‘Not impertinent in the least, I quite understand. But no, I never spoke to anyone. But then I was very ill this time last year. If some detective had appeared, Miss Suzuki would no doubt have sent him away.’
I nodded, then said: ‘It’s just possible someone may call on you this year.’
‘Oh? Well, I’ll only have the best things to say about you. After all, we were good colleagues once.’
‘I’m very grateful.’
‘It’s good of you to have called like this,’ he said. ‘But so far as Miss Noriko’s marriage is concerned, it was quite unnecessary. We may not have parted on the easiest of terms, but things like that shouldn’t come between us. Naturally, I’d say only the best things about you.’
‘I didn’t doubt it,’ I said. ‘You were always a generous man.’
‘Still, if it’s brought us together again, I’m glad.’
With some effort, Matsuda reached forward and began to refill our teacups. ‘Forgive me, Ono,’ he said, eventually, ‘but you still seem uneasy about something.’
‘I do?’
‘Forgive me for putting it so bluntly, but the fact is very soon Miss Suzuki will be coming in to warn me I should retire again. I’m afraid I’m not able to entertain guests for prolonged periods, not even old colleagues.’
‘Of course, I’m very sorry. It’s most inconsiderate of me.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Ono. You can’t go for a while yet. I was saying this because if you came here with a particular point to raise, it would be best if you’d do so soon.’ Suddenly, he burst into laughter, saying: ‘Really, you look aghast at my bad manners.’
‘Not at all. It’s most inconsiderate of me. But the truth is, I came simply to talk about my daughter’s marriage prospects.’
‘I see.’
‘But I suppose,’ I continued, ‘it was my intention to mention certain eventualities. You see, the present negotiations may be quite delicate in nature. I’d be extremely beholden to you if you’d answer any queries which may come your way with delicacy.’
‘Of course.’ His gaze was on me, and there was a touch of amusement in his eyes. ‘With utmost delicacy.’
‘Particularly, that is, with regards to the past.’
‘But I’ve said already,’ Matsuda said, and his voice had become a little colder, ‘I have only the best of things to report of you from the past.’
‘Of course,’
Matsuda continued to look at me for a while, then he sighed.
‘I’ve hardly moved from this house for the last three years,’ he said. ‘But I still keep my ears open for what’s happening in this country of ours. I realize there are now those who would condemn the likes of you and me for the very things we were once proud to have achieved. And I suppose this is why you’re worried, Ono. You think perhaps I will praise you for things perhaps best forgotten.’
‘No such thing,’ I said hastily. ‘You and I both have a lot to be proud of. It’s merely that where marriage talks are concerned, one has to appreciate the delicacy of the situation. But you’ve put my mind at rest. I know you’ll exercise your judgement as well as ever.’
‘I will do my best,’ Matsuda said. ‘But, Ono, there are things we should both be proud of. Never mind what people today are all saying. Before long, a few more years, and the likes of us will be able to hold our heads high about what we tried to do. I simply hope I live as long as that. It’s my wish to see my life’s efforts vindicated.’
‘Of course. I feel quite the same. But in respect to marriage negotiations …’
‘Naturally’, Matsuda broke in, ‘I’ll do my best to exercise delicacy.’
I bowed, and we fell silent for a moment. Then he said:
‘But tell me, Ono, if it’s the case that you’re worried about the past, I assume you’ve been visiting a few of the others from those days?’
‘In fact, you’re the first I’ve come to. I’ve no idea where many of our old friends are these days.’
‘What about Kuroda? I hear he’s living in the city somewhere.’
‘Is that so? I haven’t been in touch with him since … since the war.’
‘If we’re worrying about Miss Noriko’s future, perhaps you’d best seek him out, painful as it may be.’
‘Indeed. It’s simply that I have no idea where he is.’
‘I see. Hopefully their detective will be equally lost as to where to find him. But then sometimes those detectives can be very resourceful.’
‘Indeed,’
‘Ono, you look deathly pale. And you looked so healthy when you first arrived. That’s what comes of sharing a room with a sickly man.’
