by Ogai Mori
He suddenly slapped at his leg. “What! Mosquitoes out already! That's what's wrong with this section. Too many pests. We'll have to put up the net soon. Let the old she-devil get eaten alive, but I've got to think about the children.”
His mind returned again to the question of the houses, and only after one o'clock in the morning had he made a decision. He had reasoned that he would prefer the Ikeno-hata place for its view, but what was the need of that when all he had to do was look out the window in the house he was now living in? One point in its favor was the cheap rent. That was true, but he remembered that a rented house has too many other expenses. Besides, it was not hidden enough. It would attract attention. What if one day he happened to leave the window open by mistake? He could just see the old devil on her way to market with the boy and girl. He could see them looking in and finding him there with Otama. There'd be more than that devil to pay!
When he thought about the Muenzaka house, he felt that it was somewhat gloomy, but the key point in its favor was its out-of-the-way location on a slope that only students seemed to stroll along at odd hours. But he didn't like the idea of putting up so much money for it. Still, with its timber. . . . And when he had it insured, he could at least get back what he paid at the beginning. “All right, then. That's it!” he told himself. “I'll take it. Take it and her.”
Now he was especially pleased with it all. The future suddenly seemed real, and he saw himself on his evening of triumph. He had bathed carefully, had dressed smartly, had concocted an excuse to dodge his wife for the night. He saw himself rushing out of the house. He was free. He was almost to Muenzaka. He saw the light and wondered what it would be like when he went up the walk and opened the door. How radiantly beautiful her face would be! Poor Otama! There she was waiting for him, a kitten or some pet on her lap—ready to welcome him, of course—her face made-up, of course. He would dress her in a gorgeous kimono, would give her whatever she had demanded for the occasion. But he checked himself a moment. He wouldn't play the fool. He wouldn't spend his money unwisely. He had his connections at the pawn shops. How stupid to squander money like some men, like Fukuchi for example. Suezo suddenly saw his famous neighbor Fukuchi strutting openly on the streets and followed by his expensive geishas The students would see the writer and be envious, but Suezo knew that the dandy was actually ill off. He was supposedly an intelligent man, a writer. But was he? If a clerk did the same kinds of nasty tricks with his pen as Fukuchi did, he would be discharged.
Suezo's thoughts returned to his Otama, and he suddenly remembered that she could play the samisen. Would she delight him with an intimate tune, plucking the strings with her fingers? No, it would be expecting too much of her, for she was young, inexperienced, only a policeman's temporary mistress. And he feared her shyness, feared she might say to him that evening: “I won't play. You'll only laugh at me.” She might be shy in everything, in no matter what, and she might blush and fidget at the important moment.
Suezo's imagination shifted first one way and then another without restraint. The intensity increased until at last images shattered into fragments of flickering white skin and of whispered words tumbling into his ear.
With his wife still snoring beside him, he fell into a sweet sleep.
Chapter Six
SUEZO thought of the approaching meeting with his future mistress at the Matsugen as a celebration.
We often hear that misers will even skin flints, but men who make large fortunes by thrift are not uniform in their behavior. Perhaps, as a group, these men give attention to such trifles as cutting sheets of toilet paper in half or filling out postcards with characters you cannot decipher without the aid of a microscope. Some of the most covetous are thrifty in every aspect of living, yet a few give themselves a breath of fresh air by leaving a loophole in their tight moneybags. Up to the present time the misers we have read about in novels or have seen on the stage seem to belong to the absolute type. But those we meet in life are not like that. Some of the most frugal loosen their purse strings to the final notch for women, and others gorge themselves with sumptuous foods.
I have already referred to Suezo's passion for clothing. Even during his difficult days of university employment, he was often completely transformed on holidays, his weekday outfit of inferior cotton replaced by a handsome kimono. He seemed like a smart-looking, successful merchant instead of a dormitory servant. This was a pleasure to him, and occasionally he dressed himself up in costly taffeta clothes and startled students who happened to pass and recognize him.
Dress had been Suezo's only hobby. He had not associated with geishas or prostitutes, and a night of saké at one of the drinking houses had been an impossibility. Even a bowl of noodles at the Rengyokuan had been a luxury for himself alone, and only recently had he permitted his wife and children to share the treat. He had not taken his wife out because he had not let her dress in a kimono to match his own expensive one. When she wanted a costly item for herself, he denied it to her.
“Don't talk like that,” he had argued. “You and I are quite different. I've got to dress this way because of the men I associate with.”
When Suezo's loans had started to bring in large sums, he began eating out. Yet he always justified the expense by going to a restaurant with his friends and never alone. But now that he was about to see Otama at the Matsugen, he wanted to make it a special affair, something gay and impressive. He had chosen the restaurant for that reason.
When the day of days drew near, Suezo wondered how he would dress Otama for the occasion. He would have spent any sum on her for the purpose, but since he had to provide for her father as well, he hesitated. The old go-between was at her wit's end for a solution, yet they both agreed that they had to consider the old man because any possible oversight might end their chances of getting Otama as a mistress.
