Taeko went to the wake for about an hour the second evening. She wanted to stay longer, but Okubata had been there for two nights and seemed to be looking for a chance to talk to her.
Teinosuke thought that he and his family should go to the funeral. What most concerned him, however, was the welfare of his two sisters-in-law. There was no telling whom they would meet. It would be especially embarrassing, after the newspaper incident, to meet the Okubata family on such an occasion. He decided to stay away and to send Sachiko with condolences, choosing an hour when there were not likely to be many at the wake. Taeko went to the funeral, but not to the cremation. There were so many people at the funeral, she said, that even she wondered how Itakura could have made all those acquaintances. Kei-boy, in among the men from the shop, was his usual officious self.
The ashes were buried in an Okayama temple, and the Makio-kas were not informed when the photograph studio was closed. Perhaps the Itakura family had decided that further correspondence would be presumptuous. Sachiko knew that Taeko went quietly to Okayama once a week until the thirty-fifth day after the death,1 Without calling on the family, she visited Itakura’s grave.
Yukiko and Etsuko, lonely without “Mito,” had O-haru sleep with them in the study. It was for only two nights; the night before Itakura’s funeral they moved back to the main house. Teinosuke reoccupied the study after it was fumigated.
Forgotten in all this excitement, a letter had come late in May via Siberia. It was in English, addressed to Sachiko.
Hamburg
May 2,1939
DEAR MRS. MAKIOKA:
I must apologize for not having answered your very kind letter sooner. I had no time to myself either in Manila or on the boat. I had to take care of all the baggage. My sister is ill even now here in Germany, and I brought her three children back with me. I had five in all to take care of. I had hardly a moment to myself between Genoa and Bremerhaven, where my husband met us. It is good that we all arrived home safely. My husband seemed very well, as did Peter, who was with friends and relatives at Hamburg Station. I have not yet seen my mother or my other sisters. We must first think of making ourselves a home, and that has been a great deal of trouble. We looked at many places before we finally found the one that seemed right for us, and we are now buying furniture and kitchen supplies. All our work should be finished in another two weeks or so. The large trunks and crates have not yet arrived, but we expect them within ten days. Peter and Fritz are staying with friends. Peter, who is extremely busy with his school work, asks to be remembered to you. We have friends returning to Japan this month, and we will send a little present for Etsuko, which we hope you will accept as a very small mark of our affection. When are you coming to Germany? I shall take great pride in showing you Hamburg. It is a fine city.
Rosemarie has written a letter to Etsuko. Etsuko must write too. She must not worry about mistakes in English. I make plenty myself. Is someone living in the Sato house? I often think of that lovely place. Please give our regards to Mr. Sato. And to your family. Did Etsuko receive the shoes Peter sent from New York? I hope you did not have to pay customs on them.
Sincerely,
HILDA STOLZ
Enclosed was a sheet at the top of which Mrs. Stolz had written: “This is Rosemarie’s letter, which I have translated for her.”
Tuesday, May 2, 1939
DEAR ETSUKO :
I have not written for a long time. I will write now. I met a Japanese man who lives in Mrs. von Pustan’s house. He works for the Yokohama Specie Bank. His wife and three children are with him. Their name is Imai. The trip from Manila to Germany was very interesting. We had a sand storm once coming through the Suez Canal. My cousins got off the ship at Genoa. Their mother took them to Germany on a train. We went by ship to Bremerhaven.
Under my bedroom window here in the boarding house a blackbird has a nest. First she laid the eggs. Now she has to hatch them. One day when I was watching the father bird came with a fly in his mouth. He tried to give the fly to the mother bird but the mother bird flew away. The father bird was very smart. He put the fly down in the nest and flew away. The mother bird came right back. She ate the fly and sat down on the eggs again.
We will have our new apartment soon. Our address will be: First Floor Left, 14 Overbeck Strasse. Please write, and give my regards to everyone.
Sincerely,
ROSEMARIE
P.S. We saw Peter yesterday. He sends regards too.
