by Неизвестный
“Please let’s travel as a normal couple would. I’ll pay so you can ride second class.”
“You must be quite wealthy. You seem to be carrying a lot of cash.” In one of the shops they had visited earlier, Jūkichi had stolen a glance at Tokiko’s purse when she had paid the clerk, and it had seemed quite full, but she immediately put her purse back under her robe, as if she had been spotted by a pickpocket.
“I don’t have much money,” she replied.
“I wouldn’t try to take your money even if you had some. Rest assured.”
They returned home and stayed up late packing for the trip. Worried by one or another thought, Tokiko did not fall asleep until dawn.
“While we’re away, please look after the house,” Tokiko asked Jūkichi’s old maid as they departed. She had completely adapted to the role of mistress of the house.
They boarded the train at the station at Ushigome. Jūkichi arranged his air pillow and began reading Maxim Gorky’s The Confession. At first, he often put his book aside to gaze out the window at the passing scenery, but he soon became absorbed in his reading. It moved Jūkichi, the way this author consistently portrayed defenseless, ordinary people resisting their inexorable fates. On the one hand, his deeply troubled characters raged—“God is my enemy. Give me a stone and I shall hurl it at heaven”—or lost themselves in delusion —“Death is the great mystery, one I long to resolve.” On the other, they collapsed in self-abnegation, begging in tears for God to help them find peace. Such characters deeply moved the reader. Jūkichi was particularly attracted to characters who were overcome either by joy at having found a wife they loved or by grief at having lost the wife they loved. He envied their strong natural emotions when they either devoted themselves entirely to their loved one or despaired, unable to eat or sleep, over their loss.
Tokiko was sitting several seats away from Jūkichi. While he read, she kept her head modestly bowed. She was embarrassed by the idea that the other passengers in the car could tell just by looking that she and Jūkichi were newlyweds.
After passing through dozens of tunnels, the train emerged onto the Kōshū Plain. Jūkichi put his book back into his bag. As he was straightening his clothing, he noticed the name of a passing station somewhere in Yamanashi Prefecture. Isawa. Wasn’t Isawa the place where the eagle in Bakin’s Tale of Eight Dogs dropped Princess Hamaji? “Isn’t there a famous temple around here?” he asked Tokiko. “You know, the one where the eagle dropped Princess Hamaji?”
“I’ve never heard of it,” Tokiko replied.
“What would you know,” Jūkichi said in irritation.
The train arrived at Kōfu. Jūkichi immediately spotted Tokiko’s brother looking their way. He so resembled Tokiko that Jūkichi received a poor impression of the young man.
“I’ll take you on a tour of the town as we walk back,” the young man proposed, but Tokiko opposed this plan, and they took the shortest route, along a lonely road for about five or six blocks. When they reached the house, Tokiko almost ran inside. Jūkichi stood outside and surveyed the house and the shop before he entered.
Warned beforehand by the aunt and Mrs. Yazawa, everyone in the Shiga household took care not to irritate Jūkichi. After he finished his dinner, he was led upstairs to a large room and left to rest. Lying in the soft, comfortable bedding spread out on new tatami, Jūkichi looked around the room, his eyes resting on the scroll of a tiger and warrior’s helmet that decorated the alcove.
“This is a well-built house, with so many rooms. I feel I could sleep here for a week. And the food is delicious. I’d like more of that steamed sea bream,” he said to Tokiko.
“You can have as much as a you want. My sister made it.”
“Your sister married into the Takegawa family, is that right?”
Jūkichi was looking forward to visiting her the next day. He had heard that the Takegawa family owned the finest restaurant in the region. Onose, the Aoyama aunt, and members of Tokiko’s immediate family all seemed slightly ashamed of having in-laws engaged in such a vulgar profession, and they took pains to assure Jūkichi that the family was an old and respectable one and that they never allowed geisha or other such women to spend the night. Jūkichi did not object in the least to having a relative involved in a slightly disreputable business; indeed, he welcomed it.
“I’d like to go to the restaurant by myself this evening,” Jūkichi said. Tokiko went downstairs and came back up again.
