Sachiko had mentioned the spot to no one, and this was the first time she and Taeko had talked of it. So Taeko too was worried. Sachiko saw that something more than sisterly affection was behind Taeko’s uneasiness: the longer Yukiko’s marriage was put off, the longer she herself would have to wait. Who then should show the magazine to Yukiko? They concluded that Taeko would be the better choice. If Sachiko were to do it, the whole incident would be somehow inflated, and Yukiko would have grounds for suspecting that even Teinosuke had been brought into the discussions. Taeko would do better, and she should take the matter up lightly, as though it were really of little consequence. One day when Yukiko was seated at her dresser, Taeko, contriving to make it seem that she had come in quite by accident, said in a low voice:
“That spot over your eye is nothing to worry about, Yukiko.”
The spot was darker again.
“Oh?” said Yukiko.
To avoid her sister’s eyes, Taeko looked at the floor. “There was an article about it in a magazine. Did you see it? I can show it to you.”
“I may have seen it.”
“Oh? The spot will go away when you are married, it said, or if you have injections.”
Yukiko nodded.
“You know about it then?”
Yukiko nodded again.
The nod was so ambiguous that Taeko could have taken it as a sign that Yukiko simply did not want to talk about the matter. Still it seemed to have in it a note of affirmation. Possibly Yukiko was embarrassed to have her sister know that she had read the article.
Taeko, very timid before, was much relieved. “Suppose you have a few injections,” she suggested. But Yukiko did not seem happy at the idea, and put her off with vague answers. For one thing, Yukiko was not the sort to go off to a strange skin doctor unless someone led her by the hand. For another, she seemed less worried about the spot than were those around her.
Some days later Etsuko noticed the spot. She stared curiously at Yukiko. “What is that thing over your eye?” she demanded. Sachiko and the maids, who were unfortunately in the room, fell silent. But Yukiko herself was strangely unconcerned. She muttered an unintelligible answer, and the expression on her face did not change by so much as a shade.
What worried Sachiko most was going out with Yukiko when the spot showed. Yukiko was their marketable article, and it was not only at miai that they had to consider who might be looking at her. They wished she would stay at home for the week or so when the spot was expected to be darkest; or, if she must go out, that she would try to hide it.
Yukiko herself was quite indifferent. Sachiko and Taeko agreed that Yukiko’s face lent itself well to heavy make-up, A heavy coating of powder, however, had the perverse effect, when the mark was clearest, of making it stand out under a slanting light like a leaden cloud. But although Yukiko might better have used rouge at such times, she disliked rouge (her preference for powder was indeed one reason why she was suspected of having weak lungs; Taeko for her part wore rouge even when she went without powder) . She would wear the usual heavy white powder, nothing else.
She occasionally had the misfortune to meet an acquaintance. Once Taeko offered her a compact—-they were on a train together, and the spot was darker than usual,
“Suppose you put a little rouge on.”
But Yukiko, as always, seemed quite unworried.
13
“AND WHAT did you say to her?” Sachiko asked her husband.
“I told her the truth. I said that the spot was not always so clear, and that there was nothing to worry about—so I had read in magazines, I said. And I thought since we would be having an X-ray taken, we might as well have her go to the University to be examined by a skin specialist. Now that the question has come up, we will have to do at least that much. I said I would see if I could persuade you to agree.”
Yukiko being in the habit of spending her time in Ashiya, the people at the main house knew nothing of the spot over her eye, and Teinosuke was afraid he might have been irresponsible in leaving it so long untended. The difficulty had developed but recently, however, and had not complicated earlier miai; and then Teinosuke, remembering the surprising speed with which Sachiko’s mark had disappeared, was not as disturbed as he might other wise have been. Since the comings and goings of the spot were moreover predictable, Sachiko could tell in general when it would be unwise to have a miai. But Itani had been so insistent, and Sachiko herself had been a little sanguine, not to say careless. Even if the mark has not entirely disappeared by the day named, she had thought, it will hardly be noticeable.
That morning, after Teinosuke left for work, Sachiko had asked Yukiko’s impressions of the dinner party. It appeared that Yukiko would leave everything to her sisters and brothers-in-law. Afraid that if she approached the subject tactlessly she might upset the negotiations, Sachiko waited until that night, when Etsuko was in bed and Teinosuke had withdrawn, to mention the possibility of a skin examination. Yukiko was surprisingly quick to agree. With the mark growing fainter by the day, Sachiko thought they might best wait until it appeared again the following month. But Itani had been wise to go to Teinosuke: he insisted on an examination the very earliest day possible. Sachiko called the next day at the Osaka house to report on the negotiations and to urge haste, and in the process to tell her sister that Yukiko would be going to the Osaka University Hospital. The day after that Sachiko and Yukiko started for Osaka, telling the maids in an offhand way that they were going shopping.
