GAN

by Mori Ogai

  But Suezo believed, in his gut, that he needed to convince the father of his upstanding position—having suggested that he was a self-made man, and so, in an attempt to do so, he agreed to meet the two of the at the Matsugen. Besides, he thought to himself, if he was to receive the girl as a mistress, the man would be part of his life regardless. Really he was just getting it out of the way earlier than he’d previously intended.

  Under typical circumstances, at their meeting an agreed upon sum of money would change hands between them. Suezo, however, would do no such thing. The reader is already familiar with Suezo’s clothing habits, and he had a place prepared specifically to work on his clothes. Before the scheduled meeting he visited the shop and had clothes made for the occasion. He intended to present both father and daughter with new clothing. He set it all up in advance, only asking the old woman serving the match for Otama’s measurements.

  However, the candy seller misinterpreted Suezo’s miserly finagling. The two of them were to receive no money that day, but he thought it was because Suezo respected them as equals.

  Chapter Seven

  The Matsugen stood near the site of the Hirokoji fire in Ueno, but I have no recollection of it burning down, so you can probably go find it standing there even now, and can probably even visit the very room they met in. They had prepared a quiet and removed room for the day. Suezo was shown to a small room of six mats or so, a right turn at the end of a corridor from the southern entrance.

  A man in the patterned wear of the restaurant was rolling up a large window shade of rusted orange.

  “The sun hits the room until it sets in the evening,” explained the woman who had brought him down the hall to the room. There was an Ukioe print, its authenticity difficult to discern, hanging on the wall, and a small vase containing flowers from mountain pears sat in the alcove. Suezo sat with his back to them and surveyed his surroundings with sharpened eyes.

  Perhaps the second floor would have been better. The restaurant sat by a busy site that was later turned into a horse-racing track, then, in a rather bizarre transformation, a bicycle racing track. Due to the surrounding activities, people were always walking by, prompting the construction of stone-walls around the building in an effort to shield the interior from the gaze of outsiders. It did, however, obstruct a perfect view of Shinobazu Lake, which would have been lovely, considering the building was oriented towards it. The ground flowed in thin strips between the walls and building, certainly not enough space to create anything worthy of the term garden. From where he sat, Suezo could see two or three Paolina trees, their trunks shining as if they’d been wiped down with an oiled cloth. Among them stood a lantern. Mixed throughout, at random intervals, stood young pines. The sun beat down on the streets of Hirokoji, illuminating and filling the dust clouds raised at pedestrian’s feet, though on the inside of the wall green, green moss covered all.

  Shortly thereafter the waitress returned with a stick of mosquito coil and a cup of tea. She asked for his order. Suezo decided to hold off his order until the others had arrived. He waved the waitress away to wait in the corner and began to smoke a cigarette. Upon first entering the room he’d found it slightly hot, but with time he became aware of the faint breeze, twisting down the hall, bringing with it the smells of the kitchen, and though the waitress stood in the corner with a fan for him he no longer felt compelled to reach for it.

  Suezo leaned back on a large pillar and, blowing smoke rings with his cigarette, fell to fantasizing. When he’d first seen and thought well of Otama, she had only been a child. What sort of woman had she become? How did she look. Whatever—her father coming was going to be trouble. If only there was someway he could send the old man home early. The sound of a shamisen drifted down from the second floor.

  Then came the sound people in the hallway. The waitress rushed to the door. “Just over this way.” Then the droning croak, “The kind sir has been waiting for you. He’s just down there now, hurry along.” It was the old woman who had mediated for them.

  Suezo quickly stood. Craning his neck into the hallway he saw, stooped over by the wall, the hesitant face of the old candy-seller, and there behind him was Otama, gazing about the restaurant as if star-struck. While she’d had a cute, rounded face in the past, it had thinned out. Her body, too, was slimmer than before. Her hair was tied in a simple chignon, and the thick cakes of cosmetics commonly applied by women in such situations were absent; she’d come without hardly any cosmetics at all. She was unlike anything he’d imagined, and she was far more beautiful. Suezo gazed at her, as if to burn the image to his mind. He felt a deep satisfaction in his heart. Otama, thinking that as long as she was selling herself to help the financial troubles of her father it did not matter who the man was to be, having come with a conviction similar to suicide, felt, upon seeing Suezo’s sharp grey eyes and refined yet simple and extravagant appearance, that perhaps there was something in him to love, that her discarded life could be returned to her. A moment of relief and satisfaction flit over her heart.

  Suezo turned to the father and politely addressed him, “Please have a seat here,” he said pointing to the head of the table. Then, with his eyes on Otama, “Come now.” He set them in their seats and, calling for the old woman, he pressed a paper-wrapped package into her hands. The woman showed off her wretched teeth, their stain half removed, in a wicked, respectful, smile, as if she was mocking the lot of them. Two or three quick dips of her head and she had withdrawn from the room altogether.

  Turning back he saw the father and daughter clumped in a reserved clot at the entrance, to which he kindly offered them seats and ordered food from the waitress in the corner. A moment later Sake and little dishes were produced. He quickly poured a glass for the father.

