She had been afraid she might find incriminating evidence, and had for that reason dreaded the visit. Now, however, she was immensely relieved, and thankful that she had come. She trusted Taeko more than ever.
Two or three months later, when Taeko was away at her studio, Okubata suddenly appeared at the door and announced that he wanted to see Mrs. Makioka. The two families had lived near each other in the old Semba days, and since he was therefore not a complete stranger, Sachiko thought she might as well see him. He knew it was rude of him to come without warning—so he began. Rash though they had been those several years before, he and Koi-san had been moved by more than the fancy of a moment. They had promised to wait, it did not matter how many years, until they finally had the permission of their families to marry. Although it was true that his family had once considered Taeko a juvenile delinquent, they saw now that she had great artistic talents, and that the love of the two for each other was clean and healthy. He had heard from Koi-san that a husband had not yet been found for Yukiko, but that once a match was made, Koi-san would be permitted to marry him. He had come today only after talking the matter over with her. They were in no hurry; they would wait until the proper time. But they wanted at least Sachiko to know of the promise they had made to each other, and they wanted her to trust them, and presently, at the right time, to take their case to the sister and brother-in-law in the main house. They would be eternally grateful if she would somehow see that their hopes were not disappointed. Sachiko, he had heard, was the most under standing member of the family, and an ally of Koi-san’s. But he knew of course that it was not his place to come to her with such a request.
Such was his story. Sachiko said she would look into the matter, and sent him on his way. Since she had already suspected that what he described might indeed be the case, his remarks did not particularly surprise her. Since the two of them had gotten into the newspapers together, she rather felt that the best solution would be for them to marry, and she was sure that the main house too would presently come to that conclusion. The marriage might have an unfortunate psychological effect on Yukiko, however, and for that reason Sachiko wanted to put off a decision as long as possible.
As was her habit when time was heavy on her hands, she went into the living room, shuffled through a stack of music, and sat down at the piano. She was still playing when Taeko came in. Taeko had no doubt timed her return carefully, although her expression revealed nothing.
“Koi-san.” Sachiko looked up from the piano. “Okubata has just been here.”
“Oh.”
“I understand how you feel, but I hope you will leave everything to me.”
“I see.”
“It would be cruel to Yukiko if we moved too fast.”
“I see.”
“You understand, then, Koi-san?”
Taeko seemed uncomfortable but her face was carefully composed. She said no more.
1A mat is about two yards by one.
4
SACHIKO told no one, not even Yukiko, of her discovery. One day, however, Taeko and Okubata ran into Yukiko, who was getting off a bus, just as they started to cross the National Highway. Yukiko said nothing, but perhaps half a month later Sachiko heard of the incident from Taeko. Wondering what Yukiko might have made of it, Sachiko decided to tell her everything that had happened: there was no hurry, she said—indeed they could wait until something had been arranged for Yukiko herself—but the two must eventually be allowed to marry, and when the time came Yukiko too should do what she could to get the permission of the main house. Sachiko watched carefully for a change in Yukiko’s expression, but Yukiko showed not a sign of emotion. If the only reason for not permitting the marriage immediately was that the sisters should be married in order of age, she said when Sachiko had finished, then there was really no reason at all. It would not upset her to be left behind, she added, with no trace of bitterness or defiance. She knew her day would come.
It was nonetheless out of the question to have the younger sister marry first, and since a match for Taeko was as good as arranged, it became more urgent than ever to find a husband for Yukiko. In addition to the complications we have already described, however, yet another fact operated to Yukiko’s disadvantage: she had been born in a bad year. In Tokyo the Year of the Horse is sometimes unlucky for women. In Osaka, on the other hand, it is the Year of the Ram that keeps a girl from finding a husband. Especially in the old Osaka merchant class, men fear taking a bride born in the Year of the Ram. “Do not let the woman of the Year of the Ram stand in your door,” says the Osaka proverb. The superstition is a deeprooted one in Osaka, so strongly colored by the merchant and his beliefs, and Tsuruko liked to say that the Year of the Ram was really responsible for poor Yukiko’s failure to find a husband. Everything considered, then, the people in the main house, too, had finally concluded that it would be senseless to cling to their high standards. At first they said that, since it was Yukiko’s first marriage, it must also be the man’s first marriage; presently they conceded that a man who had been married once would be acceptable if he had no children, and then that there should be no more than two children, and even that he might be a year or two older than Teinosuke, Sachiko’s husband, provided he looked younger. Yukiko herself said that she would marry anyone her brothers-in-law and sisters agreed upon. She therefore had no particular objection to these revised standards, although she did say that if the man had children she hoped they would be pretty little girls. She thought she could really become fond of little stepdaughters. She added that if the man were in his forties, the climax of his career would be in sight and there would be a little chance that his income would grow. It was quite possible that she would be left a widow, moreover, and, though she did not demand a large estate, she hoped that there would at least be enough to give her security in her old age. The main Osaka house and the Ashiya house agreed that this was most reasonable, and the standards were revised again.
