by Kyoka Izumi
The Surgery Room
(Gekashitsu, 1895)
Part One
The surgery was to take place at a certain hospital in the Tokyo suburbs, and the Countess Kifune was the patient on whom my dear friend Doctor Takamine was to perform the operation. Driven by curiosity, I imposed upon Takamine to allow me to attend. In order to present my case as strongly as possible, I concocted an argument about my being an artist and why seeing the surgery would be useful to me. In the end, I prevailed.
I left my house at a little after nine that morning and rushed by rickshaw to the hospital. Once inside the building, I proceeded down a long corridor and toward the surgery room as a small entourage of women, presumably servants of some family of the nobility, emerged from the door at the opposite end. We met halfway down the hallway.
These women were escorting a girl of about seven or eight who was wearing a long jacket over her kimono. I watched them as they continued down the corridor and disappeared from view. As I covered the remaining distance from the infirmary's entrance to the surgery area and then down the long hallway that led to the recovery rooms, I encountered numerous members of the aristocracy. Some were dressed in frock coats, others in formal kimono; there were officers in military uniform, and various women of the nobility—all of them distinguished in appearance. They seemed to weave within the corridor, intersecting here, converging there, now stopping, now walking. Remembering the many carriages I had seen parked by the hospital gate outside, I now realized whom they had brought. Some of those present looked grave, others appeared pensive, still others seemed flustered. All of them, though, shared a look of distress. The hurried scuffle of their shoes echoed against the high, lonely hospital ceiling, clattering in the rooms and down the long hallway; and the strange sound of echoing footsteps made the occasion seem all the more dismal.
Eventually, I found my way to the surgery room. Takamine was sitting restfully in a chair with his arms folded. He glanced over and greeted me with a smile. Though about to take on an awesome responsibility, one that seemed to concern the entire upper echelon of society, my friend Takamine, a rare example of composure, appeared perfectly collected, as if he were sitting down to dinner. Accompanying him were three assistants, one attending physician, and three nurses from the Red Cross. Some of these nurses wore medals on their uniforms, no doubt bestowed upon them for acts of distinguished service. Otherwise, no women were present in the operating room. There were a number of men, however, all of them relatives of various noble rank. One stood out among them—despondent, an ineffable expression on his countenance. He would be the patient's husband, Count Kifune.
The surgery room itself was bathed in a luminescence so radiant that I could count the particles of dust in the air. It stood somehow apart, stark and inviolate. And there in the center of the room lay the Countess Kifune, focus of concern for both those outside the room and those inside, who were closely observing her. Wrapped in a spotless white hospital gown, she lay on the operating table as if a corpse, face drained of color, nose pointing upward, chin narrow and frail, and her arms and legs seeming too fragile to bear even the weight of fine silk. Her teeth were slightly visible between pale lips. Her eyes were tightly closed, and her eyebrows drawn with worry. Loosely bound, her hair fell lightly across her pillow and spilled down on the operating table.
At the sight of this noble, elegant, and beautiful woman, now ailing and feeble, I felt a chill spread through my body. When I glanced over at Takamine, he appeared unaffected, showing no signs of apprehension or worry. He was the only one seated. His composure was reassuring, yet I could feel only dread as I looked at the countess in her weakened state.
At that juncture the door opened slowly and a young woman quietly entered. I recognized her as one of the servants I had passed in the corridor earlier, the most striking of the three. She approached the countess and whispered, "My Lady, the princess has stopped crying. She's sitting quietly in the next room."
The countess acknowledged her with a nod. One of the nurses went over to Doctor Takamine. "We're ready to proceed." "Very well."
I detected a slight quaver in Takamine's voice. Scanning his face, I thought I could see a subtle change of expression. Any man, no matter how great, would certainly feel some apprehension when placed in a situation such as this. My sympathies went out to him.
Acknowledging the doctor's intent, the nurse turned to the servant. "Then we're ready. If you could be so kind as to—"
At this cue the woman approached the operating table and, placing both hands on her knees, bowed to the countess. "Madame, the medication. If you please, all we need you to do is count to ten, or spell out a word."
The countess didn't answer.
"Madame?" The servant repeated herself. "Can you hear me, madame?"
The countess responded. "Yes. I hear you."
"Then shall we go ahead?"
"With the anesthetic?"
"Yes, madame. For a short while until the operation is over. They say you must be anesthetized."
The countess did not answer immediately.
"I don't need it," she finally replied in a clear voice.
Everyone in the room exchanged glances.
"But the doctors can't do the surgery without it."
"Then I won't have the surgery."
The servant fell silent and turned to the count.
The count stepped forward. "My dear, don't be unreasonable. How can you do without anesthesia? Please now, cooperate."
At this point he baron intervened. "If you insist on this unreasonable behavior, I shall ask to have the princess brought in. Do you know what will happen to her if you don't get better?"
"I know what will happen."
"Then you'll take the medicine?" the servant inquired. The countess slowly shook her head.
One of the nurses interceded. "But why not?" she asked in a gentle voice. "It's not at all unpleasant. You will feel a little drowsy and then it will be over."