The old man had told the go-between about his only child: “No,” he had said, “I have no other relatives. And I've had a lonely time of it without my wife. She was over thirty when our first child was born. Our first and last. I kept Otama alive after her mother died in childbirth by taking her to different women in the neighborhood. They gave her their milk. And I had other troubles. When Otama was four, she had the measles during the Edo epidemic. The doctor said she'd die, but I didn't believe him. I took care of her. I saved her life. I let my business go, everything, watching over her. What a year! All sorts of terrible things happened two years after Lord Ii was killed. In that year some Westerners were beheaded at Namamugi. I couldn't even keep up my shop. More than once I was going to kill myself and Otama too. But how could I harm Otama? You should have seen her then. She had the smallest hands. How they poked at my chest! And she smiled at me with the widest eyes! We barely managed to live from one day to the next. I don't think many others could have gone through what we did. I wasn't a young man then. I was forty-five when she was born and, what with the cares I had, must have looked older. Still, I could have started over. One of my friends kept repeating the old proverb: ‘When a single man can't live, two can.' Then he said he knew a widow who was looking for a husband. And he'd recommend me. Oh, she had money too! But I would have had to give my child away to someone else. How could I? I refused the offer flat.”
Suddenly the old man paused, but a moment later he continued: “You don't know how I want to curse! You can't know what it is to feel that you've been tricked! Being poor made me a dull old man! I was there when that policeman made a plaything out of Otama. Yet she's not a bad girl, and they still speak of her as a fine daughter. You know, I'd like to marry her to a good man in the right way. That's the truth. But who to? No one's willing to take me along with her. I often said to myself: ‘Don't give her away as a mistress! Don't!' But you say your master's a good man, an honest man, one we can trust? And a gentleman too? You see, I have to remember that Otama will be twenty next year. She has to marry soon. They say that the young shoot must be eaten before it withers. I'm trying to understand your offer. Yo
u see, I'm going to give away one so dear to me. You see, she's my only child. She's all I care about. I've got to meet this gentleman myself!”
When the go-between repeated these words to Suezo, he was disappointed at the old man's insistence that he be present at the interview. Suezo had planned to dismiss the go-between as soon as she had brought Otama to the restaurant. He expected no one to interfere. But if the father came, what a formal scene it would be! True, Suezo's mind bordered on formality, but it extended only to himself, as though he deserved recognition and praise for bringing the meeting about and for taking the first step in satisfying his secret passion. For the event a tête-à-tête was essential. But the presence of a father would completely alter the tone of the holiday.
Previously the go-between had told him: “What a virtuous pair they are! At first they said no. They wouldn't even listen to me. But I got the girl alone and talked about duty, duty to her father. ‘Your hard-working father,' I said. ‘Too old to keep earning his living.' And that made her listen. She agreed to it all right. She got her father to agree!”
When Suezo learned this, his spirits soared, for he admired the tenderness and obedience of the person he was to own. Yet finding that both were pillars of purity, he felt that this important meeting would be like that of a bridegroom in front of his father-in-law. And the thought that the celebration might shift in that direction made him feel as though someone were pouring a dipper of ice water on his overheated head.
But he knew he had to be consistent, that he had to show his wealth and generosity. At last he agreed to give both father and daughter the necessary clothing. When he had further time to reason out his actions, he comforted himself, saying: ‘Since I'll have to take care of the father eventually when I get the daughter, I'm only doing in advance what I'll have to do later.”
In such situations the customary procedure was to send the other party a definite sum of money to cover expenses. But Suezo had his own methods. He knew what was appropriate for the occasion, so he confided all the details to his tailor and ordered him to make adequate kimonos for the father and daughter. At the same time the go-between rushed off to ask Otama their measurements.
After the crone had left, Otama said to her father: “At least the man is considerate.”
“Not sending the money shows he respects us,” said the old man.
These were their reactions to Suezo's shrewd, penny-pinching methods.
Chapter Seven
SINCE fires seldom break out in the vicinity of Ueno Square and since the Matsugen hasn't burned down as far as I can remember, I think you can still find the room where the two parties met.
“I want something small and quiet,” Suezo had said when he made the reservations, and on the appointed day he was led from the south entrance through a straight corridor that turned left into a room with an area of six mats.
When he was alone, he sat down on the cushion with his back to the alcove, which was adorned with an ukiyoe on a small scroll and a vase with a single twig of jasmine in it. He looked about with his usual care, examining everything.
Outside he saw a wooden fence that shut off the view of the pond. Perhaps he should have taken an upstairs room. But in an upstairs room they might have been seen from the street. Some years later the area around the pond was ruined and made into a race track, and then again, by one of those unusual transformations of the world, into a bicycle track. A long thin strip of land lying between the room and the fence was too narrow for a garden. From where he sat he could see a few paulownia trees, their trunks as smooth and glossy as if they had been polished with oiled rags. He also noticed a stone lantern and some small cypresses planted at intervals. In the busy street white clouds of dust rose, kicked up by the passersby, but here inside the enclosure the servants had sprinkled water over the moss to give the green an added freshness.
