“Oh?” Taeko was still gazing at the doll.
“From Okubata.”
“Oh?” She turned to face her sister.
“Here it is.” Sachiko handed Taeko the letter, still in its foreign envelope. “Do you know what is in it, Koi-san?”
“I think I can guess. Is it about Itakura?”
“Yes. Read it if you like.”
Taeko was able when the occasion demanded to take on a calm, unhurried air that made it next to impossible to know what she was thinking. She quietly opened the letter and read through the three sheets, front and back, without so much as moving an eyebrow.
“What a fool. He has been threatening to tell you.”
“It came as a real shock. I wonder if you can imagine how surprised I was.”
“You should have ignored it.”
“He asked me not to tell you he had written. But it seemed simplest to speak to you. I suppose there is no truth in it?”
“He thinks because he is not to be trusted himself other people are not to be trusted either.”
“But how do you really feel about Itakura?”
“Feel? I have no feelings one way or the other—at least the sort of feelings he is talking about. But I am grateful. He did save my life.”
“I see. That is what I thought.”
Okubata’s suspicions had been aroused, according to his letter, after the flood; though he had said nothing to her, however, Taeko discovered later that, for some time before the flood, he had been behaving disagreeably toward Itakura. Itakura at first dismissed his complaints lightly, suspecting them to be only evidence of a rather childish anger at the undeniable fact that Itakura could and Okubata could not visit the Ashiya house. After the flood, Okubata’s complaints, opener and more bitter, came to be directed at Taeko too. Okubata said that he meant to talk only to her, that he was ignoring Itakura, and that he hoped she would say nothing to the fellow; and Taeko, not dreaming that the haughty Okubata had already spoken to Itakura, did in tact say nothing. Itakura, for his part, said nothing of his own difficulties.
The result of Okubata’s efforts was a quarrel with Taeko. Afterwards she refused to come to the telephone when he called, and took care that he had no chance to meet her. His distress was so real, however, that she finally took pity on him. Recently, for the first time in a very great while, she had agreed to see him—on the third of the month, as the letter said. (Taeko was apparently in the habit of meeting Okubata on her way to or from the studio. Although his letter had them meeting in the studio, the details on where and in what manner they met were far from clear. Taeko said vaguely that they took a walk through the pine groves about the place.) Okubata then announced that he had evidence, charged her with the offenses he had described to Sachiko, and insisted that she break off relations with Itakura. When she answered that it was not right to snub the man who had saved her life, he made her promise that she would see Itakura as little as possible, that she would keep him from going too often to the Ashiya house, and that she would have no further business relations with him—that she would no longer have him take her advertising photographs. To carry out these promises, she had to give Itakura her reasons, and when she did she learned that a similar promise had been forced from him, and that he too had been sworn to silence.
That in general was Taeko’s story. Since then—since the third of the month—she had not seen Itakura and he had not come looking for her. He had called on Sachiko because he was afraid it would arouse her suspicions if his visits were suddenly to stop, said Taeko, and he had purposely chosen a time when she herself could be out.
This explanation might do for Taeko, but what of Itakura? Even if Okubata had no reason to doubt the one, he might well doubt the other. Taeko need not feel in the least indebted to Itakura, he argued. There had been a good reason for the heroism. Would so cunning a man brave such danger if he did not expect a reward? Say though he would that he was just wandering around the neighborhood, he had had everything planned in advance. Why be grateful to an ambitious schemer who did not know his place in the world—a man so lacking in honor that he could think of stealing the fiancee of his old employer?
Itakura protested strongly. Okubata was quite mistaken. It was precisely because Taeko was Okubata’s fiancee that he himself had been so concerned at the time of the flood. He had rescued her from a sense of obligation, and it pained him to be misunderstood. And he did have common sense: he could not imagine Koi-san’s marrying into a family like his.
