Jūkichi made this speech to deflate Kisui’s overblown rhetoric. Kisui merely replied, “I suppose you’re right.” He appeared to be about to launch into another tirade, however. Since Kisui had lost his job with the newspaper, he seemed to find venting his frustration more satisfying than watching plays. A workman, disturbed by Kisui’s shrill voice, turned and glared at them. “Hey! Shut up back there!”
“You complain and complain, but you still come to watch the plays,” Jūkichi observed and moved down to the front of the gallery.
On the stage, Sawamura Gennosuke, in the role of the aunt, was showing Hanshichi a short sword in a white scabbard. “This sword has doomed two generations of our family to a tragic end! Observe the blade! Its curse shall extend down unto the third generation,” she lamented. The plot was nothing out of the ordinary, but the business about the curse of the sword sent a chill up Jūkichi’s spine. The insipid action on the stage took on new life. Either the second-rate Hanshichi or the aunt, with her long masculine features, would, in the end, succumb to the sword’s curse on the third generation. They would do all they could to escape the curse, but their efforts would be in vain and would lead inexorably to their downfall. Jūkichi thought he was glimpsing the terrible nature of fate and the impotence of reason. Gazing down from the galley, he felt the stage was not a stage and the actors were not actors; instead, they were shadows flickering across his mind.
The curtain closed. Jūkichi approached Kisui. “Shall we go?” he invited. “I think I’ll stay for the last act,” Kisui replied. “We’ll meet in another gallery, then,” Jūkichi said smiling, and he left the theater alone.
Outside, it was growing dark, but it was still too early to go home. Jūkichi retraced his steps back through the Hama district until he came to the Ryōgoku Bridge. He stopped on the bridge and leaned on the railing. He viewed the flickering lanterns on either side of the Sumida River. Savoring the chilly but pleasantly spring-like breeze, he wondered whether there was a place where he could get enjoyably drunk that night.
At home, Jūkichi found a letter his housekeeper had placed on his bedding. “Tokiko will arrive in Tokyo tomorrow. She will visit the Onoses’ residence. Please come to my house first to discuss further arrangements. I will speak with you in greater detail tomorrow.” Taken aback by the sudden news, he nonetheless felt obligated to go. He set out for the Yazawas’ house the next morning and arrived before noon.
“I don’t know why they’ve turned this into a public occasion. I certainly told them that we wanted to be discreet. I understand they’ve announced a prospective engagement to all their relatives, and they’re bringing the father along to meet you,” Yazawa’s wife declared, looking distressed.
“Perhaps Onose misled them,” Jūkichi suggested.
“Onose told me that she didn’t exaggerate the importance of the meeting. She lays the blame on the aunt who lives in Aoyama. It seems the old woman wants her niece to marry a man from Tokyo so she’ll be nearby. She’s the one who’s most enthusiastic about the match,” Mrs. Yazawa explained. “Well, what do you want to do? Will you go?”
“I don’t have much choice. It’d be a terrible insult not to attend. But I warn you, I’m not making a commitment. If I don’t like her, I’ll refuse, and that’ll be the end of the matter.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “Getting married isn’t like accepting an invitation to lunch.” She leaned over the table and picked up the young woman’s photograph. “She’s not bad looking. Seems like a naive girl up from the provinces,” she said as if to herself as she studied the photo.
Jūkichi no longer entertained the slightest illusion that this meeting to arrange a marriage would make him feel something new. Ten years ago, on a night when the spring rain had just lifted, a friend had taken him for the first time to the Yoshiwara pleasure quarter. At the sight of a beautifully dressed young woman, with hint of the coquette about her, Jūkichi’s heart had begun to pound in his chest. Now that he was past thirty, it was hard for him to imagine recovering that same innocence and honest feeling. Years of dissipation had caused him to lose the respect he once had for women. He could not bring himself to feel the same deference he had formerly shown in his dealings with them.
