by Неизвестный
Afterward, there remained a big empty cocoon.
Ah, now at last I can rest. The evening sun dyes the cocoon red. This, at least, is my house for sure, which nobody can keep me out of. The only trouble is now that I have a house, there’s no “I” to return to it.
Inside the cocoon, time stopped. Outside, it was dark, but inside the cocoon it was always evening. Illumined from within, it glowed red with the colors of sunset. This outstanding peculiarity was bound to catch his sharp policeman’s eye. He spotted me, the cocoon, lying between the rails of the crossing. At first he was angry, but soon changing his mind about this unusual find, he put me into his pocket. After tumbling around in there for a while, I was transferred to his son’s toy box.
ARIYOSHI SAWAKO
Ariyoshi Sawako’s (1931–1984) many writings show two concerns. The first is her deep personal affection for the Japanese artistic tradition, and the second is her strong sense of social issues, particularly regarding the role of women in society, the theme of two of her most widely admired novels: The River Ki (Ki no kawa, 1959) and The Doctor’s Wife (Hanaoka seishū no tsuma, 1966). Her early story “The Village of Eguchi” (Eguchi no sato, 1958) combines a bit of both concerns.
THE VILLAGE OF EGUCHI (EGUCHI NO SATO)
Translated by Yukio Sawa and Herbert Glazer
I
For Father Gounod, Sunday no longer had the aura of holiness of the Lord’s Day. After celebrating two morning Masses, one at six-thirt y and one at nine-thirty, he had to attend, in succession, short meetings of the Young Men’s Association, the Society of St. Mary, and the Church Committee. Most of the time he could barely eat breakfast, and occasionally he had to forgo lunch altogether. Japanese Catholics appeared to him to be particularly fervent. At church meetings they sit with their rows of flat faces, praising God, praying to Mary, and complaining how difficult life was for a Catholic in Japan. Father Gounod doubted that Japanese Catholics had any human aspects apart from their Catholicism. And when he saw them continually talking about their faith many times more fervently than he their priest, it made his stomach contract all the more until his hunger became unbearable.
On an unexpectedly cool Sunday in late summer, Father Gounod as usual had been impatiently attending the regular Sunday meetings of his church members. The meeting room in the rectory made it easy to endure the heat of the summer; it was as if the heat of the previous weeks was unreal, and as a consequence the young men and women stayed longer than usual. It seemed strange to Father Gounod that men and women of this age should hold separate meetings and not make much effort to associate with one another in some organization of their own, and he could not understand their wasting their valuable Sundays attending meetings in a dreary rectory. He sometimes wondered whether these young people had sweethearts, but on seeing their blank expressions and hearing their colorless chatter, he realized that even if they did fall in love and were goaded on by their friends, it was hardly likely that they would have the courage to run off and get married.
As he expected, the meeting of the Church Committee dragged on longer than that of the young people. Mr. Nozoe, a senior member of the church, and Mrs. Sakurai were both criticizing their former priest, and they admonished Father Gounod not to repeat his mistakes.
“Father, it seems to me that your sermon was somewhat shorter,” said Mrs. Sakurai.
“Yes, today’s sermon ended much earlier than I had expected,” said Mr. Nozoe. “It lasted only seven and one-half minutes,” he added.
Amazed, Father Gounod stared at both of them. He recalled from his younger days that the longer were the sermons of the priest at Mass, the more boring and annoying they were to him. When he was a student in theology school, he kept thinking that after he became ordained, he would wind up his sermons rapidly and allow his congregation to leave as early as possible. And these people were indicating that the Japanese believers did not welcome this.
After the committee members left, Father Gounod rushed to the kitchen for the lunch that old Matsutani had prepared for him. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that it was after one o’clock. He had picked up his fork and was about to lift some rice from the bowl when he heard someone at the gate loudly calling his name.
“Father! Father! My aunt is in critical condition. Please prepare to administer the final sacrament. Please come immediately.” The speech was stiff and formal.
