After this outburst, she vanished back through the curtain, leaving the young man, utterly shattered, to his own devices.
What had happened? With unerring accuracy, she had marshaled just those words that were calculated to wound him most deeply, like arrows aimed at his weakest points. She had tipped them with a poison distilled from the misgivings that preyed on him most. He should have stopped to reflect on the extraordinary efficacy of this poison. He should have tried to decide just why such a crystallization of pure malice had occurred.
But his heart was thumping in his chest, and his hands shook. Bitter anger so overwhelmed him that he was close to tears. He could not be objective and coolly analyze the emotion that wracked him. Worse yet, he had to rejoin the guests. And later in the evening there would be no escape; he would have to make pleasant conversation as though nothing were troubling him. He could imagine no task that he felt less fit to perform.
20
AS FOR THE BANQUET, everything went off as planned and was brought to a successful conclusion without any slips being apparent to the guests. The Marquis’s rude optimism was proof against all subtleties of misgiving. He himself was well satisfied, and he never dreamed that any of his guests might possibly feel otherwise. It was at such moments that his wife’s dazzling worth was brought home to him, as their subsequent conversation revealed.
“The Prince and Princess seem to have had a good time from beginning to end, wouldn’t you say?” the Marquis began. “I think they went home quite happy, don’t you?”
“That goes without saying,” replied the Marquise. “Didn’t His Highness the Prince deign to remark that he had not spent so delightful a day since the Emperor died?”
“That’s not the best way he could have phrased it, but I know what he meant. But still—to go from mid-afternoon until late at night—don’t you think it might have been too tiring for some of them?”
“No, no, not at all. You arranged things so cleverly, with a variety of diversions following one after the other, that it all flowed wonderfully well. I don’t believe that our guests had a moment to spare in which they could have become weary.”
“There wasn’t anybody asleep during the film?”
“Oh, no. They were all watching wide-eyed from beginning to end and following with the keenest interest.”
“But, you know, that Satoko is a tenderhearted girl. I did think the pictures were quite emotional, but she was the only one sufficiently moved to cry.”
Satoko had, in fact, been crying uncontrollably throughout the show. The Marquis had noticed her tears when the lights were lit.
Kiyoaki made his way up to his room, worn out. He was wide awake, and sleep became impossible. He opened the window and imagined that the snapping turtles were gathering together just at that moment, lifting their metallic green heads above the dark surface of the pond to peer in his direction. Finally he rang the bell that summoned Iinuma, who since graduating from night school was always home in the evening.
On stepping into the room, Iinuma needed no more than a single glance to realize that anger and frustration were contorting the face of the young master. In recent weeks he had gradually developed a certain skill in reading facial expressions, a talent that until recently had been totally beyond him. He had become especially adept with Kiyoaki, with whom he had daily contact and whose expressions reminded him of the whirling fragments of colored glass that settled into continually changing patterns within a kaleidoscope.
As a result, his disposition and outlook began to alter. Not so long ago, the sight of his young master’s face drawn in this way by anxiety and grief would have filled him with loathing for what he would have judged to be Kiyoaki’s sluggish indolence. But now he was able to see it as a refinement.
Joy and exuberance did not, in fact, suit Kiyoaki. His beauty had a melancholy cast and so appeared most attractive when he was under the stress of anger or grief, and together with these there was always a forlorn suggestion of the spoiled child as a kind of shadow image. At times like this his pale cheeks became still whiter, his beautiful eyes bloodshot, his finely arched eyebrows were twisted into a frown, and his whole spirit seemed to waver as though his inner world were shattered. He seemed desperately to need something to cling to. And so the hint of sweetness lingered in the midst of his desolation, like the echo of a song over a barren waste.
Since Kiyoaki said nothing, Iinuma sat down on the chair he had made a habit of using recently even when Kiyoaki did not offer it to him. Then he reached out and began to read the banquet menu, which Kiyoaki had thrown down on the table. The dishes listed constituted a feast such as Iinuma knew he would never taste, no matter how many decades he might serve the Matsugaes.