I laughed and said: ‘Not at all. It’s just that one’s children can be a great worry.’
Matsuda sighed again and said: ‘People sometimes tell me I’ve missed out on life because I never married and had children. But when I look around me, children seem to be nothing but worry.’
‘That’s not far from the truth.’
‘Still,’ he said, ‘it would be a comfort to think one had children to leave one’s assets to.’
‘Indeed,’
A few minutes later, as Matsuda had predicted, Miss Suzuki came in and said something to him. Matsuda smiled and said with resignation:
‘My nurse has come to fetch me. Of course, you’re welcome to remain here as long as you wish. But you must excuse me, Ono.’
Later, as I waited at the terminus for a tram to take me up the steep hill and back into the city, I felt a certain comfort in recalling Matsuda’s assurance that he would have ‘only the best of things to report from the past’. Of course, I could have been reasonably confident of this without my having gone to visit him. But then again, it is always good to re-establish contact with old colleagues. All in all, yesterday’s trip to Arakawa was surely well worthwhile.
APRIL, 1949
On three or four evenings a week I still find myself taking that path down to the river and the little wooden bridge still known to some who lived here before the war as ‘the Bridge of Hesitation’. We called it that because until not so long ago, crossing it would have taken you into our pleasure district, and conscience-troubled men – so it was said – were to be seen hovering there, caught between seeking an evening’s entertainment and returning home to their wives. But if sometimes I am to be seen up on that bridge, leaning thoughtfully against the rail, it is not that I am hesitating. It is simply that I enjoy standing there as the sun sets, surveying my surroundings and the changes taking place around me.
Clusters of new houses have appeared towards the foot of the hill down which I have just come. And further along the riverbank, where a year ago there was only grass and mud, a city corporation is building apartment blocks for future employees. But these are still far from completion, and when the sun is low over the river, one might even mistake them for the bombed ruins still to be found in certain parts of this city.
But then such ruins become more and more scarce each week; indeed, one would probably have to go as for north as the Wakamiya district, or else to that badly struck area between Honcho and Kasugamachi to encounter them now in any number. But only a year ago, I am sure bombed ruins were still a commonplace sight all over this city. For instance, that area across from the Bridge of Hesitation – that area where our pleasure district had been – was this time last year still a desert of rubble. But now, work progresses there steadily every day. Outside Mrs Kawakami’s, where once throngs of pleasure-seekers had squeezed past one another, a wide concrete road is being built, and along both sides of it, the foundations for rows of large office buildings.
I suppose by the time Mrs Kawakami informed me one evening not so long ago of the corporation’s offer to buy her out for a generous sum, I had long since accepted she would sooner or later have to close up and move.
‘I don’t know what I should do,’ she had said to me. ‘It would be terrible to leave here after all this time. I was awake thinking about it all last
night. But then again, Sensei, when I thought about it, I said to myself, well, now with Shintaro-san gone, Sensei’s the only dependable customer I have left. I really don’t know what I should do.’
I am indeed her only real customer these days; Shintaro has not shown his face at Mrs Kawakami’s since that small episode last winter – lacking the courage, no doubt, to face me. This was, I suppose, unfortunate for Mrs Kawakami, who had had nothing to do with the affair.
It had been one evening last winter, while we were drinking together as was usual then, that Shintaro first mentioned to me his ambition to gain a teaching post at one of the new high schools. He then went on to reveal that in fact he had already made several applications for such posts. Now it is, of course, many years since Shintaro was my pupil, and there is no reason why he should not have gone about such matters without consulting me; I was fully aware there were others now – his employer, for instance – far more suitably placed to act as guarantor in such matters. Nevertheless, I confess I was somewhat surprised he should not have confided in me at all about these applications. And so, when Shintaro presented himself at my house that winter’s day shortly after New Year, when I found him standing giggling nervously in my entryway, saying: ‘Sensei, it is a great impertinence of me to come here like this,’ I felt something akin to relief, as though things were returning to a more familiar footing.
