by Naoya Shiga
The landlady came in with the news that Tōsanrō was indeed full. “But the old invalid gentleman who has the front room will be leaving in about three weeks,” she said to Takai. “You can have that room then, they tell me.”
“That won’t do, I’m afraid,” Takai said. “Thank you anyway.”
When the landlady left, Kensaku said, “But it was just as well we asked her to find out. We now know at least that the old gentleman will be gone in three weeks.”
“You’re quite right. What you have to do is to find someone suitable to act as go-between before he goes.”
“I wonder if I should ask my brother to come? Something has come up at home that we have to talk about anyway. Of course I can go to Tokyo sooner than he can come here, but I’m not so sure I want to leave Kyoto right now.”
“I think it would be a very good idea to have him come here. I take it he can come anytime?”
“I think he can.”
“We should try to find out as quickly as possible who she is, where she’s from, what her relationship is to the old gentleman, and so on.”
“Do you think she’s his daughter?”
“I wonder.”
“Perhaps his niece?”
They laughed. Takai said, “Not exactly an observant fellow, are you?”
“I haven’t been my usual self, you might say. But I’m certain she isn’t his daughter.”
“Look, if you want to write to your brother, go ahead. I have some shopping to do in Gojo, so I’ll go out for a bit.”
As soon as he was alone Kensaku began writing his letter to Nobuyuki. A short, businesslike letter would do, he told himself, since he would be seeing Nobuyuki soon. But as he wrote about Oei and about the young woman, he found himself being far more wordy than he had intended. Tired and stiff from having sat in one position for so long, he pulled himself up laboriously and left the room to give the letter to someone to post. The western sun had managed to filter through the latticework in the front hall, warming the floorboards of the perpetually dark corridor.
A little while later he had a hot bath, then sat down on the verandah with a fan in his hand, exactly as he had done the day before. He looked out toward Kōjin Bridge and saw Takai coming back. He walked quickly, wearing an innocent expression on his face. As he passed the back of Tōsanrō he turned his head toward it—rather boldly, Kensaku thought.
“I had a good look at her,” he said with a bright smile as he came over the plank into the garden.
“I don’t doubt it, judging by the way you were staring.”
“You know, she looks just like one of those beauties on the ‘Feather Screen.’ ”
Kensaku thought the comparison rather apt, and was very pleased by it. “Oh, do you think so?” he said, blushing a little.
While Takai had his bath Kensaku strolled out to the path. He did not venture far this time, and was content with an occasional glimpse of her figure moving about in the distance.
That night the two friends went to a cinema in Shinkyōgoku and saw an amusingly modernized German version of A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was quite late when they got back to Kensaku’s inn in Higashisanpongi.
4
The morning of the third day after that was made cool by the unseasonable rain that began soon after dawn. Kensaku, who was accustomed to being awakened early by the bright sunlight outside, was for a change allowed to doze comfortably until late that morning. It was Nobuyuki who woke him up. The first thing he said was, “I haven’t had breakfast yet. Can I have some here?”
Kensaku, having slept relatively well, was able to get up with some semblance of friendliness. He was not always so good-natured when getting out of bed.
They ate in silence, gazing toward the river that was almost hidden by the veil of rain. Nobuyuki finally broke the silence. “I told Oei about you, and she was terribly pleased. She kept on saying how she hoped it would work out all right. I feel as she does, of course, and I want to help as much as I can. But let’s talk about Oei first. I really can’t tell whether or not she ought to be encouraged to go into this business. I realize that her background being what it is, she would probably be more comfortable working with someone like her cousin than doing something more ordinary and respectable. That doesn’t mean that she really knows what she’s getting herself into, of course, but I can hardly reject her plan out of hand when I have no alternative to suggest. Besides, there’s the possibility that it will turn out to be just the right thing for her. She’s been completely persuaded by Osai, you know, and is very enthusiastic. If we object, no doubt she’ll give up the idea, but she’ll be terribly disappointed. So what I suggest is this: let her do what she wants, and if the venture proves a failure, we’ll help her out later. I’m talking about money again, of course, but what I mean is that you or I can hold in trust for her the money she’ll get from Hongō and whatever you yourself want to give her, and in the meantime she can use her own savings for this business.”
