THE LANTERN BOATS an utterly gripping and heart-breaking historical novel set in post-war Japan (Historical Fiction Standalones)

by TESSA MORRIS-SUZUKI

  ‘I wondered if I could speak briefly with Mrs Kawano,’ said Vida.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No, but she’ll know who I am. Could I ask you to give her this?’

  Vida dug one of her name-cards out of her tapestry bag and wrote on the back, Fumiko. It’s me, Kasumi. I need to talk to you about something. Please.

  She handed the card to the maid, who left her standing at the door for what seemed like a very long time before returning.

  ‘Follow me, please,’ said the maid, but she led Vida not into the house itself but around the outside, across the courtyard and the soft lawn to a little wooden teahouse that stood in the shadow of the forest. There was a terrace outside the teahouse with two bamboo chairs and a rustic table between them.

  ‘Do take a seat here,’ said the maid. ‘Could I bring you something to drink?’

  ‘Yes. A cold drink, please,’ said Vida. She felt like a pauper at the gate, being offered nourishment, but not allowed to set foot in the master’s house. As she waited for the maid to return or for her sister to appear, Vida watched a couple of little grey squirrels, which had appeared from the fringe of trees and were chasing each other in circles through the shadows. She remembered how she and Fumiko used to steal nuts from the dining table of the family’s Karuizawa house and try to lure the squirrels to eat out of their hands. They never succeeded.

  What would Fumiko look like now? Plumper, she imagined. More matronly. Probably given to wearing linen suits and square-heeled shoes. Vida kept glancing towards the house, expecting at any moment to see her sister hurrying across the lawn towards her, but in the end the figure that appeared was just the maid again. She was carrying a silver tray with a glass of cold wheat tea, a slice of sponge cake and an envelope.

  ‘I am afraid that Madam is otherwise engaged at present,’ said the maid. ‘But she asked me to give you this.’

  There was nothing written on the outside of the envelope. Inside was one expensive-looking sheet of creamy writing paper inscribed with the words, Kasumi. I am sorry. I would like to meet you, but Akio is at home at the moment, and he would kill me if he knew you were here. Do you need help? If so, please do write to me. I can arrange to meet you in Tokyo or in Karuizawa town some day when Akio is away. Take care of yourself. Fumiko.

  Vida read the letter through slowly, once and then twice, as she sipped her cold tea and ate the piece of sponge cake. It seemed a long time since lunch, and she was surprised to find that she was feeling hungry. At length the maid reappeared, and asked, rather shyly, like someone visiting the sick, whether she could arrange for the chauffeur to take Vida to the town. Vida was about to give a haughty refusal, but then she considered how sore her feet and legs were beginning to feel after all that walking, and instead replied in her best imitation of the grande dame manner, ‘That would be most kind.’

  The car had soft seats that smelled of old leather and cigars. Vida watched the forests of Karuizawa skim past, and wondered if she was ever going to see them again.

  She was still in time to catch the four fifteen train when she reached the station. Her faithful shadow was sitting on a bench near the ticket office, patiently awaiting her return. He must have been there for hours, thought Vida. She couldn’t resist smiling in the young man’s direction, but he had his nose buried in a paperback book, and he didn’t look up or see her smile.

  CHAPTER 12

  On the day when Fergus was due back from Okinawa, Elly decided to make his favourite French onion soup for dinner, and caught the tram to the city centre to buy the ingredients. In the two years — nearly three now — since their marriage, she had perfected her onion soup cooking skills to the point where Fergus would always smack his lips at the first spoonful and declare ‘formidable!’ in his best schoolboy French. The onions, of course, were easy, and could be found anywhere, but crusty bread and cheese suitable for grating were a challenge. She needed to go to the expensive Meidi-ya food store to buy them. The weather was becoming oppressively hot already. Toiling up the hill on the way home with her bags of shopping, Elly found that she had to stop and catch her breath for a moment at the corner of their street.

  As she did so, she noticed with surprise that there was someone — a man — standing outside the front door of their house. Not Fergus. The figure was too tall, and anyway, Fergus would not be home until evening. It was only as she approached that she recognized the slight stoop of the shoulders, the beige linen suit and the straw-coloured hair.

