by Nagai Kafu
He had, fortunately, been born into a family of considerable wealth and came to the United States when he found it difficult to find a respectable job after graduating, as was customary in those days, from a law school that had been renamed a university. Those were quite some days, he recalled, when every Saturday evening he would go to a beer hall or a sukiyaki restaurant and flirt with waitresses upstairs. Remembered too were the times when he engaged in heated discussion about female performers at a show, when he first went to Yoshiwara [one of the pleasure quarters in Tokyo] on the way back from a sporting event in Mukôjima, when he stayed overnight for the first time in a machiai [assignation house] after a year-end party in Ushigome, or when there was so much racket at a farewell party organized for him. . . . By contrast, when he thought of the present circumstances, he had to admit that, although when he had first come everything—from the classrooms, student meetings, street scenes, to the landscape of the fields outside the town—had been new and interesting, once he got used to them, life had become lonesome and extremely monotonous, that of “a stranger in a strange land” who can find no suitable pastime.
Every now and then, as Toshiya became tired of reading, he could think of nothing better to do than dropping in on Yamada, the student of religion. Yamada had been reading the Bible silently, as was his wont, but he closed it and said politely, “Do sit down. How are things? Don’t you think English is a rather difficult language?”
Toshiya asked without ceremony, “Anything interesting?”
“There will be a lecture tonight,” Yamada answered immediately, as if he believed this was the most appropriate response to the question. “Indeed this is a Christian country; it has been such a pleasure to hear good lectures by preachers. Tonight, an elder from Chicago named B— is speaking at the church downtown. So you too . . . how about it? He is quite a famous minister in America.”
Toshiya was not in the least interested in religion, and so he said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to understand it . . . especially a theological lecture.”
“That’s not true,” Yamada said rather earnestly, leaning forward his stocky torso, which was long in contrast to his short legs. “Tonight’s lecture is not going to be on religion. I am told that he is going to talk about the evils of drinking and smoking, so anyone will be able to understand. All the students here are apparently going.”
“All students . . . I wonder if Miss Takezato is going,” asked Toshiya, for no particular reason but just to respond.
“Miss Takezato . . . I am sure she is coming. Female students are going there too.”
“Maybe each male student is going to invite a female student. Why don’t you also invite Miss Takezato and go there, arm in arm, American style? Ha, ha, ha, ha.”
“Well, I cannot quite . . .” Yamada said in a stiff manner, and even blushed a little. Toshiya, on his part, while he was joking, all of a sudden developed an irresistible urge to take Kikue out and walk with her arm in arm like the Americans did.
Yamada continued to urge him to go to the talk; even if he decided not to listen, he said in a voice full of sincerity, just hearing the sound of the organ would greatly move one’s spirit. Toshiya could now no longer refuse.
If I am going, then by all means I must go with Kikue— So as soon as Toshiya noticed Kikue that evening among the students, male and female, coming out of their respective dormitories to go to the dining hall, he quietly accosted her and asked, “Will you be going to the church downtown tonight?”
“Yes, I shall,” was Kikue’s only answer.
“In that case, as I am also going, may I pick you up? I hope this won’t be an inconvenience for you.”
Kikue, as he had anticipated, looked lost for words and bent her head, moving her hands restlessly.
“I gather that the students are all going there with their friends, so I thought it would be nice if Japanese students went there together. I mentioned this to Yamada, and he agreed with me entirely. What do you think, Miss Takezato? If you are going there anyway, this won’t be too inconvenient, don’t you think?”
It was not particularly inconvenient for Kikue, but she was aware of the Japanese custom that forbade socializing between the sexes and just felt uneasy somehow. But ultimately, she agreed to wait for Toshiya at eight o’clock that evening so that they could leave her dormitory together.
It was about a thirty-minute walk to the church. The night in mid-October was cold and quiet. Feeling uncomfortable, Kikue looked around and noticed, in front of and behind them, the college’s female students arm in arm with male students and walking in unison, bathed in the light from bright street lamps, underneath rows of already yellowing trees, their shoes noisily stepping on the pavement. Some of them were whistling marching music. Toshiya drew closer to Kikue and took her hand.
“Look, Miss Takezato. They are all having a good time, aren’t they?”
Soon they entered the church. Yamada, the religion student, had arrived already, and all three took their seats at the back and looked around at the designs on the high ceiling, the pipe organ above the recessed flight of steps, and the stained-glass windows at every corner. Soon, there appeared the minister of the church, wearing a frock coat, and a church elder with a large bald head and a white beard, his eyeglasses perched at the tip of his nose. The minister introduced the subject of the night’s talk to the audience, whereupon the elder called out, “Ladies and gentlemen,” and began his lecture at once.