“What will she be doing exactly?”
“Well, it’s nothing I can approve of. This Osai woman, as I told you, runs a restaurant in Tientsin, and apparently also has so-called resident geisha in her employ. It’s a double business, you might say. One can guess that she defines ‘geisha’ rather loosely. Well, she finds that she can’t run both sides of the establishment very well all by herself. So she wants Oei to go over there and be in charge of the geisha. They’ll still be in the same house, but financially the restaurant and the geisha business will become separate.”
Kensaku thought he knew all he needed to know. “She could hardly have found a more disreputable occupation, could she?”
“No, she couldn’t. But say she wants to open a tobacconist’s shop or a knickknack shop in Tokyo—there’ll be the rent to begin with, then she’ll have to furnish the place properly, and before you know it, she won’t have any money left to lay in the stock.”
“I hardly know what to say when you put it so realistically. But surely there’s something a little nicer that she can do?”
“You’ve got to realize that Oei is after all originally from the demimonde. That’s where she’s had her experience, and that’s where she instinctively feels she’ll be most comfortable. If we knew Osai better I might have suggested giving Oei all the money that was due her, but since we really don’t know that Osai can be trusted, we ought, I think, to put something aside for Oei just in case things go wrong.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’d obviously prefer to see Oei get into some other kind of business, but I don’t know what that might be. As a matter of fact, I’d be quite happy if she were to decide there was no immediate need to set herself up in business and were to stay with me for the next two or three years. You may think me sentimental, but I can’t help thinking there’s something awfully wrong about our having to part like this.”
“I see.”
“You said in your letter that she was concerned about father’s attitude. But that would cease to be a problem if I were to get married.”
“Perhaps. But if you’re going to part in two or three years’ time anyway, you might as well do so now. There are times when conditions are just right for doing something. This is the opportune time for Oei to go. If she doesn’t, she may find that conditions are not so favorable next time.”
Kensaku thought he knew what Nobuyuki meant by “conditions.” Amused, yet irritated, by his brother’s obliqueness, he decided to be blunt. “Oh,” he said, “you’re talking about money from Hongō, are you?”
Nobuyuki was unexpectedly solemn. “Yes, among other things. As I suggested in my letter, you had better leave everything to me. Try not to interfere. The trouble with you is that you get terribly touchy whenever money is mentioned. The first thing you do is to show contempt for it. It’s an obsession, this attitude of yours toward money. I suppose it’s better than being greedy, but it’s not very intelligent.”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“All ri
ght. The question is, do you agree with my suggestion or don’t you?”
“You mean, has Oei my blessings in her proposed venture?”
“Quite.”
“Hardly. But having no better alternative to suggest, I suppose I shall have to give my consent—a grudging consent, mind you.”
“It’s settled, then. Just remember that if she finds herself in trouble, she can come to us for help.”
“When does she want to leave Japan?”
“As soon as she knows it’s all right for her to go, I gather. She wants to leave with Osai if she can, and Osai is leaving very soon. We should let Oei know immediately that she has our consent. Let’s send her a telegram sometime today.” Nobuyuki paused, then seeing that Kensaku was not about to say anything, went on: “That’s that, then. Now tell me about yourself. I don’t suppose there’s much more you can tell me than what you told me in your letter. Is she still here in Kyoto?”
“I think so, though of course I can’t be sure. You must understand that I can’t keep a constant check on her whereabouts.”
“I don’t suppose Takai has been able to help much?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s one thing I thought we might do. Did you ever meet Yamazaki? He was on the baseball team in college.”
“No.”
