They changed trains at the Katsura Palace, and at Storm Hill they crossed the river by a footbridge. This was a district they knew well from their annual cherry-viewing expeditions, but now, in the dead of winter—and the Kyoto winter is harsh—even the color of the water made them shiver. Walking west along the river to the wharf from which excursion boats leave, they turned in toward the Temple of the Heavenly Dragon and soon came upon the sign they had been told to look for: “Hermitage of the Sounding Rains.” The house, one-storeyed and thatched in the classical manner, did not seem especially large, but the garden, with Storm Hill in the background, was magnificent. When Kunishima had finished the introductions, Mimaki suggested that they go for a stroll about the grounds. His father would be pleased, and, cold though it was, there was no wind. His father, he said, was especially proud of the fact that the garden seemed to give directly on Storm Hill. One would never guess that a road and a river lay between. Even in spring, when cherry-viewers came in such crowds, the place was as secluded as a mountain hermitage. One wondered where the noise could possibly be coming from. The Viscount had purposely refrained from planting cherry trees. He preferred to enjoy the distant cloud of blossoms up the side of Storm Hill. They must see it themselves this year, said Mimaki. They could have lunch here and look out at the hill. His father would be thoroughly delighted. Presently they were called in for tea, served by a lady who appeared to be Mimaki’s sister, and who had married into a wealthy Osaka family. It was growing dark when they moved on to the dining room. The food had been prepared with the utmost care—it would be from a well-known caterer, thought Sachiko, who knew all about Kyoto food. The old Viscount, with his long, thin face and an ivory skin that reminded one of a No actor, was exactly what a nobleman should be. His swarthy, full-faced son seemed not to resemble him at all, and yet, upon looking closely, one could see a trace of a resemblance about the eyes and the nose. Their dispositions were more completely opposed than their faces. The son was gay and lively, the father stern and withdrawn, the true “Kyoto gentleman.” The Viscount was worried about catching cold. Apologizing for his rudeness, he wore a gray silk muffler through dinner and sat on an electric pad with an electric stove at his back. Well preserved for his more than seventy years, he spoke from time to time with quiet dignity, and it seemed that he was at some pains to be cordial to both Kunishima and the Makiokas. At first the party was rather stiff. As the sake began to have its effect, Mimaki, beside his father, brought their two faces up for discussion. It was said that they did not look in the least alike, and he wondered what the opinion of this audience might be. There was some laughter, and everyone felt a little more at ease. Teinosuke exchanged cups with the Viscount, as courtesy demanded, and moved on to exchange cups with Kuni-shima. Meanwhile Mitsuyo, in foreign dress, sat shivering, her legs and feet next to naked. (Of the others, only Etsuko was not in kimono.) Today, for a change, she was quiet and respectful. Isn’t Mitsuyo behaving like a lady—Mimaki pressed sake on her. Protesting all the while that today at least he was not to tease her, Mitsuyo was soon a little drunk and talking as fast as ever. He could offer no white wine, but he knew how well they drank, said Mimaki, pouring sake for Sachiko and Yukiko. Neither refused. Yukiko managed to have her share and still be poised and proper. Though she smiled and said nothing, Sachiko saw in her eyes an excitement not usually to be detected there. Mimaki occasionally spoke to Etsuko, who seemed lost among all the adults. As a matter of fact, she was far from bored. She was a high-strung child, but at such times she would be turning an innocent gaze on the adults around her and studying in detail their gestures, speech, and expressions, and their clothes down to the smallest accessory.
Dinner was over at eight. The Makiokas were the first to take their leave, and the Viscount called a cab to see them to Kyoto Station. Perhaps she would go too, then, said Mitsuyo, who was returning to her uncle’s, and Mimaki climbed in beside the driver and insisted on seeing them to the station. In great good spirits, he talked on and on and puffed away at a cigar. Etsuko had already accepted him as an uncle. His name was Mimaki and hers was Makioka—funny that both names should have the syllables “maki” in them. Very clever of her to notice— Mimaki was delighted. What more proof did they need that there was a bond between Etsuko’s family and his? And, put in Mitsuyo, Yukiko would not have to change the initials on her baggage. Yukiko laughed with the rest.
