As much as she hated admitting it, Libby came to the conclusion that Kojiro was right. She did need more time before she could even consider the future — time to get her head straight, time to sort through all the unresolved issues lingering like guests who had overstayed their welcome, exhausting her frayed nerves and reserves of patience — the affair with Kojiro, the accident. The pregnancy.
It wasn’t enough to go to the squadron every day, to work long hours in order to fall asleep at night or go to parties at the club, drink too much, and make out with one of the bachelors. Nothing was fun anymore, not even the flying. Life had lost its purpose.
WE met but for a moment, and
I’m wretched as before;
The tide shall measure out my life,
Unless I see once more
The maid, whom I adore.
Motoyoshi Shinno
Chapter Twelve
The affair with Libby and the broken engagement had cut Kojiro off from family and close friends. His parents were still not speaking to him, or his brother. Friends rarely called. They didn’t know whether they should feel sorry for him for being such a fool or be angry at him for behaving so outrageously.
Kojiro didn’t like feeling so isolated. It wasn’t natural for a Japanese man to spend so much time alone. Eating alone was depressing. Drinking alone, even worse. He was too restless to stay home and read or watch television.
He knew if he were patient, he would eventually be forgiven and welcomed back into the bosom of his family. Motoko would never be mentioned. But it would be understood that he should marry — the sooner the better — and get his life back on track. A wife was a steadying influence on a man. An up-and-coming officer like Kojiro needed a dutiful woman to look after him. Someone, his sister-in-law perhaps, who had a large network of eligible friends, would arrange a meeting between the two. The prospective bride would be in her late twenties, long in the tooth and either desperate for a husband or else resigned. They would have a quiet wedding. General Sato would edit the congratulatory speech intended for Kojiro and Motoko. And, after a brief honeymoon in Hawaii, the couple would return to Misawa to make their home.
Kojiro could see it all now — a long life — going through the motions of living, working, raising a family, like a robot programmed in a laboratory to perform certain tasks without feeling or tenderness.
Kojiro was not introspective, but he had learned a great deal about himself the past year, which had made him more reflective and compassionate, as well as more determined. Falling in love with Libby had freed him — for better or for worse — from the stringent obligations imposed by society, allowed him choices that a year ago he would never have considered.
Kojiro loved his family. He loved Japan. He loved the ancient traditions of his country, the raucous festivals, reverent rituals, the art, literature, music, and theater, but without Libby none of those things, even the regard he felt for his parents, were enough to sustain a lifetime of unwavering devotion and loyalty. His relationship with Libby had already damaged his reputation and threatened his future — for nothing, as it turned out. She didn’t want anything to do with him. So what difference did it make if he risked what was left to try to win her back? At least it gave him a reason to get up in the morning, a renewed sense of optimism and hope.
General Sato noticed the change in his aide immediately and confided the good news to his wife. “I think the worst is over. Major Yoshida is very cheerful. I always said he was a sensible fellow.”
Kojiro stood under the thatched eaves on the threshold of Horonobu Nakane’s home in Misawa, waiting for someone to answer the door. It had taken him over half an hour to find the professor’s house and he was regrettably late for his appointment. Without street names, it was always a challenge to find a residence in Japan, even in a small town like Misawa. And in giving directions, Nakane-san had failed to mention that the small house was tucked between a beauty parlor and an auto body shop.
He had come bearing gifts, as civility demanded, two flawless melons in an elaborate package, purchased for an enormous sum of money. Dressed in his military uniform, the tall, distinguished major was as impressively arrayed as the pair of melons he presented with due ceremony to the host and hostess, after the appropriate introductions had been exchanged.
The house was as charming as Libby had described it, an oasis of simplicity and calm in the midst of the bustling neighborhood and Nakane-san and his wife as gracious. They reminded Kojiro of a pair of antique dolls — their beauty and value enhanced by wisdom and age.
“Major Yoshida, I am honored by your visit to my humble home.” The sensei, seated across a low table from Kojiro, on cushions on the floor, eyed his handsome guest as he sipped his tea and selected a sweet bean confection off a lacquer tray. Libby’s friend. He recognized the name when Kojiro rang. Nakane-san did not know what had become of the friendship between the two pilots. He assumed they had stopped seeing one another. Libby still came faithfully to her Saturday lesson, but she never mentioned Kojiro.
“You said you wanted to speak with me about something of some urgency and importance. Are you interested in studying a foreign language? I teach German and French, in addition to English.”
Kojiro smiled. “My English could undoubtedly be improved but that is not why I have come. I, I have a favor to ask of you, a great favor, in regard to one of your pupils.” He cleared his throat and continued. “An American, Libby Comerford. Captain Comerford.”
“Ah, so desu ka. Captain Comerford.” Nakane-san nodded his head. “An excellent student. And a good friend,” he added, just to make sure Kojiro understood from the outset that he would never do anything to compromise Libby’s friendship and trust.
“She has always spoken very highly of you and your wife. You both mean a great deal to her.”
“You are also her friend, Major Yoshida?”