“He was the same year as me. He was a pre-medical student, so we didn’t take the same courses, but we were in the same dormitory and became quite good friends. Anyway, I think he is on the staff of the university hospital here. I’ve no idea what department he’s in, but I thought he might know someone who could be helpful.”
Kensaku nodded uncertainly, not because he had doubts about Yamazaki, but because he could not afford to allow himself to be optimistic. To protect himself against any possible disappointment—that had become his habitual concern.
“And if that doesn’t work out,” Nobuyuki continued, “then we’ll ask Ishimoto.” What he had in mind was that Ishimoto’s family had been Kyoto aristocrats before the Restoration, and that he was therefore bound to have useful connections in the area.
“But by that time she’ll have gone home,” Kensaku said. “Perhaps, but why should her going home be a disadvantage necessarily? After all, we might have even better contacts in her home province. Incidentally, what are we going to do today? Had you any plans?”
“No.”
“Shall we call on Yamazaki, then? Or shall we forget about it today, and go out and have a good meal somewhere?”
“Either would be all right with me.”
“I suppose we ought to try to speak to Yamazaki as soon as possible?”
“I’ll leave that up to you.”
“In that case let’s try to see Yamazaki today. We can have dinner together afterward.”
“All right, let’s do that,” Kensaku said.
5
The preliminary stages of the marriage discussion proceeded with remarkable smoothness, for it had luckily turned out that the senior doctor under whom Yamazaki worked was looking after the old gentleman, and almost immediately Nobuyuki and Kensaku had been able to find out who the young woman was.
She was the old gentleman’s niece, and belonged to a family of substance in Tsuruga. She had come to Kyoto to help look after her uncle and to do some shopping.
Another chance circumstance that proved fortunate for Kensaku was that the man—a certain Mr. S—who recommended the old gentleman to Yamazaki’s senior came from a family that had once been retained by the Ishimotos. This fact became known to Kensaku and Nobuyuki when Yamazaki happened to mention the man’s name in Kensaku’s room as the landlady was pouring the tea. “Is that the Mr. S who is on the city council?” she had said. “If so, then his family used to be retainers of the Ishimotos.”
Nobuyuki had immediately gone back to Tokyo to enlist Ishimoto’s help. It was extremely gratifying to Kensaku to know that his brother was so genuinely concerned for his welfare. It was less than a year ago, Kensaku now remembered with wry amusement, that he had asked Ishimoto to stop hovering over him like a nervous grandmother and offering to help find a wife for him. “Not so touchy any more, are you?” he could imagine Ishimoto saying when they met. Ah well, he thought, Ishimoto was a friend, and he had every right to say something of the sort. He would be pleased, as Nobuyuki was, that Kensaku should so unexpectedly soon have found someone to be serious about. And though it was only through chance that he was being asked to take part in the discussions, he would be pleased nonetheless that Kensaku and Nobuyuki had come to him. Kensaku could not but be thankful that it was Ishimoto, and not some other man, whom chance had thrown into the affair.
Perhaps I’m not so unfortunate, Kensaku thought. I have often acted like a spoiled child, wanting to do only what I felt like doing; yet there are those who have forgiven me, who have offered me love. And this love is more important than the hurts I have received because of my birth.
He continued to visit temples. And often he left the inn and returned to it by means of the path along the river bank. He continued his house-hunting too. In a place called Kitanobō, by Nanzenji Temple, he found a charming cottage with a thatched roof, standing by itself, that he liked much more than those he had looked at in the grounds of Kōdaiji. It was an ideal temporary residence for a bachelor. For a married couple, it would be a little too small; but Kensaku was not about to tempt fate by looking for a house that would be more appropriate for a married couple. Besides, he was much drawn to this cottage which had so clearly been built by someone who wanted to live in it. He decided to rent it.
After a few days Ishimoto arrived. Kensaku was grateful that he refrained from making pointed jokes. Their meeting was marred, however, by an unfortunate misunderstanding which occurred when Ishimoto said, “Naturally I intend to find out all I can about them, but we on our part must be prepared to tell all.”
