Teinosuke too had been staring at the ceiling and tasting the silence. He walked over to look out at Mt. Fuji.
“This is very interesting,” said Sachiko.
“What is?”
Sachiko was looking at the nickel-plated thermos bottle on the table beside her pillow.
“Come look. See what a palace we are in.”
The polished surface of the thermos bottle was a convex mirror reflecting the smallest details of the bright room. Everything was thrown out of perspective, however, so that the room had become a hall of state with an infinitely high ceiling. Sachiko, now sitting up in bed, was very far away.
“Look at me, will you.” She shook her head and raised an arm, and in the convex mirror a far-away figure shook its head and raised its arm—the elf in the heart of a crystal, or the dragon queen in her palace below the sea, or a princess of the blood in her royal chambers.
How long had it been, he wondered, since his wife had seemed so youthful. They were back ten years and more, and on their honeymoon again. After a night at the Fujiya Hotel in these same mountains, they had driven around Lake Ashi, with Fuji in the background, and no doubt the surroundings caned them back to that trip long yean before.
“We must come here often,” whispered Sachiko in bed that night. Teinosuke agreed. The bed-time talk also touched on soberer matters. With her husband in such a good mood, it would be a great shame to miss the opportunity. Sachiko quietly brought up the question of Taeko. Teinosuke ought to see her himself. He quite understood, said Teinosuke. He had been too harsh, and with someone like Koi-san harshness could only bring embarrassing complications. He would henceforth play no favorites.
26
IN SEPTEMBER Teinosuke carried out the promise he had made on that “second honeymoon.” He saw Taeko for the first time since she had been turned out of the house. Though he had allowed her to come and go, he had chosen not to see her himself. Now they had a pleasant dinner party, the five of them, husband and wife and sisters and daughter. Sachiko and Yukiko, still troubled by the story they had heard from O-haru, felt a certain constraint with Taeko. They were nonetheless determined to forget the unpleasantness, and, close to their sister for an evening at least, they drank more saké than they usually allowed themselves. The dining room was very lively indeed. Without having discussed the matter, Sachiko and Yukiko had come to much the same conclusion: they would say nothing to Teinosuke and they would not reprimand Taeko herself. Since a good part of the responsibility lay with them, they would be warm and affectionate in their efforts to win back this erring sister. Why not stay the night? suggested Etsuko, and Teinosuke and the others promptly took up the suggestion. It was decided that Taeko would stay the night. Etsuko was delighted—she and Yukiko and Koi-san would all sleep together. Easily aroused, she found such occasions particularly exciting.
Taeko’s old charm had returned. When Sachiko had seen that decaying face, and the muddy skin that seemed to cloak a venereal disease, she had wondered whether the freshness would ever come back, but Taeko was once more a lively, full-cheeked modern beauty. Out of deference to the people in the main house, said Teinosuke, Taeko should keep up the form of living out, and she would spend part of her day in the Ashiya house, returning to her room at night. Her old room upstairs having been given back to her, she would sit by the sunny window immersed in her sewing, much of it on orders brought in by Sachiko. Sometimes she rushed through dinner and went upstairs again in the evening. Hoping to keep down Okubata’s expenses, Sachiko went quietly out in search of orders, and as she watched Taeko at work, affection for her youngest sister welled up again. Koi-san did like to work. This very aggressiveness, it was true, had led her astray. Still, if they watched her, they might turn her talents to something good and constructive. She was so clever with her hands; she could master new skills so quickly. When she took up dancing she was soon a good dancer, when she took up dolls she was soon making really fine ones, and now see how it was with her sewing! Not many girls barely thirty years old had mastered so many skills.
“You are so patient with it, Koi-san.” Often, when the machine was still humming at eight or nine in the evening, Sachiko would go upstairs to look in on her sister. “But you really should stop. Etsuko will have trouble getting to sleep, and you will be stiff in the morning.”
“I thought I could finish it tonight.”
“Oh, finish it tomorrow. Do you really have to make so much money?”
Taeko laughed quietly. “As a matter of fact, I do need money.”
“Whenever you do, just tell me, Koi-san. Please. I can always give you spending money.”
Because Teinosuke now had an important account with a munitions company, Sachiko’s purse was fat and she had considerable latitude in managing the house, and Teinosuke had pointed out that they were taking care of Yukiko with virtually no help from the main house, and they might start looking after Taeko too. Whenever she had a chance, then, Sachiko mentioned the possibility of an allowance, but Taeko always turned the suggestion off lightly, as though she had too much pride to accept the offer, as though the last thing she wanted to do was depend on others.
