose I could. But since we’re having dinner together, I thought I’d wait until then.”
“That’s been arranged? I didn’t know a thing about it. Who’s having dinner with whom?”
“Everyone.”
“Including me?”
“Yes.”
Taken by surprise, O-Nobu paused before replying.
“In that case, I’ll wait, too.”
[ 50 ]
A MINUTE later Uncle Okamoto arrived. Glancing through the crack in the door opened for him by the man from the teahouse, he beckoned to Yuriko. Following a whispered exchange of two or three sentences standing at the door, Yuriko immediately left the theater as arranged, accompanied by the attendant from the teahouse. Entering as she went out, Okamoto wedged himself into his seat. A fat man who looked as though he might find it onerous to adjust even a little the position of his body in a space such as this, he settled in and then, as if something had occurred to him abruptly, turned halfway around.
“O-Nobu, shall we change places? I must be in your way.”
O-Nobu was indeed feeling as if a mountain had risen in front of her, but out of consideration for those around her, who were intent on the stage, she didn’t move. Okamoto, who never wore wool against his skin, had dressed for the occasion; folding his wool-clad arms, he directed his gaze in the same direction as the others as if resigned to being good company. Onstage a wan, odd-looking fellow was pacing beneath a willow tree. Carelessly dressed in a kimono with broad stripes, his Hakata obi purposely tied low over his hips, the rake was wearing zoris with leather soles that slapped against the floor at every step, a sound that grated on Okamoto’s ears. He took in the bridge next to the willow tree and the white mud walls on the other side of the bridge and then shifted his attention to the audience. Their faces, every one of them, were tense. As if there were major significance in the movements of the young man as he paced back and forth, slapping the floor with his zoris, the full house was hushed, not a single cough. Perhaps, having just come from outside, Okamoto was still insulated against this very particular atmosphere, or perhaps he simply found it ridiculous: after a brief interval he turned halfway around again ponderously in his seat and addressed O-Nobu in a low voice.
“Is this any good? How’s Yoshio-san?”
Having posed three or four simple questions, to which O-Nobu replied with one-word answers, Okamoto spoke again with a pointed glint in his eye.
“How did it go today? Yoshio-san must have had a thing or two to say. He must have done some grumbling, ‘Here I am sick in bed and you’re off to the theater’—I can imagine him thinking that was going too far and saying so.”
“He said nothing of the kind.”
“But he must have had a comment or two. Something about me having some nerve, at least. You sounded strange on the phone.”
In a place where no one around her was talking, not even in a whisper, O-Nobu felt extremely awkward about engaging in a long dialogue and merely smiled weakly.
“Anyway, it’s not a problem. Your old uncle will get on the phone with him later so you needn’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
“No? But you must be a little concerned—to have offended your husband so soon after getting married.”
“It’s fine—I’m trying to tell you, he’s not offended.”
O-Nobu arched her eyebrows as if in annoyance. Okamoto, who had been chaffing her for his own amusement, turned a little serious.
“Truth be told, our invitation today wasn’t just to theater; we rather needed you to be here. That’s why I dragged you out even though Yoshio-san is ill. When I explain the reason to him later, I’m sure he’ll understand. You can count on your uncle to explain.”
O-Nobu quickly looked away from the stage.
“What reason are you talking about?”
“It’s hard to talk in here. I’ll tell you later.”
O-Nobu could only fall silent. Okamoto offered an amplification.
“We’re having dinner here this evening with Yoshikawa-san. Did you know that? Look, he’s sitting right over there.”
O-Nobu hadn’t noticed him before, but this time she had no trouble identifying the figure of Mr. Yoshikawa.
“He came with me from the club.”
At this point their conversation broke off. O-Nobu returned her attention to the stage. But ten minutes had scarcely passed when she was distracted by the man from the teahouse quietly opening the door
behind them once again. The man whispered something to her aunt, who immediately leaned over to her uncle.
“Yoshikawa-san has arranged for dinner and is asking us to join him in the dining room at the next intermission.”
O-Nobu’s uncle responded at once.
“Tell him it will be our pleasure.”
The man opened the door quietly and went outside.
O-Nobu, wondering what was about to happen next, waited in silence for the dinner hour to arrive.