  ‘Ted!’ she called out. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I’m afraid Fergus isn’t home yet. Not due for another few hours.’

  ‘No, actually, Elly, it’s you I’ve come to see,’ replied Ted Cornish. He seemed almost shy, and his face was gleaming with the sweat that had left dark patches on his shirt and under the armpits of his jacket. ‘Here, let me take those for you,’ he added, stepping forward to seize Elly’s shopping bags. ‘My, what a weight! Killing the fatted calf?’

  ‘It’s onions mostly,’ Elly laughed. ‘But I went to Meidi-ya, and you know the way it is. Once I was there, I couldn’t help stocking up. Let me get you some lemonade. I’ve got some in the icebox. Or would you prefer a beer?’

  ‘Lemonade would be heaven.’

  When she poured the cool liquid into tall glasses, Elly’s glance fell on the envelope full of photos, still lying on the table waiting for Fergus’ arrival. She wondered whether Ted knew about the photos, or indeed whether he knew anything about Vida’s late-night meetings with Fergus.

  ‘Did you hear that I bumped into Vida in Kanda last week?’ she called out, as she put some peanuts into a bowl, while Ted took a seat on the sofa and lit his pipe. ‘She mentioned you might be going back to the States soon. Do tell me that’s not true. We’d all miss you so much.’

  ‘It’s a fact, I’m afraid. Just got the confirmation this morning. I’ll sure be sorry to leave too, in all sorts of ways. It’s been an extraordinary experience living here, but . . .’ he hesitated for a moment, ‘things have been getting a bit complicated lately. I just wish it wasn’t now. I wish I could have stayed a few months more . . .’

  Elly glanced at the American’s face, and was surprised to see that his normal smile had been replaced by a look of real misery.

  Elly had liked Ted since the first moment she met him. There was something attractive about his rather old-fashioned good manners, and about the way he always made sure to include her in his conversations with Fergus. While Fergus’ journalist colleagues had, she was sure, made half-comical, half-cruel remarks behind her back about her improbable marriage to Fergus, Ted had been unswervingly supportive. She wanted to comfort the American, but was uncertain where to begin. If only Fergus were here to help out, she thought. She didn’t feel she knew Ted quite well enough to ask probing questions, so instead steered the conversation towards safer and, she hoped, happier ground. ‘Do you know what you’ll do in the States? Will you be working in Washington?’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, seeming to brighten a little, ‘I’m thinking I might try academia. There seems to be a post coming up at Princeton, if they’ll have me. To be honest, I’m not sure that I was ever cut out to be a government official, let alone an occupation official. I’ve a feeling that the ivory tower might be more my style.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Elly. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job here — though I’m sure you’d make a splendid professor, too. Professor Theodore Cornish. I like the sound of that. It’s got quite a ring to it!’

  The American smiled vaguely, but didn’t reply. Instead, he said, ‘Could I ask you a favour, Elly?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m so glad you had that chat with Vida, because I’d been thinking of asking you — can you keep an eye on her for me? Sorry. That probably sounds a bit odd. But Vida doesn’t have many friends here. She knows plenty of people, of course. But real friends are another matter, and she’s not even on speaking terms with her parents. I just do
n’t feel happy about leaving her on her own. I’m worried about her.’

  ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘Not exactly . . . Things are great, in many ways . . . I really love her, you know, Elly.’

  The silence hung between them, and before Elly could work out the right response, Ted continued, ‘If you could start to get to know her better. Maybe drop round to see her next week? That would be just great. Have a good talk to her. Here, I’ll write down her address for you. She has a flat just near Tokyo University. She’ll be able to tell you more about . . . how things stand.’

  Elly glanced at Ted sharply, but his face gave nothing away.

  ‘You know Fergus is planning to write another piece for his newspaper about Vida, about the time she spent in China?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, sure. She mentioned. I guess that’s Vida’s choice. Just as long as she doesn’t say anything that gets her into trouble. Strange, isn’t it. One day the Chinese are our gallant allies, and the next day they’re the Red Menace and anyone with Chinese friends is a security risk. If Vida were a schoolteacher or public servant they’d probably have kicked her out by now for her dangerous left-wing associations, but as things stand, I guess there’s not much harm that can be done.’

