Four persons went to gather Yoiko's ashes: Osen, Sunaga, Chiyoko, and the maid Kiyo, the one who had actually looked after the infant. The crematory was only a few hundred yards from the Kashiwagi train station, but since they had not realized this, they had hired rickshaws all the way from Yarai. It had thus required considerably more time to get there than it would have if they had taken the train.
It was Chiyoko's first experience at a crematory. The suburban sights, which she had not seen for a long while, provided her with the kind of pleasure that one has in being reminded of something long forgotten. Green wheat fields came into view as did radish gardens and forests of evergreen in which were mingled various reds, yellows, and browns. From time to time Sunaga looked back from his rickshaw, which was running ahead of Chiyoko's, to inform her they were passing such sights as Ana-Hachiman Shrine or the Suwa Woods. As the rickshaws went down a gentle shadowy slope, he pointed out a tall, lean pagoda standing amidst a clump of high cedars. Carved characters noted that the pagoda had been erected for the repose of Saint Kobo's soul on his one thousand fiftieth anniversary. Down the slope at the foot of a bridge was a tea stall, behind which was an artesian well surrounded by a thick growth of bamboo, all lending picturesqueness to the country lane. Small leaves of various colors fell occasionally from the nearly bare branches of tall trees. Spinning rapidly round and round in the air, they offered a vivid impression to Chiyoko's eyes; that they did not fall to the ground at once but remained whirling in the air for a long while was also a novel sight for her.
The crematory, its front facing south, stood on sunny, level ground, so when the rickshaws were drawn through the gate, the light beamed down on Chiyoko more brightly than she expected. When Osen gave her family name at the reception window, which looked like a counter at a post office, the man sitting there asked if she had the furnace key with her. She looked puzzled and began groping for it in her kimono bosom and the folds of her old sash.
"Now I've done it! I've left the key on the cabinet in the living room and . . ."
"You didn't bring it with you? How awful! You'd better ask Ichi-san to go back and get it. We still have plenty of time."
Sunaga, who had been listening apathetically behind them said, "If it's the key you're worried about, I have it." He took from his kimono sleeve the cold, heavy object and handed it to his aunt.
When Osen went back to the counter with the key, Chiyoko rebuked Sunaga. "You're really nasty, Ichi-san! If you had the key on you, why didn't you take it out sooner and hand it over? Aunt Osen is so upset about Yoiko, you know, so it's quite natural she'd be forgetful."
Sunaga merely stood there smiling.
"A callous person like you shouldn't have come at all on an occasion of this sort. Yoiko is dead, yet you haven't shed a single tear for her."
"It's not that I'm callous. I've never had a child, so I don't know much about the affection between parents and kids."
"What! How can you say such a thoughtless thing right in front of Aunt Osen? And what about my own feelings? When on earth did I ever have a child?"
"Whether you've had one or not, I wouldn't know. But you're a woman, Chiyo-chan, so in all probability you've got a more tender heart than a man has."
As soon as she finished her business at the office, Osen, pretending that she had not heard their bickering, walked over toward the waiting room. She sat down and beckoned to Chiyoko, who had remained standing and who now came and sat beside her. Sunaga also followed Chiyoko into the room and sat opposite them on what looked like the kind of bench people use for cooling off on a summer evening. He called Kiyo and made room for her.
While they waited drinking tea, a few people arrived to gather the ashes of their deceased relatives. The first of these was a rustic-looking woman who spoke little, apparently out of consideration for the clothing Osen and Chiyoko were wearing. Next came a father and son who both had their kimono hems tucked up into their waistbands. In a lively voice one asked for an urn, bought the cheapest for sixteen sen, and then went off. The third party consisted of a girl in a violet hakama leading a blind person—whether a man or woman it was difficult to tell—whose hair was disheveled and who was wearing a stiff sash. Having ascertained that they had enough time, the blind person took a cigarette from a kimono sleeve and began smoking. As soon as Sunaga saw the blind person's face, he abruptly rose and went outside and for a long time failed to return. When a clerk came to inform Osen that it was time for the ash-gathering, Chiyoko went to the rear of the building to call Sunaga.