Since time was of the essence, Father Gounod prepared to leave immediately and jumped into the car waiting for him. He prayed silently that the flies in the kitchen would not alight on the white rice he had left behind uneaten.
Thinking that the patient whom he was attending was about to pass away momentarily, Father Gounod administered the final sacrament in about a minute. People around him were quite shocked and asked how it was possible for him to have finished so soon. After giving some thought to the way in which they expressed themselves in Japanese, he concluded that they were implying that his rapid performance did not adequately reflect the importance of the sacrament.
Unavoidably the priest felt obliged to recite part of the breviary for that day before he could leave the hospital twenty minutes later. The dying believer had a happy expression on her face as she made the sign of the cross on her chest, but the priest felt that she would somehow recover from her illness and leave the hospital in a few days.
En route to the rectory from the hospital, he observed that on every street in Tokyo there seemed to be either road-repairing or subway construction going on. On his return he found neglected in a corner of the kitchen the rice and miso soup as he had left them. On hearing Father Gounod noisily charge back into the room, the surprised flies flew away as if they did not want him to see that they had been licking his rice.
But old Matsutani, wiping the kitchen cupboard with a damp rag, heartlessly told him that waiting for him in the sanctuary was a believer who had come to have an infant baptized, and so Father Gounod could not even raise his fork. Since an infant had no power of resistance to disease, there was no knowing when and how it might suddenly die. Therefore this kind of baptism should be administered as rapidly as the final sacrament, if asked.
He was reciting “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I baptize thee” and had just made the sign of the cross with holy water over the infant’s face when he suddenly felt dizzy. He rushed out of the sanctuary thanking God that he had not been born a cannibal.
It was after three when he finally got around to eating his cold rice and miso soup. He again thanked God this time that he was too hungry to feel unhappy about having to eat strange Japanese food, and wiping his mouth with his handkerchief he went to his room to relax. However, no matter how hard he wiped, he still could not get rid of the taste of the miso soup and the yellow radish pickles he had eaten for the first time that day. Removing a bottle of White Horse Scotch that he had hidden behind the bookshelf, he drank a slug directly from the bottle. How fragrant was the scent of the whisky, he thought. Since Mrs. Sakurai had disapprovingly told him of some of the previous priests drinking sak?Father Gounod made it a rule to keep everything alcoholic safely hidden from the eyes of his parishioners.
Having eaten a starchy meal and not knowing what to do with his weariness, he sank into the swivel chair in front of his desk and began to amuse himself by kicking the floor and propelling himself from side to side, maintaining his balance by sticking out his stomach. All that remained for him to do that day was to check the amount in the collection box which had been passed around at Mass by a young man who acted as an attendant. He had already recited one-third of the breviary in the hospital, so he lazily stretched his arms, expecting to spend the rest of the day comfortably. He began to think of visiting the Foreign Missionary Club that night, where he had not been for some time, and of eating a rich dish. He enjoyed thinking about eating things which he couldn’t come by easily. Arousing himself from his reverie, he picked up the notebook on which “Holy Day Contributions” was writt
en and tried to finish off the work that remained for him to do. The notebook also contained the financial records of the Young Men’s Association.
The amount collected at the first Mass at six-thirty was 483 yen. The priest was pleased, as this exceeded the previous week’s collection of 475 yen. Naturally, some of the faithful actually preferred the shorter sermon. However, when he came to the section in which the amount collected at the nine o’clock Mass was indicated, he couldn’t help rubbing his eyes in disbelief—1,490 yen! He looked again, but it was certainly 1,490 yen. The total amount collected that day showed 1,973 yen, so the 1,490-yen figure was not an error.