Neither Sachiko nor Yukiko could guess from Taeko’s manner what had happened to Okubata. Though Taeko came to Ashiya every day, she always spent part of the day elsewhere. She would come either late in the afternoon and spend the evening, or come in the morning and leave in the afternoon. Perhaps she was seeing Kei-boy, perhaps not. The two sisters worried a great deal, but neither sought to question Taeko. They agreed with the old woman: the only solution was to see Taeko and Okubata married. It would be rash to make the suggestion openly, however, and they only hoped that in the course of time Taeko would have a change of heart. Then one day—it was early in October— she brought home a report that Okubata was leaving for Manchuria.
“For Manchuria?” Sachiko and Yukiko asked in unison.
“It is very funny.” Taeko laughed and told her story:
She did not know all the details, but it appeared that an official had come to recruit twenty or thirty Japanese for the Man-churian Imperial Household. “Officials,” they were to be, but certainly not high officials. Dignified manservants, rather, to see to the Emperor’s personal needs; neither intelligence nor learning was required. The men had only to be of good bourgeois origins, personable and well-mannered—pampered young men of family, in a word, who might even be a little stupid. Kei-boy fitted the order. His brothers were most enthusiastic. Since it would be in the service of the Manchurian Emperor, they need not worry about what people would think, and since the work would in no sense be difficult, it should be just right for Kei-boy. If Kei-boy agreed to go to Manchuria, they might welcome him back into the family. They would all want to wish him well.
“How nice. But it seems odd that he agreed to go.”
“Oh, his- mind is not made up yet. Everyone is urging him on, but he is holding back.”
“That is not surprising, Koi-san. A boy from Semba going all the way to Manchuria—think of it.”
“But he needs money. He will have to move, and no one in Osaka will hire him, and he has to do something. This is his chance.”
“I suppose so. It is not work just anyone could do.”
“Exactly. And that is why the pay is so good. And why I keep urging him on. I tell him he only has to stay a year or two. His brother will be over the grudge by that time, and people will start trusting him again. I tell him to pick himself up and go.”
“But it will be so lonely. Is the old woman going along?”
“She says she wants to, but she has her sons and grandchildren to think of.”
“Suppose you go, Koi-san,” said Yukiko. “You ought to be willing to, if it means giving him a new start.”
Taeko snorted and frowned.
“He would probably go if you promised to go with him, even for a little while—say six months, until he settled down. You must, Koi-san, if it means helping him.”
“
Yes, do, Koi-san,” Sachiko joined in. “Even his brothers would thank you.”
“This is my chance to break with him.” Taeko’s voice was low, but the words were clipped and distinct. “Otherwise we would go on and on. It would be far the best thing for him to go alone. And so I keep arguing with him.”
“Koi-san,” said Sachiko. “We are not trying to make you marry him. We are only suggesting that you stay with him for six months or a year. When you see that everything is going well, you can come back by yourself.”
“If I went all the way to Manchuria, it would be harder than ever to leave him.”
“Possibly. But surely you could make him see what had to be. And if he refused to understand, you could run off by yourself.”
“And is there a doubt in the world that he would throw everything over and run off too?”
“I see what you mean, of course. But after all you do owe him something, and if you are going to leave him you should do your duty first.”
“Do I owe him so much?”
Seeing that they were headed for a quarrel, Sachiko said no more. But Yukiko pressed on: “You really can say you are not in debt to him? Everyone knows what you have been to each other all these years.”
“And I wanted to leave him long ago, and he kept tagging after me. In debt to him! He has been a nuisance.”
“It is not true, then, that you have had a great deal of help from him? This will annoy you—but have you had money from him?”
“What a question. Absolutely not.”
“Really?”
“I have never needed to. You know perfectly well that I supported myself, and even put money in the bank.”
“So you say. But there are people who might not agree. I have never once seen your bank book myself, and I have no idea how much money you have.”
“You are quite mistaken if you think Kei-boy is making money. I might even have to support him.”
“Let me ask you this.” Yukiko was toying with the chrysanthemum in the glass vase. Though she avoided her sister’s eye, her voice was calm, her hand was steady, and she showed no sign of excitement. “The camel’s-hair coat last fall—did Kei-boy have it made for you?”
“I told you that it cost three hundred fifty yen and that I sold two kimonos and a coat to pay for it. I can even tell you which kimonos.”
“But the old woman says Kei-boy paid for it, and she has the receipt.”
Taeko did not answer.
“And the voile afternoon dress. She has the receipt for that too.”
“You believe everything people like that tell you?”
“I would rather not. But she has evidence for everything she says. If she is lying, possibly you can show us your accounts to prove it.”
Taeko, as always, was impassive. She stared at Yukiko, and did not try to answer.
“And she says that it has been going on for years, and that he has given you more than just clothes. Rings, too, and compacts, and broaches. She remembers every single item, and she says that Kei-boy was turned out by his brother because he took jewelry from the shop for you.”
Taeko still did not answer.
“And you have had any number of chances to break with him. When you were seeing Itakura, for instance.”
“What would you have said if I hid left him then?”
“It is true that we wanted you to marry him. But we might have reconsidered if we had known that you were taking money from him even while you were seeing Itakura.”
