The Makioka Sisters

by Junichiro Tanizaki

Sachiko and Yukiko were alone in the parlor.

  “Koi-san is ill,” said O-haru in a low voice.

  “Ill? What is the matter?”

  “It seems to be either intestinal catarrh or dysentery.”

  “Was there a telephone call?”

  “Yes, ma am.”

  “And you went to see?”

  “Yes, I …”

  “Is she in her room?” asked Yukiko.

  “No, ma’am.” O-haru stared at the floor.

  This was the story: O-haru had gotten out of bed to answer the telephone that morning. The call was from Okubata, who said that two days earlier Koi-san had taken ill at his house. At about ten o’clock in the night she began to run a high fever, well over one hundred, and she was seized with violent chills. When she tried to leave he kept her back and made her go to bed. She got worse, and the next day he called a doctor who practiced in the neighborhood. The doctor had trouble with his diagnosis. It looked like influenza, he said, or possibly typhus, but in the middle of the night she was taken with violent abdominal pains and diarrhea, and the doctor decided she had intestinal catarrh or dysentery. If it did prove to be dysentery, they would have to move her to a hospital. For the time being she would be at Okubata’s, however, since they could hardly send her back to her room alone. Okubata was telling only O-haru. Though Koi-san was in great pain, there was no immediate danger, and there was no reason why they could not take care of her in his house. He would let the Makiokas know of any change in her condition—not of course that he expected a change. O-hafu decided to see for herself, and went to Nishinomiya after taking Etsuko to school. Taeko was much worse than Okubata had suggested over the telephone. She had had some twenty or thirty attacks of diarrhea in the night. Braced against a chair, she was in fact spending all her time over the bedpan. The doctor said that this would never do, that she should rest quietly in bed and use an insertable bedpan, and after O-haru arrived they forced her to lie down. There were several attacks of diarrhea during O-haru’s visit, violent spasms that produced nothing and only added to the suffering. The fever was still high, about one hundred two at the latest measuring. The stool was being tested at Osaka University, and they would have the results in a day or two. When O-haru suggested that it might be a good idea to call Dr. Kushida, Taeko answered that she did not want Dr. Kushida to see her in such a place. And she did not want to worry her sisters. O-haru was not to tell Sachiko. O-haru replied only that she would come again some time during the day.

  “Was there a nurse?”

  “No. They said they would call a nurse if it seemed that she would be in bed long.”

  “Who is taking care of her, then?”

  “The young master takes care of the ice bag.” For some reason, O-haru had begun calling Okubata “the young master.” “I took care of disinfecting the bedpan and tidying her up afterwards.”

  “Who does it when you are not there?”

  “I wonder. The old woman, I imagine. She is very good—the young master’s housekeeper.”

  “And she does the kitchen work too?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “But it might be dysentery. I should think it would be dangerous to have her handling the bedpan.”

  “Do you think I should go and help?” asked Yukiko.

  “Suppose we wait a little longer.”

  If it was dysentery, something would have to be done, but there was no cause for confusion if it was only an attack of catarrh which would pass in two or three days. For the time being they would only send O-haru off to help, said Sachiko. Should they then tell Teinosuke and Etsuko that sudden business had called her home, and that she would be gone for two or three days?

  “What sort of doctor do they have?”

  “I have no idea. Somone from the neighborhood, they said. They had never called him before.”

  “It would really be better to have Dr. Kushida,” said Yukiko.

  “It would indeed,” Sachiko agreed. “If only she were in her own room. But with her at Kei-boy’s …”

  Taeko had insisted that O-haru was not to tell the family, but Sachiko suspected that she hoped O-haru would ignore her orders. Surprisingly weak at times, Taeko knew how good it was to have a family. She would be lonely with neither Sachiko nor Yukiko beside her.

  19

  O-HARU hurried away after an early lunch, careful to thank Sachiko for the two or three days she was to have off. As she started for the door, she was called into the living room and given careful instructions: she was not to fall into her usual carelessness; she must wash her hands after she touched the patient, and she must sprinkle the bedpan with lysol each time it was used. And these instructions were added: though Sachiko wanted to be kept thoroughly informed, Okubata had no telephone; it would be awkward if a call were to come while Teinosuke and Etsuko were in the house, and O-haru was therefore to call at least once every morning; and even if it was possible to use a telephone in some near-by shop, she was to go to a public telephone.