“Yes, of course,” said Kensaku, wondering what Ishimoto meant. Presumably he meant his birth; but could Ishimoto possibly know all about it, when he himself had found out the truth only recently? Uncertainly he said to Ishimoto, “I take it you’re referring to my birth?” By this question he had intended only to make sure that this was what Ishimoto meant; for it was indeed his wish that the matter be brought out into the open from the start. But, alas, the question was completely misinterpreted by Ishimoto, who took it as an expression of Kensaku’s reluctance to have the unpleasant secret divulged. He made a face, then proceeded to lecture to Kensaku on the advisability of candor.
Kensaku, though wounded by the misunderstanding, refrained from making any attempt to correct it. No matter what he might have said, it would have sounded defensive and unconvincing. And so he sat still, hiding his irritation, and listened to the long lecture until it was over. He would talk to Nobuyuki later, he told himself, and have him clear up the misunderstanding.
This minor piece of unpleasantness might have been avoided if Kensaku had talked openly about the subject to Nobuyuki earlier. But hating to appear too obsessed by it, he had allowed himself half-consciously to ignore it. Perhaps he was not wrong; for supposing he had mentioned it, Nobuyuki might well have thought, “Oh God, it’s so like Kensaku to bring that up again.”
Back in Tokyo, before Ishimoto’s departure for Kyoto, when he, Nobuyuki and Oei met in the house at Ōmori to discuss the prospective marriage negotiations, Oei had insisted, for simple and obvious reasons, that no mention should be made of Kensaku’s birth. Ishimoto, on the other hand, had argued that it would be wrong not to be candid about it from the start. Indeed, he had said, he would have no part in the negotiations if he could not be allowed to mention it. Of course he was right, and Kensaku would have agreed with him had he been present. Unfortunately, Ishimoto had come away from the meeting wondering why Kensaku had not said anything about it to Nobuyuki; otherwise, Ishimoto would presumably not have been so quick to misinterpret Kensaku’s innocent question.
Happily, Kensaku was able to prevent himself from brooding o
ver Ishimoto’s unfair assumption; and the matter was allowed to rest there.
Ishimoto had taken a room at an inn he knew well in Fuyacho. Saying he had arranged to meet Mr. S there at two that afternoon, he left after a while.
It occurred to Kensaku that one way of telling the other party about himself was to write an autobiographical story. But the project came to a stop after he had written the preface entitled “The Hero’s Reminiscences.” He decided not to show them even this short piece, so afraid was he of seeming to be inviting their sentimental pity. Later he learned that Ishimoto in the meantime had shown the other party his letter to Nobuyuki from Onomichi, in which he had talked about his birth, having first inked out those passages referring to Oei.
Kensaku believed it his duty to tell them all about his earlier feelings toward Oei, but try as he might, he could not bring himself to do so. Why, he was not sure. That to do so would be tantamount to exposing that beautiful person to something shoddy, that it would be an insult to her dignity, was possibly the reason. Ishimoto for his part showed no inclination to talk about Oei, and so in the end Kensaku merely resolved to confess fully at some fitting time in the future.
The sun was about to set when Kensaku came back to the inn by way of the path. He had that afternoon visited a couple of bookstores in the neighborhood. A man was waiting for him with a note from Ishimoto. “If you are free this evening,” it said, “come to my place and meet Mr. S. The bearer of this note will bring you in his rickshaw.”
Kensaku went immediately to Ishimoto’s inn. Mr. S. had not yet arrived. “I haven’t been able to find out much about her,” Ishimoto said. “But I have some general information about the family.” The old gentleman had been a member of the National Assembly in the early years of the century, and through their being in the same party he and Mr. S had come to know each other. The young woman was the daughter of his sister, and had graduated from the girls’ school in Tsuruga two years before. As she was now of marriageable age, she had come up to Kyoto to pick up a new wardrobe. That was about all Ishimoto had to tell.