A maid came into the room carrying tea and an incense burner to drive away the mosquitoes. Placing the items before him, she asked: “And what dishes would you like served?”
“I'll tell you when my guests come,” he said, dismissing her.
Once more alone, he took out his pipe. On entering, he had thought the room too warm, but after some time he put down the soiled fan the maid had given him, for occasional drafts of cool wind came through the corridors along with faint yet distinct odors from the kitchen and the toilets.
Leaning against the pillar of the alcove, Suezo watched the smoke drift. He thought of the earlier Otama, the pretty girl he had caught glimpses of as he passed her house. A pretty girl, yes, but really a child. What kind of woman had she changed into? What would she look like in her new kimono? A shame that the old man was coming with her! How long would he stay? Could he be sent home, removed somehow or other?
Suezo was startled out of his daydreaming by a samisen's being tuned in the room above him.
Then he heard the footsteps of two or three persons along the corridor.
“Your guests,” said the maid, thrusting her face into the room.
“Come now! Step in! Let's not have any distance between you! Our master's open-minded!” said the go-between in a voice as noisy as a cricket's.
Suezo got to his feet and hurried out to the corridor. He saw the stooped figure of the old man as he hesitated near the corner wall and, behind him, Otama. She stood calmly, not at all overwhelmed, her eyes taking in everything with curiosity. The vision of a chubby girl with a pretty face swept through Suezo's mind, but the woman who appeared before him was totally different. Time had changed her. She was a thin, graceful beauty. She had arranged her hair in the style of a future bride and was without the customary make-up demanded on such occasions. Suezo had prepared himself for the pleasure, but he had not expected that the woman would be as she was. His eyes probed and registered. She was beyond anything he had imagined, and, for that, all the more beautiful.
Otama was also surprised. She had previously thought that she did not care what the merchant was like. She would sell herself to anyone, no matter what his personality. She would do anything for her father. But on seeing Suezo's dark features, his keen but engaging eyes, and his elegant yet restrained kimono, she felt momentarily relieved, like a person escaping from a hopeless situation.
“Please,” said Suezo politely to the old man, “come in.” He spoke first to the old man and pointed to the interior of the room.
“Please,” he repeated, turning to Otama.
After the father and daughter had entered the room, Suezo called the go-between to a sheltered part of the corridor, put some money wrapped in paper into her hand, and whispered into her ear. The woman smiled, her teeth stained with traces of black dye, and bowing her head several times in appreciation and laughing contemptuously, she hurried away along the corridor.
When Suezo returned, he found his guests huddled together at the entrance.
“Come now. Sit down. Please—on these cushions.” This done, he called out: “And now for the dishes!”
Soon saké and some light refreshments were brought in. As Suezo filled the old man's cup and exchanged a few words with him, he could tell from his manner that he had seen better days and had not simply dressed up for his first visit to a fancy restaurant.
At the beginning, Suezo had thought of the old man as a nuisance and was annoyed at having him there, but when he began to talk confidentially, Suezo's attitude softened. He went out of his way to make himself pleasant to the old man and to show the good he had in him. Inwardly Suezo was glad that he had been offered an opportunity to win Otama's trust by treating her father in this way.
By the time the dishes had been carried into the room, it seemed as though all three of them had dropped in to dine after a family excursion. Suezo, who was usually a tyrant in his own home and who was alternately obeyed and resisted by his wife, felt a placid and delicate delight that he had never felt before when he saw Otama take up a saké bottle and fill his cup, her face blushing and revealing a modest smile. While Suezo k
new intuitively and unconsciously a happiness whose shadow floated like a vision in Otama's presence, he lacked the fine reasoning that would have made him reflect why his home life was devoid of such happiness, nor could he calculate how much was required to maintain such an unusual feeling—in fact, whether or not the requirement might be satisfied by him and his wife.
“Please!” shouted a voice against the beating of a pair of wooden clappers just outside the fence. “Your favorite actors!”
Upstairs the music stopped, and a maid said something from the railing.
“Thank you,” said the man outside. And he called out the names of two Kabuki players.
The actor-imitator began to perform at once.
“We're lucky,” said the maid, entering the room with another container of saké. “A real mimic's come tonight!”
“What's that?” asked Suezo. “Are there false mimics along with the true ones?”
“Oh, yes. Lately, a university student's been going around.”
“You mean he can actually play an instrument too?” asked Suezo.
“Of course, just like a professional. Even his costume's real. But we know him! We can tell who he is by his voice.”
“Then there's only one deceiver,” said Suezo.
“Yes, only one who dares!” said the maid, laughing.
“Do you know him personally?” Suezo asked.
“Why, yes! He often comes here to eat.”
“He must have quite a skill then,” said the old man.
“And just think—he's only a student.”
“But probably a bad one,” said Suezo with an ironic smile as he thought of the students who came to his house. Some of them, he knew, disguised themselves as tradesmen and teased the prostitutes in the small houses. How they enjoyed using the jargon of these women! But it surprised him that a student did tour the neighborhood in earnest as a mimic.