At this the countess' eyebrows arched and her lips twisted as if she were racked with pain. She half-opened her eyes. "If you must persist, then I'll have to tell you why. I've been keeping a secret in my heart. And now I'm afraid the medication will make me reveal it. If I can't be treated without an anesthetic, then I refuse to have the operation. Please, leave me alone!"
If my ears did not betray me, the countess, fearing she might divulge some secret while in a state of unconsciousness, was actually willing to face death in order to protect what was in her heart. What, I wondered, was her husband feeling as he heard her say such things? Ordinarily, if a man's wife were to say something of this sort it would be cause for a scandal. And yet the people treating her were hardly in a position to ignore her wishes, especially as she was so adamant about not wanting anyone to know what she was thinking.
The count approached her bed and asked gently, "You can't tell even me?"
"I can tell no one," the countess replied firmly.
"But you don't know the medication will make you talk—"
"I do. It's something that's always on my mind. I know I'll say something."
"Now you're being unreasonable again."
"Then I'm sorry!" The countess seemed to fling the words down. With this she turned on her side, away from everyone. Her body was racked with illness. I could hear her teeth chattering.
Only one person in the room appeared unshaken, and that was Doctor Takamine. I had glanced over in his direction earlier. For a moment he seemed to have lost his composure, but presently his confidence returned.
Frowning, the baron turned to the count. "Kifune, bring the princess in. She'll change the countess' mind."
The count nodded and called to the servant. "Aya!"
> "Sir?" She looked back at him.
"Bring the princess."
But then the countess interrupted. "Don't do it, Aya. Why do I have to be asleep for the operation?"
The nurse forced a smile. "The physician is going to make an incision in your chest. It would be dangerous if you moved even a little." "Then I won't. I won't move. Go ahead. Just do it."
I shuddered to hear such a childish notion. I doubted whether even medical observers would have the strength to watch.
The nurse spoke again. "But madame, even if you don't move it will still hurt. It's not like clipping a nail."
At this the countess' eyes opened widely. She regained her composure and asked in a clear voice, "Doctor Takamine is doing the operation, isn't he?"
"Yes. The chief of surgery. But even Doctor Takamine can't perform the operation painlessly."
"Go ahead. It won't hurt."
For the first time, the attending physician interceded. "Madame, your illness is not trivial. We will have to cut through muscle and shave the bone. If you could only bear with us for a short while."
The operation was clearly beyond the endurance of any normal human being, yet the countess appeared unshaken. "I'm well aware of that. But I don't care, not in the least."
"Her illness has affected her mind," the count observed painfully.
"Perhaps we ought to consider putting this off to another day," the baron suggested. "In time we might be able to persuade her."
The count immediately agreed, as did everyone in the room— everyone, that is, except Takamine. "The operation can't wait! The problem here is that you all take this illness too lightly. All this talk about emotion is simply an excuse. Nurses! Hold her down!"
At his stern command, the five nurses quickly surrounded the countess and pinned down her arms and legs. Their duty was only to obey, to follow the doctor's orders without questioning, to allow no emotions to interfere.
"Aya! Help me!" The countess cried out in a thin gasp.
Her servant rushed forward to stop the nurses. But then she turned to the countess and spoke in a gentle, trembling voice. "Please. Just for a moment. Madame, can't you please be patient?"
The countess' face turned ashen. "You, too! All right, then go ahead. Even if I get better I'm going to die eventually. Operate on me! Just like this."
With her thin white hand, the countess weakly opened her kimono and revealed her bosom.
"Even if I die, it won't hurt! I won't move an inch. Go ahead. Cut me."
It was clear from her expression that nothing could persuade her now. Her dignity weighed heavily upon those in the room. No one spoke. Not even a stifled cough was heard.
At that sober moment, Doctor Takamine, who had remained as still as cold ash, nimbly rose from his chair.
"Nurse, the scalpel."
"What?" The nurse hesitated, her eyes widening.
As we all watched with astonishment, the nurse stared at Takamine's face as another assistant picked up the sterile scalpel with an unsteady hand and passed it to Takamine. He took it from her and, with a few brisk steps, moved to the operating table.
"Doctor, are you sure?" asked one nurse nervously.
"Yes."
"Then we'll do our best to hold her down."
Takamine raised his hand to stop her. "That won't be necessary." With this he quickly opened the patient's gown.
The countess crossed her arms and grasped her shoulders. Takamine, now transformed into a sacred, all-powerful being, spoke to her in a solemn voice, as if taking an oath. "Madame, I take all responsibility. Allow me to proceed with the surgery."
"Yes," she answered with a single word, her ashen cheeks suddenly flushing crimson. The countess gazed directly at Takamine, oblivious to the knife now poised over her naked breast.
A red winter plum fallen to the snow, the smooth trickle of blood flowed down her chest and soaked into her white gown. The countess' cheeks returned to their pallid hue, but her composure seemed complete.
It had come to this. Takamine worked with superhuman speed, not wasting a single movement. None of us in the room, from the servant to the attending physician, had a moment to utter a word. While her chest was being cut open, some trembled, some covered their eyes, some turned away, some stared at the floor. I was gripped by a cold chill.
