‘I doubt if it’s the Buddha itself that she likes.’
‘It does seem to be.’
‘Come, now.’
‘Don’t you suppose Fusako could go back to the country? They might make her their heir.’
‘They don’t need an heir,’ said Shingo curtly.
Yasuko read her newspapers in silence.
‘Mother’s ear story reminds me.’ This time it was Kikuko who spoke. ‘Do you remember how you once said you’d like to leave your head in a hospital and have it cleaned and restored?’
‘We were looking at the sunflowers down the street. I think the need is more pressing now that I find myself forgetting how to tie my tie. Before long I’ll be reading the newspaper upside down and not noticing.’
‘I often think about it, how it would be after you left your head in a hospital.’
Shingo looked at her. ‘Well, it’s as if you were leaving your head at a hospital every night for a sleep cure, I suppose. Maybe it’s because I’m old, but I’m always having dreams. “When I am in pain, I have dreams that continue reality.” I seem to remember reading that line in a poem somewhere. Not that my own dreams go on with reality.’
Kikuko was surveying her completed arrangement.
Shingo too gazed at the gourds. ‘Kikuko. Why don’t you and Shuichi go live somewhere else?’
Kikuko looked up in surprise, and came over to him. ‘I’d be afraid.’ It was a voice too low for Yasuko to overhear. ‘I’m afraid of him.’
‘Do you intend to leave him?’
‘If I were to, I’d be able to look after you as I pleased,’ she said solemnly.
‘Your misfortune.’
‘It’s no misfortune when you’re doing something you want to do.’
Shingo was startled. The remark was like a first expression of ardor. He sensed in it a certain danger.
‘You’re very diligent in looking after me, but don’t you have me confused with Shuichi? I should think it would only drive him farther away.’
‘There are things about him I don’t understand.’ The white face seemed to be pleading with him. ‘Sometimes all of a sudden I’m so frightened I don’t know what to do.’
‘I know. He changed after he went to war. Sometimes he seems to behave on purpose so that I myself can’t tell what’s on his mind. But then if you just stick to him like that ear, all dripping blood, maybe things will come out all right.’
Kikuko was gazing at him.
‘Has he told you that you are a free agent?’
‘No.’ She looked at him in curiosity. ‘A free agent?’
‘I asked him myself what he meant by saying that about his own wife. I suspect he may have meant partly that you should be freer. I should arrange to let you go free.’
‘You mean from you yourself?’
‘Yes. He said I should tell you you’re free.’
That moment a sound came from the heavens. To Shingo it was really as if he had heard a sound from the heavens.
Five or six pigeons cut a low diagonal across the garden.
Kikuko also heard them. She went to the edge of the veranda.
‘Am I free, then?’ she said, tears in her voice, as she watched the pigeons fly off.
The dog Teru left the step to run off across the garden in pursuit of the wings.
5
All seven members of the family were present at dinner.
Fusako and her two children were now members of the family too, no doubt.
‘There were only three trout left at the store,’ said Kikuko. ‘One of them is for Satoko.’ She set the three before Shingo, Shuichi, and Satoko.
‘Trout are not for children.’ Fusako put out her hand. ‘Give it to Grandmother.’
‘No.’ Satoko clutched at the dish.
‘What big trout,’ observed Yasuko calmly. ‘The last of the year, I imagine. I’ll just pick away at Grandfather’s here, and I don’t need any of yours. Kikuko can have some of Shuichi’s.’
They formed three separate factions. Perhaps they should be in three separate houses.
Satoko’s attention was concentrated on the trout.
‘Is it good?’ asked Fusako, frowning. ‘But what a messy way to eat.’ She scooped out the roe and gave it to Kuniko, the younger child. Satoko did not object.
‘Roe,’ muttered Fusako, tearing off one end of the roe in Shingo’s trout.
‘Back in the old days in the country, Yasuko’s sister got me interested in writing haiku. There are all sorts of expressions about trout – “autumn trout”, and “descending trout”, and “rusty trout”. That sort of thing.’ Shingo glanced at Yasuko and went on. ‘“Descending trout” and “rusty trout” are trout that have laid their eggs. Worn out, completely exhausted, they are going down to sea.’