Even though Father Gounod’s church was in Tokyo, it was located in what was called a suburban slum area, and as a result his congregation consisted mostly of workshop laborers, their wives and children, and no more than about ten families who had saved a little money in running small home factories. Consequently the average individual contribution at Sunday Mass was 10 yen, although there were some who unconcernedly gave nothing and some, feeling they had committed a sinful act, occasionally contributed a 100-yen note. Under such circumstances the total collected at both Masses rarely exceeded 1,000 yen.
Father Gounod folded his arms. Since he had preached exactly the same sermon at both Masses, it was hardly likely that only those who particularly attended the second Mass were so impressed as to loosen their purse-strings. His parishioners were not the type to shell out large bills just because they heard a seven and one-half minute sermon. Then he thought perhaps the 1,000-yen note was thrown in by someone who had committed a serious crime and, being reluctant to confess, threw in the 1,000-yen note. But he could not by any stretch of the imagination picture any of those who regularly attended Mass committing a serious crime, even by accident. It would have been difficult for him to recognize one unfamiliar face among the hundred attendees. Was there a nonbeliever who came to church for the first time that day—? As he thought about this possibility, one thing did occur to him.
It was after the nine o’clock Mass, just before ten, while he was on his way back to the rectory from the sanctuary with his assistant. His attention was attracted to a group of children who had run out of the church and were staring curiously in the direction of the gate, where he inadvertently noticed a woman getting into a large elegant car. Father Gounod halted unconsciously. He could only see her back, and as he had been away from secular life for a long time, he was struck by the beauty of the Japanese style clothes she was wearing. The India ink chrysanthemum design on her wisteria-blue short-coat stood out clearly, especially on the lower half of the coat, the shoulder, and the left sleeve; and her gold embroidered sash shone with a subdued brilliance. Although he understood little of color schemes, he could not help admiring the beautiful harmony of the colors and the design. She was already seated in the car when he saw her suddenly straighten up for fear of getting her sash out of shape. Her profile was even more beautiful than her kimono. She raised a filmy linen handkerchief to her nose and said something to the driver while at the same instant, with her other hand, she lightly touched the back of her hair. All of her movements had an air of grace about them which the women he had seen in church never exhibited. Gounod stood staring at her until the car drove away.
“Father!”
His trance was broken by Mrs. Sakurai. She had just returned from home where she had gone for breakfast after the six-thirty Mass.
As he pictured the sight of that beautiful woman folding a 1,000-yen note into a small rectangular shape and delicately placing it in the collection box, he became convinced that she must have been the person responsible for the large donation. He did not try to find out who she was. Even if he had, he thought that it would be difficult for a foreigner like himself to understand Japanese ways, and besides, he considered it unlikely that she would visit his church again. Nevertheless, Father Gounod felt for the first time a deep glow of satisfaction on the holy day. How pleasing it was to see an attractive woman and how beautiful was the Japanese kimono.
“God bless her 1,000-yen note and her future,” he prayed silently. He had already made up his mind not to go to the Foreign Missionary Association but just to pay his respects over the telephone. His state of mind at that moment was such that he considered he would be overindulging himself to have a fine meal the same Sunday on which he saw a beautiful woman.
II
On the following Friday night, Mr. Nozoe, the Church Committee member, pressed the doorbell of the rectory. He apologized for having come unexpectedly when Father Gounod let him in. After showing him to the drawing room, the priest asked him the reason for his visit. Mr. Nozoe replied repeatedly that he hoped that the sermon on the coming Sunday would be amply long. Father Gounod felt uncomfortable as he assured Mr. Nozoe on his departure that his sermon would be plenty long. Father Gounod was just now beginning to understand why this church, which in theory could be administered equally well by a Japanese priest, had been placed under the Foreign Missionary Association. The believers were too zealous. Nothing their priests did satisfied them, and so they made a practice of appealing directly to the bishop, who was head of the district, requesting replacements. After receiving numerous complaints, the bishop had come to feel that the situation was intolerable and, as a result, had assigned to the head of the Foreign Missionary Association the responsibility for administering that church.