1 There are memorial observances every seventh day for forty-nine days after a death.
YUKIKO HAD ARRIVED in mid-February and stayed on through March, April, May—almost four months. She never spoke of going back to Tokyo, and she seemed to have settled quietly in Ashiya. Early in June there was, surprisingly, word from Tsuruko of a marriage proposal. Surprising for two reasons: it was the first such proposal in two years and three months, the first since Mrs. Jimba had mentioned Nomura, and whereas, since Tatsuo’s trouble with the Saigusa proposal years before, word had come first to Ashiya and been passed on to Tokyo, this time it was Tatsuo who acted first, and relayed the information to Ashiya through his wife. The new proposal, as Sachiko read of it in her sister’s letter, did not seem very promising. It was not the sort one would leap at: Tatsuo’s oldest sister had married into the Sugano family, large landowners at Ogaki, near Nagoya; the Suganos were friendly with the Sawazakis, a well-known Nogoya family, the previous head of which had occupied one of the seats in the House of Peers reserved for leading taxpayers; and the present head of the family, through the good offices of Tatsuo’s sister, would like to meet Yukiko. Mrs. Sugano of all Tatsuo’s relatives knew Sachiko and her sisters best. Sachiko, perhaps nineteen at the time, had once gone with Tatsuo, Tsuruko, Yukiko, and Taeko to watch the cormorant fishing on the Nagara River, and they had spent a night at the Sugano house; two or three years later, all of them had been invited to a mushroom picking. Sachiko remembered the place well: you drove for twenty or thirty minutes along a country road to a lonely country village; you turned off what would seem to be a prefectural highway and saw the gate at the end of a deep, hedged lane. Though there were otherwise only a few dreary farmhouses in the neighborhood, the mansion of the Suganos, which dated from the Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, was most imposing, with the memorial hall for the family funeral tablets rising grandly across the courtyard from the main building. Sachiko remembered too that beyond the mossy garden was a vegetable patch, and that in the autumn little girls climbed the heavily laden trees to shake down chestnuts. The food was simple, largely home-grown vegetables, but very good, the new potatoes and the baked lotus roots being especially good. The lady of the house, Tatsuo’s sister, was a widow. Possibly because she had little else to think about, she had for some time been considering Yukiko’s problems, the Makio-kas heard, and she had set about finding a good husband. No doubt she enjoyed being a matchmaker.
Tsuruko’s letter had little to say about the present head of the Sawazaki family, or about the circumstances that had led to talk of a miai with Yukiko. There had, she said, been this statement from Mrs. Sugano that she would like to have Yukiko in Ogaki to meet Mr. Sawazaki. The Sawazaki fortune ran into tens of millions of yen, ridiculously out of proportion to what the Makioka family now had, but inasmuch as it was a second marriage, and the man had already sent someone off to Osaka to investigate Yukiko and the Makiokas, the prospect did not seem entirely hopeless. But the most important thing to remember was Mrs. Sugano’s kindness; to ignore it would be to put Tatsuo in a most difficult position. Since Mrs. Sugano had said only that she wanted Yukiko to come to Ogaki, and that she would explain later, Tsuruko did not really know what the situation was, but in any case she hoped Yukiko would not be difficult. And besides, Yukiko had been in Ashiya a long time now, and they had been thinking of calling her back; she could stop in Ogaki on her way to Tokyo. Mrs. Sugano had not said who was to accompany Yukiko. Though Tsuruko herself could go down from Tokyo (Tatsuo was unfortunately very
busy), it would be quite ideal if Sachiko would go instead. Might they ask her to? There was to be nothing formal about the miai. They might set out as if on a pleasure trip.
