The Makioka Sisters

by Junichiro Tanizaki

  MY DEAR MR. SATO:

  I am very sorry, but I must trouble you about the dog next door. I am kept awake every night by the barking. I wonder if you would mind calling this to the attention of the owner.

  And now about the phonograph:

  MY DEAR MR. SATO:

  I am very sorry, but this time I must trouble you about a phonograph. The people next door have been playing phonograph records morning and night, and it is a great nuisance. I should be most grateful if you would point this out, and ask them to be more quiet.

  The Satō maid delivered the notes with an apologetic smile: “We have had this from Mr. Bosch, and we thought we should let you see it.” The dog Johnny had only once or twice barked through the night, and they had done nothing about that protest. The phonograph was a different matter. Etsuko’s sick room had its own board fence, separate from the net-wire fence, to cut off the view from outside, but it was nearer than the main house to the house next door, and Teinosuke had frequently been disturbed by the noise Rosemarie and Peter made. It was natural, then, that the phonograph records should disturb the touchy Swiss.

  These protests seemed to indicate that Mr. Bosch, who worked for a Nagoya company, spent some of his time in Ashiya, and yet no one in the Makioka house had the slightest idea what he was like. Mr. Stolz and his wife and children were always appearing on the balcony and in the back yard, but although the Makiokas did have an occasional glimpse of Mrs. Bosch, they had so far not seen Mr. Bosch at all. There was now a board fence around the balcony just high enough to conceal a sitting person. Mr. Bosch evidently did not want to be seen, and evidently too he was most eccentric. According to the Sato maid, he was a sickly, nervous person who suffered from insomnia. A detective appeared at the Makioka house one day and said that there was some doubt whether the foreigner was really Swiss at all, and there was cause for suspicion that he might be engaged in sinister operations. If the Makiokas noted anything strange, they should report immediately to the police. With the husband a man of uncertain origins who was constantly on the road, and the wife apparently of mixed Chinese blood, there were indeed grounds for suspicion. The wife, added the detective, did not seem to be really a wife at all. Mr. Bosch was only living with her for the time being. Her nationality too was in doubt. Though a Japanese would have taken her for Chinese, she insisted she was born somewhere to the south—precisely where was not clear. The one time Sachiko visited the woman, she noted that the furniture was of Chinese sandalwood. It therefore seemed likely that she was Chinese and wanted for some reason to hide that fact. In any case, she was obviously an enchantress who combined Oriental allure with Occidental poise. She reminded one of Anna May Wong, half French and half Chinese, who was once a Hollywood movie star. There was an exotic something about her that was likely to appeal to a certain kind of European. With time heavy on her hands when her husband was traveling, she would send a maid over to see if Sachiko could pay a visit, or she would meet Sachiko in the street and ask her in, but after hearing what the detective had to say, Sachiko thought it better to keep her distance.

  O-haru was incensed. Why should the young lady not play the phonograph when she was ill? Did that foreigner not know what it was to be neighborly? Teinosuke answered that if Mr. Bosch was so eccentric, there was little they could do, and besides it was not seemly in time of national crisis to be playing a phonograph from early in the morning. Thereafter Etsuko entertained herself at cards. But Yukiko objected to the card-playing: when the patient was recovering, she said, and the scabs were beginning to peel, there was most danger of contagion. Etsuko might well pass the disease on to those who played with her—in particular, to O-haru and the nurse “Mito.” “Mito,” who had been so named by Etsuko because she resembled the movie star Mito Mitsuko, had had scarlet fever herself and was immune, and O-haru for her part said she would not in the least mind an attack of scarlet fever. Unlike the other maids, she ate Etsuko’s left-overs—the sea bream, for instance—as if she would not again have such an opportunity. Although at first Yukiko had forbidden O-haru to come into the sick room, Etsuko was soon lonely, and Mito said the chances of contagion were very small even without such elaborate precautions. As Yukiko’s reprimands lost their effect, O-haru came to be in the sick room all day long. Even worse, the two of them, O-haru and Mito, were fond of taking Etsuko by an arm or a leg and peeling off the scabs. See how far you can peel, one of them would say, clutching a loose end and ripping off a strip of skin. O-haru would then make the other maids unhappy by gathering up the skin to display in the main house (“See how the young lady is peeling!”). In time, they became quite hardened to the practice.

