“There is no one quite like Yukiko, She could just as well have refused, but there she stood muttering and gurgling.”
“She is really quite hopeless. No better than a sixteen-year-old.”
Sachiko asked whether Yukiko had said anything about the man. Taeko had, in fact, been entrusted with a message for Sachiko. Although Yukiko was leaving the question of her husband to Sachiko and Tsuruko and would marry the man they told her to, Nomura was out of the question. Willful though it was of her, she hoped Taeko would ask Sachiko to break off the negotiations. Taeko, astonished at how much older the man looked than he was said to be, thought it but natural that Yukiko should dislike him, and was sure that his appearance was at least one point against him, but Yukiko had had nothing in particular to say of that. Rather she complained that she had been distressed at having to see the pictures of his dead wife and children after the miai. True, it was a second marriage, said Yukiko; but had she not a right to feel uncomfortable at having the pictures set right out in front of her? She quite understood that the man, still alone, would want to pray for the repose of his wife’s soul; but he hardly needed to take guests into the room where the pictures were on display. He might have hurried to put them away—what could he have had in mind, leading them straight to the altar and the row of pictures over it? That more than anything else had destroyed Yukiko’s hopes of ever learning to like him. He understood nothing of a woman’s finer feelings. Sachiko had finally recovered. One afternoon two or three days later she started dressing to go out.
“I am going to Mrs. Jimba’s to refuse for you. Yukiko.”
“Oh.”
“Koi-san told me.”
“Oh.”
Sachiko, as she had planned earlier, left Mrs. Jimba to infer that the refusal had come from the main house. Upon her return she told Yukiko only that things had been settled amicably, and Yukiko asked for no details. Some days later, as the Doll Festival approached, a note came from Jimba enclosing the bill from the Peking and asking that they pay half of it. They sent a money order by return mail, and thus the negotiations with Nomura came to an end.
There was still no word from the main house. Now that Yukiko had been with them a month, Sachiko began urging her to go back to Tokyo—she could come again, said Sachiko, and, rather than cause trouble, it might be better to go back for a time. Because it was the custom for Etsuko to give a tea party for her school friends each year on April 3, the Doll Festival, and because it was also the custom for Yukiko to make cakes and sandwiches for the occasion, Yukiko said that she would leave when the festival was over; but in no more than three or four days, she added, the Kyoto cherries would be in full bloom.
“You can go back after you see the cherries,” said Etsuko. “You are not to go back any earlier. You understand?”
The most eager of all to keep Yukiko a little longer was Teinosuke. She had stayed this long, he said, and she would only regret missing the Kyoto cherry blossoms; and besides it would not do to have an important member missing from an annual observance. His real motive was this: since her miscarriage, Sachiko had become extremely emotional, and sometimes, when the two of them were alone, she would choke up with tears; he thought it might distract her to go cherry-viewing with her sisters.
The outing was set for the week-end of the ninth and tenth. Yukiko left it undecided whether she would stay long enough to be with them; but on Saturday morning she went upstairs and started to dress. When she had finished her face, she opened her suitcase, and, taking out the package at the very bottom, undid the cord. It was a kimono especially chosen for viewing cherry blossoms.
“Did you see what she brought with her?” laughed Taeko, who was helping Sachiko with her obi. Yukiko had left the room for a moment.
“She keeps quiet and has everything her way,” said Sachiko. “Wait and see how she manages her husband.”
Even among the cherry-viewing crowds, Sachiko wept a little each time she passed someone with a baby. Rather upset, Teino-suke took her home with the others on Sunday night. Three or four days later, in mid-April, Yukiko returned to Tokyo.
SACHIKO had been careful, since the attack of jaundice, to watch the color of her eyes. A year had passed. Again the Hirado lilies were beginning to look dirty and ragged. The reed awning was up for the summer, and the birch chairs had been set out on the terrace. It came to Sachiko, looking out over the garden one afternoon, that exactly a year before, Teinosuke had noticed the tinge of yellow in her eyes. As he had done then, she went down into the garden and began picking off the faded blossoms. She knew how he hated them, and she meant to have the garden clean and neat for him—he would be home in an hour or so. When she had been at work for perhaps a half hour, she heard someone come up behind her.
“This gentleman says he would like to see you.” O-haru, a strangely solemn expression on her face, handed Sachiko a calling card.