Tsuruko wrote with great blandness. But would Yukiko agree? That was Sachiko’s first question, and when she showed the letter to Teinosuke, he too felt that there was something a little unexpected about it, something not quite in keeping with Tsuruko’s usual good sense. It was true that the gentleman was not completely unknown, the Sawazakis of Nagoya being famous in Osaka too. But to send Yukiko off as ordered, without learning a thing about the present head of the family—could it escape being called rash and ill-considered? Since the Sawazakis were so far above the Makiokas, might they not think the latter lacking in dignity and restraint, unaware of their proper place? And the people in the main house ought to have known, after so many proposals had been refused, that Yukiko wanted each new one investigated most carefully. Back from the office the next day, Teinosuke said that there were many things he did not understand. He had talked with two or three people in the course of the day, and learned what he could about the head of the Sawazaki family: that he was about forty-five years old, a graduate of the Waseda University business school; that his wife, who had died two or three years before, had come from a noble court family; that they had three children; that though it was the previous head of the family who had sat in the House of Peers by virtue of the taxes he paid, the family’s fortunes had deteriorated little if at all since; and that the Sawazakis were stjll one of the richest and most important families in Nagoya. But Teinosuke was not able to get a clear answer when he asked about the disposition and deportment of the man himself. He could not understand, said Teinosuke, why a millionaire who had been able to marry into a court family should now be seeking, even for a second wife, a daughter of the declining Makiokas. There must be reasons why he could not make a more suitable marriage—but Mrs. Sugano would hardly be sending Yukiko into the arms of a man she knew to have serious defects. Perhaps Mr. Sawazaki, searching at any cost for a wife in the pure Japanese style, a sheltered lady of the old type, had heard of Yukiko and decided, half from curiosity, that he would like to meet her. Or perhaps he had heard that Yukiko’s niece was closer to Yukiko than to her own mother, and had concluded that Yukiko would make a good stepmother for his children. If she got along well with children, then nothing else mattered. Might he not have some such uncomplicated motive for wanting to meet her? One of the two explanations must be the correct one, and of the two was not the first the more likely? In his curiosity to see whether the Makioka daughter was really as elegant as reported, had the man possibly taken the half-cynical view that he had nothing to lose by seeing her? One could easily think so, and the people at the main house, without having followed that possibility through, were pushing Yukiko on simply because Tatsuo could not say no to his oldest sister. The youngest in the Taneda family, Tatsuo found it hard to lift his head before his brothers and sisters even now that he had become a Makioka. A suggestion from this oldest sister of all, really more like an aunt, was an order. Though Yukiko would not be pleased, said Tsuruko, Sachiko must somehow force her to agree. It mattered little at the moment whether a marriage was arranged or not; Tatsuo would be greatly distressed if Yukiko would not at least go to Ogaki. It was true that the proposal did not seem promising, but marriage proposals were so easily labelled and filed away, and it would certainly do Yukiko no harm to be in the good graces of the Sugano family.
Almost immediately a letter came from Mrs. Sugano. She had learned from Tatsuo that Yukiko was in Ashiya. To avoid roundabout negotiations, she had decided to write directly. Sachiko and Yukiko had of course had the details from Tsuruko, but the matter was not to be taken so seriously. Mrs. Sugano preferred to think that all of them—Sachiko, Yukiko, Taeko, and possibly Etsuko, whom she had never seen—were only coming for a visit. These ten years had seen little change in her out-of-the-way home. And now the firefly season was coming. The place was not particularly famous for fireflies. With swarms of fireflies in the night, however, the nameless little streams that ran through the rice paddies would all be very beautiful for another week or so. Unlike maple leaves and mushrooms, fireflies would really interest them. The firefly season moreover was very short: for another week it would be at its height, and then it would be over. There was also the weather to be considered. Fireflies were unimpressive when the weather had been good for too long, and on the other hand, a rainy day was bad. The day after a rain was ideal. Could they set aside the coming week-end, and arrive by Saturday evening? An unobtrusive meeting might then be arranged with Mr. Sawazaki. Mrs. Sugano did not know exactly what the details would be, but she thought he would be willing to come from Nagoya. The meeting could be at her house, and it need last no longer than a half hour or an hour. And even if this week-end should prove inconvenient for Mr. Sawazaki, she hoped the Makiokas would come to see the fireflies.