  Suezo had considered the father an obstacle to be overcome, and had waited for him in a state of unparalleled agitation, though upon meeting his feelings were ameliorated, and they spoke together in a soft manner which took him by surprise. Suezo was trying hard to produce all the kindness and amiability he could muster and put it on display, though inside he was rejoicing at the chance, given by pure luck, at this opportunity he was given to make himself appear trustworthy to Otama.

  By the time the food arrived the lot of them had arrived at a jovial, picnic-like atmosphere, as though none of them believed they were really stuffed in a restaurant. Suezo, who lived his life as a tyrant towards his wife and children, occasionally the object of rebellion of his wife, occasionally bending his head to her will as well, was so taken by the embarrassed, blushing smile that spread over Otama ’s face upon the departure of the waitress that he felt, growing within him, a novel, simple joy at her blushed cheeks while she poured him a glass of sake. But Suezo, despite savoring this phantom-like shadow of happiness he felt falling over them, was in doubt as to why such an atmosphere had never taken over his own family. How much effort would be involved in the maintenance of such emotion, how much would it satisfy him, or his wife? He did not have the precision of thought to arrive at the answer.

  Suddenly, from the other side of the wall , outside of the restaurant, came the clapping of wood slats to a beat, and the call, “Lend me your ear, for a moment tonight!” The shamisen on the second floor died away, and the waitress held to the railing and was saying something. Then, from below: “I begin with a classic of Naritaya, moving on to Uchiyama, in the manner of the kabuki masters!” His voice then inflected, varied and dramatic, he began to sing.

  The waitress, now in a very different mood, said, “Ah! It’s a real one tonight!”

  Suezo did not understand what she was referring to. “A real one, a fake one? Are there all different kinds?”

  “Sure. Lately there are lots of university students coming around, looking for money.”

  “Guess that makes it all more lively.”

  “Sure, but this one looks just like the rest of them, but you can he’s a real professional when he starts singing.”

  “I suppose he’s
quite impressive?”

  “Oh yes,” She said, giggling. “He’s only one who can pull it off this well.”

  “You certainly seem to know the area.”

  “Well, he’s been here quite a few times.”

  The father spoke at Suezo ’s side. “I guess there are some pretty talented kids at the university these days.”

  The waitress said nothing.

  Suezo gave an odd smile. “None of them are any good at their schoolwork though.” He was thinking of those students that always came over to this house. One of them behaved just like some sort of specialist; he liked to mock little shops, and had taken to speaking as if a specialist on all sorts of matters. But Suezo had never imagined that there were students among them who could seriously sing.

  Suezo looked over at Otama, who was sitting quietly and listening to the conversation. “Otama, who is your preferred performer?”

  “I don’t have any particular preference.”

  Her father explained. “We’ve never been out to a play. We live near the Yanamoriza theater, so most of the girls in the neighborhood like to go and look in on the plays, but Otama has never been. Those other girls just can’t seem to sit still when they hear the beat of the drums.”

  The candy-seller was always looking for an excuse to boast about his daughter.

  Chapter Eight

  They made their arrangements, and it was decided that Otama would move into the house at Muenzaka. But Suezo had not given proper consideration where it was due, and there was trouble involved in the move.

  The trouble had its origin in a comment she’d made: simply that she’d like to be near her father, so they could go and see him occasionally. From the start, Otama had planned to send the majority of her allowance to her father so that, even being past sixty, he could live a life without want. He could, perhaps, hire a servant to help him. If that were to be the case, there was no need to keep him living in that garage in Torikoe. If it was all the same anyway, they might as well have him move nearby.

  First the father had suddenly appeared at their meeting, now he was to appear as a part of their lives. If it was all the same, Suezo figured he could just prepare him a small house and send Otama to visit him on occasion, but in the end he was to be much more involved in their moving process.

  Naturally Otama said that she would handle her father’s matters, as she did not want to put her new patron out of sorts. But Suezo was unable to behave as though it was not his problem. At their meeting he had been so taken with her, and wanted so desperately to show off his generosity, that when it came time for her to move to Muenzaka he recalled the other room he had found by the side of the lake, and he prepared it for her father. Thinking of how carefully Otama would need to manage her money to pay for his house, he simply could not ask her to make the sacrifice. And so the arrangement ended up costing him more than he’d intended, but after glancing at her pretty face he agreed to the terms without so much as a second thought. The old woman he’d sent, however, seemed surprised.

  The bustle of everyone's moves had died down around mid-July. Suezo, whose shrewd and calculating nature had served him well in his money-lending endeavours, was so taken by Otama’s innocent and kind disposition and carriage that he adopted the most kind, amicable behavior toward her, making his way to Muenzaka nearly every night to visit with her. Here we see, as the historical critics are so fond, his heroic side.