[ 51 ]
JUST UNDER an hour later, O-Nobu left her seat with Tsugiko and followed her aunt and uncle on their way to the capacious dining room in a corner of the second floor. As they proceeded along the corridor side by side with shoulders almost touching, she spoke softly to her cousin.
“What sort of party is this?”
“I don’t know.”
Tsugiko looked down as she replied.
“We’re just going to eat dinner?”
“I suppose, yes.”
Sensing that the more questions she posed, the vaguer Tsugiko’s answers became, O-Nobu stopped talking. Perhaps Tsugiko was being reticent on account of her parents just ahead of them. Perhaps she didn’t know anything. Or, even if she did, who was to say she wasn’t responding in monosyllables in her soft voice because she didn’t want to explain to O-Nobu? The people they passed in the corridor tended to cast sharply appraising glances in their direction; the majority paid more attention to Tsugiko than to O-Nobu.
Abruptly a comparison between herself and Tsugiko flashed in O-Nobu’s mind. Her figure and posture were superior to Tsugiko’s, but her outfit and looks were certainly no match. O-Nobu glanced at this cousin of hers with a hint of jealousy in her eye: forever bashful in the manner of a child, made of innocence unblemished by any trace of care, a delicious young lady pure as a flowing stream. While a measure of pity that verged on derision wasn’t entirely absent from O-Nobu’s tangled feelings, the dramatically active component was a degree of envy sufficient to make her feel she would like to try trading places. O-Nobu questioned herself.
There was a time when I was still a miss, but was I ever such a young lady?
Standing shoulder to shoulder in the brightly illuminated bustle of the corridor, O-Nobu, who had lived her life day to day as it came to her, with no thought of measuring herself against Tsugiko, was struck by a kind of sorrow she had never felt before. The feeling was mild. But it was the sort of feeling that could easily turn to tears. It was the sort of feeling that made her want to grasp tightly the hand of the companion she had just now been observing with a jealous eye. In her heart she spoke to Tsugiko.
Cousin, you’re purer than I am. You’re so pure I envy you. Your purity is a weapon, but against your future husband it will be useless. Even if you attend to him as I attend to mine, irreproachably, without a lapse or fault, he won’t return the appreciation you long for. Soon enough, to secure his love, you will have to lose the natural purity that is your treasure. And even if you sacrifice something so very precious for him, he may repay you with harshness. I envy you, and at the same time I feel sorry for you. Because in your innocence you don’t understand that before long you will have to destroy the precious treasure you possess without even knowing it. For better or for worse, I was never blessed with a perfectly natural vessel like the one you possess, so I suppose in my case it might be said there hasn’t been so very much damage, but you are different from me. The minute you leave your parents for good, your heavenly innocence will be blemished. You deserve pity more than I.
They were walking slowly. When the Okamotos disappeared, the view of them obstructed by others in between, O-Nobu’s aunt made her way back to them.
“Hurry along, you dawdlers. Yoshikawa-san is waiting for us.”
Her aunt’s eyes were fixed on Tsugiko, her words addressed to her in particular. But the name Yoshikawa rang in O-Nobu’s ears with the force of a wind that scattered with one gust her mood until now. Her mind turned at once to Madam Yoshikawa, a woman she had no special fondness for and who, it appeared, had no particular fondness for her. As the wife of a powerful man whose not insubstantial patronage her husband regularly enjoyed, this was a person in whose presence she would be obliged to comport herself with the utmost amiability and politeness. Her face impassive, though her composure concealed a variety of uneasiness, O-Nobu followed the others into the dining room.
[ 52 ]
IT WAS as her aunt had said: the Yoshika-was had arrived ahead of them, and the matron who was the object of O-Nobu’s attention was engaged, facing the entrance as she stood at the table, in a conversation with O-Nobu’s uncle. The first thing O-Nobu noticed was her bulk, so considerable that not even the corpulent figure of her uncle’s back was sufficient to conceal it. At that same moment Madam Yoshikawa, her abundantly fleshed cheeks brightened by her dazzling smile, fixed her eyes on O-Nobu. But no sooner had recognition flashed between them than contact was broken, and the women did not acknowledge each other again until they exchanged formal greetings.
Glancing in Madam’s direction, it was impossible to avoid also seeing the young gentleman standing at her side. As this was unmistakably the silent man who had surprised her and Tsugiko in the corridor as they were joking indiscreetly about Madam’s binoculars, O-Nobu shuddered in spite of herself.