  Early in May, when Etsuko was well on her way to recovery, Taeko announced that she was going to Tokyo. She could not rest until she had seen her brother-in-law about her money. She had, it was true, given up her plans for a trip abroad, and she was in no hurry to be married, but she now had other plans. If she was to have her money at all, she needed it immediately. She might find her brother-in-law in no mood to let her have it—well, she would make him reconsider. Since she had no intention of doing anything that would embarrass Sachiko or Yukiko, but meant only to talk matters over quietly, she hoped they would not worry. There was no reason why she had to go this month, but she had suddenly wanted to go when it occurred to her that she could most conveniently stay at the Tokyo house while Yukiko was away. She could not see herself staying long in that cramped house with all those screaming children and would be back as soon as her business was finished. It would be good to see the Kabuki, but she had seen Kikugorō so recently that she thought she could do without the plays this month.

  Whom did she mean to talk to, and what were the “plans” of which she spoke, Sachiko asked. Taeko, afraid she would find her two sisters united against her, was not quick to answer. At length she hinted that she meant first to talk to Tsuruko, and if nothing came of that conversation she would not hesitate to go directly to Tatsuo. It was not at all clear what the “plans” were, although after much questioning Sachiko did draw from her reluctant sister enough information to guess that Taeko hoped, with Mrs. Tamaki’s backing, to open a small dress shop. In that case, thought Sachiko, there was little chance indeed that she would get her money. Tatsuo was no doubt as firm as ever in his resolution to pay for a wedding of which he approved, and for nothing else, and he was strongly opposed to Taeko’s becoming a professional woman. And yet there did seem to be one slight chance: Taeko might succeed if she attacked Tatsuo directly. He had a timid streak, and he had been persecuted by his sisters-in-law in his younger days; and since the firm position he took when no one challenged him was likely to collapse when he faced opposition, there was no telling what success Taeko might have if she tried bullying him a little. Probably she saw her opportunity. Though Tatsuo would try to flee, she was ready to stay on in Tokyo until she caught him.

  Sachiko was worried. Had Taeko deliberately picked a time when neither of her sisters could go with her? She said she meant to talk matters over quietly, but might she not be resolved to assail Tatsuo even at the risk of being thrown out of the family? If so, she would not want Sachiko or Yukiko along. Possibly Sachiko was imagining dangers, but one could not be sure what the impulse of a moment might bring. Tatsuo might even conclude that Sachiko had deliberately sent Taeko off to bother him. He might feel that Sachiko had stayed behind because she wanted no part in the discussions, but on the other hand it would not be impossible for him to assume that Sachiko meant to watch with lofty amusement while he grappled with the problem. And Sachiko’s position would be very difficult if Tsuruko too were to look accusingly at her—to ask why she had not kept Taeko back, why she had sent Taeko off to upset them. If she were to leave Etsuko with Yukiko and go off to Tokyo herself, however, she would find herself in the middle of a fight over money, and, worst of all, she was not sure in her own mind whose side she would take. Yukiko said that without a doubt Itakura was behind Koi-san’s “plans.” The dress shop m
ight be only an excuse, and the plans might change once Koi-san had her money. For all her apparent worldliness, Koi-san was too good-natured. The money would be used as Itakura saw fit. She should therefore not be given a thing until she broke with him. So said Yukiko, and there was much to her argument. Still Sachiko had reasons for not wanting to interfere. She was distressed at the fact that her sister apparently meant to reject their advice and marry Itakura whatever they said, and yet, when she thought of the courage with which the girl was setting out to make her own way, she felt that she could not help in what might seem like persecution. However Taeko chose to spend the money, it was the means by which she sought to stand alone, and she was capable of standing alone. If indeed Tatsuo was holding money in trust, it should be given to her. Sachiko would find herself in a fight over money, then, whether she wanted to or not. She might even be forced to side with the main house. In all honesty, she could not say that’she had the courage and determination to stand with Taeko against Tsuruko and her husband.