In the reception room I lit a brazier, and we both sat over it warming our hands. I noticed some snowflakes melting on the overcoat Shintaro was continuing to wear, and asked him:
‘The snow has started again?’
‘Just a little, Sensei. Nothing like this morning.’
‘I’m sorry it’s so cold in here. The coldest room in the house, I fear.’
‘Not at all, Sensei. My own rooms are far colder.’ He smiled happily and rubbed his hands together over the charcoal. ‘It’s good of you to receive me like this. Sensei has been very good to me over the years, I cannot begin to calculate what you have done for me.’
‘Not at all, Shintaro. in fact, I sometimes think I rather neglected you in the old days. So if there’s some way I can redeem my negligence, even at this late stage, I’d be pleased to hear of it.’
Shintaro laughed and went on rubbing his hands. ‘Really, Sensei, you say the most absurd things. I can never begin to calculate what you have done for me.’
I watched him for a moment, then said: ‘So tell me, Shintaro, what is it I can do for you?’
He looked up with a surprised expression, then laughed again.
‘Excuse me, Sensei. I was getting so comfortable here, I’d quite forgotten my purpose in coming to trouble you like this.’
He was, he told me, most optimistic about his application to Higashimachi High School; reliable sources gave him to believe it was being viewed with much favour.
‘However, Sensei, there appear to be just one or two small points on which the committee seem still a little unsatisfied.’
‘Oh?’
‘Indeed, Sensei. Perhaps I should be frank. The small points I refer to concern the past.’
‘The past?’
‘Indeed, Sensei.’ At this point, Shintaro gave a nervous laugh. Then with an effort, he continued: ‘You must know, Sensei, that my respect for you is of the very highest. I have learnt so much from Sensei, and I will continue to be proud of our association.’
I nodded and waited for him to go on.
‘The fact is, Sensei, I would be most grateful if you would yourself write to the committee, just to confirm certain statements I have made.’
‘And what sort of statements are these, Shintaro?’
Shintaro gave another giggle, then reached his hands out over the brazier again.
‘It is simply to satisfy the committee, Sensei. Nothing more. You may recall, Sensei, how we once had cause to disagree. Over the matter of my work during the China crisis.’
‘The China crisis? I’m afraid I don’t recall our quarrelling, Shintaro.’
‘Forgive me, Sensei, perhaps I exaggerate. It was never as pronounced a thing as a quarrel. But I did indeed have the indiscretion to express my disagreement. That is to say, I resisted your suggestions concerning my work.’
‘Forgive me, Shintaro, I don’t recall what it is you’re referring to.’
‘No doubt such a trivial matter would not remain in Sensei’s mind. But as it happens, it is of some importance to me at this juncture. You may remember better if I remind you of the party we had that night, the party to celebrate Mr Ogawa’s engagement. It was that same night – I believe we were at the Hamabara Hotel – I perhaps drank a little too much and had the rudeness to express my views to you.’
‘I have a vague recollection of that night, but I cannot say I remember it clearly. Still, Shintaro, what has a small disagreement like that to do with anything now?’
‘Forgive me, Sensei, but as it happens, the matter has come to have some significance. The committee is obliged to be reassured of certain things. After all, there are the American authorities to satisfy …’ Shintaro trailed off nervously. Then he said: ‘I beg you, Sensei, to try and recall that littledisagreement. Grateful as I was – and still remain – for the wealth of things I learnt under your supervision, I did not always, in fact, concur with your view. Indeed, I may not be exaggerating to say that I had strong reservations about the direction our school was taking at that time. You may recall, for instance, that despite my eventually following your instructions over the China crisis posters, I had misgivings and indeed went so far as to make my views known to you.’
‘The China crisis posters,’ I said, thinking to myself. ‘Yes, I remember your posters now. It was a crucial time for the nation. A time to stop dithering and decide what we wanted. As I recall, you did well and we were all proud of your work.’