The next day Kunishima telephoned from Kyoto. The party had been a complete success, and he could not tell them how pleased he was that both families were satisfied. He would be returning to Tokyo that night with Mr. Mimaki, and they would soon be making arrangements through Miss Itani for the formal betrothal. The Viscount had said the evening before that the Sonomura family, into which his daughter had married, was pre- pared to sell him a house near Osaka for the bride and groom. Everything was as the Makiokas had hoped, then—Mimaki would be working in Osaka or Kobe, and Yukiko would be near Ashiya. Though the house was at the moment rented out, the Sonomuras would take steps to have it vacated.
Teinosuke was disturbed that he still had no answer from the main house. Possibly Tatsuo did not approve of the proposed marriage. Or might there be other reasons for the delay? After some days he sent off a letter. No doubt Tatsuo had heard all the details from Tsuruko, he began. The fact was that Teinosuke himself did not consider the match ideal, but, since they were in a weak position and could expect nothing better for the time being, it had seemed to him that he must leave everything to Mr. Kunishima. The Ashiya family had gone to Saga and met the Viscount (Teinosuke believed he had said over the telephone that they might soon be meeting him) and was now ready to consider plans for a formal betrothal. It worried Teinosuke to think that Tatsuo might be offended at having been left out of the negotiations. Though it was too late now, what he really must apologize for was a matter left over from the year before—no, from even longer: he had been unable to send Yukiko back to Tokyo in spite of repeated hints from the main house. He had not meant to cross Tatsuo—the problem had been a constant worry to him—but there were all sorts of reasons. In brief, Yukiko hated being in Tokyo and Sachiko seemed to sympathize with her, and, short of very strong measures, it would have been impossible to carry out Tatsuo’s instructions. Even so, the final responsibility was Teinosuke’s, and because he felt it so keenly he had been determined to do what he could to find Yukiko a husband. Was it not natural that Tatsuo himself could do little for a sister who went against his orders, and did it not follow that responsibility for looking after her lay with Teinosuke? If Tatsuo accused him of meddling, he would have no answer. These had long been his views, however, and if he could but have Tatsuo’s consent to the match, he thought he should take care of the wedding expenses himself. But he must make it quite clear that he did not mean to have Yukiko marry from his house. She belonged to the main house. What he had said was entirely confidential, and all the forms would be observed: Yukiko would go forth as the daughter of the main Makioka family. He would be most grateful, then, if he might have Tatsuo’s consent. He had not expressed himself well, but he hoped Tatsuo would understand his motives and give him an answer soon. Though he hated to seem importunate, there really was very little time left.
Tatsuo apparently understood. Four or five days later a most agreeable answer came. He thanked Teinosuke for his letter, and he was delighted with all the arrangements. He had through the years grown away from his sisters-in-law, and, though it had never been his intention to abandon them, he had done little for them. He could only apologize for having let them become a burden to Teinosuke—they were so fond of Teinosuke and Sachiko. There had been no particular reason for the delay in his answer. It worried him that Teinosuke should time after time be inconvenienced, however, and he had not known what to say. He had never thought of blaming Teinosuke for not sending Yukiko back, and he certainly did not think it Teinosuke’s responsibility to pay the wedding expenses. If anyone was to blame for anything, it was Tatsuo himself, but what go
od would it do to go blaming people at this late date? Since Mimaki came from such an illustrious a family, since so eminent a person as Kuni-shima was willing to act as intermediary, and since Teinosuke himself was enthusiastic, Tatsuo did not think it his place to raise objections. He would leave everything to Teinosuke. He hoped Teinosuke would proceed with arrangements for the betrothal. As for the wedding expenses, he meant to do what he could, but, because Teinosuke’s kind offer came at a time when he was rather hard pressed, he thought he might ask Teinosuke for help, provided of course that the latter did not think it his duty to help. They could discuss the details when they met.
