“Yes, indeed,” the tubby man replied. “A great honour it is too, even if he does give us a tough time. We call your son 'Pharaoh’ in the office because he urges the rest of us to work like slaves while he does nothing himself.”
“What nonsense,” said my husband.
“It’s true. He orders us around like we’re his dog’s bodies. Then he sits down and reads the newspaper.”
Ogata-San seemed a little confused, but seeing the others laugh he joined in.
“And what’s this here?” The pale-faced man indicated the chess-board. “You see, I knew we’d interrupted something.”
“We were just playing chess to pass the time,” said Jiro.
“Goon playing then. Don’t let rabble like us interrupt.”
“Don’t be silly. How could I concentrate with idiots like you around.” Jiro pushed away the chess-board. One or two of the pieces fell over and he stood them up again without looking at the squares. “So. You’ve been to see Murasaki’s brother. Etsuko, get some tea for the gentlemen.” My husband had said this despite the fact that I was already on my way to the kitchen. But then the tubby man started to wave his hand frantically”
“Madam, madam, sit down. Please. We’ll be going in just a moment. Please be seated."
“It’s no trouble," I said, smiling.
“No, madam, I implore you"—he had started to shout quite loudly—“We're just rabble, like your husband says. Please don’t make a fuss, please sit down.”
I was about to obey him, but then I saw Jiro give me an angry look.
“At least have some tea with us," I said. “It’s no trouble at all."
Now you’ve sat down, you may as well stay a while,’ my husband said to the visitors. “Anyway, I want to know about Murasaki’s brother. Is he as mad as they say he is?”
“He’s a character all right,” the tubby man said, with a laugh. “We certainly weren’t disappointed. And did anyone tell you about his wife?”
I bowed and made my way into the kitchen unnoticed. I prepared the tea and put onto a plate some cakes I had been making earlier that day. I could hear laughter coming from the living room, my husband’s voice amongst them. One of the visitors was calling him “Pharaoh’ again in a loud voice. When I returned to the living room, Jiro and his visitors seemed in high spirits. The tubby man was relating an anecdote, about some cabinet minister’s encounter with General Mac Arthur. I put the cakes near them, poured out their tea, then sat down beside Ogata-San. Jiro’s friends made several more jokes concerning politicians and then the pale-faced man pretended to be offended because his companion had spoken disparagingly of some personage he admired. He kept a straight face while the others teased him.
“By the way, Hanada,” my husband said to him. “I heard an interesting story the other day at the office. I was told during the last elections, you threatened to beat your wife with a golf club because she wouldn’t vote the way you wanted.”
“Where did you pick up this rubbish?"
“I got it from reliable sources."
“That’s right,” the tubby man said. “And your wife was going to call the police to report political intimidation.”
“What rubbish. Besides, I don’t have golf clubs any more. I sold them all last year.”
“You still have that seven-iron,” said the tubby man. “I saw it in your apartment last week. Maybe you used that.”
“But you can’t deny it, can you, Hanada?” said Jim. “It’s nonsense about the golf club.”
“But it’s true you couldn’t get her to obey you.”
The pale-faced man shrugged. “Well, it’s her personal right to vote any way she pleases.”
“Then why did you threaten her?” his friend asked.
“I was trying to make her see sense, of course. My wife votes for Yoshida just because he looks like her uncle. That’s typical of women. They don’t understand politics. They think they can choose the country’s leaders the same way they choose dresses.”
“So you gave her a seven-iron,” said Jiro.
“Is that really true?” Ogata-San asked. He had not spoken since I had come back in with the tea. The other three stopped laughing and the pale-faced man looked at Ogata-San with a surprised expression.
“Well, no.” He became suddenly formal and gave a small bow. “I didn’t actually hit her.”
“No, no,” said Ogata-San. “I meant your wife and yourself— you voted for separate parties?”
