The Makioka Sisters

by Junichiro Tanizaki

  But Yukiko pointed out that Taeko had been living by herself for six months and would have used up the better part of her savings. She could hardly carry out her grand promises. Although they need not have worried about arrangements that concerned only Taeko and Okubata, the older sisters were now involved. Everything, money and goods, must be paid back, and as soon as possible. Sachiko might think Kei-boy had money, added Yukiko, but she herself, in the days she spent in his house, had seen many signs that he was very hard pressed indeed. The food, for instance, was astonishingly plain: in the evening only soup and one vegetable besides rice, for Kei-boy and Yukiko and the nurse as well. Occasionally O-haru would bring back something a little more elaborate from the Nishinomiya market, and Kei-boy would have his share of that. When Yukiko made it a point to tip Dr. Saitō’s driver herself, Kei-boy pretended that he had not noticed. A man could feign a certain insensitiveness to small details. It was the old housekeeper, thought Yukiko, of whom they had to be careful. She was a gentle, docile old person, devoted to Okubata and extremely considerate of Koi-san as well, and she wasted not a cent in the kitchen. It was Yukiko’s feeling, however, that agreeable though the old woman was, she was secretly hostile to the Makioka family, and especially to Koi-san. Not that she gave even a hint of displeasure. Yukiko simply had her intuitions. If Sachiko wanted further details, she could have them from O-haru. O-haru and the old woman were always talking together. In any case, the old woman was a problem, and they should not remain in Okubata’s debt.

  Vaguely worried, Sachiko called O-haru into the parlor and asked what the old woman seemed to think of them. Had O-haru heard anything? If so, she should hold nothing back. Her face most solemn, O-haru looked uncertainly up at Sachiko. Would it really be all right to tell everything? Assured that it would be, she timidly began her story.

  The fact was that she had been wondering whether she ought to tell Mrs. Makioka. The month before, when she had been in and out of Okubata’s house, she and the old woman had become very friendly. With the patient to take care of, they had been too busy for a really good talk. But after Taeko was moved, O-haru went to pick up the last of the baggage; Okubata was out, and the old woman, all alone, asked her to stay for a cup of tea. The woman was warm in her praise of Sachiko and Yukiko, said O-haru. How lucky Koi-san was to have such fine sisters! The conversation moved on to “the young master.” No doubt he had his faults. Still, turned out by his brothers after the death of the old mistress, he was much to be pitied. He had only Koi-san in the whole world, said the old woman, choking with tears. If Koi-san would become his wife—O-haru should do what she could to see that a marriage was arranged. Hesitantly, the old woman went on to say that the young master had made many sacrifices for Koi-san these last ten years. She even hinted, though with great circumspection, that Taeko was at the bottom of the incident that had led to Okubata’s being disinherited. What astonished O-haru most was the allegation that for some years Koi-san had been receiving financial help from Okubata. Almost every day since she left the Ashiya house, she had been coming to Okubata’s in the morning before breakfast, staying for three meals, and going back late at night to sleep in her own room. She said she was supporting herself and cooking for herself. As a matter of fact she was a free boarder, and she even brought laundry for the old woman to do, or cleaning for the old woman to send out with Okubata’s. And their pleasures outside the house—the old woman did not know which of the two paid the bills, but she thought she had evidence in the fact that, though Okubata generally kept one hundred or two hundred yen in his wallet, she would find it empty after he had been out with Koi-san. What Koi-san actually paid from her savings, then, was probably her room rent and little more. Noting that O-haru did not seem convinced, the old woman went into her room and brought out a sheaf of bills and receipts of the last year or so. “While we are talking about it,” she said, and she proceeded to point out how the bills had gone up since Taeko became a “boarder.” The gas bill, the electric bill, cab fares, the green grocer’s bill, and the fish monger’s bill had all jumped astonishingly since November, and did indeed suggest how carelessly Taeko was spending Okubata’s money. Bills from department stores and clothes shops too were largely accounted for by Taeko’s purchases. O-haru was astonished to find a bill for the camel’s hair coat Taeko had had made at an expensive Kobe shop the December before, and the voile afternoon dress made for her at the same shop in March. Of a fine material, very light for its warmth, the coat was reversible, brown on one side and bright red on the other. When she had come to show it off in Ashiya, Taeko had said that it had cost three hundred fifty yen, and that, to pay for it, she had sold two or three kimonos that now seemed too bold. O-haru remembered wondering at the time whether Koi-san could really afford such luxuries on her own resources, and she thought she understood for the first time what had really happened.