Both the internal examination and the skin examination came out quite as expected. The X-ray, which was developed while they waited, revealed not a mark on the lungs. The report on the blood test came some days later: precipitation thirteen milimeters, reactions negative. Sachiko was called aside after the skin examination. The point was to get the young lady married as soon as possible—the doctor did not bother with preliminaries. But she had heard that the ailment could be cured by injections, replied Sachiko. It could, of course; but the mark was so slight that one hardly noticed it, and far the best thing would be for the young lady to marry. It appeared that the magazine article had been correct.
“Will you report to Itani, then?” asked Teinosuke.
Although Sachiko had no particular objection to doing so, she suggested that inasmuch as Itani thought Teinosuke the more responsible of the two, he might well do the reporting himself. Sachiko was not annoyed at being left out, but she did dislike being rushed. Very well, said Teinosuke; he would conduct the negotiations in as businesslike a manner as Itani. The next day he telephoned from his office, told Itani of the examination, and sent off the report and X-ray by registered special-delivery mail. A day later, at four o’clock, he had a return telephone call. Itani announced that she would visit him in an hour, and at precisely five o’clock she appeared. She thanked him for the speed with which he had acted. She had immediately passed the information on to Segoshi, who was most grateful for so detailed a report, and especially for their pains with the X-ray. He was now quite without misgivings, and he hoped they would forgive him for having raised the issue at all. These preliminaries out of the way, Itani proceeded to her main business: hesitant though he was to ask such a favor, Segoshi would like to see Yukiko alone for a little longer than last time—for say an hour. Might they hope that Yukiko would agree? Although Segoshi was no longer young, said Itani, there was something a little shy and naive about him, possibly because he had never been married. That earlier evening he had been so flustered that he could not for the life of him remember what he had said. And then the young lady herself was so quiet—not that there was anything wrong with her being quiet, of course. What with its being their first meeting, however, she had been extremely reserved, and Segoshi wondered if they might meet again, and this time really learn to know each other. They would be likely to attract notice in a hotel or restaurant, and Itani thought they might better come to her house, dirty little place though it was. Segoshi would be free the following Sunday.
&n
bsp; “Do you think Yukiko will agree?” Teinosuke asked his wife.
“I think the question is whether the family in Osaka will agree. Nothing has really been decided yet, and they will say we are going too far too soon.”
“I suspect Segoshi wants to see how bad the spot is.”
“You are probably right.”
“Might it not be best to have him see her now? It hardly shows.”
“I quite agree. And if we refuse, he will think we are trying to keep her hidden.”
The next day, thinking there might be trouble if she used the telephone at home, Sachiko went out to call Osaka from a public telephone. As she had expected, Tsuruko wanted to know why it was necessary to have them meet so often. Sachiko explained in the most elaborate detail her reasons and Teinosuke’s for wanting to permit a second meeting. Possibly they were right, replied Tsuruko, but she could not make the decision alone. She would talk the matter over with Tatsuo and give their answer in a day or so. Sachiko went out to the public telephone again the next day, to catch Tsuruko before the latter called her at home. Tatsuo had agreed, said Tsuruko, but with careful specifications on the time, the place, and the degree of supervision.
A bouquet for Itani in her hand, Sachiko went with Yukiko on the day appointed. For a time the four of them talked together over tea, and presently Yukiko withdrew with Segoshi to the second floor. They came down some thirty or forty minutes later than the arrangements had called for. Leaving before Segoshi, the two sisters went to the Oriental Hotel—Sachiko remembered that it was Sunday and Etsuko would be waiting at home. While they were having tea in the lobby, Yukiko gave her report.
“He certainly talked today,” she said.
And Yukiko too had talked, on any number of subjects. Segoshi had asked first about the four sisters: why Yukiko and Taeko spent more time in Ashiya than at the main house in Osaka, what might have been the truth about the newspaper incident, what had happened since. He had gone rather far, but Yukiko had answered freely where it seemed proper, though she had carefully refrained from saying anything that might show Tatsuo in a not very favorable light. It was unfair of him to be asking all the questions, said Segoshi. How would it be if Yukiko were to ask some? But Yukiko was not so disposed, and he went ahead to talk about himself. He preferred what might be called “classical” graces to “modern,” and that was why he had never married. If he were to take Yukiko for his bride, however, he would have a better bride than he deserved—the expression “difference in station” came up repeatedly in the course of the conversation. Although he had had no very intimate relations with women, he said, there was one confession he had to make: he had been friendly with a Paris shop girl. Apparently she had deceived him (on this point the details were not clear), and thereby made him homesick and turned him back to pure Japanese tastes. Only his friend Murakami knew of the affair, added Segoshi. This was the first mention he had made of it to anyone else. He hoped Yukiko would believe him when he said that his relations with the girl had been of the purest.
Such in general were the matters Yukiko reported to her sister. It was not hard to guess the feelings of a man who chose to reveal himself so completely.
