Honeymoon to Nowhere

by Akimitsu Takagi

  “Glad I can repeat my good wishes in person,” Etsuko whispered when they had a chance to exchange a few private words.

  “Thanks.” For just a fleeting moment Kyoko’s eyes clouded with regret, but almost immediately the warm, good-natured smile returned to her round face. After only two months of married life she hadn’t quite lost her girlishness yet, but she already seemed to possess a new calm and self-confidence. “I was longing to see you, Etsu.”

  Her words were so obviously genuine, they made Etsuko’s heart fill with tenderness. Impulsively she took Kyoko’s hand—and felt she had found her dear friend again. She knew she still wouldn’t want to meet Saburo Kirishima—not yet, anyway—but she also knew Kyoko had permanently re-entered her life.

  “Let’s have a good yarn after the party,” she suggested.

  “Mm-hm,” Kyoko nodded and gave an impish smile.

  They stopped at a coffee shop on their way home, and Etsuko immediately launched into a recital of her prob­lems. She had been wrestling with them on her own for so many weeks now—the mere telling of them to some­one was a great relief to her.

  “So that’s it,” Kyoko said as Etsuko stopped talking. “Somehow I sensed you had something on your mind . . . Yes, it must be awful having to go through day after day doubting him when you’re so fond of him.” She gave a prolonged sigh. “It’s easy enough for me to use my common sense because I’m not involved. Well, the safest thing to do would be to marry Mr. Higuchi, I’d say. I’m not surprised your parents are encouraging you to do that. But I couldn’t bring myself to give you the same advice at this stage. If things remain as they are at present and you marry Mr. Higuchi, you’ll be left with a lingering affection for Mr. Tsukamoto, and that’d be dangerous, don’t you think?”

  Etsuko nodded. “I wish I could have complete faith in him regardless of what other people might say . . .”

  “That’s not easy, especially when you’ve only known him a short time . . . On the other hand, it’s so easy for people to become estranged, even hostile, over trifles. They often regret it afterward when it’s too late, realizing they allowed a happy relationship to be ruined by small misunderstandings. You, too, could find later that either your doubts have been without foundation, or his shortcomings have been vastly exaggerated in your mind.”

  “This may be so, only in his case—”

  “As I was listening to you I couldn’t help recalling the case of a man who nearly went to the gallows on a false charge earlier this year. You probably remember it—my husband was the investigating prosecutor, and I myself got caught up in it in the end.”

  “Of course I remember. Wasn’t the man’s name Segawa?”

  “That’s right. Well, the case against him began with a number of small doubts that gradually grew into an over­whelming suspicion.”

  Etsuko looked at Kyoko hopefully. “Do you think the same might apply to Yoshihiro—small, unimportant doubts coming together by coincidence?”

  “Well, I can’t be sure, of course . . . But I wouldn’t be surprised at all if some of your doubts could be removed simply by taking a good look at them.”

  “For instance?”

  “For instance the fact that Mr. Tsukamoto moved from Kyoraku University to Chiyoda without promotion. Outsiders may imagine that university people rely on their academic ability alone for advancement. But once you’re on the inside, you realize the place is crawling with sycophants, and departmental heads often try to act as if they were feudal lords. Now, supposing Mr. Tsukamoto had clashed with his professor over some­thing and felt his chances of promotion at that university had been ruined forever? Wouldn’t it be natural for him to try to make a fresh start at another university which happened to offer him a post? And if this was the case, I don’t think anybody at Kyoraku University would admit it. Mr. Tsukamoto himself would probably be reluctant to talk about it.”

  Etsuko raised her hand and mechanically began to stroke her upswept hair, as if to gather loose strands. “Yes, this makes sense,” she said. “But then why did his friend, Mr. Kawaji, stop talking about it so suddenly?”

  “He might have realized he shouldn’t talk about some­thing given him in confidence. Or perhaps he thought you might misunderstand him. You must remember this was the first time he’d met you—he didn’t have much idea of your level of intelligence.”