  The old woman insisted that she did not mean to condemn Koi-san, that she only wanted to show how desperate the young master had been to win Koi-san’s favor. She was beginning to touch on matters that embarrassed her, continued the woman, but even the pampered Okubata was after all the third son of the family, and he did not have a great deal of money to spend on himself. He had managed well enough while the old mistress lived. Now his funds had been cut off. The master in Osaka (Okubata’s oldest brother) had given him a modest solatium upon his being disinherited, and he had been eating into his capital ever since. The end was near; the young master, in his blind determination to please Koi-san, showed no concern for the future. He expected someone to come to his rescue. Unless he had a change of heart and set about making an honest living for himself, however, it did not seem likely that he would regain the sympathy of his family.

  The old woman kept urging him to find work, even if it brought him no more than a hundred yen a month. But his head was too full of Koi-san. Only if he could marry Koi-san was there a possibility of his reforming. The old mistress and the master in Osaka had been opposed to the marriage at the time of that newspaper incident, and the woman had quite agreed with them, but now, as she thought of the years since, she could not help feeling that they had been wrong. If the marriage had been permitted, the young master might not have gone astray. He might have had a happy family by now, he would be working with the best of them. Though for some reason the master in Osaka had never taken kindly to Koi-san, and even now would not be pleased at the marriage, there was no point in worrying about him. The opposition would not last forever. Marriage would open a new road for the young master. There was still one great difficulty, however, and it concerned the master in Osaka less than Koi-san herself: in the old woman’s view, Koi-san did not really mean to marry the young master.

  She might seem to be criticizing Koi-san, the old woman said over and over again, but she did not mean to be. Finally she asked what the Makiokas thought of the young master. He was pampered and he knew little of the world, and if they chose to look for faults there was no doubt that they could find many, but the old woman would swear to one thing: that his affection for Koi-san was as steady as it had ever been. He had, it was true, first known the joys of the teahouses when he was but sixteen or seventeen, and his conduct had not always been exemplary. In the days when he was separated from Koi-san his dissipation had been extreme. The old woman hoped they would understand nonetheless that he had only been despondent over his inability to marry the woman he had chosen. Perhaps Koi-san, whose intelligence was on a level far above his, who had sound judgment, and who was almost too talented for a woman, had become impatient with his general uselessness. That of course was understandable, but after all a relationship that had lasted more than ten years was not to be broken off so easily. Koi-san must see that the young master, so unswerving in his affection, would really be too forlorn. And if she did not mean to marry him, he might have resigned himself to that fact had she broken cleanly at the time of the Yonekichi affair (the old woman called Itakura “Yonekichi”). Instead she had managed to m
ake it seem that she meant to marry Yonekichi and that she did not mean to, and that she was still fond of Okubata and that she was not. It was the same now that Yonekkhi was dead—what exactly did she mean, leaving the impression that she did not want to turn the young master away, and at the same time that she did not want to marry him? Could one help thinking that she was after his money? Not entirely satisfied with this summation of the case, O-haru pointed out that whatever the old woman had been told, the Makiokas had heard that Koi-san wanted to marry Itakura, and that Kei-boy stood in the way. Koi-san, she said, had told them among other things that she meant to wait only until Miss Yukiko was married. Leaving aside the problem of Miss Yukiko, answered the old woman, it astonished her to hear that the young master had stood in the way. Even while Koi-san was keeping her affair with Yonekichi secret from the young master, she was meeting the latter without telling Yonekichi. She was always—the old woman knew for a fact— telephoning the young master. Koi-san had used the two of them with consummate skill. In her heart, perhaps, she liked Yonekichi better. Still she seemed to have reasons for holding on to the young master as long as possible. The woman was in effect charging that Taeko had used Okubata for what she could wring- out of him. But as the old woman knew, protested O-haru, Koi-san had her dolls, and she made enough to take care of herself and even to put money in the bank. Where then was the need to use the young master? So Koi-san said, retorted the old woman, and O-haru believed her, as did Miss Yukiko and Mrs. Makioka, but did it seem possible that a woman alone, with the income from work that was child’s play, could feed, clothe, and house herself in such luxury, and have money left over to put in the bank? The Makioka family naturally overestimated her ability to support herself, what with the fine studio she was said to have, and the foreigners, even, she had among her pupils, and her lavish advertising through pictures Yonekichi took for her, but it did not seem probable that she really made much money. Though the old woman had not seen Koi-san’s bank book, she could guess that the balance was not impressive. Or if it was, that could only be because she was squeezing the young master to build up her own savings. The old woman would not be at all surprised if it should prove that Yone-kichi had been behind the scenes, urging her on. If Koi-san was receiving help from the young master, then the burden on Yone-kichi would be lighter. Perhaps he knew all along that she was seeing the young master, and chose to look the other way.

