“The other house looks even older,” Yusuke commented, glancing toward the one nearby.
“Yes, it is, and not changed a bit.”
The three sisters all turned to face the house next door.
“It looks exactly as it always has. So when we’re sitting here, it feels as though time has stopped …”
“Everything looks just as it did when we were young.”
“If we don’t look at ourselves,” added Fuyue.
Ignoring her younger sister’s remark, Natsue continued, “We’ve lived in the same place in Tokyo since before the war, but the neighborhood is so terribly built up it’s quite unrecognizable. You see, when we come here, we’re coming back to the best time in our lives.”
He watched as a look of nostalgia—one close to pain—passed over their faces.
The cluster of trees between the two houses concealed the lower half of the older one from view. He could see the top half clearly. The shutters on the small windows on the third floor had obviously not been opened or closed for many years.
According to the sisters, most of the old houses had been torn down even in this part of Karuizawa, to be replaced by new ones. Due to onerous real estate taxes and inheritance laws, many people could not afford to hold on to their houses, which meant that owners changed frequently too. Only a handful of residents from before the war remained.
“It’s always sad leaving an old home, but some people have bought new ones over in Minamihara which they actually like better because it’s much quieter. There are no tourists around, for one thing.”
As Natsue’s voice trailed off, her younger sister affirmed quietly, almost to herself, “So it was inevitable that we would eventually have to leave this area too.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” the eldest one agreed.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Natsue said too, “but it still makes me miserable to think that this might be our last time here.” She made no effort to hide her sadness.
Together they let out what seemed like one long breath.
Unexpectedly the sun was obscured by the clouds, and the air grew chillier.
“Oh, it’s clouded over.”
By this time, the old women’s age was cruelly visible. The luster they’d first seemed to have fell away like a veil, and, with the sun gone, Yusuke saw their faces in clear detail. Whatever misgivings he had about the three sisters were now mixed with pity.
Once more the sound of pattering slippers approached and the girl reappeared in the doorway.
“I’m going back to work now,” she said. Fumiko must have told her about Yusuke, for her face now showed candid interest.
Harue gave her a sharp look and said brusquely, “Very good, thank you.”
The girl had turned and was about to walk away when Natsue told her, “I’d like you to open all the windows on the first floor of the house next door. It needs airing.”
“Okay.”
“Also, you’ve seen the ashes on the mantelpiece here? Would you move them over to the other house? Be sure to wipe off the mantelpiece there first.”
Fuyue broke in: “We shouldn’t be asking a young person to do something like that. It’s creepy. I’ll take them over myself later.”
“No, I don’t mind at all,” the girl said, smiling as if all the summer’s sunshine were stored in her. Even the air surrounding her was bright. Then, as though encouraged by her smile, the sun came out and the place was filled with light again.
Before long, Yusuke stood up to take his leave. Rising from her chair with the help of her cane, Harue asked him, “Won’t you join us for high tea the day after tomorrow?”
“High tea?” He repeated the English expression.
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s not very fancy. Instead of a proper dinner, we’ll just have a light meal, and some drinks. We’ll be starting about five o’clock.” She spoke with typical authority, fixing him with her eyes, but there was something slightly pleading in them as well, and again a faint pity stirred inside him.
“The guests will be horribly ancient like us, but there might be a couple of young people as well.”
Yusuke could not give an immediate reply. Privately he was thinking that he wouldn’t mind coming if Fumiko would be there again, but then Harue added, “That young girl, Ami, will come to help, so there will be at least one other young person.”
“And Mrs. Tsuchiya?”
“You mean Fumi?”
“Yes.”
“Of course she’ll be here. We can’t do anything without her.”
“Well …” Yusuke was still unable to commit himself. “You see, I’m staying with a friend.”
“Oh, that’s right … Is your friend a woman?”
“No.”
“So it’s another young man, then?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, by all means, most definitely, do bring him with you. In Karuizawa, young men are much sought after. And this summer all of our daughters and grandchildren have gone off to a wedding at a resort in Thailand.” She turned to Fuyue, who was clearing the table. “What was that place called?”
“Phuket.”
“Yes, yes, they’re all in Poo-whatever-you-call-it. With everything else that’s going on, we’re feeling rather lonely.”
Natsue echoed the last word, “Very, very lonely.” She was obviously the least able to control her emotions. Looking first at her elder sister, then at the younger, she continued, her eyes growing moist, “And to think that such a lonely gathering might be our last high tea.”
Now that he had heard for the third time that this year might be the last, Yusuke decided it would not be indiscreet to ask them why. The three sisters looked at one another until, finally, Harue explained.
“It’s rather embarrassing to have to admit it. But the fact is, though we might seem to be the owners here, it’s no longer the case.”
“Is that right?”
She went on to explain that the death of their father, who had lived almost a full century, had coincided with the height of the “bubble” economy, when real estate values were exorbitant, and they had not been able to afford the inheritance tax. Someone else had already taken over the property.
“And the other house too?”