“Well, yes." He shrugged, then giggled awkwardly. “What could I do?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” Ogata-San gave a low bow, and the pale-faced man returned it. As if the bowing were a signal, the three younger men started once more to laugh and talk amongst themselves. They moved off politics and began discussing various members of their finn. When I was pouring more tea, I noticed that the cakes, despite my having put out a generous amount, had almost all disappeared. I finished refilling their teacups, then sat down again beside Ogata-San.
The visitors stayed for an hour or so. Jim saw them to the door then sat down again with a sigh. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ll need to turn in soon.”
Ogata-san was examining the chess board. “I think the pieces got jogged a little,” he said. “I’m sure the horse was on this square, not that one."
“Quite probably.”
“I’ll put it here then. Are we agreed on this?”
“Yes, yes. I’m sure you’re right. We’ll have to finish the game another time, Father. I’ll need to retire very shortly.”
“How about playing just the next few moves. We may well finish it off.”
“Really, I’d rather not. I’m feeling very tired now.”
“Of course”
I packed away the sewing I had been doing earlier in the evening and sat waiting for the others to retire. Jim, however, picked up a newspaper and started to read the back page. Then he took the last remaining cake from the plate and began to eat nonchalantly. After several moments, Ogata-San said:
“Perhaps we ought to just finish it off now. It’ll only take a more moves."
“Father, I really am too tired now. I have work to go to in the morning.”
“Yes, of course."
Jim went back to his newspapers. He continued to eat the cake and I watched several crumbs drop on to the tatami. Ogata-San continued to gaze at the chess-board for some time.
“Quite extraordinary”, he said, eventually, “what your friend was saying.”
“Oh? What was that?” Jim did not look up from his
newspaper.
“About him and his wife voting for different parties. A few years ago that would have been unthinkable.”
“No doubt.”
“Quite extraordinary the things that happen now. But that’s what’s meant by deogacy, I suppose.” Ogata-San gave a sigh. “These things we’ve learnt so eagerly from the Americans,y aren’t always to the good.”
“No, indeed they’re not."
“Look what happens. Husband and wife voting for different parties. It’s a sad state of affairs when a wife can’t be relied on in such matters any more.”
Jiro continued to mad his newspaper. “Yes, it’s regrettable,” he said.
“A wife these days feels no sense of loyalty towards the household. She just does what she pleases, votes for a different party if the whim takes her. That’s so typical of the way things have gone in Japan. All in the name of democracy people abandon obligations.”
Jiro looked up at his father for a brief moment, then turned his eyes back to his paper. “No doubt you’re very right,” he said. “But surely the Americans didn’t bring all bad.”
“The Americans, they never understood the way things were in Japan. Not for one moment have they understood. Their ways may be fine for Americans, but in Japan things are different, very different.” Ogata-San sighed again. “Discipline, loyalty, such things held Japan together once. That may sound fanciful, but it�
��s true. People were bound by a sense of duly. Towards one’s family, towards superiors, towards the country. But now instead there’s all this talk of democracy. You hear it whenever people want to be selfish, whenever they want to forget obligations.”
“Yes, no doubt you’re right.” Jiro yawned and scratched the side of his face.
“Take what happened in my profession, for instance. Here was a system we’d nurtured and cherished for years.
The Americans came and stripped it, tore it down without a thought. They decided our schools would be like American schools, the children should learn what American children learn. And the Japanese welcomed it all. Welcomed it with a lot of talk about democracy"—he shook his head—“Many fine things were destroyed in our schools."
Yes, I’m sure that’s very true.” Jiro glanced up once more. “But surely there were some faults in the old system, in schools as much as anywhere.”
“Jim, what is this? Something you read somewhere?”
“It’s just my opinion.”
“Did you read that in your newspaper? I devoted my life to the teaching gi the young. And then I watched the Americans tear it all down. Quite extraordinary what goes on in schools now, the way children are taught to behave. Extraordinary. And so much just isn’t taught any more. Do you know, children leave school today knowing nothing about the history of their own country?”
