“So you don’t think you’ll be running into Shigeo Matsuda. But you still see him from time to time?”
“Not so often these days. We’ve gone such separate ways since we got older.”
“Yes, this is what happens. Pupils all go separate ways, and then they find it so difficult to keep in touch. That’s why these reunions are so important One shouldn’t be so quick to forget old allegiances. And it’s good to take a glance back now and then, it helps keep things in perspective. Yes, I think you should certainly go along tomorrow”
“Perhaps Father will still be with us on Sunday,” my husband said. ‘Then perhaps we could go out somewhere for the day.”
“Yes, we can do that. A splendid idea. But if you have work to do, it doesn’t matter in the least.”
“No, I think I can leave Sunday free. I’m sorry to be so busy at the moment.”
“Have you asked any of your old teachers along tomorrow?” Ogata-San asked.
“Not that I know of.”
“It’s a shame teachers aren’t asked more often to these occasions.! was asked along from time to time. And when I was younger, we always made a point of inviting our teachers. I think it’s only proper. It’s an opportunity for a teacher to see the fujits of his work, and for the pupils to express their gratitude to him. I think it’s only proper that teachers are present.”
“Yes, perhaps you have a point."
“Men these days forget so easily to whom they owe their education.”
“Yes, you’re very right.”
My husband finished eating and laid down his chopsticks. I poured him some tea.
“An odd little thing happened the other day,” Ogata-San said. “In retrospect, I suppose it’s rather amusing. I was at the library in Nagasaki, and I came across this periodical—a teachers’ periodical I’d never heard of it, it wasn’t in existence in my days. To read it, you’d think all the teachers in Japan were communists now.”
“Apparently communism is growing the country,” my husband said.
“Your friend Shigeo Matsuda had written in it. Now imagine my surprise when I saw my name mentioned in his article. I didn’t think I was so noteworthy these days.”
“I’m sure Father is still remembered very well in Nagasaki,” I put in.
“It was quite extraordinary. He was talking about Dr Endo and myself, about our retirements. If I understood him correctly, he was implying that the profession was well rid of us. In fact, he went so far as to suggest we should have been dismissed at the end of the war. Quite extraordinary.”
“Are you sure it’s the same Shigeo Matsuda?” asked Jim.
“The same one. From Kuriyama Highschool. Extraordinary. I remember when he used to come to our house, to play with you. Your mother used to spoil him. I asked the librarian if I could buy a copy, and she said she would order one for me. I’ll show it to you.”
“It seems very disloyal,” I said.
“I was so surprised," Ogata-San said, turning to me. “And I was the one who introduced him to the headmaster at Kuriyama.”
Jiro drank up his tea and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “It’s very regrettable. As I say, I haven’t seen Shigeo for some Lime. I’m sorry, Father, but you must excuse me now or I’ll be late”
“Why certainly. Have a good day at work.”
Jim stepped down to the entryway, where he started to put on his shoes. I said to Ogata-San: “Someone who reached your position, Father, must expect a little criticism. That’s only natural.”
“Of course,” he said, breaking out into a laugh. “No, don’t concern yourself about it, Etsuko. I hadn’t given it a second thought. I just happened to think of it because Jim was going to his reunion. I wonder if Endo read the article.”
“I hope you have a good day, Father,” Jiro called from the entryway. “I’ll try to be back a little early if I can.”
“Nonsense, don’t make such a fuss. Your work is important.”
A little later that morning, Ogata-San emerged from his room dressed in his jacket and tie.
“Are you going out, Father?” I asked.
“I thought I’d just pay a visit to Dr Endo.
“Dr Endo?”
‘Yes, I thought I’d go and see how he was keeping these days.”
“But you’re not going before lunch, are you?"
‘I thought I’d better go quite soon,” he said, looking at
his watch. “Endo lives a little way outside Nagasaki now. I’ll need to get a train.”
“Well, let me pack you a lunch-box, it won’t take a minute.”