“Yes, that too.”
Yusuke felt the shadow of something move in his mind, but it was too fleeting to catch.
“There is a very romantic story behind all this. We’ll tell you about it the day after tomorrow when you come to tea, so please do come,” said Natsue, looking at him with still-moist eyes.
“Of course, you must come,” Harue concluded as if the matter had been decided.
FUMIKO SAW YUSUKE off. The two walked slowly away from the house, not speaking for a while. Yusuke broke the silence about halfway. “Why is it that you’re helping out at this house too?”
“Why is it?” she repeated mechanically, her face tilted upward, as though asking herself. She had started as a maid, she said, at the middle sister’s house, and, though it had been decades since she stopped working for her, helping the entire family in Karuizawa during the summers—opening up the house and offering her services—had turned into a long-standing custom.
“A custom?” he said, frowning. The word baffled him. How could doing someone else’s chores be a custom? More bluntly put, how could anyone work as a servant without being properly paid?
Fumiko, who went on walking at a leisurely pace, seemed to understand what he was getting at, for she added, still without looking at him, “Oh, they do pay. They think that I need the money.”
“And you don’t?”
“Well, I certainly used to, but not so much anymore. Of course, for Ami—the girl you just met—it’s a great way to earn some money that she really needs. She’s also something of an artist, so she enjoys being around all the old and beautiful things in this house, and in the other one too. She seems to be quite attached to both places.”
She had not really answered his question,
but at least he understood the situation a little better.
“And you know what? I’ve known them for so long that I do enjoy seeing them once every year. Honestly,” she said with a little smile in her voice. More seriously, she added, “Besides, I feel—how shall I put it?—I feel rather sorry for them.”
Yusuke heard both sympathy and irony in this.
Moving alternately closer together and farther apart as they walked along, the two soon reached the stone gateposts. When they had passed through, they stopped and turned. The two old, Western-style houses, now obscured by leaves and branches, suddenly seemed far away. The fact that he himself had been inside one of them felt like something he’d read in a story.
Fumiko looked him boldly in the eye.
“So, when will you come up to Oiwake again so that I can tell you the whole story?”
Yusuke was stupefied.
He had already been determined to revisit the Oiwake cottage before he left, but he hadn’t known how to approach the subject—hence this walk with deliberate, slow steps and roundabout questions. And then the woman came right out with it. Flustered, his answer was just a polite waffle.
“Well … I was thinking of returning to thank you for your kindness.”
“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” she said dismissively. “In any case, I hope you’ll come.”
Perhaps the temperature had risen, for he heard the cicadas’ piercing cry start up. The restless clouds were now gone, leaving an eerily clear blue sky. Waves of heat shimmered in the air.
Yusuke made up his mind. He faced the woman and spoke.
“You know, the night I stayed in Oiwake, I had a dream.”
She looked puzzled.
“I saw a girl wearing that yukata of yours.”
The look of puzzlement was replaced by the tight, strained expression he’d seen that night as she’d tried to hide her feelings.
“The one with the red koi pattern?”
“Yes. And then when I went out to follow her, half asleep, Mr. Azuma came out and asked me what happened, and—”
“That’s why he was out all night.” She said this largely to herself.
So she knew that Azuma had left the house. Abruptly she turned away. With her chin tilted up and her slender neck curved, she let out a dry, cracked laugh.
“She came back, then.” Her eyes were blank. “I sort of knew she would,” she repeated to herself, then focused her eyes on his. “That girl is dead. One of the bundles on the mantelpiece contains her ashes.”
“Whose ashes are in the other one?”
“Her husband’s.”
Giving Yusuke the six-digit phone number, she told him to call before he left for Oiwake. “If he’s there, I can’t possibly tell you the story.”
KUBO HAD COME back from Tokyo.
The large television was on. Kubo stood with his legs planted apart, facing the screen with his back to the sofa. Apparently just out of the shower, he was drying his shiny wet hair with a Snoopy towel. Yusuke had never liked the bright glow of TV screens, but at least the sound was off.
“That was quick,” Yusuke said, as he put the bag of bread he’d bought on a counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area.
“Well, yeah, I was at the hospital with Grandma for only about fifteen minutes, and then I had nothing else to do, so I went straight to Ueno station and hopped on the first train out.”
“You didn’t drive?” he asked, only then realizing that he had not seen a car out front.
“Dad told me to leave the car. It’ll make it easier on Mom, ’cause she needs to be at the hospital a lot.”
“Oh, right,” he said, studying his friend’s cheerful face. “I guess it’s been a rough couple of days for you, hasn’t it?”
“Nah, not for me, at least. My mom’s having a hard time of it because Grandma is pretty demanding. At least Mom is still young and energetic.”
He disappeared into the bathroom, only to reappear a second later with a hairbrush in his hand, still talking.
“Why’s it so damn hot? Up here at the house it’s not so bad, but it was boiling down by the station.”
He stood looking at the television, vigorously running the brush through his hair, massaging his scalp.