Father Gounod tried very hard to think of some way in which he could implant the concept of tolerance in the minds of these people. How easy it was to admonish the idle to work hard; it was more difficult to advise those who worked hard to relax and engage in some form of recreation. It annoyed him that he, a priest whose duty it was to lead the faithful, was being embarrassed by their excessive zeal.
Nevertheless, since it was unethical for a priest to go back on his word, whatever the reason, he felt obliged to spend all of Saturday evening drafting his sermon for the next morning. He mused that it was regrettable there existed no biblical passage praising the virtue of the idle, so he decided to avoid as much as possible giving his congregation the impression that he was reading to them directly from the Bible, and thus he proceeded to write a sermon which did not quote scripture directly but which used homely examples to illustrate biblical injunctions. He thought of first making a draft in his native language, then translating it into Japanese, and finally rehearsing it; in addition to which he considered reading it aloud to estimate how long it would run when he delivered it in church the next morning, but he gave up the whole idea as being rather silly.
The next morning, as he mounted the pulpit, he carefully looked around the sanctuary. Satisfied that Mr. Nozoe and Mrs. Sakurai were present, he began to speak in fluent Japanese, intending to tire them with his overly long sermon. Although he had been in Japan but a year and a half, he had been studying Japanese since his theology-school days, which, coupled with the fact that he was gifted with an exceptional aptitude for languages, resulted in his speaking with an air of complete confidence. After he had spoken for fifteen minutes, he noticed that Mr. Nozoe’s eyes were closed, and he seemed to be napping. So Father Gounod raised his voice unnecessarily and shouted a passage from the Bible. As he had anticipated, Mr. Nozoe, surprised by this unexpected outburst, suddenly stirred and adjusted his thick spectacles for the aged.
Mrs. Sakurai was listening attentively and nodding her head in approval. When Father Gounod saw her simple honest face exuding faith, he felt strangely as if he were committing a crime. That flat Japanese face, he discovered, can produce a sense of uneasiness in others.
Father Gounod sighed and continued his preaching on the tolerant spirit of Jesus Christ. Because his sermon was in a language not his own, the same simple words were repeated, and thus it was necessary for him to use stress in order to change expression. This sermon, which began quite brilliantly only to drag on to a dull finish, may have made his parishioners, who had liked or had been accustomed to the simple lucid style of previous se
rmons, feel rather uncomfortable.
Extremely tired after finishing his sermon, which lasted about thirty minutes, he went and knelt at the altar. How good it was, he thought, to have spoken for a long time in a loud voice. The essence of the sermon was firmly embedded in his heart, and he felt that his preaching had reflected this. He thanked God for having given him this opportunity through Mr. Nozoe. He decided that in future sermons, he would make the cultivation of a spirit of tolerance toward others his principal theme.
When he came to the same sermon at the second Mass, he had lost his feeling of self-consciousness, and his state of mind was as serene as if he were reciting the Lord’s Prayer. This time it did not occur to him to observe the reaction of his congregation, and as the words flowed from his mouth, he was neither elated nor depressed. In his preaching he repeatedly emphasized, in a calm manner, that the spirit of love was the spirit of tolerance and that this was one of the most fundamental principles of Catholicism.
As he reached the end of his sermon, Father Gounod noticed sitting in a remote seat in a back row of the church, that same woman in beautiful Japanese dress who had been present the previous week and who had left in a luxury car. Although Father Gounod recognized her, this time he did not lose his composure, and he calmly continued to watch her while finishing his sermon. He had been hoping she would come again, and now he felt relieved.
It was twenty minutes past ten when Father Gounod left the sanctuary to return to the rectory to change his clothes. As usual, there were the Young Men’s Association, the Society of St. Mary, and the Church Committee meetings to attend. Fearing that the speeches in these meetings would be as long as his sermon, he hurriedly changed into his black suit and went out to fulfill his obligation of smiling farewell to each of his parishioners as he left for home.