Teinosuke was much relieved. Now he had only Taeko to worry about. Not trusting Okubata in spite of those promises, he wanted to hurry through at least the formal betrothal. Unfortunately there would have to be a delay: Mrs. Kunishima was seriously ill, Mitsuyo reported. A severe cold had turned into pneumonia. There was also a very polite letter of explanation from Kunishima. The Viscount had bought the house, and the deed had been turned over to Mimaki—this last fact they learned from Mimaki himself. Though the tenants had not yet moved, they would move very shortly. Mimaki hoped, when the house was vacant, to have a look at it, and he hoped too that Sachiko and Yukiko would join him. His father had offered to send a maid who would stay on after the wedding.
Mrs. Kunishima’s condition was critical for a time, but by the end of February she was out of bed and off for a two-week change of air. She had worried over the betrothal and even talked of it in her delirium, said Mitsuyo, who in mid-March appeared in Ashiya to discuss plans for the ceremony. There was, first of all, the question of whether the betrothal and the wedding should be in Kyoto or in Tokyo. It was Kunishima’s view that, since the Viscount’s main house was in Tokyo and since the main Makioka family was living in Tokyo, both ceremonies should take place there, the betrothal if possible on March 25, the wedding in mid-April. Teinosuke, who had no objections, telephoned the news to Tsuruko. The main house was thrown into consternation: the children had made the place a pigpen, and doors had to be repaired and floors refinished and walls replastered.
Sachiko again had misgivings about Tokyo. She could think of no reason to object, however, and on March 23 she left with Yukiko. Teinosuke had to stay behind on business. The betrothal ceremony took place two days later, and Kunishima sent off a cable to Itani in Los Angeles. Leaving Yukiko to take her leave of the main house, Sachiko returned to Ashiya alone on the morning of the twenty-seventh. It was about noon, and both Etsuko and Teinosuke were out. In the bedroom she found two letters, already opened, that had come by Trans-Siberian Railroad. Beside them were several pages of Japanese and a pencilled note from Teinosuke: “We were surprised by letters from Mrs. Stolz and the Hening girl. Etsuko was in a great hurry and I opened them. Mrs. Stolz’s is in German. I had a friend in Osaka translate it.”
36
Hamburg
February 9, 1941
DEAR MRS. MAKIOKA,
I have been telling myself for a great while that I should write you a good, long letter. We often think of you and dear Etsuko. She must be a big girl by now. Unfortunately I hardly have time to lift a pen. As you know, there is a shortage of manpower in Germany, and it is very difficult to find a maid. Since last May we have had a girl who comes in three morning a week to clean, and beyond that the lady of the house does everything for herself: cooking, buying, sewing, mending, and so on. Once I had time to write letters in the evening. Now I must get out a basket of stockings, all with big holes and little holes in them. In the old days 1 would have thrown away worn-out stockings, but now we must economize. We must work together to win through, and each of us must do his part, however small it may be. I understand that life is harder in Japan too. A friend from Japan was here on vacation not long ago, and he told us about all the changes. But we must bear the burden. We are both young nations fighting our way up, and it is not easy to win a place in the sun. And yet I do believe that we will win in the end.
I was delighted and deeply grateful that you wrote your letter of last June in German. I suppose you can have some good friend translate this for you, and I hope he can read my writing; perhaps next time I can use a typewriter. It is too bad that the silk and fan never arrived, but my Rosemarie was overjoyed when she received the beautiful ring. We had a letter from Miss Hening saying that she had the ring, but that she did not know when she would be able to visit Hamburg. The other day a friend brought it back from Berlin. It is lovely. In Rosemarie’s place, I want to tell you how very grateful we are. We are not letting her wear it for the time being, however. We mean to keep it until she is a little older. A person we knew in Japan is going back in April, and we will send something with him for Etsuko. It will be the merest trifle, but each of the girls will have something to wear in memory of their friendship. When we win our victory and everything is normal again, you can visit Germany. I am sure that Etsuko will want to know the new Germany. It would be a very great pleasure to have you as honored guests in our house.