“That may be a pity, admittedly. But then I remember some odd things from my schooldays. I remember being taught all about how Japan was created by the gods, for instance. How we as a nation were divine and supreme. We had to memorize the text book word for word. Some things aren’t such a loss, perhaps."
“But Jim, things aren’t as simple as that. You clearly don’t understand how such things worked. Things aren’t nearly as simple as you presume. We devoted ourselves to ensuring that proper qualities were handed down, that children grew up with the correct attitude to their country, to their fellows. There was a spirit in Japan once, it bound us all together. Just imagine what it must be like being a young boy today. He’s taught no values at school—except perhaps that he should selfishly demand whatever he wants out of life. He goes home and finds his parents fighting because his mother refuses to vote for his father’s party. What a state of affairs."
“Yes, I see your point. Now, Father, I’m sorry, I must go to bed.”
“We did our best, men like Endo and I, we did our best to nurture what was good in the country. A lot of good has been destroyed.
“It’s most regrettable.” My husband got to his feet. “Excuse me, Father, but I must sleep. I have another busy day tomorrow.”
Ogata-San looked up at his son, a somewhat surprised expression on his face. “Why, of course. How inconsiderate of me to have kept you so late.” He gave a small bow.
“Not at all. I’m sorry we can’t talk longer, but I really ought to get some sleep now.”
“Why, of course.”
Jim wished his father a good night’s sleep and left the room. For a few seconds, Ogata-San gazed at the door through which Jiro had disappeared as if he expected his son to return at any moment. Then he turned to me with a troubled look.
“I didn’t realize how late it was,” he said. “I didn’t mean to keep Jim up.”
Chapter Five
“Gone? And had he left you no message at his hotel?”
Sachiko laughed. “You look so astonished, Etsuko,” she said. ‘No, he’d left nothing. He’d gone yesterday morning, that’s all they knew. To tell you the truth, I half expected this.”
I realized I was still holding the fray. I laid it down carefully then seated myself on a cushion opposite Sachiko. There was a pleasant breeze blowing through the apartment that morning.
“But how terrible for you,” I said. “And you were waiting with everything packed and ready.”
“This is nothing flew to me, Etsuko. Back in Tokyo—that’s where I first met him, you see—back in Tokyo, it was just the same thing. Oh no, this is nothing new to me. I’ve learnt to expect such things.’
“And you say you’re going back into town tonight? On your own?”
“Don’t look so shocked, Etsuko. After Tokyo, Nagasaki seems a tame little town. If he’s still in Nagasaki, I’ll find him tonight. He may change his hotel, but he won’t have changed his habits.”
“But this is all so distressing. If you wish, I’d be glad to come and sit with Mariko until you get back.”
“Why, how kind of you. Mariko’s quite capable of being left on her own, but if you’re prepared to spend a couple of hours with her tonight, that would be most kind. But I’m sure this whole thing will sort itself out, Etsuko. You see, when you’ve come through some of the things I have, you learn not to let small set-backs like this worry you.”
“But what if he’s … I mean, what if he’s left Nagasaki altogether?”
“Oh, he hasn’t gone far, Etsuko. Besides, if he really meant to leave me, he would have left a note of some kind, wouldn’t he? You see, he hasn’t gone far. He knows I’ll come and find him.”
Sachiko looked at me and smiled. I found myself at a loss for any reply.
“Besides, Etsuko,” she went on, “he did come all the way down here. He came down all this way to Nagasaki to find me at my uncle’s house, all that way from Tokyo. Now why would he have done that if he didn’t mean everything he’s promised? You see, Etsuko, what he wants most is to take me to America. That’s what he wants. Nothing’s changed really, this is just a slight delay.” She gave a quick laugh. “Sometimes, you see, he’s like a little child.”
“But what do you think your friend means by going off like this? I don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand, Etsuko, it hardly matters. What he really wants is to take me to America and lead a steady respectable life there. That’s what he really wants. Otherwise why would he have come all that way and found me at my uncle’s house? You see, Etsuko, this isn’t anything to be so worried about.”