  32

  YUKIKO was completely opposed to letting Taeko go off alone. There could be no excuse for Sachiko’s remaining behind, she said. She herself could take care of Etsuko and manage the house. There would be nothing to worry about. And they could stay on as long as they liked, and need not think of rushing back. Taeko seemed a little upset when she heard of Sachiko’s plans. Sachiko explained that she was going along only because she worried about what the people in Tokyo would think, and that she had no wish to interfere. Taeko was free to challenge whomever she would. Though Tatsuo and Tsuruko might want Sachiko to take part in the discussions, she did not want to do so. If finally she could no longer refuse, she would be wholly neutral. She would do nothing to Koi-san’s disadvantage. Sachiko wrote to Tsuruko describing Taeko’s objectives .in a general way, and adding that she would prefer not to be consulted herself, since Koi-san seemed hostile to mediation.

  Sachiko stayed again at the Hamaya Inn. Taeko, to avoid giving the impression that they were plotting together, decided to stay at the Shibuya house at least until her business was finished. They left Osaka on the Swallow Express, and that evening Sachiko took Taeko to the Hamaya and from there called Tsuruko in Shibuya: she wanted to see Koi-san to Shibuya immediately, but as she was very tired and as Koi-san did not know the way, they wondered if Teruo might not be troubled to come for her. She would come herself, said Tsuruko. If Sachiko and Taeko had not yet eaten, they might all three have dinner together. Could they meet her somewhere on the Ginza? Sachiko thought she would like to eat at either Lohmeyer’s or the New Grand, and it was she who had to give the old Tokyo resident instructions on how to reach Lohmeyer’s.

  Sachiko and Taeko had their baths and set out for the Ginza. They arrived at Lohmeyer’s to find that Tsuruko already had a table. She made it clear that this time she would pay the bill. Because Sachiko generally had more spending money, it had been the rule that the bill was hers, but this time Tsuruko was determined to be the hostess. She was especially attentive to Taeko. Living in such a small house, she repeated over and over, half apologetically, they had sent for Yukiko and perhaps had made it seem that they wanted only her with them. While they were taking a very long time, however, they did mean to call Koisan too one day. After a bottle of German beer each, the three sisters wandered about the Ginza in the early-summer evening. Sachiko said good-bye at the entrance to the subway.

  She had decided not to go to Shibuya during the two or three days the discussions were in progress and she therefore had to entertain herself. She might call on old school friends now married and living in Tokyo, she concluded. The next morning, while she was reading her newspaper, she had a call from Shibuya: Taeko would like to visit the inn. Did she have something to discuss? No, she was just bored. And what of her business? She had described it to her sister that morning, but Tatsuo was so extremely busy that there was nothing to be done for the time being. She’thought she would have more fun at Sachiko’s. Sachiko replied that she was going to see a friend in Aoyama and would be out until evening, but that perhaps Taeko could come by at five or six. Sachiko was kept on and on at Aoyama, and had dinner there. When she returned to the inn at seven o’clock, Taeko promptly appeared. Taeko had waited for Teruo to come home from school and the two of them had gone to see the Meiji Shrine. At five they stopped by the inn and found Sachiko out, and they waited and waited, and presently began to feel a little hungry. Though the landlady offered to provide dinner, the memory of that German beer was too strong, and Taeko took Teruo to Lohmeyer’s. She had just seen him off on the subway (and she had apparently arranged to stay at the Hamaya). As she went on with her story, it became clear that her reception at Shibuya had been very cordial. Her brother-in-law, leaving for work in the morning, urged her to stay and enjoy herself now that she was in Tokyo. Cramped house though it was, they could easily find room for her with Yukiko away. He himself was busy at the moment, but in five or six days he would have time to take her wherever she wanted to go. But of course he had time off for lunch. If she would come to the Marunouchi Building at noon, they could have lunch together. He would order tickets to the Kabuki, and the three sisters could go to the theater in the next few days. All in all, he had been so considerate that he made her a little uncomfortable. She could not remember having been treated more kindly. After Tatsuo and the children left, Taeko talked to her sister for an hour or so and discussed her business in some detail. Tsuruko listened intently, without a sign of displeasure, and answered that she did not know what Tatsuo would say. He was busy with a bank amalgamation and came home late every night, and the problem would have to wait until the following week. They would have time to consider it then, and in the meantime Taeko should enjoy herself. Since it was her first visit to Tokyo in so long, they could have Teruo show her the city; or, since Sachiko was no doubt bored, how would it be if Taeko went to the inn? She did not know what would happen finally, said Taeko, but she had left everything to Tsuruko.