The Evening Banquet of the Cherry Blossom Festival
April 6, 1913
The Second Year of the Taisho Era
SOUP
Turtle Soup Finely chopped turtle meat floating in broth
Chicken Soup Broth with thin slices of chicken
ENTREES
Poached Trout Prepared in white wine and milk
Roast Fillet of Beef Prepared with steamed mushrooms
Roast Quail Stuffed with mushrooms
Broiled Fillet of Mutton Garnished with celery
Pâté de Foie Gras Served with assortment of cold fowl and sliced pineapple in iced wine
Roast Gamecock Stuffed with mushrooms
INDIVIDUAL SALADS
VEGETABLES
Asparagus Green Beans
Prepared with Cheese
DESSERTS
French Custard Petits Fours
Ice Cream A choice of flavors
While Iinuma read the menu, Kiyoaki kept staring at him, one expression succeeding another on his face. One moment his eyes seemed full of contempt, the next brimming with pathetic appeal. He was irritated that Iinuma should sit there with insensitive deference just waiting for him to break the silence. If only Iinuma had been capable of forgetting the master-retainer relationship at that moment, and had put his hand on Kiyoaki’s shoulder like an elder brother, how easily he could have started to talk.
He had no idea that the young man who sat in front of him was different from the Iinuma to whom he was accustomed. What he did not realize was that the Iinuma who had once been obsessed with the rough suppression of his own passions had now developed a gentle forbearance toward him, and, inexperienced as he was, had taken his first tentative steps into the world of subtle emotions.
“I can hardly imagine that you have the least idea what’s on my mind,” Kiyoaki said at last. “Miss Satoko insulted me terribly. She spoke to me as if I were a mere child. And she as much as said that in everything up to now I’ve behaved like a foolish little boy. No, in fact she said it in so many words. She came at me with everything that would hurt me most, as though she had had it all carefully planned. I just don’t understand how she could have brought herself to do it. Now I realize that the ride that snowy morning—which was her idea—now I know that I was nothing more than a toy she felt like playing with.” Kiyoaki paused for a moment. “But you had no inkling at all of how things really stood? Tadeshina, for example, didn’t say anything at all that sounded suspicious?”
Iinuma thought for a while before answering.
“Well, no, sir. I haven’t heard anything.” But his awkward pause clung to Kiyoaki’s nerves like a vine.
“You’re lying. You do know something.”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
Finally, however, under the pressure of Kiyoaki’s questions, Iinuma poured out what he had been determined not to reveal. Being able to sense a man’s mood is one thing, but to gauge his probable reaction is quite another. He did not realize that his words would strike Kiyoaki with the force of an axe.
“This is what Miné told me, sir. I’m the only one she told, and I promised faithfully not to breathe a word of it to anyone else. But since it concerns the young master, I think it’s best that I tell it. It was on the day of t
he New Year’s family party, when Miss Ayakura was here at the house. It’s the day your father the Marquis is kind enough to invite all your relatives’ children here to entertain them, talk to them and listen to their problems, as you know. And so it came about that your father the Marquis asked Miss Ayakura in a joking way if she didn’t have any problems she wanted to discuss with him.
“She answered, also apparently as a joke: ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I have a very serious matter I want to discuss with you, Marquis Matsugae. I wonder if I might inquire about your views on education.’
“At this point I must tell you, sir, that this entire incident was related to Miné by the Marquis as—well, a so-called bedtime story”—these two words cost Iinuma inexpressible pain—“and so he told it to her in detail, like a bedtime story, laughing a great deal as he did so. And so she told it to me just as he said it happened. At any rate, Miss Ayakura had caught the interest of your father the Marquis, and he asked: ‘My views on education, you say?’
