This was her logic. This was her hope. It was this she was ultimately resolved to achieve. She had already proclaimed her determination in front of Tsugiko.
It doesn’t matter who he is, you must love the man you’ve chosen for yourself with all your heart and soul, and by loving him you must make him love you every bit as deeply no matter what.
Yet again she swore to herself to go to this length. She commanded her own will to settle for nothing less.
Her mood brightened a little. She began writing again. Unabashedly she assembled sentences into a picture of herself and Tsuda designed to afford her parents as much pleasure as she could manage. From one touch to the next she conveyed the flavor of the two of them living their life together as though happily. She marveled at the buoyancy of her brush as it danced brightly across the paper. A long letter composed itself in a single breath. She had no idea how to measure the length in time of this effortless effort.
When she had finished and put the brush down, she read over what she had written. Because the same mood that had governed her hand now governed her eye, she found nothing that seemed to require revision. Even the Chinese characters she had trouble with that would normally send her to the dictionary seemed perfect as they were. With just two or three corrections of mistaken particles that obscured the meaning of a sentence, she rolled the letter up. Then, in her heart, she put her parents on notice.
Everything I have written in this letter is true. I haven’t lied, or exaggerated, or gone out of my way to put your minds at ease. If anyone doubts this, I shall detest him, disdain him, spit in his face. Because I know the truth better than he. I have described the truth beyond the superficial facts on the surface. A truth that is understood only by me. But this is a truth that will have to be understood by everyone in the future. I am not deceiving you in any way. If there is anyone who will say that I have written a deceptive letter to put you at ease, that person is blind though his eyes be open. That person is the liar. I beg you to trust the writer of this letter to you. Surely god trusts me already.
O-Nobu placed the letter next to her pillow and went to bed.
[ 79 ]
SHE RECALLED the moment when she met Tsuda for the first time in Kyoto. She had been home for a long-overdue visit with her parents for two or three days when her father had sent her on an errand. She had been obliged to take a sealed letter and a Chinese book in its cloth case to the Tsuda residence eight blocks or so away. She had learned for the first time directly from her father that he had been in and out of bed with a mild case of nerve pain, and that he had from time to time been borrowing books from Tsuda’s father to divert him in his hours of idleness. The errand was returning one volume and bringing home another. Standing at the front of the house, she called inside to announce herself. A large screen was standing open just inside the entrance. As she was gazing curiously at the strange characters that appeared to be dancing on the white parchment, the person who emerged from behind the screen to greet her was neither a maid nor a student houseboy but Tsuda Yoshio himself, in Kyoto at just that time on a visit to his own parents.
Until this moment, they hadn’t met. O-Nobu knew about Yoshio only what she had heard from her father that morning, that he had recently returned and was currently at home. Even this much she had chanced to learn only because her father had decided to borrow another book, written a letter to that effect, and, in passing, had mentioned his friend’s son.
Yoshio had taken from O-Nobu the Chinese book in its case and, for some reason, had studied at length the title, inscribed in imposing calligraphy, A New Anthology of Ming Dynasty Poetry. His prolonged scrutiny of the book obliged O-Nobu to observe him the while. When he lifted his eyes abruptly, it was at once apparent that O-Nobu had been gazing at him intently. O-Nobu would have explained that, having placed her in the position of awaiting his reply, he had left her no choice. “Unfortunately my father isn’t at home just now,” he said, looking up. O-Nobu turned to leave. But he bid her wait and, while she looked on, without a word of explanation or apology, opened the letter addressed to his father. This unhesitating action also attracted O-Nobu’s attention. His behavior was improper. But it was also unmistakably decisive. O-Nobu felt disinclined to characterize him as unmannerly or reckless.
With a glance at the letter, Yoshio had asked O-Nobu to wait at the entrance and had withdrawn to look for the requested book. In just ten minutes he was back and apologized for having detained her to no purpose. The designated volume was not to be found, but as soon as his father returned he would make sure it was delivered. O-Nobu declined to impose to that extent. Promising to come back for it the following day, she went home.