You will want to hear about the children. They are as healthy as ever. Peter has been in Upper Bavaria with his class since November, and seems to like it very much. Rosemarie has been taking piano lessons since October. She is very good. Fritz plays the violin, and he is now the largest of the children. He is a very entertaining lad. He too is in school, and doing very well. During his first year he thought of it half as a game, but now he has learned to take it seriously. The children all have to help in the house. Each has his own little job. Fritz must polish the shoes every night and Rosemarie must dry the dishes and polish the silver. They are all doing their very best. Just today I had a long letter from Peter, and it seems that there is polishing and mending in his camp too, and that each of the boys must take care of his own clothes and socks. Young people need that sort of training. But I am afraid that when he comes home he will leave everything to Mother again. My husband has taken over an import house and seems to be at home in the new work. He imports from Japan and China, though there are all sorts of war-time restrictions. This has been a long winter, but not as cold as last year. There are few sunny days here—the sun has hardly shown its face since November. But soon it will be spring. How warm it always was in Japan! We often long for that pleasant climate.
It will be a great delight to hear from you again. Tell me everything you are doing. How sad that we are not allowed to send photographs. Rosemarie will soon be writing to Etsuko. On week days she has a heavy load of homework, and letter writing must wait until Sunday. I believe Peter will write from Bavaria. They seem to be enjoying nature there, and they spend little time indoors. That is very fine. Here in the city we all live in caves.
Give Etsuko our love, and especially the children’s. And please, Mrs. Makioka, accept assurances of my warmest regards for you and your husband. Thank you for continuing to think of us.
Sincerely yours,
HILDA STOLZ
The letter from the Hening girl was in English, so simple that even Sachiko could puzzle it out.
Berlin
February 2, 1941
DEAR MRS. MAKIOKA,
Please forgive me for not having written sooner. I was busy finding a place to live, and I had absolutely no time to write. We have finally moved in with an old gentleman we know. We were friendly with his son in Japan. He is sixty-three years old, all by himself in a big apartment, and, being very lonely, he said he thought we might want to live with him. And so we moved in, and we are very happy.
We reached Germany on January 5, after a long but pleasant trip. The quarantine in Russia was not pleasant, but I am sure that the Russians were doing their best. The food was very bad. Every day we had black bread, cheese, butter, and a vegetable soup called borsch. We spent our time playing cards and chess, and on Christmas Eve we lit candles and ate our usual bread and butter. You cannot imagine how I longed for Japan and my mother and brothers. Finally the six days were over, and we were taken to our train. Father and
I had a large new seat all to ourselves. In the next seat were some boys from the Hitlerjugend on their way back from Japan. We had many interesting things to talk about and forgot what a long trip it was.
Here in Berlin, we hardly feel that there is a war on. The restaurants and theaters are full, and there is plenty of good food. When we go to a hotel or restaurant, there is usually more food than we can eat. The change in climate has given me a great appetite, and I am in danger of getting fat. We have been surprised only at the great number of soldiers in the streets. How handsome they all are in their uniforms!
This month I started Russian ballet at a school only ten minutes from where we live. The teacher studied in Petersburg and is very kind. She is always giving recitals. I practice from eleven in the morning to twelve-thirty, and from three to four-thirty in the afternoon. I hope I shall make much progress. Her older and more talented pupils have just come back from a goodwill mission to Romania, and soon they will be going to Poland. I hope that in two or three years I shall be a member of the troupe myself.
I was able to have the ring delivered to Rosemarie. I was afraid to mail it, and two or three days ago a friend of Father’s came from Hamburg, and I asked him to take it back with him. Today I had a card from Mrs. Stolz saying that they had received it, and that Rosemarie was most grateful. I enclose the card.
It has been very cold, but from now on it will be warmer, they say. In January it went down to zero. You can imagine how we suffered. We have steam heat, however, and it is pleasant and warm indoors. German houses have double windows and are far better built than Japanese houses. We are not bothered by wind through the cracks!
The Makioka Sisters Page 60