  ‘Has she . . .’ Elly paused, trying to think of a delicate way of phrasing her question, ‘She is OK financially, I suppose?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied Ted, without elaboration. ‘No worries on that score. No, it’s just . . . She needs a friend. A woman friend, particularly. I hate leaving her.’

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Flying out from Haneda next Monday via Anchorage. They want me at a meeting in Washington the following week. Just imagine — I’ll leave Tokyo on Monday and be in New York by Thursday. Took a hell of a lot longer to come here, I can tell you!’

  ‘Monday!’ cried Elly. ‘But . . . are we going to have another chance to see you before you leave? We should do something — put on a proper farewell party for you.’

  ‘No time for that, alas. It’s going to be pretty crazy getting ready to leave. I’ll try to make sure I catch Fergus at the Press Club before I go. But I’m afraid I may not have another chance to see you, Elly, at least not in Tokyo, unless I can get back here sometime soon. Maybe I can invite you both over to the States once I’m settled.’ He smiled at her rather shyly. ‘And, if my information is correct, maybe you’ll have a little girl to bring with you when you come to visit . . .’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Elly, feeling the superstitious dread that to hope too much was to court disappointment.

  ‘Hey,’ Ted emptied his pipe into the ashtray and stood up. ‘Can I give you a farewell kiss on the cheek, Elly? You and Fergus have been such wonderful friends to me while I’ve been here. I’m going to miss you both.’

  Elly nodded, and the American placed his large hands on her shoulders and gave her a rather awkward little peck on each cheek. As he did so, she was seized by a momentary longing to fling her arms around him in a proper hug, but couldn’t quite summon up the courage to do it.

  ‘And don’t forget about Vida, please,’ added the American.

  ‘Oh no. I won’t forget about her.’

  And then he was gone, and Elly started to prepare the soup, stopping every now and again to wipe the tears from her eyes with one corner of her apron. The tears were just the result of slicing the onions, of course, but shedding them still seemed to loosen the knot that had formed itself somewhere in her chest as she said goodbye to Ted.

  * * *

  Although it wasn’t far to go, Elly and Fergus decided to splash out on a taxi to take them to the Imperial Hotel for their meeting with Mr Ogiri. They wanted to arrive looking as cool and uncrumpled as was possible in this weather. Elly was wearing a crisp yellow-and-white cotton frock that Fergus had brought her from a PX store in Okinawa. When she first put it on, she felt that the tight waist and flared skirt looked a bit girlish on a woman of nearly thirty, but she was touched by the present all the same, and for once Fergus had even managed to guess her size correctly.

  ‘Ogiri’s going to be the perfect person to be our sponsor. He knows all the right strings to pull,’ Fergus effused as they sat side by side in the taxi, ‘though I suspect there’ll be a little quid pro quo. He’d like me to write a flattering article about him. He’s got political ambitions, you know. Expected to stand in next year’s election. The Americans are thrilled. He’s said to be ministerial material, if not prime-ministerial — at least, that’s the rumour in the Press Club. GHQ thinks the sun shines out of his bahookie.’

  ‘And you don’t mind writing something nice about him?’

  ‘Oh no. Always happy to sacrifice a principle or two for a good cause!’ said Fergus, giving her a nudge, and Elly smiled as she recalled Vida’s solemn comments about her husband’s idealism. ‘For this good cause, at any rate. And to be honest, I guess he’s no worse nor better than the rest of the current crop of politicians. He’s got a diplomatic background. Studied at Oxford — not that I hold that against him — and was a naval attaché or something of that sort at the embassy in London for several years before the war, hence the beautiful English. The Americans see him as an internationalist. Apparently he’s a huge bibliophile and has a library full of first editions of Keats and Dickens and whatnot, which he bought when he was in London. Think you can manage a bit of small talk about rare book collecting?’

  Elly grimaced. ‘Not a hope,’ she said, as the taxi pulled into the forecourt of the Imperial Hotel and dropped them off at the foot of the grand flight of steps that led to the main entrance. Liveried attendants opened the doors into the vast lobby, and Elly gazed around, overawed by the setting. There was something almost otherworldly about the faded grandeur of the hotel, with its complex patterns of brick and stonework — like something from a Mexican temple, she imagined; its gloom punctuated by long shafts of light that shone down from apertures in the ceiling above. Fergus, though, had been here many times before, and strode confidently across the lobby to take a seat at a little glass-topped table with deep leather chairs on each side. They waited until Mr Ogiri appeared, his face wreathed in a welcoming smile and his hand held out for Fergus to shake.