It was Okubata’s. When he called that once—was it two years before?—he had not been encouraged to call again, and they had avoided mentioning his name before the maids, and yet Sachiko was sure, from her studied composure, that O-haru knew of the newspaper incident, and had been adroit enough to associate Okubata with Taeko.
“Show him into the parlor. I will be just a minute.”
Sachiko washed her hands, sticky from the flowers, and, after a trip upstairs to see that she was presentable, went to receive her caller.
“I have kept you waiting.”
Okubata had on a light-colored jacket one recognized immediately as English tweed, and gray flannel trousers. He leaped up with an almost affected briskness and brought himself to attentien like a soldier. Three or four years older than Taeko, he would now be thirty or thirty-one. When Sachiko had last seen him, there had been something boyish about him, but in two years he had filled out—he was on his way to becoming a solid gentleman, one might have said. Still, as he looked at her with an ingratiating smile, and, his head thrust slightly forward, began talking in his high, nasal voice, she could see that very much of the wheedling, pampered Semba boy remained.
“I have often thought of calling, but I have never been sure you would want to see me. As a matter of fact, I have been at the gate two or three times without being able to come in.”
“How sad. And what was the trouble?”
“I lost my nerve.” He laughed lightly, quite at his ease.
Whatever Okubata may have thought, Sachiko’s attitude toward him had changed since their last meeting. She had been told a number of times by Teinosuke, whose business frequently took him to the geisha quarters and who heard all the rumors, that Okubata was no longer the clean youth they had once known. He was seen about the Sōemon geisha district. Worse, it seemed that he was keeping company with a certain lady there. Did Koi-san know the sort of person he had become, Teinosuke wondered. If not, and if, only waiting for Yukiko to be married, she still considered herself engaged to him, might it not be better to tell her? There was, Teinosuke could not deny, something to be said in the fellow’s favor. Possibly he had fallen into a fit of despondency over the difficulties in marrying Taeko, but there was a suggestion of cynicism in his avowals of “pure love.” Since this was moreover hardly the way to behave in a time of national crisis, even Teinosuke and his wife, who had secretly been on Okubata’s side, would find it difficult, unless he reformed, to work in his behalf when the time came for marriage negotiations—so said Teinosuke.
Guessing that he was more disturbed than his manner indicated, Sachiko decided to ask Taeko about her relation with Okubata. She tried not to let it seem that she was forcing the issue. Taeko replied that a fondness for geishas had ran in the Okubata family from at least the time of young Okubata’s father, and that even now his uncles and brothers frequented the teahouses. It was wrong, then, to blame only “Kei-boy,” as she called him. And Teinosuke was quite right—Kei-boy behaved as he did because he could not marry her. He was young, after all, and a little dissipation was only to be expected. Tru
e, she had not heard before of his keeping company with a geisha, but that was probably a malicious rumor. Barring real evidence, she would refuse to believe it. Because there was no denying, however, that his behavior might invite criticism with the China Incident in progress, she would tell Kei-boy to stay away from the teahouses. He did whatever she said, and a word from her would make him reform. Her composure seemed to proclaim that she was not one to find fault with Kei-boy, that she already knew everything, and that there was nothing to be surprised at. Sachiko almost felt that she herself had lost face from the encounter.
But, Teinosuke continued to worry and to make inquiries in the pleasure quarters, even though he saw, and told Sachiko, that Taeko’s confidence left no room for them to interfere. Then, just as he was happily noting that the rumors had died down (perhaps Taeko’s warning had had its effect), a small incident made it seem likely that Kei-boy’s dissipation had only gone underground. At about ten one night, some two weeks before, when Teinosuke was seeing a client home, the headlights of the cab for an instant picked up Kei-boy staggering down the sidewalk with the help of a lady one would take for a barmaid. Telling the story to Sachiko that night, Teinosuke asked that nothing be said to Taeko. There the matter had ended; but now, with the young man before her, Sachiko felt something sly and insincere in him. She wanted to agree with Teinosuke: “I find it very hard to be friendly toward him any more.”
“Yukiko? Oh, yes, people have been very kind, and we keep having proposals.”