After she passed through the back part of the building, where lined on both sides were dismal-looking furnaces of ordinary grade, each with a brass plate on which the name of the cremated was written, she came out into a spacious yard in one corner of which she noticed a huge pile of pine for firewood. The yard was surrounded by a luxuriant growth of thick-stemmed bamboo. The view to the north—a series of high undulating hills beyond a wheat field below the bamboo grove—was especially clear and bright. Standing at the end of this open yard, Sunaga was looking out in a kind of abstracted gaze at the panorama.
"Ichi-san, they say it's ready."
Hearing Chiyoko's voice, Sunaga returned without a word, but then said, "That bamboo grove over there is quite fine. Somehow it seems, doesn't it, that the plants have grown this vigorously because they've been fertilized by the remains of the dead. The bamboo shoots they harvest here must taste excellent."
"How horrible!" Chiyoko said over her shoulder, hurrying past the lower-grade furnaces again.
Since the furnace in which Yoiko was cremated was among those of the first grade, a violet curtain hung over its folding doors. On a table in front of those doors was the garland of flowers brought the previous day, lying quietly, slightly withered. To Chiyoko, these seemed a memento of the heat that had burned Yoiko's flesh the previous evening. She suddenly felt as though she were suffocating.
Three fire-tenders appeared. The oldest requested the dead child's family to break the seal, but Sunaga replied that it would be all right if the man himself did it. Obediently, he tore the sealing paper and drew off the latch with a clang. The black iron doors opened on both sides, and at the dim farther end of the cavity something gray and round was visible, something black and white, all in an amorphous mass. The cremator said they would have it out shortly and, attaching two rails, put what looked like two iron rings at the ends of the coffin rack. Then, with a sudden rattle, out under the very noses of the four bystanders came the shapeless mass of what remained of the burned corpse. Chiyoko recognized in the remains Yoiko's skull, all puffed out and round, just as it had been in life with its resemblance to a ricecake offering. She immediately bit down hard on her handkerchief. The cremators left the skull and cheekbones and a few of the other larger bones on the rack, saying they would sift the rest neatly and bring them soon.
Each of the four gatherers had a pair of chopsticks, one of wood, the other of bamboo, and all picked up whatever white bones each thought fit to place into the white urn. And they wept as if invited to by each other's tears, all except Sunaga, who, pale-faced, neither spoke nor sniffled. The cremator asked if they wanted any of the teeth set apart from the other bones and deftly picked a few from the jaws, which he had begun to crush. Seeing this action, Sunaga said almost to himself, "Handled this way, it no longer resembles anything human. It's like picking small pebbles out of sand." Tears fell from the maid's eyes to the concrete floor. Osen and Chiyoko laid their chopsticks aside, their handkerchiefs pressed to their faces.
When Chiyoko got into her rickshaw, she held in her arms the cedar box containing the urn and settled it on her lap. As the rickshawman began his run, a chill wind crept in through the space under the blanket covering herself and the box on her lap. The slender branches of the zelkova trees, whose tall light-brownish trunks lined both sides of the road, swayed as though they were welcoming them and seeing them off. Although the fine twigs grew out so thickly that they crossed each other high over
head, the streets the vehicles were traveling through were strangely brighter than Chiyoko thought they would be. Thinking this to be quite unusual, she raised her head again and again to look toward the distant sky.
On their arrival home Chiyoko placed the ashes in front of the Buddhist family altar. The children immediately gathered around and asked her to take off the lid to let them see what was inside, but she absolutely refused.
Soon the entire family sat down to lunch in the same room. It was Sunaga who started the conversation. "I guess it still looks like you have lots of children, but one is missing now, isn't she?"
"I don't think I made so much of the child while she was living, but now that she's gone," Matsumoto said, "it seems I've lost the most precious thing. So much so that I almost wish one of these here could take her place."
"That's not nice," Shigeko whispered to Sakiko.