“Why, thank you, Etsuko. In that case I’ll wait a few minutes. In fact, I was hoping you’d offer to pack me lunch."
“Then you should have asked,” [said, getting to my feet. “You won’t always get what you want just by hinting like that, Father.”
“But I knew you’d pick me up correctly, Etsuko. I have faith in you.”
I went through to the kitchen, put on some sandals and stepped down to the tiled floor, A few minutes later, the partition slid open and Ogata-San appeared at the doorway. He seated himself at the threshold to watch me working.
“What is that you’re cooking me there?"
“Nothing much. Just left-overs from last night. At such short notice, you don’t deserve any better.”
“And yet you’ll manage to turn it into something quite appetizing, I’m sure. What’s that you’re doing with the egg? That’s not a left-over too, is it?”
“I’m adding an omelette. You’re very fortunate, Father, I’m in such a generous mood.”
“An omelette. You must teach me how to do that. Is it difficult?”
“Extremely difficult. It would be hopeless you trying to learn at this stage.”
“But I’m very keen to learn. And what do you mean ‘at this stage? I’m still young enough to learn many new things.”
“Are you really planning on becoming a cook, Father?”
“It’s nothing to laugh at. I’ve come to appreciate cooking over the years. It’s an art, I’m convinced of it, just as noble as painting or poetry. It’s not appreciated simply because the product disappears so quickly.”
“Persevere with painting, Father. You do it much better."
“Painting.” He gave a sigh. “It doesn’t give me the satisfaction it once did. No, I think I should learn to cook omelettes as well as you do, Etsuko. You must show me before [go back to Fukuoka.”
“You wouldn’t think it such an art once you’d learnt how it was done. Perhaps women should keep these things secret."
He laughed, as if to himself, then continued to watch me quietly.
“Which axe you hoping for, Etsuko?” he asked, eventually. “A boy or a girl?”
“I really don’t mind. If it’s a boy we could name him after you.”
“Really? Is that a promise?”
“On second thoughts I don’t know. I was forgetting what Father’s first name was. Seiji—that’s an ugly sort of name.”
“But that’s only because you find me ugly, Etsuko. I remember one class of pupils decided I resembled a hippopotamus. But you shouldn’t be put off by such outer trappings"
“That’s true. Well, we’ll have to see what Jim thinks.”
“Yes.”
“But I’d like my son to be named after you, Father."
That would make me very happy.” He smiled and gave me a small bow. “But then I know how irritating it is when relatives insist on having children named after them. I remember the time my wife and I argued over what to call Jim. I wanted to name him after an uncle of mine, but my wife disliked this practice of naming children after relatives. Of course, she had her way in the end. Keiko was a hard woman to budge.”
“Keiko is a nice name. Perhaps if it’s a girl we could call her Keiko.”
“You shouldn’t make such promises so rashly. You’ll make an old man very disappointed if you don’t keep to them.”
“I’m sorry, I was just thinking aloud.”
“And besides, Etsuko, I’m sure there are others you’d prefer to name your child after. Others you were closer to.”
“Perhaps. But if it’s a boy I’d like him to be named after you. You were like a father tome once.”
“Am I no longer like a father to you?”
“Yes, of course. But it’s different”
“Jiro is a good husband to you, I hope.”
“Of course. I couldn’t be happier.”
“And the child will make you happy.”
“Yes. It couldn’t have happened at a better time. We’re quite settled here now, and Jiro’s work is going well. This is the ideal time for this to have happened.”
“So you’re happy?”
“Yes, I’m very happy.”
“Good. I’m happy for you both.”
“There, it’s all ready for you.” I handed him the lacquer lunch-box.
“Ah yes, the left-avers” he said, receiving it with a dramatic bow. He lifted the lid a little. “It looks delightful though.
When I eventually went back into the living room, Ogata-San was putting on his shoes in the entryway.
“Tell me, Etsuko,” he said, not looking up from his laces. “Have you met this Shigeo Matsuda?”