Toshiya was utterly uninterested in the religious man’s talk, and from the start he scrutinized everything, from the looks of young women sitting near him, to their hats, jackets, hair, and even the way they tied their bows. But as the long lecture dragged on, he even became tired of this and turned his aimless eyes to Kikue, who was intently listening. Her face was the usual round one he was familiar with, but if only her small eyes could be a little larger and her eyebrows darker, she might qualify as a beauty to some people, given her high nose bridge and the loveliness of her firm mouth. . . . Thus analyzing one by one the shortcomings and special features of her looks, he then proceeded to indulge in a rather fantastic daydream—What if this woman loves me; how should I then behave?—when the elder on the stage raised his voice and banged the podium. Toshiya, startled at the sound, came out of his daydreaming. Then he realized that he was in a foreign country, where he only saw people of a different race. He had nothing he could claim as his except for what he was wearing on his back at the moment, so different from the situation in Japan where, from his second-floor lodging, he used to comment on the young girls passing by in the streets below. However, what a strange fate that here he should be sitting next to a Japanese female student. He must really prostrate himself in front of fate and accept gratefully what it offered to him. Thus thinking, Toshiya closed his eyes for a while and then looked at Kikue’s face in the bright electric light.
The lecture was over in about two hours. Toshiya held Kikue’s hand, just as he did on their way over, and they, together with Yamada, returned to their respective rooms. But even after he got into bed, Toshiya indulged in some idle thoughts. To imagine that Kikue and he had already become lovers seemed to enliven his otherwise lonesome life; he could vividly picture the two of them, on a Sunday afternoon, sitting and frolicking on the grass in the meadow. Suddenly, it even seemed possible that the following day could be a Sunday. Laughing aloud to himself, he rolled over in his bed and nodded as if to say he had decided on something.
Indeed, Toshiya had made up his mind. But then, a question arose in his mind as to whether his plans would succeed. This question, he said to himself, might be divided into two: would the plans totally fail, or would they simply be rather difficult to carry out? From past experience, Toshiya easily answered the first question in the negative but had trouble with the second; what did it mean that the plans might not easily succeed? The word had broad meaning, and he had difficulty answering the question. So he decided to set aside theory and explore some actual e
xamples: for instance, how, when he was in Japan, a certain person managed to seduce some waitress or other working for a Western-style restaurant; how another person failed in his attempt on a woman gidayû reciter; how yet another person unexpectedly won the heart of a nurse. In addition, he tried to recall numerous instances of love affairs from the novels he had read and came to the conclusion that of all these examples, the one that held the greatest lesson for him was a short novel he had read in translation, although he had totally forgotten its author and title.
If he remembered correctly, the story began with the theory of magnetism and described a man who fell in love with a woman but for a long time missed a chance to approach her. One night, he awakened with a start, having unexpectedly dreamed that his love had been consummated. He was hardly able to control himself, and, as luck would have it, he soon saw her and impulsively dashed over and held her hand tightly, without uttering a word. To his complete surprise, so the story went, she meekly yielded to his advances as if she had long been his mistress. Toshiya felt quite envious and jealous of the protagonist of the novel and wondered what sort of temperament the woman he had won over possessed. Of course, if she was of a different race from Kikue, it might not help much.
The night had gone on and everything was quiet in the dormitories. All one could hear was the rustling of the wind among the trees in the athletic field and the rumbling of trains passing by in a faraway distance. After a great deal of deliberation, Toshiya reached a most mundane conclusion: since it was premature to send her a letter, he had first to try to be near her constantly so that they would become closer; and feeling frustrated and angry at himself, he kicked back the blanket with his foot.
Autumn is already nearly over. When Toshiya first came to this land, it was the middle of summer, and rows of tall maple trees formed a tent, covering both sides of the quiet street in front of the college with their large and broad green leaves. But now, their leaves are fast turning yellow because of the chilly mist in the morning and at night, and the slightest wind causes them to fall wearily with a rustling sound. When he looks out the window of his tall dormitory toward the fields in the back, he notices that all the trees in the orchard, which diagonally climb halfway up the hill, have shed their leaves, and the apples that remain are shining with the light from the setting sun and glisten like so many large coral beads. In the flat meadow, the wild grass is still thick and green, but the willow trees along the little brook running through it have now nothing left but thin branches.
Every Saturday and Sunday, Toshiya invited Kikue out ostensibly to enjoy beautiful nature and appreciate rustic charm, choosing quiet fields with as few people as possible. They took a walk together, but by now Kikue had gotten used to such outings and no longer seemed to fear having Toshiya hold her hand; she had learned that, unlike in Japan, the relationships between men and women in America were unexpectedly wholesome and platonic.
Around the second Sunday in November, Toshiya took Kikue out as usual to the edge of the meadow, and they sat down on the soft wild grass near the stream that quietly glided through it.