‘But you will recall, Sensei, I had serious misgivings about the work you wished me to do. If you will recall, I openly expressed my disagreement that evening at the Hamabara Hotel. Forgive me, Sensei, for worrying you with such a trivial matter.’
I suppose I remained silent for some moments. I must have stood up at around this point, for when I next spoke, I recall I was standing across the room from him, over by the veranda screens.
‘You wish me to write a letter to your committee,’ I said eventually, ‘disassociating you from my influence. This is what your request amounts to.’
‘Nothing of the sort, Sensei. You misunderstand. I am as proud as ever to be associated with your name. It’s simply that over the matter of the China poster campaign, if the committee could just be reassured …’
He trailed off again. I slid open a screen just far enough to form a tiny gap. Cold air came blowing into the room, but for some reason this did not concern me. I gazed through the gap, across the veranda and out into the garden. The snow was falling in slow drifting flakes.
‘Shintaro,’ I said, ‘why don’t you simply face up to the past? You gained much credit at the time for your poster campaign. Much credit and much praise. The world may now have adifferent opinion of your work, but there’s no need to lie about yourself.’
‘Indeed, Sensei,’ Shintaro said. ‘I take your point. But getting back to the matter in hand, I would be most grateful if you would write to the committee concerning the China crisis posters. In fact, I have here with me the name and address of the committee chairman.’
‘Shintaro, please listen to me.’
‘Sensei, with every respect, I am always very grateful for your advice and learning. But at this moment, I am a man in the midst of my career. It is all very well to reflect and ponder when one is in retirement. But as it happens, I live in a busy world and there are one or two things I must see to if I am to secure this post, which by all other counts is mine already. Sensei, I beg you, please consider my position.’
I did not reply, but continued to look out at the snow falling on my garden. Behind me, I could hear Shintaro getting to his feet.
‘Here
is the name and address, Sensei. If I may, I will leave them here. I would be most grateful if you would give the matter due consideration when you have a little time.’
There was a pause while, I suppose, he waited to see if I would turn and allow him to take his leave with some dignity. I went on gazing at my garden. For all its steady fall, the snow had settled only very lightly on the shrubs and branches. Indeed, as I watched, a breeze shook a branch of the maple tree, shaking off most of the snow. Only the stone lantern at the back of the garden had a substantial cap of white on it.
I heard Shintaro excuse himself and leave the room.
It may perhaps appear as if I was unnecessarily hard on Shintaro that day. But then if one bears in mind what had been taking place in the weeks immediately prior to that visit of his, it is surely understandable why I should have felt so unsympathetic towards his efforts to shirk his responsibilities. For in fact, Shintaro’s visit had come only a few days after Noriko’s miai.
The negotiations around Noriko’s proposed marriage to Taro Saito had progressed successfully enough throughout last autumn; an exchange of photographs had taken place in October and we had subsequently received word via Mr Kyo, our go-between, that the young man was keen to meet Noriko. Noriko, of course, made a show of thinking this over, but by that point, it had become obvious that my daughter – already twenty-six – could hardly pass over lightly a prospect like Taro Saito.
I thus informed Mr Kyo that we were agreeable to a miai, and eventually a date in November and the Kasuga Park Hotel were agreed upon. The Kasuga Park Hotel, you may agree, has these days a certain vulgar air about it, and I was somewhat unhappy with the choice. But then Mr Kyo had assured me a private room would be booked, and had gone on to suggest that the Saitos were much fond of the food there, and I finally gave my consent, albeit without enthusiasm.
Mr Kyo had also made the point that the miai looked to be heavily weighted towards the prospective groom’s family – his younger brother, as well as his parents, intended to be present. It would be perfectly acceptable, he gave me to understand, if we were to bring a relative or close friend to give Noriko additional support. But of course, with Setsuko so far away, there was no one we could properly ask to attend such an occasion. And it may well have been this feeling that we would somehow be at a disadvantage at the miai, together with our unhappiness with the venue, that caused Noriko to be more tense about the matter than she might otherwise have been. In any case, the weeks leading up to the miai were difficult ones.
An Artist of the Floating World Page 10