“Once or twice. He used to visit us after we were married.”
‘But he and Jiro aren’t such dose friends these days?”
“Hardly. We exchange greeting cards, but that’s all.”
“I’m going to suggest to Jim he writes to his friend. Shigeo should apologize. Or else I’ll have to insist Jiro disassociates himself from that young man.”
“I see.”
“I thought of suggesting it to him earlier, when we were talking at breakfast. But then that kind of talk is best left till the evening.”
“You’re probably right.”
Ogata-San thanked me once bore for the lunch-box before leaving.
As it turned out, he did not bring the matter up that night. They both seemed tired when they came in and spent most of the evening reading newspapers, speaking little. And only once did Ogata-San mention Dr Endo. That was at supper, and he said simply: “Endo seemed well. He misses his work though. After all, the man lived for it.”
In bed that night, before we fell asleep, I said to Jiro: “I hope Father’s quite content with the way we’re receiving him.”
“What else can he expect?” my husband said. “Why don’t you take him out somewhere if you’re so worried.”
“Will you be working on Saturday afternoon?”
“How can’t afford not to? I’m behind schedule as it is. He happened to choose the most difficult of times to visit me It’s just too bad.”
“But we could still go out on Sunday, couldn’t we?”
I have a feeling I did not receive a reply then, though I lay gazing up into the darkness waiting. Jim was often tired after a days work and not in the mood for conversation.
In any case, it seems I was worrying unduly about Ogata-San, for his visit that summer turned out to be one of his lengthiest. I remember he was still with us that night Sachiko knocked on out apartment door.
She was wearing a dress I had never seen before, and there was a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her face had been carefully made up, but a thin strand of hair had come loose and was hanging over her cheek,
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Etsuko,” she said, smiling. ‘I was wondering if by any chance Mariko was here.”
“Mariko? Why, no.”
“Well, never mind. You haven’t seen her at all?"
“I’m afraid not. You’ve lost her?"
“There’s no need to took like that,” she said, with a laugh. “It’s just that she wasn’t in the cottage when I got back, that’s all. I’m sure I’ll find her very soon.”
We were talking at the entryway, and I became aware of Jim and Ogata-San looking towards us. I introduced Sachiko, and they all bowed to each other.
“This is worrying.” Ogata-San said. “Perhaps we’d better phone the police straight away.”
“There’s no need for that,” said Sachiko. “I’m sure I’ll find her.”
But perhaps it’s best to be safe and phone anyway."
“No really—a slight hint of irritation had entered Sachiko’s voic—“there’s no need. I’m sure l’ll find her”
“I’ll help you look for her,” I said, starting to put on my jacket.
My husband looked at me disapprovingly. He seemed about to speak, but then stopped himself. In the end, he said: “It’s almost dark now.”
“Really, Etsuko, there’s no need to make such a fuss,” Sachiko was saying. But if you don’t mind coming out for a minute, I’ll be most grateful.”
“Take care, Etsuko,” Ogata-San said. “And phone the police if you don’t find the child soon”
We descended the flight of stairs. Outside it was still warm, and across the wasteground the sun had sunk very low, highlighting the muddy furrows.
‘Have you looked around the housing precinct?” I asked.
“No, not yet”
“Let’s look then.” I began to walk rapidly. “Does Mariko have friends she may be with?”
‘I don’t think so. Really, Etsuko”—Sachiko laughed and put a hand on my arm—‘there’s no need to be so alarmed. Nothing will have happened to her. In fad, Etsuko, I really came round because I wanted to tell you Some news. You see, it’s all been settled at last. We’re leaving for America within the next few days.”
“America?” Perhaps because of Sachiko’s hand on my arn, perhaps out of sheer surprise, I stopped walking.
“Yes, America. You’ve no doubt heard of such a place.” She seemed pleased at my astonishment.
I began to walk again. Our precinct was an expanse of paved concrete, interrupted occasionally by thin young trees planted when the buildings had gone up. Above us, lights had come on in most of the windows.