“And then Miss Ayakura said: ‘Well, according to what I’ve heard from Kiyo, his father seems to be a great advocate of the empirical approach. He told me that you treated him to a guided tour of the world of geishas so that he could learn how best to conduct himself there. And Kiyo seems to be very happy with the results, feeling that he’s now quite a man. But really, Marquis Matsugae, is it true that you champion the empirical method even at the expense of morality?’
“I understand that the lady asked this awkward question with her usual effortless ease. He himself burst out laughing and then answered: ‘What a difficult question! That’s just the sort of thing these moral reform groups ask in their petitions to the Diet. Well, if what Kiyoaki said were true, I could muster something in my defense. But the truth is this: Kiyo himself rejected just that very educational opportunity. As you know, he’s a late bloomer—he’s so fastidious, it’s hard to believe he’s my son. Certainly I asked him to come with me, but I hardly had time to open my mouth before he bristled and stalked off in a high dudgeon. But how amusing! Even though that’s what actually happened, he’s made up a story so as to have something to boast to you about. However, I’m pained to think that I’ve raised a boy who would mention the red-light district to an aristocrat, no matter how close friends they are. I’ll call him in now and let him know how proud I am of his behavior. It might persuade him to go out and have a fling at a geisha house.’
“But Miss Ayakura pleaded with your father the Marquis and finally convinced him to give up such a rash idea. And she also made him promise to forget what she had told him. And so he refrained from mentioning it to anyone else out of respect for his word. But he finally told Miné, laughing all the time and obviously very amused by the whole thing. But he gave her a strict warning not to say a word to anyone. Miné is a woman, of course, and so she couldn’t keep it to herself; she finally told just me. I realized that the young master’s honor was involved, so I threatened her in no uncertain terms, saying that if this story went any further, I would break off with her at once. She was so shaken by the way I said this that I don’t think there’s any danger of the tale spreading.”
As he listened to this account, Kiyoaki became even paler. He was like a man who has been groping wildly in thick fog, striking his head on one obstacle after another, until the fog suddenly lifts about him to reveal a line of white marble columns. The amorphous worry that had enveloped him now assumed a shape that was perfectly clear.
Despite her denial, Satoko had read his letter after all. It had of course dismayed her somewhat, but when she found out at the New Year’s family party from the Marquis himself that it was a lie, she became ecstatic and exhilarated over her “happiest New Year.” Now he understood why she had opened her heart to him so passionately and so suddenly at the stable that day. And finally, her confidence at its highest, she had thus been sufficiently emboldened to invite him to go for that ride through the February snow.
This revelation did not explain Satoko’s tears today nor the severe tongue-lashing she had given him. But it was abundantly clear to him that she was a liar from first to last, that she’d been laughing at him secretly from beginning to end. No matter how one might try to defend her, it was undeniable that she had taken a sadistic pleasure in his discomfiture.
“On the one hand,” he thought bitterly, “she accuses me of behaving like a child and on the other, how obvious it is that she has been behaving as though she wants me to remain that way forever. How shrewd she is! She gives the appearance of being a woman who needs to be dependent at the very moment when she’s up to one of her unscrupulous tricks. She pretended to worship me, but she was really baby-nursing.”
Overcome as he was by resentment, he did not pause to reflect that it was his letter that had begun everything, that it was his lie that had initiated the train of events. All he could see was that his every misfortune sprang from Satoko’s treachery.
She had wounded his pride at a stage in his life—the painful transition between boyhood and manhood—when nothing was more precious to him. Though the affair itself would seem trifling to an adult—as his father’s laughter had so clearly demonstrated—it was a trifle that nevertheless bore upon his self-esteem, and for Kiyoaki at nineteen, nothing was more delicate nor more vulnerable. Whether she realized this or not, she had trampled on it with an incredible lack of sensitivity. He felt sick with disgrace.
Iinuma watched his white face in the lengthening silence with compassion, but he didn’t realize how punishing a blow he had just delivered. This handsome boy had never missed an opportunity to discomfit him, and now, without the least trace of revenge in his intentions, he had crushed Kiyoaki. Furthermore, he had never felt anything so close to affection for him as at this moment, watching him sitting with his head bowed.