"Oh please, Auntie, try to have another child just like Yoiko-san—as like as two peas—so that I can embrace it."
"A child like Yoiko wouldn't do unless it actually was Yoiko herself. It's not like making a porcelain plate or a hat. Even if I did have a new baby to take her place, we'd never forget the lost one."
"I've come to hate seeing any visitor with a letter of introduction on a rainy day."
Sunaga's Story
Ever since Keitaro had seen the figure of the woman before Sunaga's gate, he had imagined some string of destiny binding her with Sunaga. This string was as subtle as an aroma in a dream; thus, while he was actually seeing the real Sunaga and the real Chiyoko, it often disappeared somewhere and floated away. But while their existence as common mortals did not ordinarily provide any stimulus to his unaided eye, there were times when the bond linking them came into view, uniting them inseparably as though such were ordained by karma. Even after Keitaro had gained access to Taguchi's house, he heard not a word about any relationship between Sunaga and Chiyoko, nor did his direct observation offer him any kind of hint beyond their ordinary kinship as cousins. And yet his original association dominated him so insistently that somewhere in his mind he always felt inclined to regard them as a couple, as a connected man and woman. It seemed to him that a young man unaccompanied by a girl, or a young woman without a man to link arms with, was, after all, a kind of deformity—they were not being what nature intended each to be. His linking of Sunaga and Chiyoko according to his own perceptions may have arisen from his own moral demand to confer as quickly as possible on the two of them, still fluttering about in their "deformed" state, the capacities that nature had endowed them with.
We need not inquire more deeply into this thorny problem in order to argue about it on behalf of Keitaro, that is, to debate whether his thought had arisen from some moral imperative or anything else, but the fact is that when he happened to hear of late some talk about Chiyoko's marriage arrangements, he was somewhat troubled by the contradiction between the world inside his own mind and that outside. He had heard this talk from the houseboy, Saeki. Of course, houseboys are not in a position to know completely the behind-the-scenes circumstances of an affair before it is brought to a conclusion. With the muscles of his moony face more strained than usual, he had merely said, "It's been talked about a lot." The name of the man who would become Chiyoko's husband was of course unknown to the boy, but it was evident that his status was that of a businessman.
"I'd taken it for granted that Miss Chiyoko would marry Mr. Sunaga. Wasn't that the way it was supposed to be?"
"I guess not."
"Why not?"
"When you ask it like that, it's hard to give a clear answer, but if you think about it a bit, you'll see that it would just be too difficult."
"You really think so? They look like a perfectly matched couple to me, what with their relationship and their ages—five or six years' difference is just right."
"Well, if you're not in the know, they seem so. But behind it all there probably are lots of complications."
Keitaro wanted to inquire minutely into what Saeki had called "complications," but he was annoyed that the houseboy seemed to be treating him as an outsider. Moreover, it would have been a disgrace to Keitaro if it became known that he had pried into the family's affairs by pumping information from no more than a doorkeeper. Finally, there was little likelihood that Saeki could know as much as his words laid claim to, so Keitaro decided to let the matter stand. On this occasion he had gone by chance to the back room of the house to greet Taguchi's wife and to talk awhile, but since she seemed her usual self, he did not have the nerve to bring up any words of congratulation.
Keitaro had made this visit to the Taguchis a few days before he went to Sunaga's house, where he had heard from Chiyoko the misfortune of her uncle's family at Yarai. It was actually with the intention of ascertaining Sunaga's feelings about the marriage problem that he went, after so long an absence, to visit his friend. No matter which woman from whatever place Sunaga married, and no matter which man of whatever origin Chiyoko was given to in marriage, none of it obviously had anything to do with Keitaro. Yet could the destinies of these two people be so easily parted without leaving behind some lingering regret? Was not, as Keitaro imagined, some phantasmal string, some bond invisible to themselves, binding them in the darkness of the unknown? Was not a flickering glimmer of what might be described as a sash woven of dreams sometimes clearly visible to their eyes while at other times cut off from their vision so that they were left alone, separated from each other? Such was what Keitaro wished to ascertain. Of course, he was clearly conscious that this desire was no more than his own curiosity. He was equally aware, however, that as far as Sunaga was concerned, it was not improper for him to have his curiosity satisfied. More than that, he even believed it his right.