“I telephoned my sister. I don’t want to see her, though,” Tokiko declared.
“How’s our newlywed today? Used to being a housewife yet?” Her father’s remarks were limited to such innocuous remarks made half in jest. But her mother would pull Tokiko aside and question her about the details of her everyday life and her husband’s attitude. She would caution Tokiko and offer advice. “Old servants are difficult to handle. If you aren’t careful, they’ll use you instead of your using them.” Or “Never rush out to buy pastries to serve guests after they’ve arrived. Always have something on hand to serve them.” Tokiko was irritated by her mother. She felt compelled to follow Mrs. Yazawa’s advice, even in regard to such minor matters as how to dispose of the daily newspaper. Her mother’s instructions, she simply ignored. But she was interested in the gossip her mother had to tell about her friends and former classmates.
The next morning, Jūkichi, dressed in formal Japanese clothing, was led around by Tokiko’s father to visit the homes of several relatives. People stared at him as he passed. They peeked out at him from verandas and windows. The bridegroom was on display, and the sensation was enjoyable. He had become another person. He seemed more exotic to himself than to those observing him. Jūkichi began to wish that Tokiko’s family had not been so sensitive to his wishes and instead had forced him to go through the whole formal ceremony, a parade through the town in full bridal dress, the townsfolk assembled to watch them pass, with Jūkichi the center of attention.
Tokiko’s father led him onto a narrow road. “We’re going to see Ōhigashi next. He’s my wife’s oldest brother and a doctor of Chinese medicine. He’s over seventy and he’s losing his eyesight and hearing, but we should visit for a little while anyway.”
There was building going on. Jūkichi could hear the carpenter’s saw. He stepped over the wood shavings and spotted an old man squatting on the veranda. He was dressed in an old-fashioned Japanese half-coat and dark hood. The old man squinted at them for a moment, then shouted a greeting in an unexpectedly loud voice. “Come in the front,” he instructed and went inside to welcome them at the entrance. The walls of the main room were lined with medicine cabinets, each drawer labeled neatly with names of medicinal herbs: “ginseng,” “dried orange peel,” “rhubarb root,” and so on.
After a brief greeting, the old man took up his pipe in his thin, blue-veined hand. “This construction’s wearing me down!”
“But when it’s finished, you’ll have a pleasant retirement residence,” Tokiko’s father said.
“It never gets easier. The roof leaks, and I have to hire carpenters. Then I have to serve them lunch or saké. That slows down the work. I won’t live in that house for long. The world’s nothing but pain and woe. Death will be paradise. Life is nothing but pain and woe,” he declared, and his wrinkled face formed into a weird smile. “If you have money, you’re always afraid a thief will steal it. If you have property or farmland, they’ll tax you to death. You never know whether what you have is yours or whether it belongs to the authorities. It’s better to possess nothing at all. You have a daughter. You worry yourself sick about finding her a suitable husband. Then you worry about whether the marriage is a happy one. That’s why I say life is nothing but pain and woe!”
“But we have expectations for happiness in the future,” Tokiko’s father said.
“That’s true. If my daughter had lived, I’d be having a tough time about now choosing a husband for her.” The old man leaned forward and peered at Jūkichi. “How old are you, sir?”
“Thirty-three,” Mr. Shiga answered in place of Jūkichi.
“Thirty-three,” the old man muttered. He fell silent.
The two said their farewells and left. “Strange old man, isn’t he? He’s always talking like that. He always brings the silly conversation back to his daughter,” Tokiko’s father commented.
“Is that so?” Jūkichi showed no inclination to learn more about the old man.
Takegawa’s establishment was a large three-story restaurant. The calligraphy by distinguished people that decorated the walls gave Jūkichi an impression of the history of the place. The large room in which Jūkichi was seated was very quiet. After a while, he thought he might be in a temple. In the small garden off the veranda, peonies bloomed in profusion. Tokiko’s father came and took Jūkichi out to view the famous shrine dedicated to Yamato Takeru and the ruins of Takeda Shingen’s castle. On their return to the restaurant in the evening, fatigue was visible on Jūkichi’s face. Tokiko’s sister came in to talk with her father about the banquet to be held that night in Jūkichi’s honor.
