The picture was interrupted by the dash of purple, but continued again after a space of two or three inches where the line of the man's half-turned body both complemented and qualified that of the woman in a superb fashion. I think that balance is the word that best describes the mood of that moment. Although in reality there was no contact between the two figures, for the purple purse sheered them off from one another, O-Nami seemed to be trying to pull the man to her, and he looked as though he were being drawn backwards. While they thus preserved the delicate harmony of their pose, it was born in upon me just how enormous was the contrast between their clothes, and between their faces. Having realised this, I regarded them as though they were part of a picture, and found them more fascinating than ever.
On one side a pair of thick bull-like shoulders surmounted by a black-bearded face; on the other the delicacy of an oval face with clear-cut features, above a swan neck and gracefully sloping shoulders. Here, the 'soldier of fortune' with his clumsily twisted body and wooden clogs; there, O-Nami managing to look elegant even in an everyday kimono, her dainty form curving gently backwards in a restrained arc. Added to this was the brown felt hat worn smooth with age, and the short, blue striped kimono of the man, set against the captivating femininity of O-Nami, whose well-combed hair so shone in the sunlight that the air about her head was set shimmering and dancing, and from whose black satin obi peeked the corner of a coloured under-sash. Viewed as a whole, the scene was a perfect subject for a picture.
The man put out his hand to accept the purse which was being offered to him, and as he did so the tableau, whose balance both had hitherto maintained by a skilful distribution of tension, crumbled. The woman was no longer pulling, and the man no longer being pulled. Although I am an artist, I had never realised that the state of mind of the models played so important a part in the construction of a picture. The couple separated, and moved off left and right. Now that they were devoid of any outward sign of feeling, it seemed incongruous to think of them as figures in a painting. The man paused and turned at the edge of the copse,but the woman continued walking without a backward glance. She was coming towards the place where I was lying, and soon was standing immediately in front of me.
'Sensei. Sensei,'1 she called.
Oh Lord, that's done it, I thought, and wondered when she first realised that I was there.
'Yes, what do you want?' I asked, raising my head above the quince and losing my hat in the process.
'What on earth are you doing there?'
'I was lying down composing poetry.'
'Don't tell fibs. You were watching what happened just now, weren't you?'
'Just now? Just now, over there, you mean? Well, yes. I did just have a peep.'
'Ha, ha, ha, ha. You should have had a long look.'
'Well, to tell you the truth—I did.'
"There you are, you see! Oh please come out from among all that quince.'
I obeyed meekly.
'Was there something else you wanted to do among the trees?'
'No, I've quite finished thank you. I was just thinking of going home.'
'Then shall we walk back together?'
'All right.'
Once again I demonstrated my docility by going back in among the quince, gathering up my hat and painting materials, and then setting off side by side with O-Nami.
'Did you do any painting?'
'No, I gave up the idea.'
'You haven't painted a single picture since you came here, have you?'
'No.'
'But it's a waste isn't it, if having come here for the sole purpose of painting, you don't do any at all?'
'On the contrary, I make a profit whatever happens.'
'Oh, really? Why is that?'
"Because, when you come to work it out, the rate of interest is the same whether you paint a picture or not.'
'You and your puns. Ha, ha, ha, ha. You're a very happy-go-lucky person, aren't you. You take everything just as it comes.'
'If I didn't, it would mean I had wasted my time in coming to a place like this.'
'You should be happy-go-lucky wherever you are. If you're not, life isn't worth living. Take me for instance: I'm not at all ashamed that you were watching me just now.'
'You have no reason to be, have you?'
'Perhaps not. What do you think of that man I was with?'
'Well now, let me see. I'd say that whoever he was, he wasn't very rich.'
'Ha, ha, ha. You've hit the nail right on the head. You must be psychic. He came to get some money from me, because he says that he's so poor he cannot remain in Japan any longer.'
'Really? Where had he come from?'
'From down in the castle-town.'