And how did Koi-san weigh the two arguments? To be quite honest, she could not deny having sensed Itakura’s real motives. He was clever enough not to reveal them too openly, but there was more behind his bravery than a feeling of indebtedness to the Okubata family. Whether consciously or not, he had worked that day for Taeko, and not for his old employer. But that made no difference. As long as he kept his distance, she could pretend she noticed nothing. Itakura was very useful. He would run about on errands for her, and she might as well use him, especially since he seemed to think it a privilege to be used. Such in any case was her view of her relations with him. But Okubata, a timid, nagging sort of man, misunderstood completely. She and Itakura had therefore decided that they would see each other as little as possible. Okubata’s doubts should now be at rest, and probably he regretted having written to Sachiko.
“But he is so strange. It would be far better for him to ignore Itakura.”
“What seems like nothing at all to you, Koi-san, is not so simple for him.”
Taeko no longer hid the fact that she smoked. She took a white tortoise-shell cigarette case and a lighter from her obi and lighted a gold-tipped imported cigarette, by that time something of a rarity. Silent for a moment, she rounded her full lips into an “O” and blew several smoke rings.
“While we are on the subject.” Her face was turned to one side. “Have you thought about my trip to France?”
“I have been thinking about it.”
“Did you talk to Tsuruko?”
“We talked about all sorts of things, and I was on the point of mentioning it. But then I decided not to. It involves money, and we have to be careful. I think we should let Teinosuke do the talking.”
“And what does he say?”
“That if you are really serious he will see what is to be done. But he thinks there might be a war.”
“Will there be, do you think?”
“Who knows. He thinks it would be a good idea to wait a little longer, though.”
“I suppose he is right. But Mrs. Tamaki is going to France, and she says she will take me with her.”
Sachiko had been thinking her problem would be solved if she could keep Itakura, and Okubata too, at a distance; and one possibility would be to send Taeko abroad. With the situation in Europe changing more and more rapidly, she hesitated both because it would worry her to send her sister off alone and because she was quite sure the main house would never agree. It might help matters if Mrs. Tamaki were to be with her.
Mrs. Tamaki did not mean to stay long, said Taeko. It had been many years since she was last in Paris, and just as she had been thinking that she should go for a look at the most recent fashions, the flood had made it necessary to rebuild her school. She meant to take advantage of the interruption, and to be away perhaps six months. Taeko would do well to study in France for a year or two, Mrs. Tamaki felt, but if she was lonely at the thought of staying on by herself the two of them could come back together. It would certainly do her no harm to stay for six months only. Mrs. Tamaki would arrange for her to come back with some impressive title. It was not likely that war would begin so soon—Mrs. Tamaki meant to leave in January and return in July or August— but if it did, well, they would have to give themselves up to fate. Each would be a support to the other, and since Mrs. Tamaki had friends in both Germany and England, they could always find asylum somewhere. The opportunity was not likely to come again, said Taeko. She was prepared to brave a little danger.
“I think so myself. But I will have to talk to Teinosuke.”
“See if you can get him to argue with the people in Tokyo.”
“There is no hurry, is there, if she is not leaving until January?”
“But the sooner the better. When will Teinosuke be going to Tokyo again?”
“He will have to go two or three times before the end of the year, I suppose. You must get to work on your French, Koi-san.”
1 Lespedeza japonica, sometimes translated “bush clover.
21
MRS. STOLZ, Fritz, and Rosemarie were leaving for Manila on the President Coolidge, which sailed the fifteenth. Rosemarie, impatient that Etsuko’s visit to Tokyo should be taking so long, was after Taeko and the maids every day. She was not back yet? Why was she not back yet? Then she was back, and Rosemarie waited each day for school to be out. Etsuko would throw down her books and run for the fence.
“Rumi, komm’!” Rosemarie would clamber over the fence, and they would jump rope barefoot on the lawn. Sometimes Fritz and even Sachiko and Taeko joined them.
“Em, zwei, drei, vier.” Etsuko could count to twenty or thirty in German, and she had her favorite phrases: “Schnell! Schnell! Bitte, Rumi. Noch nicht.”
One day Rosemarie’s voice came through the thick leaves at the fence: “Take care of yourself, Etsuko.”