“Aren’t you going to ask me anything more?” Sachiko said, catching up with me. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m going? And who I’m going with?”
“I’m very glad if this is what you wanted,” I said. ‘But perhaps we should find your daughter lust.”
“Etsuko, you must understand there’s nothing I’m ashamed of. There’s nothing I want to hide from anyone. Please ask me anything you want, I’m not ashamed.”
“I thought perhaps we should find your daughter first.
We can talk later.”
“Very well, Etsuko,” she said, with a laugh. “Let’s find Mariko first.”
We searched the playing areas and walked around each of the apartment blocks. Soon we found ourselves back where we had started. Then I spotted two women talking by the main entrance to one of the apartment blocks.
“Perhaps those ladies over there could help us,” I said. Sachiko did not move. She looked over towards the two women, then said: “I doubt it.”
“But they may have seen her. They may have seen your daughter.”
Sachiko continued to look at the women. Then she gave a short laugh and shrugged. “Very well,” she said. “Let’s give them something to gossip about. It’s no concern of mine.”
We walked over to them and Sachiko politely and calmly made her enquiries. The women exchanged concerned looks, but neither had seen the little girl. Sachiko assured them there was no cause for alarm, and we our leave.
“I’m sure that made their day,” she said to me. ‘Now they’ll have something to talk about.”
“I’m sure they had no malicious thoughts whatsoever. They both seemed genuinely concerned.”
“You’re so kind, Etsuko, but there’s really no need to convince me of such things. You see, it’s never been any concern to me what people like that thought, and care even less now.”
We stopped walking. I threw a glance around me, and up at the apartment windows. “Where else could she be?" I said.
“You see, Etsuko, there’s nothing I’m ashamed of. There’s not
hing I want to hide from you. Or from those women, for that matter.”
“Do you think we should search by the river?”
“The river? Oh, I’ve looked along there.”
‘What about the other side? Perhaps she’s over on the other side.”
“I doubt it, Etsuko. In fact, if I know my daughter she’ll be back at the cottage at this very moment. Probably rather pleased with herself to have caused this fuss.”
“Well, let’s go and see.”
n:: When we came back to the edge of the wasteground, the sun was disappearing behind the river, silhouetting the willow trees along the bank.
“There’s no need for you to come with me,” Sachiko said. “I’ll find her in good time.”
“It’s all right. I’ll come with you.”
“Very well then. Come with me.”
We began walking towards the cottage. I was wearing sandals and found it hard going on the uneven earth.
“How long were you out?” I asked. Sachiko was a pace or two ahead of me; she did not reply at first, and I thought possibly she had not heard me. “How long were you out?” I repeated.
“Oh, not long.”
“How long? Half an hour? Longer?”
“About three or four hours, I suppose."
“I see.”
We continued our way across the muddy ground, doing our best to avoid any puddles. As we approached the cottage, I said: “Perhaps we should look over on the other side, just in case.”
“The woods? My daughter wouldn’t be over there. Let’s go and look in the cottage. There’s no need to look so worried, Etsuko.” She laughed again, but I thought her voice wobbled a little as she did so.
The cottage, having no electricity, was in darkness. I waited in the entryway while Sachiko stepped up to the tatami. She called her daughter’s name and slid back the partitions to the two smaller rooms that adjoined the main one. I stood listening to her moving around in the darkness, then she came back to the entryway.
“Perhaps you’re right,’ she said. “Wed better look on the other bank.”
Along the river the air was full of insects. We walked in silence, towards the small wooden bridge further downstream. Beyond it, on the opposite bank, were the woods Sachiko had mentioned earlier.
We were crossing the bridge, when Sachiko turned tome and said rapidly: “We went to a bar in the end. We were going to go to the cinema, to a film with Gary Cooper, but there was a tong queue. The town was very crowded and a lot of people were drunk. We went to a bar in the end and they gave usa little room to ourselves."
A Pale View of Hills Page 3