'That's quite a way. And where is he off to?'
'It seems that he is set on going to Manchuria.'
'What for?'
'Who knows. To get some money maybe, or perhaps to die.'
As she said this, I raised my eyes and glanced at her face. Her mouth was set in a thin line, and the faint smile which usually hovered there was, for some unknown reason, beginning to fade.
'He is my husband.'
This statement, coming so unexpectedly, caught me completely off my gaurd, and I felt as though the woman had suddenly struck me. Naturally I had had no intention of getting such information out of her; nor had I had the slightest idea that she would confide in me to this extent.
'Well? What do you think of that? That surprised you, didn't it?' she asked.
'Yes, it did a little.'
'He isn't my husband now; we're divorced.'
'Oh, really. And. . .'
'That's all.'
'I see.—There's a beautiful white-walled house down there on the hillside where all the orange trees are. It's nicely situated. Who does it belong to?'
'That's my elder brother's house. We'll drop in for a minute on the way home.'
'Is there something you want to do there?'
'Yes. I have to go there on an errand.'
'Very well then, let's go.'
We had arrived at the foot of the steep path, but instead of continuing down to the village, we turned sharply to the right and climbed upwards again for about a hundred and twenty yards until we came to a gateway. We went in, and waiving the formality of presenting ourselves at the front door, proceeded straight round to the entrance to the garden. O-Nami went in without the slightest hesitation, and so I followed suit. The garden which faced south, contained three or four hemp-palms, and was bordered by a mud wall. Sloping away beyond this was an orange orchard. Sitting down on the edge of the verandah, O-Nami said, 'It's a lovely view. Look.'
'You're right, it is lovely.'
The room bordering the verandah was shut off by a line of shōji. I listened, but nothing stirred within. O-Nami showed no signs of announcing our arrival, but seemed quite content just to sit on the verandah and look at the orange orchard below. I thought this strange, and wondered what had brought her here in the first place. Finally all conversation lapsed, and we both sat looking down at the orange trees in silence. The sun, now nearing its zenith, shone full on the hillside, spreading its warm rays over the entire area, and penetrating to the depths of the foliage whose refurbished brilliance demanded attention. Presently there came the loud crowing of a cockerel from the direction of an outhouse.
'Good heavens! It's lunch time. I'd forgotten all about my errand.—Kyuichi, Kyuichi.'
O-Nami leaned backwards and slid open a sh5ji, revealing a room about fifteen feet by nine. This was empty save for two scroll paintings of the Kano school which hung, rather forlornly I thought, in a recess as an expression of the mood of spring.
'Kyuichi.'
At length an answering call came from the outhouse, followed by the sound of footsteps which eventually stopped on the other side of the fusuma across the room. Just as the fusuma was slid back, a white-wood sheath went rolling towards it across the matted floor.
"That's a farewell prese
nt from your uncle.'
I had not the faintest idea when O-Nami's hand had gone to her obi. All I saw was the dagger somersault two or three times in the air, then roll noiselessly across the matting to come to rest at Kyuichi's feet. Apparently the sheath was a loose fit, for as it lay there, I caught the glint of an inch of cold steel.
Footnotes
1 Kabuki, like Noh, is a form of traditional Japanese drama.
1 Fujimura was one of Sōseki's pupils who in 1903 at the age of eighteen committed suicide by drowning himself.
1 Sensei literally means teacher, but may be used as a term of respect to anybody.
We went down to Yoshida by river-boat to see Kyuichi off at the station. Sitting in the boat were Kyuichi, old Mr Shioda, O-Nami, her brother, Gembei, who was taking care of the luggage, and myself. I, of course, had virtually just been asked along for the ride.
The fact that I had only been invited to make up the company did not stop me accepting, neither was I deterred by the fact that I could see no reason for my presence. For the duration of my 'non-human' trip, discretion was a word that was not in my vocabulary. The boat was flat-bottomed, and seemed to have been constructed by sticking sides on to a raft. The old man was in the middle, O-Nami and I were at the stern, Kyuichi and O-Nami's brother were in the bows, and Gembei sat by himself with the luggage.