“Yes. Well, we saw a lot of one another for a while but a, a … ” Kojiro could hardly ask Nakane-san for help if he wasn’t completely honest with him, but it wasn’t easy confessing his shameful behavior to the honorable old man when he wanted to present himself in the most favorable light. “I was engaged at the time, to a Japanese woman. I did not tell Libby. When I did, of course we stopped seeing each other immediately. She was very hurt. It was unconscionable of me to behave so dishonestly to both Libby and to my fiancée.”
“You broke your engagement as well?” The sensei was shocked. As angry as he was at Kojiro for wounding Libby, he found it difficult to believe an officer of Kojiro’s distinction and breeding had actually canceled his wedding. The ramifications of such an imprudent act could have far-reaching consequences for a man in Kojiro’s position.
“I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t marry someone I didn’t love.”
“People do it all the time,” Nakane-san said, but not unkindly. “They learn to love one another. Nowadays young people don’t believe it. But it happens.”
“For some, perhaps. But I have made up my mind. I intend to marry Libby Comerford. Will you help me Honorable Teacher?”
“Me?” The audacity of the young major made the old man feel faint.
“I want you to act as go-between.”
“Go-between?” The sensei sounded like he had never heard the word before.
“It is the job of the go-between to recommend one party to another, to smooth the way, so to speak, solve the practical considerations, exchange important information, arrange meetings … .”
“I am aware of the responsibilities of a go-between, major. Captain Comerford is an American. Americans frown on such quaint customs as go-betweens and arranged marriages. If you want to marry Libby Comerford, ask her yourself, Major Yoshida.”
“I have asked her and she refused.”
“Well there you have it. I’m sorry. I can’t be of any use to
you.”
“Please, Nakane Sensei. You’re her friend. She’ll listen to you, respect your judgment.”
“Not in affairs of the heart. Libby is a very independent young woman. She doesn’t want an old man telling her who to marry. If you want my advice, forget about Libby, Major Yoshida. She is an extraordinary woman. Intelligent. Brave. Beautiful. But she is not Japanese.”
“She loves Japan,” Kojiro said. “She’s learning the language. You said yourself, she was an excellent student. She is studying Ikebana. She even likes Jappajiru, cod soup,” he added. “Most foreigners can’t abide the smell let alone the flavor.”
“It is one thing to admire the culture and quite another, to marry into it.” Nakane-san smiled. “I think you are a romantic. But romance is fleeting, as brief and ephemeral as the delicate cherry blossoms.
“Find yourself a nice Japanese girl who understands our ways. When all is said and done, and you are an old man like me, you will be glad you made that decision.”
Kojiro rose and bowed respectfully to Nakane-san. “Forgive me for taking up your time, Sensei. I know how busy you are. From comments Libby made about you and about your wife, I made assumptions that apparently aren’t true. You are not as tolerant or as open-minded as I had hoped.
“Libby may never forgive me for what I did. It is quite possible, probable, that she will refuse my proposal of marriage. But I will not spend the rest of my life with a woman I do not love. Good afternoon.”
“Wait,” The old man held up his hand and indicated with a nod of his head that Kojiro should return to his cushion. Nakane-san did not like being accused of intolerance. His image of himself as a benevolent, enlightened teacher did not jibe with Kojiro’s allegations.
“Sit down, Major. Please.”
Kojiro hesitated before rejoining Nakane-san. He was in no mood to endure anymore lectures on the wisdom of his choice of brides. But out of deference to the man’s age and profession, he obeyed.
“Mama,” the sensei summoned his wife, whose immediate appearance suggested that she had been listening outside the door instead of preparing supper in the kitchen. She smiled shyly at Kojiro.
“Our discussion requires something stronger than tea, I think. Fetch a bottle of whisky and two glasses, mama. The major and I have an important issue to discuss. In private.”
For such a slender, frail-looking old man, Nakane-san held his liquor remarkably well. Kojiro’s face was on fire and he was having trouble focusing and they had still not resolved exactly how or when the sensei would approach Libby with Kojiro’s petition. There was no question of pictures being exchanged or finances disclosed. There were no families to consult. It was a very unorthodox procedure — an omiai — between an American woman and a Japanese man. One in which the sensei saw little chance of success. But he had promised Kojiro that he would do his best to convince Libby to meet with the major and to reconsider his proposal of marriage.
“Perhaps I am guilty of underestimating both you and Captain Comerford,” Nakane-san said. “Libby asked me once if I thought it was possible for an American woman and a Japanese man to make a life together. I believe she was thinking of you, when she asked that question. She had just returned from Hokkaido.”
“What did you answer?”
“I told her it was … ” he paused. “Possible. But not likely. Libby was as naïve as you are, Major Yoshida, an affliction of youth and inexperience. She believed love would triumph over all the obstacles in the road to connubial bliss.” He picked up his glass and inhaled the pungent aroma appreciatively. “Love is too fragile to carry such an ominous burden. Tolerance is what is called for. And courage.”
Mrs. Nakane was summoned once again, this time to escort the major to the front door and to retrieve his shoes from the shelf where they had been neatly deposited upon his arrival.
“I hope you will come again, Major Yoshida,” she murmured softly. “It is an honor to entertain a friend of Captain Comerford’s. The next time she comes for her lesson, if the opportunity arises, I shall tell her that we met and that you made a very favorable impression on me.”