It was what you would call “Indian summer” in this country, with infinitely clear skies, the afternoon sunlight shining brilliantly, and yet the winds that wafted over the fields were quiet but already somewhat chilly. As one looks back at the hill in the background and toward the village with its windmills standing here and there, one notices the entire oak forest turning red, and on the tall roofs of farmers’ houses peeking through the trees, flocks of numerous migrating birds may be seen from time to time, flying high in the sky, one group after another. They must know that winter is soon coming and are preparing to return to warm southern climes.
Kikue was intently gazing at this peaceful and poetic sight. Suddenly, somewhere the clanging of a quiet bell was heard, and a huge cow appeared out of the thick wild grass a mere four or five yards away, walking ponderously while shaking the bell around her neck.
Being a frail Japanese woman, Kikue was startled and instinctively drew closer to Toshiya. Taking advantage of the situation, Toshiya held Kikue’s hands but said casually, “Don’t worry. It must be a milking cow from a nearby farmhouse. They are used to humans, so don’t worry.”
The cow looked at them with her gentle eyes and, as if remembering something, went back the way she had come, again clanging the bell around her neck, and lay down lazily.
Watching this, Kikue finally breathed a sigh of relief but then was startled even more than before when she realized that her hands were being held firmly by the man’s. She did not have the courage to shake off his hands and so looked down, with her face flushing red and breathing heavily.
Toshiya too could no longer suppress his excitement. What was he supposed to say? What should he say in order to make further advances?
He brought his mouth to the woman’s ear, which was all red, and whispered something in English rather than in Japanese.
Kikue was not able to utter a cry but seemed totally frightened and bewildered. Her face became deadly pale and she was shaking all over; tears started streaming from her eyes.
Toshiya, as might be expected, was at a loss. But he never let go of her hands and said in a deliberately calm tone, “Kikue, Kikue, what happened?”
Kikue fell prone on the spot and continued to tremble and sob. The same cow seemed to have started walking again; the clanging of the bell echoed across the grass in the quiet meadow.
Not discouraged by his first attempt, Toshiya eagerly waited for another opportunity to take Kikue out to the quiet fields. But whenever Kikue caught sight of him, she somehow managed to slip away.
The following Sunday came and went, and he waited patiently for the next Sunday, but it rained.
At the end of November, once the skies cloud over and it starts raining, it is entirely impossible to enjoy the autumn weather in the country. It becomes chillier and chillier by the day, just as the wind shaking bare trees grows more and more fierce. Soon ashlike snow flakes will come, mixed in the wind. Winter! Winter! The whole universe will be buried under the constantly accumulating snow for as long as three months. And Toshiya’s hopes too became buried along the way. However, the fire, once making his young heart ablaze, would not be extinguished even by the cold, sub-zero temperatures day after day . . . the cold air bearing down from the Great Lakes region in the north. He continued to send a letter to Kikue as if it were a daily assignment.
When, finally, he ran out of things to write, he once copied word for word a passage from a collection of poems sitting on his bookshelf and sent it to her. But he received no answer. How many letters he had written, Toshiya could no longer keep track. Thinking that this was too much, and out of desperation, at one point he just sent her these words in large English letters: “Upon your cold cheeks, my kisses a hundred times, a thousand times. . . .” Still no answer.
Toshiya was finally at his wit’s end and became desolate. He laughed at himself. And he gave up writing letters as if he had never written any. And one morning, the sky was suddenly blue, the sun was smiling, winds from the south were blowing, and the snow that had been frozen harder than rocks began to melt.
Before one knew it, winter was over and spring had come.
Just like last year, wild green grass starts to grow thick in the meadows. In the orchard up the hill apple and peach blossoms are in full bloom, and in the oak and elm woods glittering with young leaves, robins begin to sing. Nothing is greater than the contrast between the winter and spring in a northern country.
And lo! Young men were again going to the fields to pick flowers, holding young women’s hands. But as far as Toshiya was concerned, it was as though he had completely forgotten even Kikue’s existence.
One evening, returning from his usual walk after supper, he noticed a letter had been placed on his desk. Perplexed, he opened it.
“Good heavens, it’s from Kikue!”
He crossed his arms as if to recall something from the distant pas
t and began to read the letter. After repeatedly apologizing for not having answered the numerous letters he had sent her since last year, she said at length that she could no longer restrain herself when she thought of his passion and his letters coming one after another. The power of love was stronger than anything else, she wrote, and she was now ready to “throw myself into your arms.”
Receiving such an unanticipated response at such an unexpected moment, Toshiya was for a time dumbfounded and wondered if he were dreaming. No, it wasn’t a dream, no it wasn’t. After rereading the woman’s letter two or three more times, Toshiya wrote his response immediately.
Once again, he held Kikue’s hands when, the following afternoon, they went to the bank of the same brook in the meadow where, toward the end of the previous autumn, they used to sit together.