  Suezo never stayed over, though he visited each night. The old caretaker there brought in a 13-year-old girl named Ume, and the two of them would hole up in the kitchen the whole day, leaving Otama without company. Without anyone to talk to she found her self looking forward to Suezo’s visits, and upon noticing her anticipation she would laugh at her foolishness. When she had been living in Torikoe, she’d watch the house while her father went to work, and would use her time on little side jobs, all the while imagining the surprise on her father’s face upon his realization of the amount she’d gotten done. It was due to this disposition of hers that Otama, despite having no friends in the girls of the neighborhood, never found her life in Torikoe boring. Finally, having her needs provided for, Otama came to understand boredom. Even at that, Suezo would come each night to ease her boredom, so it was still tolerable.

  Her father, however, had lived under such strife for the entirety of his life, that his sudden move to the quiet lakeside house, and the relative ease of life that came with it, was confusing. Was he to be there forever, sequestered from the world and what he’d lived for? He thought of those nights, the two of them alone under the small lamp, talking over their days. The memories came to him as a beautiful, faded dream. He spent his days waiting for her to visit. Yet after a period of many days had passed, she had yet to come over.

  For the first couple of days the candy seller was happy just to have moved into a nice house, and he sent the country girl servant only to fetch water and make rice. He saw to many chores himself. When he recalled something he’d yet to procure he’d send the girl to Okachimachi to pick it up. In the evenings, when the girl hunkered down in the kitchen among bubbling pots, he would lounge by the windows and potted trees, smoking a cigarette and splashing water. The crows over Ueno Hill would caw and take to the sky, and he would watch the evening fogs roll in over the Benten tower in Yushima or over the blooming lotuses in the lake. He thought kindly of it. He thought it satisfactory.

  But the fog brought with it the suspicion that something was missing. It was Otama, who he’d raised from birth, who understood everything he meant without the need for conversation, who was kind in all things, who was always there when he returned from some excursion. He sat at the window and gazed at the lake, at the people who walked there. That there, that splash, it was a carp. That foreign woman that just passed, there was a bird stuck to her hat. He wanted to turn and say, “Look at that, Otama.” But he could not. That was what was missing.

  When a few days had passed he found himself more and more irritated. When the servant girl came near him he was annoyed. He had not had a servant in decades, and because he was naturally kind he never gave voice to his annoyance. And yet nothing she did was quite right, was never exactly what he wanted, and it grew intolerable. Compared to his own daughter, who was always able to respond to each situation with grace, the girl was nothing but a bother. Fresh from the countryside, she knew nothing of the job required of her. Finally, on the fourth morning, she came to bring a bowl of soup, and he saw that her thumb had slipped over the brim and stuck into the liquid. “You don’t need to do this anymore,” he snapped. “Please just go somewhere else.”

  He finished his meal. The sky, seen through his window, was filled with clouds, but without a sign of rain. At the very least it would, perhaps, be cooler than a sunny day. In an effort to cheer himself up, he went out. The thought of Otama coming while he was out troubled him though, so he quickly wrote “Walking around the lake,” on a sheet of paper and stuck it up on the gate. Walking in the direction of Muenzaka, and passing between Kayachou and Shichikenshou, he came upon a small bridge. He considered stopping by his daughter’s house but thought it would be inappropriate and held back for whatever mysterious reason he could conjure. If one was a mistress, could they live so nearby and still not come to visit? Wasn’t it odd? It was odd. He decided not to cross the bridge, and continued on along the lakeside. He suddenly realized that Suezo’s house stood across the embankment. When he’d moved house, the woman had pointed to it from the window of his house. A glance and, yes, it was a wonderful place—surrounded by a high wall, and planted here and there with thick stands of bamboo. He’s heard that the neighboring house belonged to a famous scholar by the name of Fukuchi, and while the house was certainly large enough, in comparison to Suezo’s it appeared old and decrepit, and gaudy. After a moment of standing and gazing at the house he realized that he held no desire to swing open the back gate, built from birch and closed tight even in the afternoon, and explore the inside of the estate. There was
no desire, and yet the scene filled him with a loneliness that paused his tracks. It was an indescribable loneliness. If I must give it up to words all I could say was that it was the loneliness of a parent, their daughter given up to another.

  Finally, a week went by with no visit from Otama. He missed her, missed her so much that, in an effort to produce an explanation, he began to wonder if perhaps she must have forgotten about him, having finally achieved a simpler, easier life for herself. It was a doubt he purposefully entertained, for the sake of the exercise. It was not insincere but was shallow. He held to the doubt, but was unable to think unkindly on his daughter. It was a simple emotion, a weak emotion, and amounted to little more than a game, the sort in which friends exchange insincere insults with one another.

  The candy seller was in a predicament. He realized that being alone in the house was filling his head with strange thoughts, but if he were to go and clear his head, he might miss a visit from Otama, which would break her heart. Or if it didn ’t break her heart she would certainly have felt that the trip had been wasted. If that was all, then maybe she should feel that way. He decided to spend more time out on the town.

  He went to Ueno Park and, just as the tower was casting shadow over its platform, took a seat, watched the rickshaw men in their uniforms coming and going, and fell to imagining Otama visiting the house while he was away. Would she wait there, making excuses to stay in hopes he’d return? He was trying to find the picture pleasurable. It was a test he set forward for himself.