Guessing that these inquiries about Yukiko were an indirect way of saying that he wanted his own marriage to Taeko somehow speeded up, Sachiko thought she saw the reason for the visit. It would presently be stated openly, and what would she answer? On his earlier visit, she had only said that she would see, and she was confident that she had made no commitments. This time, Teinosuke’s feelings having changed so, she would have to be even more careful. They had no intention of blocking the marriage, of course, and yet, inasmuch as it would not do to have Kei-boy take them for active allies, she would have to give carefully vague answers.
Kei-boy suddenly pulled himself up and flicked an ash into the ashtray. “As a matter of fact, I came to ask a favor about Koi-san.” Something about his tone and choice of words suggested that he already considered Sachiko his sister-in-law.
“Oh? And what might that be?”
“You know, of course, that Koi-san has been going to Mrs. Tamaki’s sewing school these last few weeks. I have no objection to that in itself, but she seems to have lost interest in her dolls. She is doing no work on them worth mentioning. When I asked her what she had in mind, she said she was finished with dolls. She said she wanted to learn all there was to learn about sewing, and some day to specialize in it. She has orders coming in, and she has her pupils, and she has to go on with the dolls for a while at least. But when the right time comes she wants to leave everything to the pupils and give her time to sewing. And she says that with your permission she wants to go to France for six months or a year. She wants to be able to tell people she has studied designing in France.”
“No! Did she really say that?” Sachiko knew that Taeko had taken up sewing in the spare time her dolls left, but this was another matter.
“She did. I have no right to interfere in her affairs, I know, but she has come this far by herself, and she has built up a name because she has her own original style. Why should she want to give it all up? No—I might understand that, but why should she want to take up sewing? She says that for one thing, no matter how good you are at doll-making, you are never more than a fad, and people soon tire of you and stop buying. She says that sewing is something necessary and practical, and the demand for it never falls off. But why should a girl from a good family want to earn money by taking in sewing? She is going to be married soon, and a girl who is going to be married ought to stop worrying about how to support herself. I may not be very dependable, but I have no intention of letting her starve. I would rather she stopped pretending to be a working woman. She is clever with her hands, and I can understand that she has to have something to do; but think how much better it would look if she were to take something up as a hobby, not to make money. Something we might call artistic. No one needs to be ashamed when a woman from a good family takes up doll-making in her spare time. But I wish she would stop that dressmaking. I told her I was sure the people in the main house would agree with me, and I told her to ask them and find out for herself.”
Okubata usually had an unpleasantly lazy drawl, as if to show how unhurried one could be when one had money; but today he was aroused. His words seemed to run into one another.
“You have been very good to tell me all this. Of course I will have to hear what Koi-san herself has to say.”
“Do, by all means. I may be going too far, but if she really has made up her mind, might I ask you to put in a word to stop her? And as for the trip abroad, I certainly do not say it would be wrong. I think it would be a fine thing for her to go to France, if only she had something better to study. You must forgive me for saying so, but I would even like to pay the expenses myself. And I might go with her. But I cannot approve of this going abroad to learn sewing. I feel very sure you would never give your permission, and I hope you will ask her to give up the idea. If she has to go abroad, it will not be too late after we are married. And that will be much more convenient for me.”
There were many points on which Sachiko would have trouble coming to a conclusion without talking to Taeko, but she noted with a mixture of hostility and amusement that Okubata talked as though he were already publicly recognized as Taeko’s future husband. It appeared that he had expected her to greet him with the warmest sympathy and to welcome him into a frank and open discussion, and that he had purposely chosen an hour when, if all went well, he might even be allowed to see Teino-suke. After he had presented his “petition,” he continued to probe for Sachiko’s views. Sachiko did her best to keep the conversation away from the main point. Thanking him for all the kind advice about Taeko, she treated him with the most impersonal politeness. She hastily left the room when she heard footsteps outside.
“Kei-boy is here.”
“What does he want?”
Teinosuke waited in the doorway while Sachiko gave him a whispered summary of Okubata’s business.
“In that case, there seems to be no need for me to see him.”
“I think it would be better if you did not.”
“Try to send him off, then.”
But Okubata lingered on for another half hour. Finally, when it became clear that he was not to see Teinosuke, he said a cheerful goodbye and left. Sachiko offered only routine apologies for not having entertained him better. She avoided mentioning Teinosuke.
2
IF OKUBATA was telling the truth, then there were a number of points Taeko must explain, but Taeko, who said she was very busy, left each morning at about the same time as Teinosuke and Etsuko, came back latest of all, and perhaps one evening in three had dinner out. There was no opportunity to speak to her that night. The next morning Sachiko stopped her as she was about to follow Etsuko and Teinosuke out.