Sachiko agreed with Yukiko. Koi-san needed a scolding. Unable to go so far herself, however, she watched with astonishment and admiration. This was the second time she had seen Yukiko perform thus. The other attack, some five yean before, had been aimed at Tatsuo. What was it that brought about the transformation? Sachiko had seen the vacillating Yukiko suddenly become positive and forceful, and in the end Tatsuo was crying for mercy.
“He was not making money, of course, but can you say you are not in debt to someone you have had stealing jewels for you? Someone who had no other way to make money? In case you are coming to the wrong conclusions, I ought to point out that the old woman did not say a thing out of bitterness. She only said that after he had done so much for you we ought to see that you married him. And now that we know everything, we agree with her.”
Taeko still said nothing.
“You use him as long as you can, and then you say you know a good place for worthless young men, and try to send him off to Manchuria. How can you do it, Koi-san?”
Whether she had no answer, or thought that to answer would be a waste of time, Taeko remained silent. Yukiko talked on and on, until she began to sound repetitious. Presently Taeko was weeping, though her face was as expressionless as ever. She seemed not to notice the tears trickling down over her cheeks. Then, suddenly, she got up and left the room, slamming the door so hard that the house shook. A moment later they heard the front door slam.
27
THIS REMARKABLE SCENE took place just before lunch. Teinosuke and Etsuko were away, and O-haru happened to be out on an errand. The argument, in the closed dining room, had sounded so much like an ordinary conversation that the maids suspected nothing. That slam was far from ordinary, however, and O-aki ran startled into the hall. It was already empty. Opening the dining-room door a crack, she was surprised to see that Taeko had disappeared. Sachiko and Yukiko were spreading the tablecloth for lunch.
“What is it?” asked Sachiko.
“Nothing.” O-aki was confused.
“Koi-san has left. There will be only Mrs. Makioka and myself.” said Yukiko. “It does her good to be talked to now and then,” she added when O-aki had left. With that she seemed to forget the incident, of which the sisters said nothing to Teinosuke and Etsuko. Etsuko and O-haru were mildly surprised that Taeko did not appear the next day. Had Koi-san caught cold, they wondered. Very strange that she was not at work, answered Sachiko. She thought they might not see Koi-san for a time, but the next morning Koi-san was with them, as composed as ever. She greeted Yukiko as though nothing had happened, and Yukiko answered pleasantly. Okubata had decided not to go to Manchuria, said Taeko. Yukiko nodded, and neither had more to say of the incident.
Some days later, Sachiko and Yukiko chanced to meet Itani in Kobe. They heard unexpected news: Itani was going to sell her beauty shop and go to America again. Some of her friends pointed out that the international situation was most unstable, and that there might be trouble between the United States and Japan. Should she not wait a little longer? But Itani answered that the possibility of trouble with America was not likely to vanish overnight, and that she would hurry off and be back before the trouble began. It was not easy to get a passport, but Itani had her ways. She meant to be gone six months or a year. There was really no need to sell her shop if she was to be back so soon, but she had long wanted to go into business in Tokyo, and this was her opportunity. Sachiko and Yukiko were not entirely surprised, since they vaguely remembered having heard of such plans when Itani’s husband, long abed with palsy, had died the year before. Now that the first-anniversary memorial services were over, she had decided to act. It was always her way, once the decision was made, to push ahead briskly. She had found someone to take the shop, made all the arrangements for the sale, and even reserved passage to America. People would want to give her farewell parties and the like, but parties were inappropriate these days, and besides, she was leaving in too much of a hurry. She even thought she might have to be excused from farewell calls.
Whatever she said, Itani was well known in Kobe. It hardly seemed possible that no one would organize a farewell party. If a larger party was not in prospect, said Sachiko to Teinosuke that evening, they themselves must at least invite Itani to dinner—she had done so much for Yukiko. The next morning, however, they received a printed announcement which, among other things, firmly refused farewell parties and similar courtesies. Itani was leaving the very next evening for Tokyo. She would be at the Imperial Hotel until she s
ailed, and she would have no time for parties. That was that—the three sisters would go around with a farewell present some time that day or the next. Because they had great trouble deciding on a present, they did nothing the first day. Sachiko and Yukiko were deliberating the problem the next morning when Itani suddenly appeared. How nice of her— she must be so busy—the three of them had been thinking they would call on her. But there was no need for them to call, she answered, and even if they had called they would have found the shop turned over to someone else, and the house in an uproar; her brother was moving in. She had decided to say good-bye to a few choice friends. Since time was so short, she had made it a policy only to look in at the door, but somehow with the Makiokas —only the Makiokas—she wanted to stay longer. And there was something she had to tell them about. “Do come in, please,” said Sachiko. Itani glanced at her watch and went into the parlor— she could stay ten or twenty minutes at the most.
The Makioka Sisters Page 54