This, then, was the background. For the most part, the Itani candidate did not seem too unlike what they were after. He had no property, it was true, but then he was only forty, a year or two younger than Teinosuke, and one could not say that he had no future. They had conceded that the man might be older than Teinosuke, but it would of course be far better if he were younger. What left them virtually straining to accept the proposal, however, was the fact that this would be his first marriage. They had all but given up hope of finding an unmarried man, and it seemed most unlikely that another such prospect would appear. If they had some misgivings about the man, then, those misgivings were more than wiped out by the fact that he had never been married. And, said Sachiko, even if he was only a clerk, he was versed in French ways and acquainted with French art and literature, and that would please Yukiko. People who did not know her well took Yukiko for a thoroughly Japanese lady, but only because the surface (the dress and appearance, speech and deportment) was so Japanese. The real Yukiko was quite different. She was even then studying French, and she understood Western music far better than Japanese. Sachiko had a friend inquire whether Segoshi— that was his name—was well thought of at M.B. Chemical Industries, and could find no one who spoke ill of him. She had very nearly concluded that this was the opportunity they were waiting for. She should consult the main house. Then suddenly Itani appeared at the gate in a taxi. What of the matter they had discussed the other day? She was, as always, aggressive, and this time she had the man’s photograph. Sachiko could hardly admit that she had only begun to consider asking her sister in Osaka—that would make her seem much too unconcerned. They thought it a splendid prospect indeed, she finally answered, but, since the main house was in process of investigating the gentleman, she hoped Itani would wait another week. That was very well, said Itani, but this was the sort of proposal that required speed. If they were in a mood to give a favorable answer, would they not do well to hurry? Every day she had a telephone call from Mr. Segoshi. Had they not made up their minds yet? Wouldn’t she sh
ow them his photograph, and wouldn’t she see what was happening? That was why she had come, and she would expect an answer in a week. Itani finished her business and was off again in five minutes.
Sachiko, a typical Osakan, liked to take her time, and she thought it outrageous to dispose of what was after all a woman’s whole life in so perfunctory a fashion. But Itani had touched a sensitive spot, and, with surprising swiftness, Sachiko set off the next day to see her sister in Osaka. She told the whole story, not forgetting to mention Itani’s insistence on haste. If Sachiko was slow, however, Tsuruko was slower, especially when it came to marriage proposals. A fairly good prospect, one would judge offhand, she said, but she would first talk it over with her husband, and, if it seemed appropriate, they might have the man investigated, and perhaps send someone off to the provinces to look into his family. In brief, Tsuruko proposed taking her time. A month seemed a far more likely guess than a week, and it would be up to Sachiko to put Itani off.
Then, precisely a week after Itani’s first visit, a taxi pulled up at the gate again. Sachiko held her breath. It was indeed Itani. Just yesterday she had tried to get an answer from the Osaka house, said Sachiko in some confusion, but they still seemed to be investigating. She gathered that there was no particular objection. Might they have four or five days more? Itani did not wait for her to finish. If there was no particular objection, surely they could put off the detailed investigation. How would it be if the two were to meet? She had in mind nothing as elaborate as a miai, a formal meeting between a prospective bride and groom. Rather she meant simply to invite them all to dinner. Not even the people in the main house need be present—it would be quite enough if Sachiko and her husband went with Yukiko. Mr. Segoshi was very eager. And Itani herself was not to be put off. She felt that she really had to awaken these sisters to the facts of life. (Sachiko sensed most of this.) They were a little too fond of themselves; they continued to lounge about while people were out working for them. Hence Miss Yukiko’s difficulties.
When exactly did she have in mind, then, asked Sachiko. It was short notice, answered Itani, but both she and Mr. Segoshi would be free the next day, Sunday. Unfortunately Sachiko had an engagement. What of the day after, then? Sachiko agreed vaguely, and said she would telephone a definite answer at noon the next day. That day had come.
“Koi-san.” Sachiko started to put on a kimono. Deciding she did not approve of it, she threw it off and took up another. The piano practice had begun again. “I have rather a problem.”
“What is your problem?”
“I have to telephone Itani before we leave.”
“Why?”
“To give her an answer. She came yesterday and said she wanted Yukiko to meet the man today.”
“How like her!”
“It would be nothing formal, she said, only dinner together. I told her I was busy today, and she asked about tomorrow. It was more than I could do to refuse.”
“What do they think in Osaka?”
“Tsuruko said over the telephone that if we were going, we should go by ourselves. She said that if they went along, they would have trouble refusing later. And Itani said she would be satisfied without them.”
“And Yukiko?”
“Yukiko is the problem.”
“She refused?”
“Not exactly. But how do you suppose she feels about being asked to meet the man on only one day’s notice? She must think we are not doing very well by her. I hardly know, though. She said nothing definite, except that it might be a good idea to find out a little more about him. She would not give me a clear answer.”
“What will you tell Itani?”
“What shall I tell her? It will have to be a good reason, and we cannot afford to annoy her. She might help us again someday. Koi-san, could you call and ask if we might wait a few days?”
“I could, I suppose. But Yukiko is not likely to change her mind in a few days.”