“Auf Wiedersehen, Rumi. Write to me when you get to Hamburg.”
“You write too.”
“I will. I promise. Say hello to Peter.”
“Etsuko!”
“Rumi! Fritz!”
Fritz and Rosemarie burst into Deutschland über Alles. Sachiko went out to see what was happening. The two German children, high in a plane tree by the fence, were waving their handkerchiefs at Etsuko, who waved back. The ship had apparently just sailed.
“Rumi! Fritz!” Sachiko too ran over and began waving her handkerchief.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Etsuko’s mother.”
“Auf Wiedersehen. Take care of yourselves. And come back to Japan some day.”
“And you come to Hamburg, Etsuko and Etsuko’s mother.”
“We will, we will. We promise. As soon as Etsuko is big enough. Take care of yourself, Rumi.” Sachiko’s eyes clouded over at the silly little game.
The Stolzes being very strict with their children, there was always that call “Rumi!” from across the fence when the girl had been playing too long; but Mrs. Stolz saw how much these last few days meant to the children. Free from the usual summons, Rumi would play with Etsuko on into the evening, lining up dolls in the parlor, changing their clothes, and in the end catching the cat Bell and dressing her too. As they took turns at the piano, Rosemarie would say: “Have another, Etsuko.”
That meant: “Play another, Etsuko.”
Mr. Stolz’s departure had been so sudden that Mrs. Stolz was left to pack and to close the house. Every day Sachiko would see her at work. From the second-floor veranda one looked down at the back of the Stolz house whether one wanted to or not, and without meaning to spy, Sachiko saw almost as if it were being played on a stage for her how furiously Mrs. Stolz and the maids worked. She had often admired the kitchen utensils, always arranged by size around the stove and the cook’s table, and always as polished and shining as weapons in an armory. The cleaning, the laundering, the cooking were so regular that the Makiokas had only to glance next door to know what time it was.
There had once been an incident involving the two young Japanese maids—the two who had preceded the maids now in the Stolz house. To Sachiko they had seemed models of willingness and industry, but Mrs. Stolz had disagreed. She was really too stern, they sometimes complained to Sachiko’s maids. Determined to show by her own example that not a moment of the day need be wasted, she would push them on to another job as soon as they had finished one. It was true, they admitted, that they were better paid than if they worked in a Japanese house, and that they learned many useful things, but they scarcely had time to breathe the whole day long. Admirable housewife though Mrs. Stolz was, she was not easy to work for.
One morning O-aki, out sweeping the sidewalk, went on to sweep the Stolz sidewalk too. It was little enough to repay them for sweeping the Makioka sidewalk so often, she thought. Unfortunately Mrs. Stolz saw her, and scolded the maids fiercely: what was this, letting someone else do the work they should be doing? The maids fought back. They were not avoiding work, and they had not asked O-aki to sweep the sidewalk. She had done it out of kindness and only the one morning. They would see that she did not do it again. Possibly because Mrs. Stolz did not understand what they were trying to say, she was not prepared to forgive them. In the end the maids said they thought it best if they went looking for new jobs. Go, then, retorted Mrs. Stolz. Sachiko, hearing the story from O-aki, sought to intercede, but the maids were firm: much though they appreciated her kindness, they would rather she said nothing. Their resentment went beyond the morning’s incident. They worked as hard as they could, and yet Mrs. Stolz, not even a little grateful, told them in every other breath how stupid they were. It was true, they supposed, that they were not as bright as she, but when she had other maids she would begin to appreciate how diligent they had been. If she were to see the light and apologize, they might reconsider. Otherwise this would be a good chance to leave. Mrs. Stolz made no effort to keep them, and the two maids departed together. After the present maids came, it began to seem that the earlier maids had had reason to be angry. Mrs. Stolz once admitted to Sachiko that it had been a mistake to let them go.