It seemed that the people in Tokyo had urged her to write. Although Sachiko herself was inclined to dismiss the proposal as altogether too unpromising, in their hearts her sister and brother-in-law were apparently hoping that a dream might come true. And Sachiko herself had become very timid in marriage negotiations, and did not have the courage to refuse a proposal arbitrarily. There had, it was true, been a similar proposal some five years before. The man had belonged to a class above the Makiokas, and when, much excited, they had set about investigating, they had found to their very great disappointment that there was evidence of a domestic scandal. Though grateful to Mrs. Sugano, Teinosuke could not help wondering whether they were being made fools of again. He was even a little angry: was it not insulting, he said, to demand that Yukiko come for a miai before any of the usual preliminary steps had been taken? But this was, after all, the first proposal in two years and three months. Thinking how proposals had showered upon them until two. or three years before and then had suddenly stopped, Sachiko could not help feeling that she had to take a certain amount of the blame herself: for one thing, the Makiokas had made too much of family and prestige and had set their sights too high, turning away proposal after proposal; for another, Taeko’s bad name seemed to be having its effect. Now came this new proposal, just when Sachiko was suffering the keenest pangs of self-recrimination. She even thought sometimes that the world had lost interest and that no one would come with another proposal, and she feared that to dismiss this proposal, unpromising though it was, would only be to invite more hostility. Others might follow even if nothing came of this one. If they turned it away, on the other hand, they could not expect another for the time being. And was this not a bad year for Yukiko? Even while she laughed at her sister and brother-in-law and their “dream,” Sachiko could hear a voice that refused to let her call it a dream herself. Teinosuke advised caution, but was he not going too far? However wealthy the Sawazakis might be, was Yukiko so ridiculously unqualified to become the second wife of a man with two or three children? The Makiokas had their pedigree too. She said so to Teinosuke, and he had no answer. He felt that he could offer no apology to Yukiko or to her parents in their graves.
After talking for an evening, Teinosuke and Sachiko decided to leave everything to Yukiko. The next day Sachiko told her sister of the two letters, and was surprised to see that Yukiko did not seem especially displeased. As usual, Yukiko did not really say yes or no, dut behind her brief replies Sachiko sensed something like a willingness to be convinced. Perhaps even this proud lady was growing impatient and would no longer be difficult on the subject of miai. Sachiko had been careful to say nothing that might hurt Yukiko’s feelings and Yukiko had no cause to think of the proposal as ridiculous or extravagant, or to suspect that someone might be making fun of her. Usually when she heard that there were children she was particular to ask about them— whether they were well behaved, what their ages were, and so on —but this time she was less meticulous. She would have to be going back to Tokyo in any event, she said, and if they would all go with her to Ogaki,
she thought she would not find the fireflies unpleasant. Yukiko wants a rich husband, laughed Teinosuke.
Sachiko sent off her letter to Mrs. Sugano: they were going to take advantage of her kindness, and hoped she would continue to favor them; Yukiko would be most pleased to meet the gentleman; it appeared that there would be four of the—herself, Yukiko, Taeko, and Etsuko; though she hesitated to plead her own convenience, Etsuko had been out of school for a long time and it would therefore be better if they could go to Ogaki on Friday rather than Saturday; and she hoped that nothing would be said; to Etsuko of the miai. Her real reason for moving the date up was that she wanted to see Yukiko off as far as Gamagōri. They would spend Friday night with Mrs. Sugano, and go on to spend Saturday night in Gamagōri. On Sunday afternoon, Yukiko would leave Gamagōri for Tokyo, the others for Osaka. Etsuko would be back in school the following week.
2
THOUGH SACHIKO would have preferred foreign clothes for a train ride in the summer heat, she was off for a miai and had to tie herself up in a smothering kimono and obi. She looked enviously at Taeko, in simple girlish dress not much different from Etsuko’s. Yukiko, for her part, would have preferred to carry her good clothes in a suitcase since it was not proper to dress ostentatiously in time of crisis, but the details had not been settled clearly enough for her to be sure that the man would not be waiting when they arrived, and in the end she dressed with much more care than usual.
The Makioka Sisters Page 38