The perceptive Itakura had early guessed her feelings, one would judge from his behavior. Taeko had but recently confessed them. The year before—early in September, when Sachiko was in Tokyo and Okubata’s suspicions forced Taeko and Itakura to be more cautious—they had debated what to do, and Taeko had declared herself for the first time. Thus Okubata succeeded in bringing them together. When it became clear that Taeko was actually proposing marriage, Itakura seemed unable to believe his ears— perhaps he was but making a show of propriety, perhaps he was indeed caught by surprise. He said that he had not dreamed of such good fortune, and that he would like two or three days to think matters over. Beneath his surprise and hesitation there seemed to run another vein: it was such a stroke of luck that considerations of personal advantage and disadvantage had no meaning. But ought not Koi-san to make sure that she would not regret her decision? He himself would no longer be able to see the Okubata family, he said, and Koi-san would probably be cast out by the main branch of her family and even by the Ashiya branch. And they would be misunderstood and even ostracized. He could fight his way through, but could Koi-san? People would say that he had cleverly bagged a Makioka daughter. But it made no difference what people in general said—Kei-boy’s reproaches would be harder to bear. Then Itakura’s tone changed: Kei-boy would not understand in any case, and it was rather to the old master and the old mistress (Kei-boy’s mother) and to the young master (Kei-boy’s brother) that Itakura himself was indebted. Kei-boy was a younger son to whom he owed nothing directly. Angry though Kei-boy would be, the old mistress and the young master might even be grateful to Itakura. They were quite possibly still opposed to Kei-boy’s marrying Koi-san. Itakura suspected that such was indeed the case, although Kei-boy had said nothing. So, while making a show of hesitation, Itakura contrived to accept Taeko’s proposal.
They made their plans in great detail: for the time being they would keep their engagement absolutely secret; a problem to be solved before that was how to break Taeko’s engagement to Okubata; they should do nothing rash, but should take their time and if possible bring Okubata to renounce her voluntarily. For Taeko the best step possible would be to go abroad; their marriage could well be put off two or three years, and in the meantime they should prepare themselves to meet possible economic sanctions; and Taeko should therefore go ahead with her sewing. Then, suddenly, the opposition of the main house and Mrs. Tamaki’s change in plans made it impossible for Taeko to go abroad. Meanwhile, Okubata followed her about, partly to annoy Itakura, she believed. As long as she was in Japan, he would never break the engagement. If, on the other hand, she were to send a letter from Paris insisting that he give her her freedom, and if she were to keep out of sight for a time, he might finally resign himself to what had to be. Now he would be more difficult than ever. Concluding that she had stayed in Japan for Itakura, he would trail her even more closely. In a distant foreign country she could stand being away from Itakura for six months or a year, but with him almost beside her, and with Okubata clinging to her, she found she could not live without him. There was no alternative, then. Since it was becoming impossible to deceive the world and Okubata, they might as well face the difficulties and be married as soon as possible. There were only two reasons for hesitating: they were not entirely ready to support themselves, and Taeko, prepared though she was for ostracism, feared catching Yukiko in the wake of the affair. She wanted to wait until a marriage had been arranged for the latter.
“And you have only made the promise, then? You have gone no farther?”
“We have gone no farther.”
“You are telling me the truth?”
“There has been nothing more than the promise.”
“Would you think a little longer, then, before you do anything more?”
Taeko did not answer.
“Please, Koi-san. How can we face people, and especially the people in Tokyo?” Sachiko asked in a shrill, excited voice. She saw a pit opening before her eyes. Taeko was strangely calm.
26
FOR TWO or three mornings Sachiko called Taeko into the parlor after Teinosuke and Etsuko had left. She wanted to see how firmly Taeko’s mind was made up, and she found no sign that her sister could be moved. Sachiko was willing to make concessions if only Taeko would give up the idea of marrying the man: whatever the main house might think, she and Teinosuke approved of breaking the engagement to Okubata, and, depending on the circumstances, they might even intercede to see that Okubata no longer bothered her; although it would be difficult to recognize the sewing lessons openly, Sachiko could pretend to know nothing about them; she and her husband would not really oppose Taeko’s becoming a professional woman; and, impossible though it was to do anything at the moment, they would argue Taeko’s case when the time came and see that she received her money from the main house.
But Taeko only answered that she and Itakura were willing as their final concession to wait until Yukiko was married. They hoped Yukiko’s marriage would be arranged as soon as possible.