The incident suggested much about Mrs. Stolz’s nature; but the fact that she was not all sternness, that she had her gentle and affectionate side, became clear to Sachiko at the time of the flood: Mrs. Stolz, hearing that two or three half-drowned flood refugees had taken shelter at a near-by police box, gathered shirts and underwear for them, and urged the maids to give away any summer kimonos they did not need; pale and tearful, she worried about her husband and children, and even Etsuko; and when her family came home safely in the evening, she ran out with that delirious squeal to meet them. Sachiko could still see her clinging fiercely to her husband, there under the sandalwood tree. Was such warmth not admirable? No doubt all German ladies were outstanding, but Mrs. Stolz must be outstanding even among Germans. There could be few so fine and noble. The Makiokas had been lucky to have such neighbors; the two families had seen too little of each other. Sachiko had heard that foreigners kept aloof from Japanese, but the Stolzes had been quite unreserved from the start—they had sent over a beautiful cake when they moved in, and Sachiko regretted now that she had not followed Etsuko’s example. Mrs. Stolz could have given her some good recipes.
There were other neighbors who were sorry to see the family go, and tradesmen who were delighted at being able to buy a sewing machine or an electric refrigerator at a remarkably low price. Mrs. Stolz tried to sell unneeded household goods to friends and acquaintances. Pieces no one wanted she sold for a lump sum to a furniture store.
“Nothing left in the house. We eat from this till we leave,” she laughed, pointing to a picnic basket.
Knowing that she meant to add a Japanese room to her house in Germany, the neighbors gave her antiques and wall hangings and the like. Sachiko offered a brocade that had belonged to her grandmother. Rosemarie gave Etsuko a doll and carriage she was especially fond of, and Etsuko gave in return a colored photograph of herself at the dance recital, and the kimono she had worn that day (pink silk, it was, decorated with flowery parasols).
Rosemarie was allowed to spend her last night in Ashiya with Etsuko, and “noisy” would not begin to describe that night. Etsuko gave her bed to Rosemarie and borrowed Yukiko’s couch. The two were in no hurry to sleep.
“How long will this go on?” Teinosuke pulled the covers over his head as the two girls came storming down the hall. Finally he switched on the lamp at his pillow. “T
wo o’clock in the morning!”
“Not really!”
“Do you think you should let them get so worked up? Mrs. Stolz will be annoyed with us.”
“But it is the last night. How can she possibly mind?”
“Ghost!” There were steps outside the bedroom door. “Father, what is ‘ghost’ in German?”
“Tell her the German for ‘ghost.’“
“Gespenst.” Teinosuke was surprised that he remembered. “ ‘Ghost’ is Gespenst in German.”
“Gespenst.” Etsuko tested the word. “Rumi, this is a Gespenst.”
“Let me be a Gespenst too.” The party was livelier than ever.
“Ghost!”
“Gespenst!”
The two ran shouting up and down the hall. Soon, with Rosemarie in the lead, they invaded Sachiko’s bedroom. They had sheets over their heads, and they pranced about the room and out into the hall again. “Gespenst! Ghost!” In bed at about three, they were still too excited to sleep. And Rosemarie was homesick. She was going back to her mother’s. Teinosuke and Sachiko had to get up in turns to comfort her. It was daybreak before the house was finally quiet.
Bouquet in hand, Etsako went to the pier with Sachiko and Taeko. The ship sailed at seven. There were few children to see Rosemarie and Fritz off, among Rosemarie’s friends only a German girl named Inge (Etsuko, who had met her occasionally at the Stolz house, liked to call her ingen-mame, “kidney bean”) and Etsuko herself. The Stolzes boarded ship early in the day, and the Makiokas set out after dinner. As the taxi passed the customs gate, the President Coolidge was suddenly over them, a nightless city bathed in floodlights. The walls and ceiling of the Stolz cabin were a creamy green, and the bed was a mound of flowers. Mrs. Stolz sent Rosemarie off to show Etsuko the ship. With only a nervous fifteen minutes to spare, however, Etsuko remembered little afterwards except that everything was wonderfully luxurious and that she climbed up and down a great many stairs. She returned to find her mother and Mrs. Stolz in tears. Very soon the warning gong sounded.
The Makioka Sisters Page 29