That afternoon, Yoshio had appeared with the book in hand. Quite by chance it was O-Nobu who had gone to the entrance to see who was calling. Once again they came face to face. And this time they took notice of each other at once. The volume in Yoshio’s hand was roughly three times thicker than the one O-Nobu had returned that morning. He had wrapped it in a batik shawl for carrying, and as he lifted it, swinging from his arm, he might have been showing her a bird cage.
Accepting an invitation to come in, he had stepped up to the tatami parlor and spoken with O-Nobu’s father. To O-Nobu it appeared that he engaged effortlessly in a rambling conversation suitable for elders and of no possible consequence or interest to young people, bantering about random subjects of particular interest to her father as if it were no trouble at all. He knew nothing about the book he had brought and even less about the one O-Nobu had returned. He confessed he was unable to read the complex characters in many strokes that filled page after page, but with the four block characters in the title as a guide, Poems of Mei-Cun Wu, he had searched the bookshelves high and low. O-Nobu’s father had thanked him profusely for going to the trouble….
An image of Tsuda in those days flickered in O-Nobu’s mind. He was the same person as now. And yet he wasn’t. Speaking plainly, the same Tsuda had changed. The man who had appeared indifferent in the beginning had gradually been drawn closer to her. She wondered if now he might not gradually move apart. The doubt very nearly constituted her reality. To dispel the doubt she would have to overturn the reality.
[ 80 ]
WHEN SHE awoke the next morning, spineless was the farthest thing from what she was feeling; her entire body was bursting with the force of her determination She sprang out of bed. As she threw off the bedding, she felt the strength in her own arms. The impact of the morning chill on her flexed muscles made her body contract.
She opened the rain shutters one after the other by herself. Outside, it appeared to be much earlier than usual. It made her somehow happy that, in contrast to yesterday, she was up this morning if anything earlier than when Tsuda was here. A portion of her satisfaction was this compensation for having lolled about in bed yesterday.
When she had folded away her bedding and swept the tatami floor, she sat down in front of the mirror. She loosened her hair, which had been up for nearly four days. Running her comb twice or thrice through the greasy strands, which had stiffened, she forced them back into buns on either side of her head in the style favored by school girls. Not until she was finished did she go downstairs and wake the maid.
Waiting for breakfast to be ready, they did housework together; when O-Nobu sat down at her tray O-Toki, who knew nothing, seemed surprised that O-Nobu was awake at this hour. She also appeared to be feeling apologetic about having risen later than her mistress.
“I’m going to look in on my husband today.”
“So early?”
“I didn’t go yesterday, so I think I’ll leave a bit early today.” O-Nobu’s speech was politer than usual, well formed. It revealed a certain calmness. And an eagerness churned her calmness. The resolve accompanying her eagerness was also discernible in the background. Her state of mind was revealing itself in her comportment.
Even so, she made no effort to depart at once. When O-Toki came in with the breakfast tray, the co
rd that held up her kimono sleeves loosened, they chatted for a while about the Okamotos. This household, where O-Toki had begun her service, was a subject of keen interest to both of them, and they discussed the family often, to the point of repeating themselves. Particularly in Tsuda’s absence. When he was present, this had led on occasion to an uncomfortable situation in which he felt excluded. Having experienced once or twice an awkwardness that she quickly perceived was due to an imprudent turn in the conversation, O-Nobu, who desired to avoid the unpleasantness of being seen by her husband as a woman who enjoyed boasting about her affluent relatives, had previously cautioned O-Toki about the need for care in this matter.
“Has anything been decided about young miss?”
“There’s some talk but nothing definite—”
“It would be so wonderful if she could find someone suitable.”
“It won’t be long now. My uncle is impatient. Besides, unlike me, Tsugiko is so good-looking.”