  “Yes, that’s true . . . But what if—”

  “If Mr. Tsukamoto did commit an offense, or do something improper as a scholar, he wouldn’t have been offered a lecturer’s post at Chiyoda University. As far as I know, university authorities are very strict about such things.”

  “I think so, too,” Etsuko said, still frowning but feel­ing somewhat relieved.

  Kyoko took a long breath before going on. “So far as this right-wing man is concerned, there’s no reason to doubt Mr. Tsukamoto’s word that Mr. Kumagaya was an acquaintance of his late father. The point here is that the word ‘acquaintance’ covers a very wide range of relation­ships. Supposing you were walking down the street with an acquaintance. Suddenly an underworld boss with six criminal convictions came up to you and said he was greatly indebted to your father. What would your acquaintance think of that?”

  “You’re presupposing, of course, that my acquaint­ance happened to recognize the underworld boss but didn’t know my father was a lawyer.”

  “That’s right . . . Well, the chances are your acquaint­ance would be anxious to say goodbye to you as soon as possible, thinking you might be the daughter of an even bigger underworld boss with eight criminal convictions.”

  Etsuko couldn’t help bursting into laughter. This further relieved the tension in her mind. She thought she had done the right thing consulting Kyoko.

  But Kyoko maintained her serious, questioning expression. “On the other hand,” she said, “it’s just as easy to go to the opposite extreme and interpret every­thing to Mr. Tsukamoto’s advantage. To get rid of your doubts forever, I think the best thing for you to do would be to go straight to Mr. Tsukamoto and put all your questions to him. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, I thought of that myself many times, but some­how I was always reluctant to broach the subject . . . To be quite honest with you, I think I was afraid of learning the truth.”

  “I appreciate how you feel. Anyone would be reluct­ant to ask awkward questions of the man she likes. But if you’re thinking of marrying Mr. Tsukamoto, you’ll just have to make the effort one day, won’t you? Besides, it’s not necessary to throw all your doubts at him at once. You can clear them up one by one over a period of time, can’t you? You’ve already asked him about his relative, Mr. Watanabe. Well, in the same way, you can bring up each of the other things as the opportunity presents itself.”

  “You’re probably right . . .” Etsuko stared into her cup for a while. Gradually her face became resolute. “Okay, I’ll try. And Kyoko, thank you so much for your help.”

  At last her mind was at ease. She knew that for the first time in a week she would sleep well that night.

  No definite conclusion had been reached one way or the other, but at least the need for taking more time—the fact that there was no other alternative at this stage—had been established. This in itself was very reassuring to her.

  At the same time she was amazed by the growth of Kyoko’s personality. She had always fancied herself as an elder sister to Kyoko, but now she felt their roles had been reversed. Admittedly, personal involvement did affect one’s behavior—it made one timid, even blind. But she sensed that the change in Kyoko—her mature outlook—was due to more than detachment. It had to do with her happiness in marriage.

  •

  Early in the new year suddenly a turning point was reached in Etsuko’s relationship with Yoshihiro.

  He had been away in the Kansai district for the last few days of December and the first week in January, showing around
an American professor he had worked under dur­ing his Fulbright scholarship year.

  When Etsuko met him again on January 10, Yoshihiro was so busy he didn’t even have time for a leisurely talk. Higuchi had paid a visit to the family on January 2, but after that there had been no sign of him either. He had told her that immediately on resuming work after the holidays he would have to attend a court hearing at Kyoto. Etsuko couldn’t care less about it.

  On January 15, a public holiday, she was to meet Yoshi­hiro in the Cafe Etude at Shibuya. This time he was with a man a little older than himself and about the same height and build.

  “Etsuko, this is my elder brother Nobumasa,” Yoshihiro said. “He had some business around here, so we came to­gether.”

  She wasn’t fooled by him—his eyes were telling a dif­ferent story. Obviously, he had arranged this meeting.