“No, I’m sure it isn’t.”
Sachiko seemed about to speak again, but then appeared to stop herself. She stared down at the tea things on the tray. “Well then, Etsuko,” she said, with a smile, “let’s pour the tea.”
She watched in silence as I poured. Once when I glanced quickly towards her, she smiled as if to encourage me. I finished pouring the tea and for a moment or two we sat there quietly.
“Incidentally, Etsuko,” Sachiko said, “I take it you’ve spoken to Mrs Fujiwara and explained my position to her.’
“Yes. I saw her the day before yesterday.”
“I suppose she’d been wondering what had become of me.”
“I explained to her that you’d been called away to America. She was perfectly understanding about it”
“You see, Etsuko,” said Sachiko, “I find myself in a difficult situation now.”
“Yes, I can appreciate that.”
“As regards finances, as well as everything else.”
“Yes, I see,” I said, with a small bow. “If you wish, I could certainly talk to Mrs Fujiwara. I’m sure under the circumstances she’d be happy to."
“No, no, Etsuko”—Sachiko gave a laugh—“I’ve no desire to return to her little noodle shop. I fully expect to be leaving for America in the near future. It’s merely a case of things being delayed a little, that’s all. But in the meantime, you see, I’ll need a little money. And I was just remembering, Etsuko, how you once offered to assist me in that respect.”
She was looking at me with a kindly smile. I looked back at her for a few moments. Then I bowed and said: “I have some savings of my own. Not a great deal, but I’d be glad to do what I can.”
Sachiko bowed gracefully, then lifted her teacup. “I won’t embarrass you”, she said, “by naming any particular sum. That, of course, is entirely up to you. I’ll gratefully accept whatever you feel is appropriate. Of course, the loan will be returned in due course, you can rest assured of that, Etsuko.”
“Naturally,” I said, quietly. “I had no doubts on that.”
Sachiko continued to regard me with her kindly smile. I excused myself and left the room.
In the bedroom, the sun was streaming in, revealing all the dust in the air. I knelt beside a set of small drawers at the foot of our cupboard. From the lowest drawer I removed various items—photograph albums, greeting cards, a folder of water-colours my mother had painted—laying them carefully on the floor beside me. At the bottom of the drawer was the black lacquer gift-box. Lifting the lid, I found the several letters I had preserved—unknown to my husband—together with two or three small photographs. From beneath these, I took out the envelope containing my money. I carefully put back everything as it had been and closed the drawer. Before leaving the room, I opened the wardrobe, chose a silk scarf of a suitably discreet pattern, and wrapped it around the envelope.
When I returned to the living room, Sachiko was refilling her teacup. She did not look up at me, and when I laid the folded scarf on the floor beside her, she carried on pouring the tea without glancing at it. She gave me a nod as I sat down, then began to sip from her cup. Only once, as she was lowering her teacup, did she cast a quick sideways glance at the bundle beside her cushion.
“There’s something you don’t seem to understand, Etsuko,” she said. “You see, I’m not ashamed or embarrassed about anything I’ve done. You can feel free to ask whatever you like.”
“Yes, of course.”
“For instance, Etsuko, why is it you never ask me anything about 'my friend’, as you insist on calling him? There really isn’t anything to get embarrassed about. Why, Etsuko, you’re beginning to blush already.’
“I assure you I’m not getting embarrassed.”
“But you are, Etsuko, I can see you are.” Sachiko gave a laugh and clapped her hands together. “But why cant you understand I’ve nothing to hide, I’ve nothing to be ashamed of? Why are you blushing like this? Just because I mentioned Frank?”
“But I’m not embarrassed. And I assure you I’ve never assumed anything.”
“Why do you never ask me about him, Etsuko? There must be all sorts of questions you’d like to ask. So why don’t you ask them? After all, everybody else in the neighbourhood seems interested enough, you must be too, Etsuko. So please feel free, ask me anything you like.”
A Pale View of Hills Page 6