Matters of position and class quite aside, continued Sachiko, she did not trust Itakura as a person. Since he had worked his way up from shop apprentice to photographer, he was different from a pampered youth like Okubata; and yet—Sachiko knew she should not say so—he had about him the cunning of a man who has seen too much of the world. Taeko spoke of his intelligence, but Sachiko herself had observed only that he tended to be very pleased with himself over things that made no difference. He was a simple and indeed a rather inferior youth, and his tastes were far from cultivated. And as for his having become the sort of photographer he was—he needed only a certain craftsman’s instinct. Koi-san, blind to his defects at the moment, would do well to think long and carefully. It had been Sachiko’s observation that marriages did not last when the husband and wife came from different stations in life. To be quite honest, she was at a loss to understand how a woman as discerning as Koi-san could pos- sibly want to marry such a man. Koi-san would very soon tire of him. Sachiko did find chatterers like Itakura entertaining, but an hour or so was all she could stand.
Taeko admitted that something of the cunning Sachiko noted was inevitable in a man who, as a boy, had been a shop apprentice and who had later seen the world—it had been made inevitable by his surroundings—but there was for all that something surprisingly clean and honest about the man. He was at heart not the sly one Sachiko took him for. It was also true, as Sachiko had pointed out, that Itakura made much of trivialities, and he was disliked as a result; but might that not be evidence of something innocent and childlike? Perhaps he was uneducated, perhaps he was inferior. Taeko was as aware of his defects as anyone, and she would prefer that Sachiko not worry. She did not demand elegant tastes and a subtle mind, she had no objection to a noisy and even a coarse man. Indeed a husband from the lower classes would be easier to handle and less of a worry. Itakura considered it a great honor to be taking her for his bride. His sister too, and his family out in the country—they were overcome with joy at the thought of how high they could hold their heads now. When Taeko went to Itakura’s house, he would tell his sister she had no right to be so familiar with Koi-san—in olden times she would have had to kowtow in the next room. They treated her with proper deference, she would have Sachiko know. Taeko was becoming boastful. Sachiko could almost see Itakura, always pleased with himself, announcing that he was going to marry a Makioka daughter. And they had apparently told his family—the thought revolted Sachiko.
She was comforted to see that Taeko did not mean to do anything rash until Yukiko was married. The crisis was therefore not immediate, and Sachiko feared a rebellion if she set out now to bring her sister under control. Since it would be at least six months before Yukiko could be married, Sachiko must argue with Taeko calmly and unhurriedly and prepare the way step by step for a change of heart. For the time being Taeko should be allowed complete freedom. But how sad for Yukiko. No doubt Yukiko would find it distasteful to think that Taeko was waiting
for her, and expecting her to feel indebted. There were other reasons why Yukiko had not married, but certainly one reason was the harm done her by that newspaper incident. She owed her sister nothing. Yukiko would probably say that she was in no great rush to be married, and that she felt no resentment toward Taeko for the incident; her fate was not to be determined by anything so trivial. Taeko should go ahead and be married without a thought for her. Taeko for her part might not be trying to saddle Yukiko with a debt, and yet it was a fact that she had been impatient at the latter’s slowness. She would hardly have thought of eloping with Okubata, however young she was at the time, if Yukiko had been married or on the point of being married. Although the two sisters never quarreled, one could not deny that their interests conflicted deeply.
Since that day—since she received the letter from Okubata in September of the preceding year—Sachiko had told no one of the Itakura affair. Now it had become too heavy a burden to carry alone. She had always sided with Taeko. She had understood and sympathized, she had encouraged the doll-making, she had rented the studio, she had silently acquiesced in the relations with Okubata, she had interceded with the main house each time there was a disagreement—and this was her reward. But perhaps it was because of her efforts that matters were no worse. There was no telling what scandals they might have had otherwise. The world in general and the people at the main house would probably not agree with her, however, and what distressed her most was the thought of the private detective who was sent out to investigate the family each time there was talk of a husband for Yukiko, and who, each time, dragged Taeko’s misbehavior out afresh for the world to see. Sachiko herself did not know the exact details—what exactly had taken place between Taeko and the two men—but Taeko’s affairs must seem thoroughly shameful to the disapproving eye. Yukiko’s purity should be apparent to everyone. As far as she was concerned, the Makiokas had nothing to hide from investigators, but this scapegrace sister so easily attracted notice that the investigation tended to be concerned more with Taeko and her doubtful points than with the principal herself. And it was even possible that things hidden from the family were known abroad. Might not unwholesome rumors be circulating about Sachiko too, and might they not be responsible for this lack of suitors? There had been no new proposals since the spring of the year before, even though Sachiko had asked all her friends to tell her of likely prospects. For Yukiko’s sake, something must be done. When these rumors reached the main house, Sachiko would have a great deal to explain. Teinosuke and Yukiko too would want to know why she had not confided in them. And there might be more chance to make Taeko reconsider if Teinosuke and Yukiko were to have their turns arguing with her.
One evening toward the end of January, Teinosuke was reading a magazine in his study when Sachiko came in and looked solemnly at him, as if there were important matters to be discussed.
“Koi-san seems to have made the promise last September when I was in Tokyo. Etsuko and O-haru were with me, and Itakura came here every day.”
“I am responsible too, am I?”