  Since it was already afternoon, they could not expect a call that day. The next morning seemed a great distance off, and the first call came at about ten. Sachiko took it in Teinosuke’s study. The connection was very bad, and from time to time they were cut off. It was a very great effort to acquire very little information. There seemed to have been no particular change, except that the diarrhea had become worse during the night—some ten attacks every hour. The temperature showed no sign of falling. Was it dysentery? They did not know yet. What about the tests at Osaka University? They had no report. What about the stool —did there seem to be a mixture of blood? There did seem to be traces of blood, and besides the blood there was a thick, white mucus. Where was O-haru calling from? A public telephone. There was no public telephone near Okubata’s house, and it was most inconvenient, and she had been late because two or three people were in line ahead of her. She would try to call again that day. She would call the following morning at the latest.

  “If there is blood, it must be dysentery,” said Yukiko, who was standing beside the telephone.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Is there blood with intestinal catarrh?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “It must be dysentery. Ten attacks an hour.”

  “I wonder if the doctor is good.”

  Convinced that it was dysentery, Sachiko debated what to do. The second call did not come that day, nor did it come the following morning. Toward noon, O-haru appeared at the kitchen door.

  “What is it?” Noting a certain tenseness in O-haru’s manner, the two sisters led her into the parlor.

  “It does seem to be dysentery.”

  The report had not yet come from Osaka University, but the doctor, who had called the night before and again that morning, said it seemed to be dysentery. The Kimura Hospital on the National Highway had an isolation ward. Should the doctor have Taeko sent there? They were on the point of asking him to do so when the green grocer happened to tell O-haru that they might better choose another hospital, and upon inquiring around the neighborhood, O-haru found that the Kimura Hospital had a bad name. Dr. Kimura was almost deaf and incapable of a really thorough examination, and his diagnoses were often wrong. Though he was a graduate of Osaka University, his record had not been good, and it was even said that his graduation essay had been written by a classmate. The classmate, who was practicing not far away, sometimes boasted of having written two essays. Much disturbed when O-haru passed this information on to him, Okubata set about looking for another hospital. Unfortunately no other in the area had an isolation ward. How would it be, he suggested, if they said that she had intestinal catarrh and nursed her at home? They could hardly expect the doctor to agree, dysentery being an infectious disease. Surely not every dysentery patient was sent to the hospital, argued Okubata; a great many were treated at home. It made no difference what the doctor said: they would treat her at home, and he would have to agree. But they should consult Mrs. Makioka. Very well, said O-haru.
Knowing that a telephone call would not do, she hurried back to Ashiya.

  Sachiko wanted to know more about the doctor. He was a graduate of Osaka University, said O-haru, and seemed to be two or three years younger than Dr. Kushida. His father, who was still living, had long been practicing in the neighborhood, and father and son were both well thought of, but it seemed to O-haru that he lacked Dr. Kushida’s brisk assurance. He was fearfully slow and deliberate in his examinations, and it was not easy to force a definite answer from him. His slowness had been one reason for the delay in the final diagnosis, and another had been the fact that for dysentery the fever was rather too high, and the diarrhea had begun a full day after the first symptoms appeared. There had thus been some possibility that it was typhus. The attack of dysentery was more serious than it would have been with a prompter diagnosis.

  “But where did she pick it up? Did she eat something?”

  “She said she thought it was the mackerel.”

  “Where did she have mackerel?”

  “That evening she and the young master were walking in Kobe, and they had mackerel in a sushi restaurant called the Kisuke.”

  “I have never heard of it. Have you, Yukiko?”

  “Never.”

  “Koi-san said it was in one of the geisha quarters. She had been told that it was very good and she had been meaning to go there for some time. They were on their way home from a movie.”

  “And nothing happened to Kei-boy?”

  “The young master never eats mackerel. Koi-san had mackerel by herself, and they are sure that that was it. But she only had a little, and it was not the least bit old or spoiled.”