“I wish I could recover the innocence of a virgin,” Jūkichi exclaimed with a sigh.
As they ate lunch and discussed their participation in previous marriage talks, a messenger arrived from Onose. Mrs. Yazawa said she would go first and look over the situation, and she put down her chopsticks and departed. Onose’s house was nearby, so Jūkichi was surprised that she was away for so long. When she returned, out of breath, she began describing the young woman without pausing to take off her coat. She fixed her gaze on Jūkichi and declared, “She’s an innocent girl. Observe her closely. She’s just as innocent as her photograph.”
“Is that so?” Jūkichi responded coldly.
“Her father seems to love her very much. I’m jealous. My father died when I was little.” She recounted how insecure she had been at her own wedding.
“Shall we go? I wish I’d shaved,” he said, laughing. They left together. “She’s such an innocent girl!” Mrs. Yazawa kept repeating on the way.
Jūkichi met Onose’s plump wife for the first time at the entrance to her house, and he was led into the main room. In the seat of honor was a fiftyish man with sunken eyes. He was the image of the honest merchant up from the countryside. His daughter, seated next to him, was dressed in a practical, everyday kimono and wore no decorations in her hair or on her person.
The aunt, who appeared to be an independent-minded woman, sat a little apart. At the first glance, Jūkichi wondered why he had let himself be dragged here. He said very little. There was not a hint of color or gaiety in the dim room, which had not even been swept properly. Yazawa’s wife, however, was brilliant. She brought up a variety of topics of conversation to keep the party from falling into embarrassing silence. Her movements, facial features, and manner of speaking were splendid. She seemed extraordinarily sophisticated.
They finally bade their farewells and left. “So what did you think?” Yazawa’s wife immediately asked once they were outside.
“You were right. She is an innocent,” Jūkichi replied and said nothing more. He had caused Mrs. Yazawa a great deal of trouble, and he could tell from her expression that she was hoping for a speedy and successful conclusion to this marriage proposal. Moreover, the young woman and her father had traveled all the way up from the provinces, and it seemed cruel to bluntly reject her. He told Mrs. Yazawa that he could not make a decision based on only one meeting but that if the young lady planned to spend more time in Tokyo, perhaps they could meet again. On this ambiguous note they parted. Jūkichi had not expected it, but he felt lonely after she left. He went to visit a friend who lived in the neighborhood and returned home at night. He thought about his circumstances for a while, then decided to write a letter to his family in the provinces. He wrote to his father at some length:” If I were to marry, I would hope that my relationship with the main family in the provinces could be established definitively. I would like to set up my own independent household in Tokyo and live free of extended obligations. . . .”
IV
The next morning, the wind was blowing noisily. As was his custom, Jūkichi took a cold bath, ate a light breakfast of bread and milk while he read the newspaper, and then, still in his robe, went to his desk in front of the window. He picked up one of the volumes of classical Chinese poetry at his side and began thumbing through it, reading at random. He was tired of the great masters of the European literary tradition. In their plays and novels they had shown him more than enough of the misery of the human condition. He had gone searching through his old books and found collections of poetry and anthologies of classical Chinese and Japanese literature, titles like Tales of Famous Japanese. As he thumbed through these, Jūkichi remembered his boyhood in the mountain school, reciting from these books with other students as the songs of
woodsmen drifted in from outside. When he encountered a poem he vaguely recalled, he felt particular pleasure. The beautiful lines that had once transported him as he recited them aloud now took on new meaning. He heard voices from his past reciting these lines: “Our youth passes all too quickly / We awake from pleasure all too soon.” Twenty years ago, when he was a boy, he had only half-listened to his classical Chinese teacher’s explanation of a famous poem by Li Bo.
Li Si, Emperor Qin’s prime minister, led to execution along with his son,
Turned to him saying, “If only we were still at Shang Cai, chasing the hare With our yellow hound!”
Not me! I shall fill my golden cup under a serene moon
And what has become of the monument to the good Governor Yang?