  ‘Oh, really. You didn’t need to do that . . .’ murmured the businessman, when Elly bowed and handed him her gift from the shop in Kanda. ‘It’s such a pleasure to have a chance to talk to you both. I am a huge admirer of your writing, Mr Ruskin, and as for your plan to adopt one of the Elizabeth Saunders children, I think it’s absolutely splendid. I’ve known Madame Sawada and her husband for years, of course. What a remarkable woman! What energy and compassion! I’ll be delighted to write something to support your case. If you can just fill me in a little on the background . . .’

  He ordered a pot of Earl Grey tea and a plate of cakes for the three of them, and devoured a slice of strawberry shortcake with surprising gusto while Elly and Fergus outlined their own backgrounds and told him what they knew of Maya’s story. Mr Ogiri nodded sympathetically at Elly’s brief account of her family’s internment in Tatura, and chuckled over Fergus’ colourful descriptions of his early childhood in the Shanghai International Settlement and the years he endured at a Gothic horror of a boarding school in Lanarkshire before going on to Cambridge.

  ‘Oh, those British boarding schools!’ exclaimed Mr Ogiri, ‘Why do they survive? I heard equally dreadful stories from my English friends when I was in London. I remember — in the early thirties, it must have been — being at a party where Winston was present, and he started telling us about his schooldays at Harrow. He had the whole company in fits of laughter, of course. What an extraordinary man he is, and such a superb raconteur.’

  When Elly produced her picture of Maya in the children’s home, and started to explain the child’s predicament, Mr Ogiri bent forward with a paternal smile to look at the photo. ‘Just the same age as my elder granddaughter,’ he remarked.

  It was only towards the end of the meeting that the
conversation turned back towards Fergus’ journalism.

  ‘I loved that piece you wrote about the Japanese literary figures in China,’ said Mr Ogiri. ‘That woman with the foreign-sounding pen name . . .’

  ‘Vida Vidanto,’ prompted Fergus.

  ‘Yes. A remarkable story. Imagine a woman alone, travelling all the way across China from north to south at the height of the war, hiding out in the wilds of some island — where was it? Hainan? You have to wonder how she survived.’

  Here we go again, thought Elly wearily. No getting away from the shadow of the sainted Vida.

  But Fergus, of course, was all enthusiasm. ‘Yes, and being a poet, she describes everything so vividly. I’ve actually been doing some more interviews with her. She has more to show and tell, but she’s a bit cautious about how much she’s prepared to reveal. From some people’s point of view, of course, it all looks very unpatriotic. But Vida certainly has some interesting things to say about her motivations, and her impressions of Chinese communism. I’m hoping to have another article about her out soon.’

  ‘And the marvellous interview you did with that American Quaker woman who’s been tutoring the Crown prince,’ continued Mr Ogiri. ‘Now there’s a great example of a coming together of cultures.’

  ‘It’s one of the pleasures of being a journalist — having a chance to talk to all kinds of interesting people.’ And seizing his opportunity, Fergus added, with a deference that Elly found comically cloying, ‘Incidentally, sir, I was wondering whether you might perhaps do me the honour of giving me an interview. When you can fit it into your busy schedule, of course. I’d love to be able to write something about the contribution your work has made to Japan’s recovery from the war. And, on a more personal note, I believe you have a marvellous collection of literary first editions. I think our British readers would be fascinated to hear about all of that.’

  Mr Ogiri beamed at Fergus. ‘I’d be delighted, Mr Ruskin. And this is excellent timing. You know, I have a little book coming out at the end of the month, setting out some thoughts about the future directions for this country, now that the occupation’s coming to an end. Visions for a New Nation, it’s called. Perhaps I could tell you a bit about that too. You have my card, don’t you? Give my office number a call, and my secretary will arrange something. And in the meanwhile, I’ll draft that letter for you to pass on to your lawyers for the adoption process.’