  “I am always afraid of mackerel. You never can tell about mackerel, no matter how fresh it is.”

  “The darker it is the more dangerous, they say, and she had two or three slices of dark meat.”

  “Yukiko and I never eat mackerel. Only Koi-san.”

  “And Koi-san eats in too many places.”

  “That is the truth. She hardly ever had dinner at home, and now see what happens to her.”

  And what was Okubata thinking? However calm he might seem, was he not upset at having on his hands a patient with an infectious disease? When he found that it was not, as he had supposed, a light attack of catarrh, had he concluded that he had more than he could manage, and had he hoped to send her back to Ashiya? Sachiko remembered his behavior at the time of the flood, two yean before. But O-haru replied that he did not seem in the least upset. Rather the dandy, he had not wanted to spoil his trousers in the flood, but he did not seem to fear infectious diseases. Perhaps, remembering how the flood had helped turn Taeko against him, he was determined to show his devotion this time—in any case, O-haru could not believe that it was empty talk when he urged Koi-san to stay with him. And he noticed the smallest details. He would sometimes give instructions to O-haru and the nurse, or help with the ice bag and the bedpan himself.

  “I am going with O-haru,” said Yukiko. “No one can possibly mind.”

  People did not die of dysentery. Besides, Okubata himself had been the first to urge that Koi-san stay with him, and they really had nowhere to move her. There seemed nothing wrong with leaving her in Nishinomiya, then, but they could hardly disclaim all responsibility. Whatever Teinosuke and the people in the main house might think, Yukiko and Sachiko did not mean to leave Koi-san unattended. There could be no objection if Yukiko went on her own initiative. She would feel better if Okubata had had Dr. Kushida in, said Yukiko, but with only a strange doctor and nurse—she had to help. She would take O-haru’s place, and O-haru could be used as a messenger. Since it was so difficult to learn the truth by telephone, they only worried the more, and since there would be any number of things lacking in a bachelor’s house, O-haru would have much running back and forth to do. Yukiko immediately went to get ready. After a light lunch, she left the house without asking Sachiko’s permission. Probably she did not want to trouble her sister. Sachiko agreed with her completely, and made no effort to stop her.

  Etsuko was told in an offhand way that Yukiko had gone to have an injection and afterwards to do some shopping in Kobe. Such a story would not do for Teinosuke, however, and Sachiko told him everything, down to Yukiko’s decision, quite without prompting from Sachiko, to go to Nishinomiya. Teinosuke frowned and said nothing. He could only accept the decision in silence. At dinner, Etsuko was told a little of the truth—that Yukiko had gone to take care of Koi-san—and she immediately began digging for more: where was Koi-san, and what was the matter with her? Koi-san was ill in her apartment, and Yukiko had gone because Koi-san was all alone. And it was nothing serious, nothing for a child to worry about—Sachiko’s manner became a little impatient. Etsuko said no more. Not at all sure that the child believed them, Teinosuke and Sachiko tried to interest her in other subjects. She answered their questions without enthusiasm, and now and then she would glance cautiously up at one or the other. Although she had been told that Koi-san, who had disappeared the end of the year before, was very busy, she had heard much of the truth from O-haru, and indeed it was convenient not to have her in complete ignorance. Two or three days later, worried that there was no sign of Yukiko in spite of all O-haru’s trips back and forth, she began nagging at O-haru to tell her how Koi-san was. Finally she accosted her mother.

  “Why is Koi-san away from home? Have them bring her home, right away.”

  Thus Sachiko found that she was the one being scolded. She tried to calm the child. “Yukiko and I are taking care of Koi-san, and there is nothing for you to worry about. Children are not supposed to talk about such things.”

  But Etsuko was aroused. “How can you leave her there?” she screamed. “She might die on you. She might. How can you leave her there?”