Kojiro surprised her by taking her hand in an uncharacteristic gesture of solidarity. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
“Well, mama, what do you think?” Mrs. Nakani had returned to the tatami room to clear the table and stack the cushions.
“Think? About what?” She asked.
“Please, mama, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You spent the past two hours on your knees, listening outside the door. I’m surprised the major didn’t notice or perhaps he was too polite to mention it.”
“Oh, dear.” She covered her mouth in embarrassment. “Was I that obvious?”
Nakane-san sighed. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you think of Major Yoshida? Of my acting as go-between? Do you think Libby-san will ever consent to be his wife or is he crazy to even consider such an idea?”
“He is very handsome,” she said. “So tall.”
“His looks are of no consequence,” he said in disgust. “It is his character that I’m concerned about. He doesn’t have a very good record.”
“No, he doesn’t,” she said in a worried voice. “But I like him just the same.”
“Mama, you are as foolish as a school girl.” Nakane-san shook his head. “I should have refused to act as go-between. Matchmaking is the business of nosy old ladies, not professors of language. I am Captain Comerford’s instructor. My responsibility is to teach her Japanese, not find her a husband. She is quite capable of finding one on her own.”
“You agreed to speak on his behalf. You can’t go back on your word.”
“I won’t go back on my word. I’ll speak to her, but she will be very angry.”
Mrs. Nakane patted her husband’s hand. “You never know, papa. You can never predict how a woman will react.”
It took Sensei Nakane two weeks to work up the nerve to address Libby on the subject of marriage — specifically, marriage to Kojiro Yoshida. He and his wife discussed various scenarios in which he introduced the topic but they were all unsatisfactory. It was one thing to act as a go-between for a Japanese couple. There was a formula that was followed. Everyone knew the rules and behaved accordingly. But Libby was American. She didn’t know the rules and would probably not appreciate the elaborate ritual. Americans were so frank. It was one of the things that made dealing with them so difficult for the Japanese.
In the end, they decided to invite Libby to lunch and broach the delicate subject over a bamboo tray of zarusoba. The cold buckwheat noodles, flavored with a sweet soy sauce, were one of Libby’s favorite dishes, served only in the summer when the temperature soared.
“You have not shared a meal with us in several months, Libby,” Nakane-san said. “We have missed your company.” Libby was sitting at a picnic table that had been set up in the little garden under the fan-shaped branches of a Japanese maple. There were pots of delphiniums arranged along the wall of the house and a clematis vine, with bold magenta blooms, spilling over the bamboo fence. The temperature was in the eighties, but sea fog, the bane of the aviators, had settled along the peninsula like a clammy wreathe.
Libby was glad she had dressed for the occasion, in a linen skirt and blouse, as the Nakanes had obviously gone out of their way to make the luncheon a festive affair.
The sensei and his wife, who usually dressed in practical, Western clothes, were elegantly attired in spun silk summer kimonos, hers a pale mauve with ocean waves subtly woven into the fabric and his a sober gray.
“The two of you look so distinguished. What is the great occasion?”
The color faded from Nakane-san’s face. “Great occasion?” He repeated. Mrs. Nakani giggled.
“You have been very busy at work? You skipped two classes.”
“I wa
s away. In Korea. I meant to let you know. I’m sorry.”
“We missed you. You are my best student.”
Libby smiled. “I took my workbook with me and tried to study but … ” She shrugged. Instead of studying as she had intended, she spent every night in the bar partying with pilots from Kunsan. “I didn’t have time.”
“Ah, so … ”
Lunch dragged on. The old couple, who were always so talkative and cheerful, looked ill at ease. Libby was the only one at the table who had any appetite. “The food is delicious. Zarusoba is so refreshing on a warm day.”
“Hai.”
“I’ve signed up for a Japanese cooking class,” Libby said.
“Do you like to cook?”
“When I have the chance. I want to learn how to make Sukiyaki.”
Mrs. Nakane nodded her head in approval. “It is important for a woman to know how to cook. Especially if she is thinking about getting married.”
Libby laughed. “Especially if she’s thinking about getting married.”
Nakane-san squared his thin shoulders and cleared his throat. It was the chance he was waiting for. He smiled at his wife, grateful for her tactful introduction to the sensitive subject.
“Marriage should not be undertaken without serious consideration on the part of both the man and the woman,” he began. “If two people are to spend a life together, raise a family, it is important that they are compatible. Not in little things perhaps. Mrs. Nakane, for instance, likes to watch sumo wrestling on the television. I am not at all interested in the sport. I prefer to listen to opera. But on the big things — how they will make decisions, spend their money, raise their children — they must look out on the world from the same window. The days are gone when the man made all the decisions, even in Japan. Today, for a modern marriage to succeed, the two people have to trust and respect one another in equal measure.” He took a deep breath. “There is one other ingredient for a compatible marriage and that is love. For some, it comes easier than others. Sooner rather than later. But it is the thread that stitches all the parts together and makes a marriage strong and resilient and joyous.”
Heart to Heart Page 91