'Kyuichi, do you like war, or not?' O-Nami asked.
'I won't know until I've had a taste of it. It will probably be pretty rough going at times, but I expect I'll enjoy myself sometimes too,' replied Kyuichi, who knew nothing at all about war.
'However hard it is, you must remember that it is for your country,' put in the old man.
'Doesn't it make you want to get in and fight somehow, having been given a dagger like that?' was O-Nami's next strange question.
'Yes, sort of.'
At this light response, the old man tugged at his beard and laughed, but his son sat there as though he had heard nothing.
O-Nami refused to be put off, and pushing her lovely face close to her cousin's, she continued, 'How can you fight if you're so indifferent?' Kyuichi exchanged a brief glance with the brother, then the latter turned and spoke to O-Nami for the first time.
'I'm sure you'll make a great fighter, O-Nami, if you ever become a soldier.' Judging from his tone, this was not said entirely as a joke.
'I? I become a soldier? I'd have become one long ago if I could, and I'd be dead by now. Kyuichi, you'd better die too. It's a disgrace to come out of a war alive.'
Now, now, now. That's enough of such wild talk. Kyuichi, you must come marching home again in triumph. There are other ways to serve your country besides dying. I'm good for another two or three years myself yet. We'll be seeing each other again.'
As the thread of the old man's words spun out, it became thinner and weaker, until at last, no thicker than gossamer, it parted to spill the crystal beads of sorrow. He choked back his tears, thinking it shameful for a man to give way to his emotions before others. Kyuichi turned away without a word and looked towards the bank where, moored beneath a large willow tree, was a boat in which an angler sat gazing intently at his line. As we drew level, the wash from our boat rippled gently across the water. Looking up suddenly, the man caught Kyuichi's eye. Each sat there regarding the other steadily, but no spark of affinity passed between them. The man was thinking only of fish, but in Kyuichi's head there was not room for even a single carp. In uninterrupted calm, we moved on beyond the angler.
If you stood on the approach to the Nihonbashi bridge in Tokyo, which hundreds of people cross every minute, and were able to elicit from each individual that went past what turmoil and confusion lay buried in his heart, you would find yourself bemused by the knowledge of what this world can do to a man, and life would become unbearable. There would have been no applicants for the job of standing at Nihonbashi and waving a flag to direct the trams were it not for the fact that the people a man in such a position meets come as strangers, and as strangers they go on their way. Fortunately, the angler did not ask Kyuichi for an explanation as to why he looked as though at any moment he was going to cry. Looking back, I saw that he was staring at his float contentedly. I expect he would have liked to sit there staring at it until the Russo-Japanese war was over.
The river was neither very wide nor very deep, and it flowed along at an easy pace. Wondering how long this smooth passage across the water with me leaning on the gunwale would continue, I realised that there would be no stopping until I reached a place where spring was no more, and where people were prepared to push and jostle one another aside in their frantic excitement. The young man, Kyuichi, on whose forehead Death had already made his putrid bloody mark, was dragging us all relentlessly along with him. The rope of Destiny was pulling him towards a distant, dark and grim land to the north, and so we too, who were inextricably bound to him by the circumstances of a certain day, month or year, would be drawn on until such time as the sequence of events set in motion by these circumstances should arrive at its inevitable conclusion. When that time came, there would a 'snip' between him and us, and he alone, with or without consent, would be reeled right up to Destiny's hand, while we would have no choice but to remain behind. No matter how much we might plead and struggle, we would be taken no farther.I found the boat's smooth progress delightful. On either hand down by the water's edge were plants which I took to be horsetails, and along the top of the raised embankments were many willow trees, from among which at irregular intervals a low cottage showed its thatched roof and grimy windows. From time to time white ducks from the cottages would come quaking down the bank, and swim out into the river. The eye-catching points of brightness that stood out between the willows were presumably white peaches. I heard the repeated clatter of a loom at work, punctuated by the sound of a woman singing. The sporadic notes came echoing across the water, but it was impossible to tell what the song was.