“Won’t you rest until the bath is ready?” she asked Jūkichi.
“I’m tired as well. I think I’ll lie down for a bit, too,” her father said.
The maid came in and spread out the bedding. Almost as soon as Mr. Shiga’s head touched the pillow, he began snoring loudly. Jūkichi could not sleep. He stared at the ceiling. He did not remember the site of Takeda’s castle so much as the decrepit old man who explained the site to them. He also remembered the old man Ōhigashi with his stories about this life of pain and woe. Outside, the last traces of light had disappeared. He heard the sister’s soft footsteps approaching on the veranda. She had brought a yukata cotton robe, and she instructed Jūkichi where to find the bath. “Tokiko has arrived,” she told him.
Jūkichi changed into the yukata and went down the corridor to the bath. He saw Tokiko talking with her brother-in-law at the stairs. She seemed tired, and her face powder was applied too heavily. Mr. Takegawa did not look like the proprietor of a restaurant. He was over forty, and his face gave an impression of honesty. Jūkichi bowed slightly in greeting and continued on to the well-ordered and clean bathroom.
By the time he had finished bathing, the electric lights had come on. Mr. Shiga was seated upright on his bedding and was speaking in a low voice with his daughter, Tokiko’s sister, who was holding a letter in her hand. Jūkichi sat down on his bedding and glanced at the envelope that had fallen on Mr. Shiga’s pillow. The return address had the name of Tokiko’s aunt in Aoyama. Something must be up, he thought, observing the serious expressions of father and daughter.
“How was the water?” Mr. Shiga asked and quickly changed into a yukata and left for his bath.
“Jūkichi, do you dislike my sister?” she asked in a gentle voice.
The sound of his own name seemed strange to him, as if he had not heard it for a long time. But her voice gave him a pleasurable feeling. He smiled and remained silent.
“You should show more affection for her,” the sister persisted.
“You’re right, I will,” he replied. He guessed that the aunt had revealed something in the letter.
“They tell me you enjoy playing with the girls. You shouldn’t be such a flirt.”
“I don’t have much of a chance to flirt these days. But what about you? This trade must be fairly interesting,” he replied, trying to shift the conversation away from himself.
“It’s not interesting at all. This business doesn’t suit my personality.” She obviously did not want to discuss a business she disliked. “I’d be much happier living in Tokyo.”
“I like it better here. There’s room to breathe, and I enjoy taking it easy.”
“Then stay as long as you like. We have plenty of room, as you see. Tomorrow evening, I’ll use Tokiko as an excuse, and she and I will go the theater. My father-in-law’s strict. He won’t permit me to go by myself.”
“But I thought I’d leave tomorrow. Tokiko can stay on if she wants.”
“You can’t leave separately. You must return together.”
Her father’s return ended their conversation, and she left the room.
Seven or eight relatives were in attendance at the banquet. Ōhigashi did not attend, giving the excuse of poor eyesight. The Aoyama aunt had apparently instructed the geisha to perform celebratory dances usually associated with weddings. Jūkichi said little, merely responding to the relatives who came over to fill his cup with saké. As on the night of his wedding, Jūkichi was becoming depressed. Tokiko, sitting next to her mother, loomed weirdly in his field of vision.
He felt ill from too much drink and went downstairs to the room he had occupied formerly. He sprawled out on his bedding without removing his clothes. In his drunken state, he was angered by the sense that he was missing out on something. He wanted to spend the rest of the night alone in this room. Tokiko, breathing heavily, her eyes red, entered and sat beside him.
“They say you want to spend the night here. I don’t want to.”
“Then go home by yourself. I’m fine here. Can’t you just leave me alone? The thought of spending every night of the rest of my life in the same room with you is enough to make me want to end it all quickly,” Jūkichi said with a smile, but the tone of his voice was serious. Tokiko did not seem hurt, or even to notice, the insult.