O-Toki began to say something. Because flattery from her maid was painful, O-Nobu quickly resumed.
“If a woman isn’t attractive, she’s at a terrible disadvantage. No matter how clever she is, or how attentive, if she isn’t good-looking, men simply won’t like her.”
“That’s not so.”
O-Toki’s emphatic denial, as though in self-defense, prompted O-Nobu to an asseveration.
“Oh yes it is. Men are like that!”
“Maybe at first, but as they get older things change.”
O-Nobu didn’t reply. But her self-confidence wasn’t all that fragile.
“Plain as I am, my only hope is being reborn, and that’s the truth.”
O-Toki looked at O-Nobu in dismay.
“If Missus is plain, what in the world would you call me?”
O-Toki’s protestation may have been intended as flattery, but it was also the truth. Satisfied by the degree of each, which she perfectly understood, O-Nobu rose.
As she was changing her kimono to go out, she heard footsteps approaching the gate and the bell at the entrance rang. When O-Toki went out to see who it was, a voice could be heard saying, “A moment with Mrs. T—”
Attempting to discern to whom the voice belonged, O-Nobu inclined her head.
[ 81 ]
O-TOKI BURST into the room in giggles, her sleeve to her mouth, scarcely able to get the name out. Standing in front of O-Nobu, she writhed in her struggle to choke back her hilarity. It took her considerable effort to say merely, “Kobayashi.”
O-Nobu had no idea how to handle this unexpected caller. In the middle of tying a thick obi, she was unable to go straight to the entrance. Nevertheless, it would be improper to keep him waiting there forever as if he were a bill collector. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, she arched her eyebrows in perplexity. In the end she had no choice but to have him shown in, advising him, however, through O-Toki that she was on her way out and had little time to spare. But when she went down to greet him, she saw that his face was not entirely unfamiliar and found herself unable to ask him to leave as soon as he had explained his visit. For his part, Kobayashi, whose natural-born ignorance of consideration or reserve was the equal of any man’s, appeared to have persuaded himself, though he knew that O-Nobu was pressed for time, that sitting there as long as he liked was not a problem so long as his companion betrayed no sign of impatience.
Kobayashi knew all about Tsuda’s illness. He explained that he had found employment and was on his way to Korea. As he described it, the position was of sufficient importance to allow for a hopeful future. He also spoke of being followed by a detective. Mentioning that this incident had occurred on the evening when he and Tsuda were returning from the Fujiis’, he observed the surprise on O-Nobu’s face as though amused. He appeared proud of having been followed by a detective. He went so far as to explain that he had likely been targeted as a socialist.
Portions of his story were shocking to a woman of faint heart. O-Nobu had heard none of this from Tsuda; listening tremulously, she was swept up and ended by squandering important time. Even so, if she continued listening compliantly, it appeared there would be no end to what he had to say. In the end she was left with no choice but to take the lead and prompt him in the direction of quickly bringing up the nature of his errand. Looking a little uncomfortable, he finally explained. It turned out to be about the overcoat O-Nobu and O-Toki had been cackling about the night before.
“Tsuda-kun promised to give it to me.”
What he had in mind was trying the coat on so that if it appeared to fit him badly he would have time to have it altered before he left the country.
O-Nobu was inclined to remove it from the bottom of a chest of drawers and hand it over straight away. But she had heard nothing of this from Tsuda.
“I don’t imagine he’ll be wearing it again—” O-Nobu hesitated, well aware it was in her husband’s temperament to be unexpectedly testy about this sort of thing. A scolding for carelessness on account of an outgrown overcoat would be mortifying.
“I’m sure it’s fine. He definitely said he’d give it to me. I wouldn’t lie about it.”
A refusal to hand the coat over would be making a liar of Kobayashi.
“I may have been blind drunk, but I knew what was going on. You won’t find me forgetting about something that’s coming to me.”
O-Nobu made up her mind.