“Man, what lousy reception. When we got this big TV, we put up a new antenna on the roof, but there are just too many tall trees around. Look at that.”
Kubo never stopped talking, a perfect foil for Yusuke. As he listened to his friend’s chatter, the events of the past two days began to recede.
Kubo went around the counter and headed straight for the refrigerator.
“What’s this?” he asked, taking out a bottle.
“Iced green tea. Made it myself. I hate the stuff you get in the stores.”
Kubo poured himself some and took a sip. “Dee-licious,” he said, aiming at Yusuke with the pointer finger of the same hand that held the glass. “Like I always say, you are one weird guy,” he said in exactly the same way that he always did. Yusuke had to laugh. “So how’s everything?” asked Kubo.
“You mean the, uh … Well, I took the bike to the repair shop, and it should be ready tomorrow.”
“Great.” Kubo looked him straight in the face. “And how about you? Did you manage to have some fun?”
“Sure.”
“You look a bit the worse for wear.”
“Not at all. The day before yesterday I went on a big tour all the way to Komoro and back, and yesterday, after coming back from Oiwake, I had a long nap, and today I took the train into Karuizawa.”
“Oh yeah?” Kubo said, staring doubtfully at his face.
Kubo had reason to be skeptical, as even Yusuke could hardly consider the events of the past few days particularly relaxing. They had certainly taken his mind off work, but rather than feeling refreshed, he found the idea of resuming his normal life even less appealing.
Unable to decide whether he should keep it all to himself or share it with Kubo, he answered in a deliberately offhand way. “Yeah, and over in Karuizawa, I met that same woman, the one who helped me out in Oiwake. It turns out she’s a maid.”
“A maid?” Kubo looked surprised, but then laughed, apparently finding it somehow funny.
Yusuke told the story in the order in which it had occurred and as succinctly as possible: he had run into the woman this morning on the main street in Karuizawa; she was helping out some old acquaintances at a villa in Old Karuizawa; she had taken him to that villa; he had ended up being invited to something called high tea the day after tomorrow; and, the final touch, he had been told to bring Kubo along as well. Yusuke himself could not understand why he—someone painfully shy—had been so swiftly befriended by strangers. He expected Kubo to make some comment.
Kubo, however, only responded with a laugh: “High tea? Is that what you said, high tea?”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell is that? Is it different from afternoon tea?”
“Well, I’m not really sure, but it seems to start at five o’clock, and they serve a light meal.”
“Then why’s it called tea? Why not dinner?”
“I have no idea. It’s some English thing.”
“Wow.” Kubo laughed again, his white teeth showing against his tanned face. “Any good-looking girls?”
“Nothing but.”
This caught him off guard, but he soon noticed that Yusuke was smiling.
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, it’s the truth. Three beautiful women. All absolutely stunning.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure.” Then, grinning, he added, “Except they’re kind of old.”
“Mature.”
“Yeah.”
“Like how old? Going on thirty or something?”
Yusuke let out a loud laugh as the image of the sisters with their air of paper-thin fragility passed through his mind.
“Older than that?”
“Uh-huh.”
; “So they’re really old?”
“Correct.”
“I’m guessing close to forty?”
Kubo was looking up at him, head cocked to one side. Yusuke was enjoying this.
“You’re way off. They are actual old ladies, definitely in their seventies.”
Kubo’s eyes widened in shock. “Think I’ll bow outta that one, thanks.”
“There’ll be at least one genuine girl there too. I guess she’s about twenty.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“No, I promise.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Yes. Not as pretty as the old ladies, but still pretty. She helps out there.”
After a brief pause, Kubo said, “Thanks anyway, but I still think I’ll give it a miss.”
Ignoring this, Yusuke added, “The house is interesting. It’s kind of run-down, but it’s one of those really quaint-looking ones, Western-style.”
“Old Western-style house, huh?”
“There’s another one on the same lot that’s similar, but it looks even older.”
“Really?” Kubo said, apparently trying to picture them. “So they’ve had them since before the war?”
“Yeah, it seems like it. They’re pretty impressive. The cottage in Oiwake was quite an antique, but so are these, though in a completely different way.”
After staring at him for a while, Kubo said, “All the same, I think I’ll pass. I just don’t have your taste for weird things.”
He flopped onto the sofa, stretching his legs out on the coffee table. Remote control aimed and ready to go, his eyes shifted to the television screen.
“I can’t believe they show this kind of crap on TV in the daytime.”
It must have been either a detective or drama series. A woman with long hair was struggling against a man inside a car. Without the sound, they just looked silly as they grimly fought each other. Dismissively, Kubo held his arm out and pushed the button. The scene changed to a television studio full of women, probably housewives, all holding up sticks on which were round cardboard signs with TRUE on one side and FALSE on the other. The program host, a grinning middle-aged man, must have just made some joke that had the audience writhing with laughter. A closeup of dozens of painted lips filled the bright screen.
A True Novel Page 23