  The fact was that Taeko’s progress was not satisfactory. She was getting worse. With Yukiko at her bedside, she did not want for nurses, but O-haru reported that she was getting weaker day by day. The results of the tests had come from Osaka University. Among the germs were germs of the most virulent sort. And for some reason her temperature rose and fell any number of times every day. At its highest, it went up to one hundred four, and with the fever came violent chills. Partly this was because she had been given medicine to stop the diarrhea and the violent abdominal pains. When the diarrhea subsided, the ague began and the fever rose. And when on the other hand the diarrhea returned, the fever fell, the pain became intense, and she strained at the bedpan to produce only a thin, watery substance. Told that the heart seemed to be affected, Yukiko was quite beside herself. Would Taeko recover? It did not seem to be simple dysentery—might there be complications? She suggested that the doctor try injections, Ringer’s solution or vita-camphor, but he only replied that matters were not yet so serious. Sure that Dr. Kushida would by now be giving injection after injection, Yukiko asked the nurse’s opinion, and was told that Dr. Saitō, influenced by his father, disapproved of injections. He would give an injection only in a real crisis. Miss Yukiko, said O-haru, now felt that it no longer mattered what people thought, that they must call in Dr. Kushida, but she wanted Mrs. Makioka to come for a look. O-haru added that in the last five or six days Koi-san had gotten thinner and thinner. Mrs. Makioka would be shocked.

  Sachiko had been hesitating because she feared infection and because she did not want to worry Teinosuke. Now, however, she decided to go with O-haru that very morning, and to say nothing to her husband of the visit. Just before she left, she thought to call Dr. Kushida and ask his opinion. She explained briefly that Taeko had taken ill in the house of an acquaintance, that there were reasons for leaving her there, that they had called a doctor named Saitō in the neighborhood, and that her progress had been far from ideal. At such times, replied Dr. Kushida with his usual briskness, one gave the patient shot after shot of Ringer’s solution and camphor. Otherwise the patient only became weaker. Sachiko must tell the doctor to hurry with injections before it was too late. She might have to ask Dr. Kushida to pa
y a call, said Sachiko. It was not as if he did not know Saitō, replied Dr. Kushida, and if Saitō had no objection he would call whenever they needed him.

  Some hundreds of yards east of Narihira Bridge, a cherry tree over an earthen wall to the north of the National Highway was in full bloom.

  “How beautiful,” murmured O-haru.

  “This is always the first tree to bloom,” said Sachiko. She looked at the pavement, from which shimmering waves were rising as in midsummer. They had hardly noticed in all the excitement, but here it was April, and in another ten days the cherries would be in full bloom. And would the whole family go to Kyote as usual? If only they could; but did it seem likely, even at the most sanguine estimate, that Koi-san would be up in time? Perhaps she would be well for the late cherries at Omuro. Etsuko had come down with scarlet fever the year before, Sachiko remembered. Though the child had waited until after the cherry viewing, and her illness had not interferred with that particular pleasure, it had kept Sachiko from seeing Kikugorō. This month Kikugorō was coming to Osaka again. He would be dancing “Wistaria Maiden,” and she had meant to go whatever happened. Would she have to miss him this year too?

  The cab moved along the embankment. In the distance, Helmet Mountain rose through a spring mist.

  20

  TAEKO was in bed upstairs. Yukiko and Okubata had heard the cab and were waiting at the foot of the stairs.

  Okubata signalled to Sachiko and led her to the rear of the-house.

  “Excuse me for being so abrupt, but there is something I have to tell you.”

  Dr. Saitō had just made his call, and as Okubata saw him to the door, the doctor had said that Taeko’s heart was weaker. The symptoms were still far from clear, he added, and he might be imagining things, but it seemed to him that the liver was swollen. She might just possibly have anthrax. And what was anthrax? Okubata had asked. A disease in which pustules form in the liver. The extreme temperature fluctuations, the chills and ague, Dr. Sait6 had said, could only be explained by anthrax. He did not feel confident alone, however, and wondered if he might call in a specialist from Osaka University. Okubata learned more of anthrax: germs from other lesions, occasionally from dysentery, attach themselves to internal organs; if there is but one pustule it is easily treated; unfortunately the pustules tend to multiply, and the disease can be very troublesome when numbers of pustules form in the liver. If the pustules break in the internal organs, all is well, but if they break against the diaphragm, the bronchial tubes, or the peritoneum, almost nothing can be done to save the patient. Though Dr. Saitō avoided a direct statement, there was little doubt that he considered his diagnosis certain.