'Sensei, will you do a portrait of me, please?' asked O-Nami. Kyuichi and O-Nami's brother were earnestly talking about the army, while the old man had dozed off at some time or other.
'Yes, all right,' I replied. Taking out my sketchbook, I wrote down the following lines.
Your obi has worked loose and flutters in the breeze,
But once again 'tis for pretence and not spring's passion it unwinds.
The maker's name, though woven in the silk,
Is, like your heart, unreadable.
When I showed this to O-Nami, she laughed and said, 'A quick sketch like this is no good. I want you to do a carefully detailed picture that expresses my character more.'
'I'd love to, but your face as it is at the moment wouldn't make a good picture.'
'What a charming compliment. Well, what do I have to do to make it a fit subject for a picture?'
'Now, calm down. I could paint it now really. But it's just that there's something missing, and I think it would be a pity to paint you without that something.' 'What do you mean, "something missing"? Since this is the face I was born with, there is nothing I can do about it, is there?'
'Even the face you were born with can be varied in many ways.'
'At will, you mean.'
'Yes.'
'That's right, make a fool of me because I'm a woman.'
'It's because you are a woman that you say such foolish things.'
'Well then, show me how you can make your face look different.'
'You've seen quite enough of the different ways my face can look.'
O-Nami fell silent, and turned her back on me. The embankments had disappeared, and now the ground on either side of the river was almost level with the surface of the water. This enabled me to see right across the neighbouring lowlands which were completely covered with wild milk-vetch in full bloom. The whole area was a sea of half-dissolved blossoms, as though the rain had at sometime caused the brilliant drops of scarlet colour to run. This sea stretched on and on to disappear eventually into the distant haze. Looking up I coul
d see one huge precipitous peak towering into the sky, its upper part but dimly visible through a film of spring cloud.
'You climbed up the other side of that when you came to Nakoi,' said O-Nami, stretching her white hand out over the side of the boat, and pointing to the mountain about which there was an unreal, dream-like quality.
'Is the Tengu rock over there?'
'You see that splash of purple beneath the deep green?'
'You mean the shadow?'
'Shadow? It's a bare patch, isn't it?'
'No, it's a dip in the ground. If it were a bare patch it would look browner.'
'Maybe. Anyway, the Tengu rock is supposed to be just beyond that.'
'That would make the stretch of road with all the bends in it a little to the left.''No, that's a good way off. It's on the mountain behind that one.'
'Yes, that's right, it would be. At a guess I'd say it was about where that thin layer of clouds is.'
'Yes, somewhere near there.'
The old man, who had been dozing up till now, suddenly awoke with a start as his elbow slipped off the side of the boat.
'Aren't we there yet?' Pushing out his chest, he drew his right elbow back behind him, and thrust his left arm straight forward in a mighty fit of stretching and yawning which made him look for all the world as though he were practising archery. O-Nami burst out laughing.
'Sorry, it's a habit of mine. . . .'
'You look as though you like archery,' I remarked, joining in the laughter.
'In my younger days, I could draw a longbow that was an inch thick at the hand-grip. I can still give a better than average push with the left hand even now,' replied the old man patting his shoulder. In the bows, the discussion about war was at its height.
The countryside eventually gave way to more urban scenery, and our boat began to pass between houses. At one point a sign on the panel of a shōji announced that inside, savouries were served with the wine, and still farther on, we came to an old-fashioned tavern and a wood yard. Occasionally, we could even hear the sound of rickshaws. Above, swallows wheeled and twisted slowly in flight, and on the water ducks quacked. After a while, we left the boat and made our way to the station on foot.
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