“That is not what I meant. I only wondered if you noticed anything.”
“Not a thing. I did think even before the flood, though, that he was a little too friendly.”
“But he is that way with everyone, not just Koi-san.”
“I suppose so.”
“How was he in the flood?”
“Very impressive. He did everything. I suppose Koi-san was very pleased.”
“But can’t she see how vulgar the man is? I cannot understand her. She flares up and tells me he has this good point and that good point and the other good point. She was sheltered when she was young, and she is too trusting. He has managed to get around her.”
“She knows what she is doing. Maybe he is a little vulgar, but she knows a dependable man when she sees one.”
“That is exactly what she says.”
“That is one way to look at it.”
“No! You really think she should marry him?”
“Not necessarily. But he would be a better match than Okubata.”
“I think just the opposite.”
And so she discovered to her surprise that they did not agree. Under Teinosuke’s influence she had begun to dislike Okubata, and even now she did not feel friendly toward him; but when she compared him with Itakura she found him much to be pitied. Even though he was a classic example of the pampered youth, even though he was quite useless, even though one knew at first glance how frivolous and shallow he was—he was an old friend, the child of an old Sernba family. He was one of them. Sachiko could foresee great difficulties if her sister were to marry him, but at least for the time being they would not have to worry about what people thought. If on the other hand she married Itakura, she would be held up to public ridicule. Okubata seen by himself was not a happy choice, but he was certainly better than Itakura, and he could be their weapon to turn away the latter.
Teinosuke was more liberal. The question of family aside, he said, there was no point on which Okubata could be given a higher mark than Itakura. Koi-san was right. The conditions for a husband were love, health, and the ability to make a living, and if Itakura satisfied all three, what need was there to worry about family? Teinosuke himself was not particularly fond of Itakura, and only chose him in preference to Okubata, and, knowing that the people in the main house would never approve, he did not feel enthusiastic at the thought of pleading Koi-san’s case. But since she was not one to be married in the traditional manner, she should be left free to marry the man she chose. Precisely because she knew herself so well, they should be very cautious about interfering. Yukiko was different, not a person they could turn out to make her way alone. They should do everything for her. They should find her a husband, and be sure that he came from a good family and had money. But Koi-san could take care of herself.
Although Teinosuke would have to give his views if asked, what he said was for Sachiko only. He did not want Sachiko announcing what he thought to the people in the main house, or even to Koi-san. He wanted to remain an outsider.
“And why is that?”
“She is too complicated,” he muttered. “There are things I will never understand.”
“There are indeed. I took her part in everything, even to the point of letting myself be misunderstood, and now to have her turn on me …
“That is what makes her interesting.”
“She could have told me earlier. But to deceive me. This time I am furious with her, really furious.”
Sachiko looked like a spoiled child when she wept. The flaming cheeks and the angry tears always made Teinosuke think how it must have been long ago when she quarreled with her sisters.
27
SACHIKO worried about Yukiko, helpless in the main Tokyo house, a different sort from Taeko, who would do what she wanted regardless of the trouble it might cause and the rumors it might start. Sachiko thought she could never apologize enough to Yukiko. She had been asked so earnestly by Tsuruko that September night in Tokyo Station to find a husband for Yukiko; she had hoped she might have a candidate before the end of the year, this year being an unlucky one for Yukiko; and she had then hoped to find someone before the day early in February when the horoscope year would begin. That day was but a week off.
If rumors about Taeko were indeed frightening off prospective husbands, then she must hold herself partly responsible. She had long thought of calling Yukiko back for a conference—Yukiko who would best understand her dissatisfaction with Taeko—and she had hesitated only because of the psychological effect she was afraid it might have on Yukiko to hear of Taeko’s misbehavior. Now, however, she was more afraid of what would happen if Yukiko were to hear from someone else. And with Teinosuke, whose advice she had so counted on, taking this extraordinary position, she had no one left but Yukiko. She was trying to think of an excuse for summoning her sister when notice came of a recital in memory of Taeko’s old dancing teacher.
RECITAL
/> YAMAMURA SCHOOL, in memory of the late Yamamura Saku
ONE O’CLOCK, February 21, 1939, Mitsukoshi Hall, Kōrai Bridge, Osaka.
THE DANCES (not necessarily in this order): Perfumed Sleeves (Elegy), Nanoha,1 Dark Hair, Love Among the Saucepans, The Battle of Yashima, Gift from Edo, The Curse, Snow, The Coy One, Bird of Miyako, Eight Scenes, Tea, Moon of Remembrance, The Maiden at the Well.
THE DANCERS and their order of appearance will be announced on the day of the recital.
Although there will be no charge, admission will be by invitation only. Applications will be accepted from members of this society and their families until February 19. A letter with return envelope will be appreciated from anyone who wishes to attend.
THE DAUGHTERS OF OSAKA
(Pupils of Yamamura Saku)
The Makioka Sisters Page 32