In the space of a few seconds Takamine brought the surgery to its critical juncture as the scalpel found the bone. At this point the countess, who had been unable to turn over in bed for these past twenty days, released a deep "Ah" from her throat. Suddenly she sat up and firmly grasped the doctor's right arm with both hands.
"Are you in pain?" he asked.
"No. Because it's you. You!"
The countess slumped back. Her eyes stared upward and fixed themselves upon the famous surgeon's face in one last ghastly, cold gaze. "But you couldn't have known."
At this instant, she grabbed the scalpel from Takamine's hand and plunged it into her body, just below her breast. Takamine, his face ashen, stammered, "I haven't forgotten!"
His voice, his breath, his handsome figure.
A smile of innocent joy came to the countess' face. She released Takamine's hand and fell back on her pillow as the color faded from her lips. At that moment the two of them were absolutely alone, oblivious to earth and heaven and the existence of another soul.
Part 2
Nine Years Earlier
The date is May fifth, and the azaleas are in full bloom. Takamine, a medical school student, and I are walking through the Koishikawa Botanical Garden. We wander arm in arm, in and among the fragrant grasses, viewing the wisteria that grows around the pond.
As we turn to climb a small hill covered with azaleas, a group of sightseers emerges from the opposite direction. In the lead is a man with a mustache, wearing a Western suit and a stovepipe hat. He is a coachman for a noble family. Three women follow, each carrying a parasol, and then comes a second coachman, dressed like the first. We can hear the smooth, crisp rustle of silk as they approach. Takamine's head turns and follows them as they pass by.
"Did you see that?" I ask.
"I did." Takamine nods.
We climb the hill to get a view of the azaleas. The flowers are beautiful and brilliant, but they are not so exquisite as the women we have just seen.
Two young men, probably merchants, are sitting on a nearby bench. We overhear their conversation.
"Kichi," one says to the other. "What a day we've had!"
"Every once in a while I'm glad I listen to you. We're lucky we didn't go to Asakusa."
"All three were so beautiful. Which was the plum blossom, and which the cherry?"
"The one has to be married, though, with her hair done like that." "Who cares how they wear their hair? They're beyond us anyway." "What about the young one? You'd think she'd wear something a little nicer."
"Maybe she doesn't want to attract attention. Did you see the one in the middle? She was the most beautiful of all."
"Do you remember what she was wearing?"
"Something lavender."
"That's all you can say? 'Something lavender'? You need to read more or something. It's unlike you not to notice."
"But I was dazed. I couldn't look up the entire time."
"So you just saw her from the waist down. Is that it?"
"Cleanse your filthy mind, you idiot! I had such a quick glance I couldn't see anything."
"Not even the way they moved? It was as if their feet didn't touch the ground. They drifted along in a mist. Now I know what's so special about the way a woman walks in a kimono. Those three were a breed apart. They were completely at home in elegant society. How could common trash ever try to imitate them?"
"Harsh words." "Harsh but true. Remember how I made that pledge at the Konpira Shrine? I said I wasn't going to see any prostitutes for three years. Well, I've broken my promise. I still keep the charm to protect me, but I slip over to the brothels at night. Luckily, I haven't been punished yet. But now I
see the light. What's the point of hanging out with those whores? They tempt you with their pretty red colors, but what are they really? Just trash! Squirming maggots!"
"Oh, come on."
"No. I'm serious. Think about it! They have hands. They stand on two legs. They dress in fine silk. They even carry parasols. Judging from that, you'd think they'd be real women, maybe even ladies. But compared to those three we saw today, what are they really? They're dirty, unspeakably filthy! It makes me sick to think you can still call them women."
"That's an awful thing to say, but maybe you have a point. I'm a fool for a pretty face myself. But after today I'm purged. I'm starting over. Never mind about just any woman."
"You'll spend your whole life looking. You think one of them would ever be interested in you? 'Oh, Genkichi, please.'
"Cut it out."
"Suppose one of them called you 'Darling'? What would you do?" "Probably run away."
"You, too?"
"You mean you'd—"
"I'd run, definitely."
Takamine and I look at each other for a while, neither of us speaking. "Shall we walk some more?" I finally suggest.
We both get up. When we have left the two young men behind, Takamine can no longer contain his emotions. "Did you see how those two men were moved by true beauty? Now that's a subject for your art. That's what you ought to study!"
Because I'm a painter, I am indeed moved. I see, far across the park, gliding through the shade of a large camphor tree, a flutter of lavender silk. Outside the park gates stands a large carriage, fitted with frosted glass windows and being drawn by two fine horses. Three coachmen are resting beside it. For the next nine years, until the incident at the hospital, Takamine never said a word about her, not even to me. Given his ago and position in society, he could have married well. Yet he never did. If anything, he became even more strict in matters of personal conduct than he had been in his student days. But I have already said enough. Although their graves are in different places—one in the hills of Aoyama, one downtown in Yanaka—the countess and Doctor Takamine died together, one after the other, on the same day.
Religious thinkers of the world, I pose this question to you. Should these two lovers be found guilty and denied entrance into heaven?