“I want to die,” she exclaimed with her head bowed. “They told me it was all right to get drunk, since it was a special occasion. They kept making me drink. I’m in pain!” Tokiko said slapping her own cheeks.
The maid brought a bottle of water and set it within reach of Jūkichi’s pillow. Tokiko crawled over and poured herself a glass of water.
She staggered over to the veranda and slid open the door, breathing in the cool air. The electric light from the corridor illuminated the small garden outside. A stone lantern and a cluster of shrubs appeared dimly as if in a dream. But beyond the garden, the night was pitch black, a little frightening. They could see, in the corridor kitty-corner to the garden, Tokiko’s sister staring at something. Afraid that her sister would spot her in the room, Tokiko quickly closed the sliding door, but the sudden noise caused the sister to turn and glare in their direction. She seemed angry.
“I wonder what’s wrong with her,” Tokiko muttered and returned to Jūkichi’s side. “She criticizes whatever I do. ‘Don’t walk so fast,’ ‘You’re sitting wrong’: whenever she sees me, she gets angry. She didn’t used to be like that!” Tokiko opened her eyes in wonder at this change in her sister. “A little while ago, when I was about to go downstairs, she took me aside and whispered quickly, ‘You shouldn’t appear in front of groups of people dressed like that. What’s wrong with you? You’re beyond help.’ Then she stomped down the stairs. Why does she act like that?”
“I don’t know,” Jūkichi replied. His eyes glinted in merriment. “I think she’s more fortunate than you. She’s suffered in the past, but her current husband seems like a nice fellow, and this property and business is worth a great deal. Plus her father-in-law seems to be in poor health. Probably not long for this world!”
“I don’t think my sister’s happy.”
“You’ll probably start to envy her soon.”
“Why? I don’t envy her!” she replied brusquely.
The night deepened. In such a spacious inn, it was strange to not hear the notes of a geisha’s shamisen.
On the way back to Shiga’s house the next morning, Jūkichi decided he would return to Tokyo by train that afternoon. The members of the Shiga family attempted to dissuade him, but it was to no avail. Tokiko, who felt affection for her home region, had hoped to stay for several more days, but this desire would come to nothing.
“Can’t we stay for one more day? I’ve lent some things to friends and I’d like to get them back,” she finally blurted out in frustration. She wanted to meet her friends and talk about her new life in Tokyo.
“Then why don’t you stay on here b
y yourself for a few more days?” Jūkichi suggested. In truth, he would have preferred that she stay. But her father objected.
“Toki! You mustn’t be so selfish. Your husband has commitments,” he scolded. “Jūkichi, if she continues to act selfishly, you have my permission to beat her,” he continued, laughing.
Tokiko’s mother took her aside and warned her that she must return with her husband. Foods—sushi, the stuffed steamed sea bream Jūkichi liked so much, and sweets—were placed in lunch boxes for the journey home. Tokiko’s sister, bringing some of the food, came to see them off.
“Come see us in Tokyo,” Jūkichi offered politely.
“Tokyo! I was barely allowed to come here!” she complained. “And you’ve robbed me of the chance to go to the theater.”
The time for departure approached. Tokiko’s mother, loath to part from her two daughters for even a moment, sat close to them. The people in the room, each occupied by their own thoughts, kept their eyes on the large clock on a set of chests. Two silver pocket watches were on the table, one attached to Tokiko’s long gold chain that glittered in the light.
“I see you don’t have a watch, Jūkichi,” Mr. Shiga observed. “You don’t find it inconvenient?”
“Not particularly,” Jūkichi replied.
“My father’s collected any number of them. He lends people money and takes their watches as collateral, and they never reclaim them. Whenever he thinks we’re late getting him his meals, he walks around winding all the watches and clocks in the house. Then if we ignore him, and his dinner still isn’t on the table, he rushes outside in a huff! When you get older, all you have to look forward to is meals, I guess,” Tokiko’s sister commented.
“Are you still practicing your ballad singing?” Mr. Shiga asked.
“All I do nowadays is eat,” she replied.
Jūkichi remembered the sophisticated gentleman with the shaved head he had seen the previous evening at the Takegawa’s restaurant.