‘Just like me.’ Fusako’s response was immediate. ‘Not that I was much to look at as a healthy trout.’
Shingo pretended not to hear. ‘“A trout in the autumn, abandoning itself to the water.” “Trout swimming down the shallows, not knowing they must die.” That sort of old poem. I imagine they would apply to me.’
‘To me,’ said Yasuko. ‘Do they die when they’ve laid their eggs and gone down to sea?’
‘I believe that’s the way it went. Though of course there were occasionally trout that spent the winter in deep pools. They were called “remaining trout”.’
‘Maybe that’s the kind of trout I am.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to stay on,’ said Fusako.
‘But you’ve put on weight since you came home,’ said Yasuko, looking at her daughter, ‘and your color has improved.’
‘I don’t want to put on weight.’
‘Being at home is like hiding in a deep pool,’ said Shuichi.
‘I don’t want to stay all that long. I’d rather go down to the sea, Satoko.’ Her voice rose. ‘You haven’t anything there but bones. Stop worrying them.’
‘Your talk about the trout has spoiled the flavor of the trout,’ said Yasuko, a quizzical expression on her face.
Fusako looked down, and her mouth was working nervously. Then she gathered herself to bring out the words: ‘Father. Won’t you open a little shop for me? A cosmetics shop, a stationery shop, anything. I don’t care what part of town it’s in. I don’t mind if it’s just a street stall. A drinking place.’
‘You think you’d be able to manage that kind of business?’ asked Shuichi in surprise.
‘I would. Customers don’t come to drink a woman’s face. They come to drink sake. Are you comparing me with your pretty wife?’
‘That’s not what I meant at all.’
‘Of course she can do it,’ put in Kikuko, to the surprise of the others. ‘And if she decides to have a try, I’ll ask her to let me help her.’
‘A very fine plan indeed,’ said Shuichi.
The dinner table fell silent.
Kikuko alone among them flushed. She was crimson to the ears.
‘How about next Sunday?’ said Shingo. ‘I’d been thinking it would be good if we could all go to the country to see the maples.’
Yasuko’s eyes sparkled.
‘Kikuko too. Kikuko hasn’t seen our old home.’
‘I’d love to,’ said Kikuko.
Shuichi and Fusako sat in perverse silence.
‘Who will watch the house?’ asked Fusako at length.
‘I will,’ said Shuichi.
‘No, I will. But I’d like to have your answer, Father, before you leave.’
‘I’ll let you know my decision,’ said Shingo. He was thinking of Kinu, said to have opened a small dressmaking shop in Numazu, the child still inside her.
The moment the meal was over Shuichi left the table.
Shingo too got up, rubbing at a cramp in the small of his back. He looked absently into the living room and turned on the light.
‘Your gourds are sagging,’ he called to Kikuko. ‘They seem to be too heavy.’
She apparently could not h
ear him over the sound of the dishes.
* Early in September.
* The portable shrine used in Shinto festivals.
* It is common for a husband to take his wife’s name when her family is without male heirs.
* The name is Kinuko in the original. It has here been shortened, with Mr. Kawabata’s permission, to avoid confusion with Kikuko.
* A quilt-covered frame over a sunken brazier for warming the extremities.
* With bancha, two lines below: two varieties of tea. Shingo and Kikuko are drinking the former.
* Father-in-law of Emperor Hirohito’s youngest brother. His death, in 1948, is commonly believed to have been at his own hand.
* A reference to a story (1947) by Niwa Fumio.
* Fatsia japonica.
* 1878–1942.
* November 15. Children those ages are presented at shrines.
* Poet, 1757–1831.
* Sometimes called bell flowers.
* A large, harmless snake.
* A common saying in pietist Buddhism.
* A singlet worn under a kimono.
* A pine, to judge from the name. Not identified in botanical dictionaries.
* Zelkova serrata, related to the elms.
* Writer, 1862–1922.
* Scholar and painter, 1793–1841.
The Sound of the Mountain Page 22