  The features of the two brothers had very little in common. Against Yoshihiro’s rather boyish face, Nobu­masa had heavy eyebrows, steady eyes, a pointed nose and prominent chin. His whole face was made up of acute angles. He certainly looked very sharp, Etsuko thought. And his skin seemed to radiate some strange energy.

  She was awed by him at first, but in the course of the conversation her apprehension gradually dissolved. Nobumasa himself seemed to be developing a friendly feeling toward her.

  “Yoshihiro has his share of shortcomings,” he said, “but I do hope you’ll go on putting up with him. Whether he has any talent as an economist I wouldn’t know, since I’m a chemist. He’s supposed to be an expert on management, but in some respects he seems to do a lot worse than I in managing his own affairs . . . Well, this may be due to the difference between people who work for business enterprise and those who lock themselves away in ivory towers.”

  Yoshihiro gave a slow, sardonic smile. “My brother surprises me,” he said. “He has always been able to twist me around his little finger, but as far as I can remember, this is the first time he has ever praised me.”

  From their bantering tone Etsuko deducted the two were very close.

  “Well,” Nobumasa said condescendingly, “I do recognize your good points, of course. I could list them in no time, but what good would that do? Being your elder brother I feel I should concentrate on your numerous faults so that Etsuko could file them away in her memory and launch a corrective program in due course.”

  Etsuko nodded in mock agreement and thought Nobumasa was thoroughly enjoying himself at Yoshi­hiro’s expense.

  He said, “To begin with, my brother doesn’t know how to get along with people, nor does he have the knack of getting the most out of life. To give you a simple example—if only he paid a little more attention to his appear­ance, he’d create a much better impression all around, but despite my repeated pleas, he remains completely hope­less in this. He’s also too good-natured, too modest, and this puts him at a disadvantage. These days even a scholar must have some push, some cheek—a willingness to play to the audience . . . Etsuko, I hope you can help him wake up to himself.”

  My brother doesn’t know how to get along with people. The words got stuck in Etsuko’s mind. She thought it was quite possible Yoshihiro had moved from Kyoraku University to Chiyoda because of a clash with his profes­sor, as Kyoko had suggested. It might have been entirely his own fault, but if it wasn’t, then it indicated upright­ness and sincerity . . .

  Later Nobumasa invited them to lunch and took them to a Russian restaurant. By the time they were choosing the hors d’oeuvre after finishing a bottle of beer, Etsuko had a definite liking for Nobumasa.

  “And what’ve you been doing lately, brother?” Yoshi­hiro asked.

  “I’m working with those so-called highly polymerized compounds. There are vast unexplored areas in this field, hence the world-wide interest in it. I hope I don’t sound too pompous, but this is the type of research which is currently expanding the frontiers of modern chemistry.”

  “Highly polymerized compounds?” Yoshihiro gave Etsuko a sideways glance and made his mouth droop at the corners. “Would you mind giving us an example—something that might have a name we can understand?”

  “Well, you must have seen words like polyurethane, polyester, polyethylene and so on. Do you know what the prefix ‘poly’ means?”

  “Yes, big brother,” he said schoolboyishly. “It derives from the Greek ‘polus,’ meaning ‘many.’ In music, ‘poly­phony’ means a composition in which two or more melodies blend in harmony.”

  “I believe you—music has never been my strong point. Well, in chemistry every word beginning with ‘poly’ denotes a highly polymerized compound known as a polymer, which has the same percentage composition as some other compound but a different molecular weight. Have I made myself clear? . . . So far as poly­ester is concerned, it divides into resins—my special interest—and fibres, like tetron. The resin system is the more complicated. There is alkyd polyester, unsaturated polyester and—” He stopped suddenly and looked at Etsuko. “I think that’s enough—Yoshihiro is making a very unpleasant face.”

  Nobumasa finished his meal in high spirits and later said goodbye to them in front of the restaurant.

  “You’ve got a nice brother,” Etsuko said, looking at Nobumasa’s receding back.

  “He’s all right, though he likes to bung it on a bit . . . He told you I didn’t have the knack of getting the most out of life, but funnily enough he himself has a king-size blind spot.”