  The day before, Mt. Fuji had been largely hidden in clouds. That did not bode well for the success of her mission, laughed Taeko. She was still uncertain, and extremely suspicious of these blandishments, but even while she was reaffirming her intention to resist soft words, it was clear that she was not displeased at having been so warmly received.

  The night before, by herself on the second floor of the inn, Sachiko had been lonelier than even a lone traveler should be, and quite unable to sleep. It had seemed dreary indeed that she would have to spend five or six more days in Tokyo. Now, unexpectedly, there were two of them in the large ten-mat room, Sachiko and Taeko side by side, for the first time in how many years? In the old Semba days the sisters had slept together—they were still sleeping together the night before Sachiko was married. She did not know how it had been when she was very young, but at least after she started school she slept in the six-mat room on the second floor with her two younger sisters. Only Tsuruko had a separate room. Sometimes, so small was the room, the three of them used but two mattresses. She and Taeko had rarely been alone—between them was Yukiko, careful on the warmest nights that her kimono was neat, never untidy even when she slept. Sachiko could almost see that figure, slender and fragile and always completely proper, lying between her and Taeko.

  As they had done when they were girls, they talked carelessly of this and that before they got out of bed in the morning.

  “What are your plans for today, Koi-san?”

  “I have none.”

  “Would you like to see anything in particular?”

  “Everyone talks about Tokyo, but there is not a thing I really want to see.”

  “We belong in Osaka, you and I. How was Lohmeyer’s yesterday?”

  “We had something different—Wienerschnitzel.”

  “Did Teruo like it?”

  “While we were eating, a friend came in with his mother and father and sat down across the room from us.”

  “Oh?”

  “Teruo turned bright re
d. I asked him what was the matter, and he said the friend would never believe I was his aunt.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “The waiter kept speaking to us as though we were young lovers and giving us suspicious looks, and he stared at me with his mouth open when I asked for beer. He must have thought I was a school girl.”

  “When you wear foreign clothes, you look as young as Teruo. The waiter thought you were a juvenile delinquent.”

  Shortly before noon, there was a telephone call from Shibuya: Tsuruko had Kabuki tickets for the next day. With nothing else to do, Sachiko and Taeko had tea on the Ginza, after which they took a taxi for a tour of the government buildings and the Yasukuni Shrine.

  “See how popular that arrow pattern is,” Taeko remarked as they passed Hibiya Park. “I counted seven between the German Bakery and the Nippon Theater.”

  “You .have been counting all this time?”

  “See, another. And another over there.” For a moment, Taeko was silent. “And see how those middle-school boys walk along with both hands in their pockets. Very dangerous. Where was it, I wonder—a middle school somewhere near Osaka. Students were forbidden to have pockets in their uniforms. That strikes me as a very good idea.”

  Taeko had always been precocious. And after all, she was old enough that one need not be startled by such remarks.

  Sachiko nodded her agreement.

  33

  THE CURTAIN was about to go up on the last play of the afternoon, Stammering Matahei. They listened with admiration to the names being called over the loud-speaker. It was a wide and varied audience the Kabuki drew: Mr. X from Nishinomiya, Mrs. Y from Shimonoseki, and even someone from the Philippines. Suddenly Taeko held up a finger to silence them.

  “Mrs. Makioka of Ashiya.” There could be no doubt about it: “Mrs. Makioka of Ashiya, Hyogo Prefecture.”