Unfortunately, Chiyoko's story that day and then Sunaga's mother's joining them prevented Keitaro from finding an opportunity to bring up this personal matter with Sunaga, although he ended up spending a considerably long time at his friend's house. When it suddenly occurred to him that the three persons who happened to be before him would certainly be well matched as son, wife, and mother-in-law, he thought on his way back home that it would be the easiest task in the world to unite them according to the formalities of the world.
The following Sunday favored all office workers with fine weather, so Keitaro called on Sunaga early in the morning to invite him for a walk in the suburbs. Sunaga came out to the entrance, but being indolent and self-willed, he did not readily acquiesce. However, he was at last compelled to slip on his shoes after some strong urging from his mother. Once someone got Sunaga to put his shoes on, he would easily move in any direction Keitaro wanted, silently accepting his friend's lead and not, when consulted about where to go, insisting on any particular direction himself. When he and his Yarai uncle, Matsumoto, went out together, they would both walk on without considering where they were headed, so that they often ended up at a place least expected by either. Keitaro had heard about such instances from Sunaga's mother.
That day they went by train from Ryogoku as far as a station at the foot of Konodai Plateau. They strolled leisurely along the bank of the beautiful wide river there. In a lighthearted mood that he had not felt for some time, Keitaro looked out over the water, the sailboats, and the hills. Sunaga praised the view too, but complained about the cold, blaming Keitaro by saying it was not yet the season for walking along such a bleak embankment. Telling Sunaga that if he'd walk faster, he'd warm up, Keitaro began to quicken his pace. Sunaga followed with somewhat of a bewildered look on his face. They reached a spot near Taishakuten Temple at Shibamata and stopped at a restaurant called the Kawajin. Sunaga was again compelled to frown, this time claiming that the broiled eel they had ordered had been sweetened too much.
Keitaro, distressed that because their mood was not ripe for it he could find no opportunity to enter into any kind of confidential talk, took the occasion to remark, "You Edoites are quite fastidious, aren't you? Are you even so hard to please about finding wives?"
"Any man would be if he were allowed a voice in the matter. It's not limited to Edoites. Even a country bumpkin like you would be," Sunaga replied with perfect nonchalance.
"You Edoites are also rather blunt, aren't you?" Keitaro couldn't help saying and burst into a laugh. Sunaga seemed equally amused and laughed aloud.
After that their conversation progressed as harmoniously as their mood. Sunaga commented that lately Keitaro seemed to have settled down quite a bit, which Keitaro accepted quietly.
"You mean I've gotten a little more serious? But you're tending to become more and more obstinate," Keitaro bantered.
Sunaga, with good grace, admitted his weakness. "Sometimes I hate myself for being like that."
They were now in a congenial mood in which they could look directly into one another's eyes without feeling any restraints. It was fortunate for Keitaro that the problem of Chiyoko was brought up during such a time, since he had been wanting to hear what the actual story was. He directly assailed Sunaga with the rumor he had heard the previous week that she was shortly to be married. Sunaga didn't show the least sign of agitation, but in more somber tones than usual replied, "Apparently another offer's about to be made. I hope it's settled this time." He then added with a sudden change in tone that seemed to indicate he had grown weary of the subject, "Unknown to you of course, there have been many such discussions."
"You don't feel at all like marrying her yourself?"
"Does it look that way?"
And so their talk proceeded, each trying to drag the topic on until it was driven either to the point where something critical had to be confessed or the subject had to be dropped. Finally, with a wry smile Sunaga said, "You've brought your cane with you again, haven't you?"
Keitaro, smiling too, went out to the restaurant's open corridor and returned with the inevitable cane. "Uh-huh," he said and showed Sunaga the snakehead.
To the Spring Equinox and Beyond Page 17