  “Concerning what?”

  “Women.”

  “How come?”

  “Some time ago he had an affair, and rightly or wrongly, the woman blamed him for the result and tried to force him to marry her. It was a tight squeeze for him for a while, and ever since he’s been pretty sour on women generally. That’s why I was so surprised to see him open up to you as he did today. Normally he sticks to absolute essentials when he meets somebody for the first time, especially if it’s a woman.”

  That evening Yoshihiro had to write an article for Management, so they ended their date early and Etsuko returned home. She was very pleased about meeting Nobumasa. It suggested Yoshihiro might gradually come around to discussing with her the things she wanted to ask.

  But her happy mood didn’t last long.

  Straight after dinner her father looked at her sternly and said, “Etsu, I want to have a talk with you. Let’s go into the study.”

  She winced inside, remembering from childhood that whenever he put on that face he was about to upbraid her, or at least say something very unpleasant. Following him into the study she felt as if her feet were dragging a chain.

  Right from the start his voice was harsh and unyield­ing. “You’ve been going out with a Yoshihiro Tsukamoto, haven’t you?”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  “Are you in love with him?”

  “Yes.”

  Ogata wiped his forehead and stared at the blotter on his desk.

  “I’m your father,” he said quietly, “and I want to re­spect your feelings. I’ve no intention of forcing you to marry Mr. Higuchi. A university lecturer may be a suitable match.” He paused and looked up at her. “But Mr. Tsukamoto is a special case. Any suggestion of your mar­rying him is firmly opposed, not only by me, but also by your mother.”

  “But why?” She felt her throat tighten. Her doubts about Yoshihiro’s past began to rise like a black storm cloud.

  “Listen, Etsu—listen carefully. An individual may be perfectly respectable when looked at in isolation, but when it comes to marriage, his family background must be considered. A girl blinded by love may think this is un­fair, even ridiculous, but after a while—once her head is clear again—those same considerations may well lead her to divorce . . . Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting your future husband should come from a family of outstanding lineage or wealth. But unless he meets at least the minimum requirement demand
ed by common sense, I simply can’t allow my daughter to marry him.”

  “But why shouldn’t he meet this minimum requirement, as you call it? He himself is a Master of Economics, and his brother is a Doctor of Chemical Engineering, working in the research laboratories of Toho Kasei.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with him or his brother. But hasn’t he ever told you anything about his father?”

  Etsuko had no answer. When she thought of it, Yoshihiro had hardly said anything about his parents. Both were dead—that was all . . . Lamely she shook her head.

  “I thought so. He didn’t have the guts to tell you the truth. His father, Shinnosuke Tsukamoto, died in prison.”

  “Died in prison?” The words floored her. Her dull repetition of them carried a warning of hysteria. She had the illusion of her father’s face dividing into three and glaring at her from three different angles.

  “That’s right,” he said sadly. “Young people of your generation may not know this, but Shinnosuke Tsuka­moto was a fairly well known figure in his own time. He was a scholar of Japanese history with a fanatical ultra-nationalistic viewpoint. He had been on friendly terms with men like Shumei Ookawa and others branded as criminals at the Tokyo war trials. His philosophy, an adaptation of Nazism with some ancestor worship added, had a fairly strong influence on young soldiers. As the war dragged on, his followers started a witch hunt against suspected internationalists and pacifists, and soon they earned themselves the nickname ‘Private Political Police . . .’”

  Ogata shifted in his chair and lowered his voice. “Well, to a man like him the sudden end of the war must have been a much greater shock than to others. On August 14, 1945, the eve of the Japanese surrender, he was involved in the well known revolt by junior officers. They tried to force their way into the Imperial Palace and seize the recording of the Emperor’s surrender broadcast, after killing the comanding officer of the guards. He was also present, leading dozens of civilians, when the private home of the then Prime Minister, Kantaro Suzuki, was set on fire. I think he must have lost his reason by then . . .”