“If you’ll just wait a minute. I’ll have the maid phone the hospital.”
“I didn’t realize you were so cautious,” Kobayashi said and laughed. But O-Nobu discovered in his face no sign of the displeasure she had secretly feared. Even so, she couldn’t help adding a word of justification as a precaution against giving offense.
“Just to be sure. I’d hate to receive a scolding afterward.”
O-Toki hurried off, and until she returned from the public telephone with Tsuda’s reply, they remained seated. Awaiting her return face to face, they chatted. When the conversation took an unexpected turn, glinting in the light of her surprise, O-Nobu’s heart began to pound.
[ 82 ]
“TSUDA-KUN SEEMS to have settled down lately. It’s all your influence, Mrs. T.”
The remark came out of the blue the minute O-Toki was out the door. In view of who the speaker was, O-Nobu felt her reply should be limited to something vague.
“You think so? It seems to me I have no influence at all.”
“How can you say that? He seems like a new person.”
O-Nobu’s impulse was to mock him for this hyperbole. But she was unable to descend from the plateau of her hauteur and fell pointedly silent instead. Kobayashi wasn’t the sort of person to register such a signal. He rambled on, unconcerned with order or sequence, gathering himself from time to time to bear down with rude directness.
“At the end of the day, no man is any match for his wife’s power. For a bachelor like me it’s beyond imagining, but there must be something there, I guess, that makes that so.”
Unable to repress herself longer, O-Nobu laughed.
“There are lots of mysterious things that someone in your shoes would never notice—between a man and his wife.”
“How about giving me an example?”
“What good would it do a single man to know anything about it?”
“For future reference.”
A clever light gleamed in O-Nobu’s small eyes.
“The best thing would be for you to find a wife for yourself.”
Kobayashi made a show of scratching his head.
“I might want to but I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“If there are no takers how can there be anyone to find?”
“Good gracious, Japan has an excess of women. There are brides galore standing around on every corner, any kind you want.”
Having spoken, O-Nobu wondered if she had gone too far. But her companion was indifferent. His nerves, accustomed to stronger, more vitriolic language on a daily basis, had been numbed.
“No matter how many extra women there are, I’m poised to flee; no one would become a fugitive with me.”
The notion of fleeing evoked abruptly in O-Nobu’s mind the lyric journey of a man and woman heading away from the world toward double suicide at the end of a play. Picturing momentarily the Kabuki figures bewitchingly symbolizing a fervid love, O-Nobu looked across at Kobayashi, as utterly unrelated to such an image as he could be, sitting before her in hopes of acquiring someone else’s worn overcoat, and smiled.
“If you’re going to flee, why not go all the way and take someone along?”
“Who?”
“That goes without saying. A man must take his wife.”
“Is that so—”
As though he had been struck, Kobayashi stiffened. O-Nobu, who had not expected this reaction, was a little surprised. If anything she felt unexpectedly amused. Kobayashi, on the other hand, was serious. After a momentary pause, he spoke again, oddly, as though to himself.
“If there had been a good-hearted woman to accompany me all the way to Korea, even I might have ended up a regular human being instead of a twisted one. Truth is, it’s not only a wife I don’t have. I have nothing. No parents and no friends. In other words I have no world. You might even say, broadly speaking, that I’m not even human.”
O-Nobu had the feeling she was meeting a person like this for the first time in her life. She had never heard anyone say such things, and she had difficulty comprehending even their surface meaning. When it came to how she ought to handle her companion, she had no idea of a direction to take. Meanwhile Kobayashi was becoming more emotional.
“Mrs. T! All I have is one kid sister. And to me, who has nothing else, my sister is extremely precious. I couldn’t even say how many times more precious than she would be to an ordinary person. Even so I have to leave my sister here. She tends to want to tag along wherever I go. But I can’t possibly take her with me. Because it’s safer for us to be in separate places than together. There’s less danger of being murdered!”