“There is something I must ask you, Koi-san.” Sachiko led the way into the parlor.
Taeko denied none of what Okubata had said—that she meant to turn from doll-making to sewing, and that she wanted to study in France, no matter for how short a time. Sachiko, as she questioned her sister, began to see that Taeko had very good reasons for the change in her plans, and that she had come to it only after considerable thought.
Taeko had wearied of dolls, she said, because she did not want to go on forever wasting her time on girlish frivolities. She hoped rather to work at something more useful. Western-style sewing most fitted her talents, tastes, and skills, and since she would not be starting from scratch, her progress should be rapid. (Long interested in Western clothes, she knew how to use a sewing machine. She made her own clothes, and clothes for Sachiko and Etsuko too, from
models in such foreign magazines as Jardin des Modes and Vogue.) She was quite confident that she would soon be able to stand alone. Scoffing at Okubata’s view that doll-making was artistic and dressmaking vulgar, she said that She had no desire for an empty title like “artist.” If dressmaking was vulgar, let it be vulgar. Okubata was not as alive as he should be to the national emergency: this was hardly a time for dolls and children’s make-believe. Was it not disgraceful for even a woman’s work to be so far from every-day life?
Sachiko could find no reason to object and was soon completely convinced. But she saw in Taeko’s new plans evidence that her sister’s affection for young Okubata had finally died. Because her elopement had been noised in the newspapers, pride made it difficult for Taeko to admit her mistake and discard Okubata at once, but had she not in effect already discarded him, and was she not merely waiting for a good opportunity to make a formal break? This determination to learn sewing—had it not come because she felt that, once she had left Okubata, she would have no choice but to make her way alone? Sachiko suspected that the young man only revealed his inability to understand Taeko’s deeper motives when he asked what could made “a girl from a good family” want to earn money. If Sachiko was right, then it was not hard to see why Taeko was determined to go to France: no doubt she did mean to study dressmaking, but was not her main purpose rather to part company with Okubata? Taeko could be expected to think up a pretext for going alone.
As the conversation progressed, Sachiko saw that she had been half right and half wrong. Thinking that it would be best for Taeko to renounce Okubata with no pressure from outside, and that Taeko had the sagacity to do at least that, Sachiko proceeded with her questioning most circumspectly, but it became apparent, from bits of information Taeko dropped with outward unconcern, that, whether from the old pride or from deeper motives, she had no intention at the moment of giving Okubata up. She meant to marry him shortly, it would seem. She knew better than anyone, Taeko said, that Kei-boy was a classic example of the pampered Semba child. He had literally no redeeming features. Neither Sachiko nor Teinosuke could tell her anything she did not already know. Eight or nine years before, when she had first fallen in love with him, she had been a carefree girl, and she had not seen how hopeless a specimen he was; but love was not something that came and went depending on whether the man in question showed promise. She could not find it in her to reject her first love for reasons of expediency. She had no regrets, and she was resigned to the fact that she was meant to love the unpromising youth. It did worry her, however, to think how they would live after they were married. Okubata was an executive in the family corporation and could expect his brother to give him a share of the family property when he married. He therefore took the sanguine view that there was nothing to worry about. Taeko for her part could not help feeling that he would only eat up his capital. Even now he was by no means staying within his income., and she had heard that every month, with bills from teahouses and tailors and haberdashers to pay, he would go crying to his mother for money from her personal savings. That could last only while she lived, of course. Taeko was sure that if anything were to happen to the mother, Kei-boy’s brothers would very shortly put a stop to the extravagance. However wealthy the Okubata family might be, Kei-boy was the third son, and, with his oldest brother already head of the family, he could not expect a large settlement, especially if the brother disapproved of his marrying Taeko. And since, even if the settlement should be a fairly large one, Okubata would very probably indulge in speculation and become an easy target for swindlers, the day might well come when he would be turned out penniless by his family. Taeko could not shake off these forebodings. Because she did not want people to point at her with superior wisdom when the unhappy day came, she meant from the start to have her own independent livelihood— better, to have a means of supporting her husband. That, said Taeko, was one reason for her decision to learn dressmaking.
The Makioka Sisters Page 18