Itani followed up her advantage. She telephoned Teinosuke the next day to say that Segoshi’s misgivings were now quite at rest. He knew that the spot over Yukiko’s eye was, as they had said, nothing to worry about. All he could do was wait to see whether he himself had passed the test. Itani wondered when the people at the main house might finish their investigations. Teinosuke had to admit that it was not unreasonable of her to feel a little impatient. She had first approached Sachiko more than a month before, and twice, once at the Ashiya house and again at the Oriental Hotel on the night of the mini, she had been put off with the same answer: “May we have another week?” Sachiko had first gone to discuss the matter at the main house only ten days or two weeks before, and there would have been little reason to expect an answer yet even had she been speedier. The main house was extremely slow and deliberate. It had been cowardly of her, pressed by Itani, to ask for only a week and to have Teinosuke do the same. The family record which the main house had requested had as a matter of fact arrived only two or three days before, and, if the home town too was to be investigated, the detective agency would require time. And just to make absolutely sure, the main house meant to send someone for a last check when it seemed likely that the proposal would be accepted. There was nothing to do but ask for four or five days more, and then four or five days more, and in the meantime Itani made a trip to Ashiya and a trip to Teinosuke’s office to urge haste. They could not act too quickly, she would say; the negotiations could so easily be upset. And she would point out that the wedding ought to take place before the end of the year. Finally she telephoned Tsuruko, whom she had never met. The startled Tsuruko immediately called Sachiko, who could imagine the consternation on the face of this phlegmatic sister. Tsuruko, so much slower than Sachiko even, would sometimes take as much as five minutes to answer a question. Itani’s volleys left her quite helpless. Among other things, Itani again warned that marriage negotiations were delicate in proportion as they were promising.
14
THUS THE MONTH passed. One day in December Sachiko was called to the telephone—the call was from “the lady at the house in Osaka.” They had been slow, said Tsuruko, but now they knew fairly well what they needed to know. She would come that day to tell everything. “And what I have to say is not pleasant,” she added as she hung up.
The warning was quite unnecessary. “We have failed again,” Sachiko had said to herself the moment she heard her sister’s voice. Back in the parlor, she heaved a sigh and sank into the armchair. She did not know how often Yukiko’s marriage negotiations had progressed almost to the point of a formal engagement and then come to nothing—so often that the process had become routine. Try though she might to tell herself that the match this time was not a particularly desirable one, she knew that she was deeply disappointed, far more disappointed than at earlier failures. For one thing, she had always until now agreed with the main house that the proposal in question should be refused; but this time she had somehow believed that all would go well. No doubt because they had had this Itani woman pushing them, the part she and Teinosuke had played was unusual. Teinosuke generally stood outside the negotiations, allowing himself to be pulled in only when his services were quite necessary, but this time he had, so to speak, flexed his muscles and gone to work. And Yukiko’s attitude too had been different. She had agreed to the hasty miai, and had twice been alone with the man. She had not objected even to the X-ray and the skin examination—never before had she been so docile. Was she changing, then? Deep in her heart was she beginning to worry about having gone so long unmarried? And, though she showed nothing, was she disturbed at the shadow over her eye? Everything considered, Sachiko had wanted the negotiations to succeed this time, and had really believed that they would.
She did not entirely give up hope until she had heard what Tsuruko had to say. The details were enough to convince her that nothing could be done. Tsuruko had taken advantage of an hour or two in the afternoon when her older children were still at school, and when Yukiko, who from two o’clock had a lesson in the tea ceremony, was out of the Ashiya house. After about an hour and a half they heard Etsuko come in the front door. Tsuruko stood up to go. She would let Sachiko consult with Teinosuke on how best to convey their refusal, she said.
This was Tsuruko’s story: Segoshi’s mother, a widow for more than ten years, lived in seclusion in the old family house. She was said to be ill. Her son rarely called, and her sister, also a widow, cared for her. Ostensibly the illness was palsy, but tradesmen who knew the house said that there was evidence of mental disorder. The woman seemed unable to recognize her own son. There had been a hint of this in the report from the detective agency, and the main house in Osaka, vaguely uneasy, had sent someone off to approach certain reliable informants. It grieved her to have it thought, T
suruko added, that they at the main house deliberately ruined every prospect of which people were kind enough to tell them. That was not their intention at all. They no longer worried a great deal about family or money, and it was indeed because they thought this match so desirable that they had sent their own agent out into the country. They had hoped somehow to overcome this last difficulty. But, after all, the fact that there was a strain of insanity in the family was rather a special difficulty. What could they do? It was strange that whenever talk came up of a husband for Yukiko, some really insurmountable difficulty always presented itself. Yukiko seemed to be unmarriageable, and Tsuruko found it hard to shrug off as only a superstition the belief that women born in the Year of the Ram had trouble finding husbands.
Tsuruko had barely left when Yukiko came in. A comer of the little damask tea-ceremony napkin showed at the neck of her kimono. Etsuko had gone off to play with the Stolz children.
“Tsuruko has just been here.” She waited for a response, but Yukiko was as silent as ever. “Tsuruko says we must refuse.”
“Oh.”
“We have heard that his mother has palsy, but the trouble really seems to be mental.”
“Oh.”
“There is nothing to be done, Yukiko.”
“I see.”
“Rumi, come on over.” They heard Etsuko’s voice in the distance, and soon the little girls were running toward them across the lawn.
The Makioka Sisters Page 7