The stone turtle is worn by wind and rain,
All is covered by moss.
Now he was grateful for the teacher’s explanation of the historical tale on which the poem was based. Jūkichi repeated the lines to himself and understood the significance of the poem, that prestige and wealth were fleeting. He heard a hoarse, unfamiliar voice at the entrance. His housekeeper came in and told him that a Mr. Shiga had arrived. The man she led in was Tokiko’s father. After a courteous greeting, the gentleman looked around the room and then held forth on how it was as he expected, that the life of a man of letters was both more elegant and more intense than the life of a vulgar merchant like himself. Suspicious of the motive for this visit, Jūkichi replied curtly. “My life is not as enjoyable as it may look to the outsider,” he said, intending to rudely disabuse the old man of his preconceptions. On previous occasions, Jūkichi had impugned his own way of life in front of marriage intermediaries and fathers of prospective brides, and the result was that they appeared to dislike him. In the case of this old man, however, it had the opposite effect. Mr. Shiga said he was impressed by Jūkichi’s honesty and manliness.
“My daughter’s shy. She doesn’t like noise or crowds. She’ll be perfectly satisfied to stay at home,” he declared. After about ten minutes, he apologized for interfering with Jūkichi’s studies and left. Jūkichi closed the sliding door after him and returned to his desk. There was no point, he thought, in meeting with the old man time and again. He immediately wrote a letter to the Yazawas. “Mr. Shiga came to visit. Since I have not yet replied in either the affirmative or negative to the marriage proposal, I felt I was being unduly pressured. I am quite busy right now, so I will not have time to meet Mr. Shiga for some days.”
A few days later, letters arrived from his mother and father. His father agreed to the marriage and would send money to defray the expense of the wedding as soon as Jūkichi requested it. As for the other matters, they could be decided later. His mother’s letter was typical of mothers’ letters. She wrote that she was old and was growing weaker day by day. She believed that the end was coming soon. But she could not die in peace until she saw Jūkichi settled in life. She repeated more emphatically her usual entreaties. She was overjoyed that he planned to wed. Jūkichi felt no love for his crass and fretful mother. Still, from time to time, he felt the impulse to please her. Over the years, he had observed that most people were untrustworthy and that human relationships were ephemeral. Nonetheless, he could not doubt the love of a mother for her children.
He considered the advantages of marriage. He would gain the trust of society, the trust of his family, and he would be financially better off. He thought about the shabbiness of old men who had remained bachelors. But more than material benefit, he desired the gentle love of a woman. Rather than erotic passion, he hoped to find composure for his restless and exhausted mind through a tranquil, quiet love. Even in his dreams, he did not believe that marriage would utterly transform his life. On the other hand, he did not know another way to find peace.
It suddenly occurred to him that his thinking revealed a man aging and growing more conservative. The realization depressed him beyond words.
While he was inclined to marry, he had not yet decided on the proposal before him. After four or five days without news, he visited the Yazawas. As soon as entered the house, Mrs. Yazawa began speaking about the proposed match.
“Tokiko is staying on alone in Tokyo at her aunt’s house. When do you plan to meet her again?” She told Jūkichi that Mr. Shiga was filled with admiration for him and had become enthusiastic about the marriage.
“I heard he says you’re younger than your years and look like a serious person. He praised you!”
“He did seem to like me. I’m quite attractive to old men who aren’t members of my family,” Jūkichi said, laughing. “But don’t you think the old man’s a little rash in his judgments? He may come to regret his decision. Has he had me investigated?”
“Of course! He may be a little rash, but he loves his daughter. I’m certain he’s taken every precaution.”
Jūkichi thought it odd that a father who loved his daughter so much would marry her off to a man like himself.
“I’ll meet her today, then. The sooner I come to a decision, the better for everyone.”
“Good! I’ll call Onose now on the telephone.” As she put on her coat, she observed that she, too, was falling behind in her work, and she went out to make the call.