His thoughts took a still gentler, more affectionate turn: he would help Kiyoaki up and over to his bed. If the boy began to cry, he too would cry in sympathy. But when Kiyoaki raised his head, his features were hard and set. There was no trace of tears. His cold, piercing glance banished all Iinuma’s fantasies.
“All right,” he said. “You may go now. I’m going to bed.”
He got to his feet by himself and pushed Iinuma toward the door.
21
THE NEXT DAY Tadeshina telephoned repeatedly, but Kiyoaki would not go to the phone. She then asked to speak to Iinuma and told him that Miss Satoko wanted at all costs to speak directly with the young master and would Iinuma please convey this to him. Kiyoaki, however, had given him strict instructions, and so he could not act as a mediator. Finally, after a number of calls, Satoko herself telephoned Iinuma. The result, however, was the same: his unqualified refusal.
The calls kept up for some days, causing no little stir among the housemaids. Kiyoaki’s response did not vary. At last Tadeshina came in person.
Iinuma received her at a dark side entrance. He sat on his heels on the entrance platform, every fold of his cotton hakama in place, determined not to let Tadeshina one step into the house.
“The young master is absent and so is unable to welcome you.”
“I don’t believe that’s altogether true. However, if you insist that it is, would you please call Mr. Yamada.”
“Even if you were to see Mr. Yamada, I’m afraid that it would make no difference. The young master will not see you.”
“All right then, if that’s the way you feel. I’ll just take the liberty of coming in uninvited and I’ll discuss the matter directly with the young master himself.”
“You are, of course, quite free to enter as you like. But he has locked himself in his room, and there is no way of gaining access to him. And then, I presume that your errand is of a rather confidential nature. If you were to disclose it to Yamada, it might give rise to some talk within the house and eventually come to the ears of His Excellency the Marquis. However, if that prospect does not unduly concern you . . .”
Tadeshina said nothing. As she glared with loathing a
t Iinuma, she noticed how clearly his pimples stood out, even in the gloom of the entranceway. She herself stood against the background of a bright spring day, the pale green tips of the pine branches flashing in the sunlight. Her old face, its wrinkles barely subdued by their covering layer of white powder, reminded him of a figure painted on crepe. Malice glinted sharply from her eyes sunk deep in their nests of folded skin.
“Thank you very much. I presume that even though you are only following the orders of the young master himself, you must be prepared to take the consequences of addressing yourself to me in such a fashion. Up until now, I have been exercising my ingenuity to some considerable extent on your behalf as well. It would not be wise to depend on it too much from now on. Please be kind enough to convey my respects to the young master.”
Some four or five days later, a thick letter came from Satoko. Usually Tadeshina gave letters for Kiyoaki directly to Iinuma, so as to circumvent Yamada; but this time the letter was placed upon a gold lacquer tray with the family crest and delivered openly by Yamada to Kiyoaki’s room.
Kiyoaki was at pains to call Iinuma to his room and show him the unopened letter. Then he told him to open the window. In his presence he put the letter into the fire of his hibachi. Iinuma watched his white hand darting about in the hibachi contained in paulownia wood, avoiding the small tongues of flame that flared up from time to time, stirring up the fire whenever the weight of the letter threatened to choke it. Iinuma had the feeling that a refined form of crime was being committed before his eyes. Had he helped, he was sure that the thing could have been done more efficiently, but he did not offer to, fearing a refusal. Kiyoaki had called him there to be a witness.
Kiyoaki could not avoid the smoke that rose from the smoldering paper, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Iinuma had once hoped that hard discipline and tears would help Kiyoaki to achieve a suitable attitude to life. Now he sat looking at the tears that graced Kiyoaki’s cheeks, reddened by the fire, tears that owed nothing whatever to any efforts of his. Why was it, he wondered, that he always felt helpless in Kiyoaki’s presence?