O-Nobu stood modestly behind the others as greetings passed among them, and when her turn came the unknown man was introduced to her simply as Miyoshi-san. It was Madam Yoshikawa who introduced him; as the introduction was identical to what she had said to O-Nobu’s uncle and aunt and even to Tsugiko, O-Nobu was left in the dark about Miyoshi’s identity.
When they took their seats, Madam sat next to Uncle Okamoto. Miyoshi was seated next to her. O-Nobu’s aunt was on the corner. Tsugiko was opposite Miyoshi. O-Nobu, whose only choice was the one seat remaining, hesitated. Yoshikawa was in the neighboring seat; Madam was opposite.
“Have a seat.”
Yoshikawa looked up at O-Nobu with a sidelong glance as if to prompt her.
“Do sit down.” Madam Yoshikawa said casually, looking directly at O-Nobu.
“Don’t stand on ceremony—join us.”
O-Nobu had no choice but to take the seat opposite Madam. Though she had intended to make the first move, she had been preempted, a bad start. From this moment on she would have to conduct herself in such a way that her hesitation would be interpreted as genuine deference grounded in politeness. In light of this resolve, Tsugiko, her exact opposite, appeared more distinctly innocent than ever as she sat across the table.
Tsugiko was even more subdued than usual. She spoke hardly at all, her eyes lowered, and there was something visible beneath the surface of her demeanor that appeared to be close to agony. O-Nobu looked across at her sympathetically and quickly turned to Madam Yoshikawa directly opposite her with the winsome eyes that were her specialty. An adroit socializer, Madam wasn’t one to remain silent.
They exchanged several fragments of polite conversation. But the topics offered no possibility of development and fell flat. O-Nobu considered building a conversation around Tsuda, whom they had in common, but as she deliberated whether she should bring him up herself, Madam Yoshikawa abandoned her and turned to Miyoshi far down the table.
“Miyoshi-san, will you kindly share one of your interesting adventures abroad with Tsugiko-san?”
Miyoshi, who had just broken off a conversation with O-Nobu’s aunt, turned toward Madam and spoke quietly.
“Certainly—if you wish.”
“I certainly do. You mustn’t just sit there.”
At this command everyone laughed. Yoshikawa hastened to make his wife’s request specific.
“Give us that one about escaping from Germany.”
“I’m always repeating that Germany story. It’s starting to seem old hat to me more than to others.”
“Even someone as calm as you must have been a little panicked—”
“More than a little. I thi
nk I was frantic—of course it’s hard to know about yourself.”
“But I bet you never thought you might be killed.”
“I suppose not—”
Miyoshi paused to reflect, and Yoshikawa spoke up from the neighboring seat.
“There’s no way he thought he’d be killed—not this fellow.”
“Why is that? Because he’s so brazen?”
“It’s not that—it’s just that this is a man with a keen taste for life.”
Tsugiko, without looking up, tittered. O-Nobu was able to gather only that this was a man who had escaped from Germany just before the war.*
* The “war” is World War I.
[ 53 ]
FOR A while the table was engrossed in stories about travel abroad that centered on Miyoshi. Whenever there was a lull, Madam provided an opportunity for someone to pick up the thread of the conversation, and O-Nobu, observing her skillfully at work, saw through to the effort she was making to push the unknown young man into the center of attention. Miyoshi, more taciturn than merely placid and unaware that he was being borne aloft on the fluency of someone kindly disposed toward him, was presenting himself to the others in his most appealing light.
There was no room for O-Nobu to put in a single word of her own. Nonetheless, while the natural course of the conversation consigned her to the position of attentive listener, her critical faculty was actively engaged. Perceiving that Madam’s technique included a blend of frankness and presumption, and seeing clearly each step of the procedure by which she moved her strategy toward success, O-Nobu had to acknowledge that a vast distance separated Madam Yoshikawa’s temperament and her own. But she sensed that this was not a matter of superior and inferior, but a distance across a flat surface. That was far from meaning, however, that there was nothing to fear from it. Quite apart from her imperiousness, which seemed to come from the privileged status she enjoyed, there was, O-Nobu sensed uneasily, something dangerous about Madam’s skill, as if a time might come when it would be accompanied by a frightening power of destruction.