Until three, when Tokiko and her party were to arrive, Jūkichi helped Mrs. Yazawa. Joking with each other, they straightened the main room and worked in the garden. Jūkichi remembered the marriage meeting he attended in this room during the summer of the previous year. How quickly the time had passed!
“Last year you made sushi for us. What treat are you going to make for us this time?”
“Nothing!” she replied. “If that girl dresses and does her makeup and hair in the latest Tokyo fashion, she’ll be very attractive,” she said after she sent the maid out to a local shop to buy cakes. “Yazawa, you’ve never seen her before. Look her over carefully and give me a critique by an objective third party. Don’t take sides with your wife,” Jūkichi said to Mr. Yazawa. His friend smiled wanly and nodded.
Two or three times, they thought it might be Tokiko and her party, but it was only passersby. They finally arrived. Tokiko, hidden behind her large aunt, was the last to come in. She was better dressed this time and had had her hair freshly done. Because she kept her head bowed for most of the interview, it was difficult to see her features, but Jūkichi was certain she seemed more like an adult than the last time he had seen her. In her desire to have her niece come to live in Tokyo, the aunt flattered Jūkichi in obvious ways. “I heard that Mr. Shiga inconvenienced you with a visit,” she began. “When he returned home with no gifts for the family, someone asked him if he didn’t at least bring back interesting news. He sat down without eating his dinner and talked only about you. He said that as soon as you got up in the morning, you went to your desk and started working without changing out of your robe. You were so eager to get to work, you probably didn’t bother to wash your face. Then when he was about to leave, you simply said ‘Good-bye,’ shut the sliding door, and went back to your studies. That’s the way a man has to be, is what he said, resolute, single-minded to the end.” As she spoke, the aunt illustrated her speech with broad gestures.
“I’m not really all that studious,” Jūkichi said, flustered by the praise.
Mrs. Yazawa stared intently at Tokiko and Jūkichi as she facilitated a lively conversation.
After the guests had left, Mr. Yazawa expressed the same opinion as his wife and sincerely urged Jūkichi to marry the young woman. Mrs. Yazawa was undoubtedly tired of running around on Jūkichi’s behalf. For his part, Jūkichi was sick to death of meetings to arrange a marriage.
“I suppose I should submit to heaven’s will and marry her,” he let slip without thinking. Always, at this stage in the negotiations, no matter how beautiful or intelligent the young woman, Jūkichi would back away from the final step of marriage. Now it appeared that he was going to abandon, on a mere whim, ten years of determined efforts to remain a bachelor. “Violating a sacr
ed fast to eat a sardine”: the old saying certainly applies in my case, he thought.
“So you’ve decided. I’ll inform Onose immediately.” Mrs. Yazawa appeared to be happy and relieved. Seven years of diligent effort had not been for nothing. “Miss Otoku has a great deal to thank you for,” Jūkichi said, joking. Otoku was the young woman who already had a fiancé and who had refused Mrs. Yazawa’s offer to act as an intermediary.
“I’ll have a lot to take care of from now until the ceremony,” Mrs. Yazawa observed and counted off the duties expected of an intermediary. Making certain that Jūkichi bought suitable clothes for the ceremony, found a proper house, and furnished and equipped it with the necessary items would require even more effort. She would have to assume all the responsibilities of Jūkichi’s mother and sisters. Since she had been brought up by her old-fashioned grandfather in a strict samurai household, she was not the sort of person to ignore or shirk arduous formalities. Having taken on the role of matchmaker, Mrs. Yazawa would make certain there was a wedding ceremony that no one would be ashamed of. Jūkichi left everything to Mrs. Yazawa and returned home. He felt that it was not himself but someone else who was getting married.
V
“I’m getting married soon. I’ll be finding a new place to live,” Jūkichi informed his housekeeper the next morning.
The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868-1945: vol. 1 (Modern Asian Literature Series) Page 28