“I wonder. She is upset only at the short notice, I suspect. I doubt if she really minds so.”
The door opened and Yukiko came in. Sachiko said no more. There was a possibility that Yukiko had heard too much already.
5
“YOU ARE going to wear that obi?” asked Yukiko. Taeko was helping Sachiko tie the obi. “You wore that one—when was it?—we went to a piano recital.”
“I did wear this one.”
“And every time you took a breath it squeaked.”
“Did it really?”
“Not very loud, but definitely a squeak. Every time you breathed. I swore I would never let you wear that obi to another concert.”
“Which shall I wear, then?” Sachiko pulled obi after obi from the drawer.
“This one.” Taeko picked up an obi with a spiral pattern.
“Will it go with my kimono?”
“Exactly the right one. Put it on, put it on.” Yukiko and Taeko had finished dressing some time before. Taeko spoke as though to a reluctant child, and stood behind her sister to help tie the second obi. Sachiko knelt at the mirror and gave a little shriek.
“What is the matter?”
“Listen. Carefully. Do you hear? It squeaks.” Sachiko breathed deeply to demonstrate the squeak.
“You are right. It squeaks.”
“How would the one with the leaf pattern be?”
“Would you see if you can find it, Koi-san?” Taeko, the only one of the three in Western clothes, picked her way lightly through the collection of obis on the floor. Again she helped with the tying. Sachiko stood up and took two or three deep breaths.
“This one seems to be all right.” But when the last cord was in place, the obi began squeaking.
The three of them were quite helpless with laughter. Each new squeak set them off again.
“It is because of the double obi,” said Yukiko, pulling herself together. “Try a single one.”
“No, the trouble is with the cloth.”
“But the double ones are all of the same cloth. Folding it double only doubles the squeak.”
“You are both wrong.” Taeko picked up another obi. “This one will never squeak.”
“But that one is double too.”
“Do as I tell you. I have discovered the cause.”
“But look at the time. You and your obis will have us missing everything. There never is much music at these concerts, you know.”
“Who was it that first objected to my obi, Yukiko?”
“I want to hear music, not your squeaking.”
“You have me exhausted. Tying and untying, tying and untying.”
“You are exhausted! Think of me.” Taeko braced herself to pull the obi tight.
“Shall I leave it here?” O-hara, the maid, brought the medical equipment in on a tray: a sterilized hypodermic needle, a vitamin concentrate, alcohol, absorbent cotton, adhesive tape.
“My injection, my injection! Yukiko, give me my injection. Oh, yes.” O-haru had turned to leave. “Call a cab. Have it come in ten minutes.”
Yukiko was thoroughly familiar with the procedure. She opened the ampule with a file, filled the needle, and pushed Sachiko’s left sleeve to the shoulder. After touching a bit of alcohol-soaked cotton to the arm, she jabbed with the needle.
“Ouch!”
“I have no time to be careful.”
A strong smell of Vitamin B filled the room. Yukiko patted the adhesive tape in place.
“I too am finished,” said Taeko.
“Which cord will go with this obi?”
“Take that one. The one you have. And hurry.”
“But you know perfectly well how helpless I am when I try to hurry. I do everything wrong.”
“Now then. Take a deep breath for us.”
“You were right.” Sachiko breathed earnestly. “You were quite right. Not a squeak. What was the secret?”
“The new ones squeak. You have nothing to worry about with an old one like this. It is too tired to squeak.”
“You must be righ
t.”
“One only has to use one’s head.”
“A telephone call for you, Mrs. Makioka.” O-haru came running down the hall. “From Mrs. Irani.”
“How awfull I forgot all about her.”
“And the cab is coming.”
“What shall I do? What shall I tell her?” Sachiko fluttered about the room. Yukiko on the other hand was quite calm, as if to say that the matter was no concern of hers. “What shall I say, Yukiko?”
“Whatever you like.”
“Not just any answer will do.”
“I leave it to you.”
“Shall I refuse for tomorrow, then?”
Yukiko nodded.
“You want me to, Yukiko?”
Yukiko nodded again.
Sachiko could not see the expression on her sister’s face. Yukiko’s eyes were turned to the floor.
6
“I WILL be back soon, Etsuko.” Yukiko looked into the parlor, where Etsuko was playing house with one of the maids. “You promise to watch everything for us?”
“And you are bringing me a present, remember.”
“I remember. The little gadget we saw the other day, the gadget to boil rice in.”
“And you will be back before dinner?”
“I will be back before dinner.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. Koi-san and your mother are having dinner with your father in Kobe, but I promise to be back. We can have dinner together. You have homework to do, remember.”
“I have to write a composition.”
“You are not to play too long, then. Write your composition, and I can read it when I come back.”
“Good-bye, Yukiko. Good-bye, Koi-san.” Etsuko called only the oldest of her mother’s sisters “aunt.” She spoke to Yukiko and Taeko as though they were her own sisters.
Etsuko skipped out over the flagstones without bothering to put on her shoes. “You are to be back for dinner, now. You promised.”
“How many times do you think you need to ask?”
“I will be furious with you. Understand?”
The Makioka Sisters Page 3