  More humiliated at each revelation, O-haru sought to defend Taeko, but the old woman had unshakable evidence. How about this, and how about this, she would say, lining up her exhibits. O-haru did not have the courage to tell Sachiko the worst. It was too awful, she would rather not talk about it. Even so she offered an item or two. The old woman knew exactly how many jewels Taeko had, and what sort of jewels they were. (With the China Incident in progress, people no longer wore jewels, and Taeko kept hers in a box as precious to her as her life. She had left it with Sachiko rather than risk keeping it in her room.) Every single one had come from the Okubata shop, said the old woman. She herself had any number of times seen the old mistress come to the young master’s rescue when it became known that he had stolen another ring. Sometimes he would give a ring to Koi-san, sometimes he would sell a ring to give her money, and now and then a ring Koi-san had sold in secret would be found back in the shop. Not all the jewels went to Koi-san. Some he sold for his own spending money, but one could assume that most of them were for Koi-san. And it seemed moreover that she knew perfectly well what he was doing and even urged him on, describing in exact detail the ring she wanted. (Besides rings, there had been wrist watches and compacts and broaches and necklaces.) The old woman, who had been with the Okubata family she did not know how many years and who had nursed Kei-boy himself when he was a baby, knew everything. There was no end to the evidence she could offer. It seemed, nevertheless, that she was not telling the story out of bitterness. She wanted rather to show how devoted the young master had been. The Makiokas thought ill of the young master because they did not know the facts, she said; hence they opposed the marriage. If they would only consider the real reason for the young master’s troubles, their opposition would very probably stop. She was not saying that Koi-san was bad or good. If Koi-san was important to the young master, then she was important to the old woman too. The latter only hoped that they would all work to win Koi-san over. She had again found someone she liked, it seemed, and she might again be preparing to brush the young master aside. Perhaps she had noted that his pocket book was a little thin.

  O-haru was startled. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. How did the old woman know that Koi-san had found “another man she liked”? The old woman could not answer for sure, but Koi-San and the young master quarreled a great deal these days, and in the quarrels she often heard the young master mention the name “Miyoshi” with some warmth. Miyoshi seemed to live in Kobe, though it was not clear what part of Kobe, or what sort of work he did. The young master often spoke of “that bartender.” And what, the old woman wanted to know, was a bartender? Evidently the man worked in a Kobe bar. She knew nothing more, and O-haru did not press her.

  So much for O-haru’s story. In the course of the conversation, she added, she had learned that Koi-san was a heavy drinker. In Sachiko’s presence, Taeko drank a half pint of sake at most. It was the old woman’s story that with Okubata she could drink easily a quart, and up to a third of a bottle of whisky. She rarely lost control of herself, though it was true that sometimes, more frequently of late, Okubata had to carry her home. The old woman had no idea where they might have been drinking.

  24

  IT TOOK a great deal of self control on Sachiko’s part to hear the story through. From time to time she would feel herself flushing, and she would want to cover her ears and say: “That will do, O-haru.” There was probably a great deal more she could have heard if she wished, but she found a convenient breaking point.

  “That will be enough, O-haru. You may go.” She leaned against the table, waiting for the agitation to subside.

  Was it true, then? Was what she feared true? One always takes the part of those near one, and Kei-boy to the old woman was a pure, clean youth. It did not seem likely that he had really been so unswerving in his love for Koi-san. No doubt Koi-san and Teino-suke had reason to call him a profligate. Even so, Sachiko could not ignore the old woman’s description of Taeko, the vampire. Just as the woman made too many allowances for Kei-boy, so the Makiokas made too many allowances for Koi-san. Sachiko had felt certain unpleasant suspicions each time there was a new ring on her sister’s finger, but the suspicions had disappeared as” she saw how pleased Koi-san was at having been able to buy a ring with her own money. And Koi-san had had her studio, and Sachiko had seen her dolls sell for surprisingly high prices, and, after helping with the accounts at the exhibitions, Sachiko had found herself believing what Koi-san said. Even when the latter turned to sewing and her income from dolls was cut off, she told her sisters that she had saved enough to go to Europe or to open a dress shop, and that she had no trouble meeting her expenses. Thinking how sad it would be for Koi-san to use up her savings, Sachiko ordered clothes for Etsuko, and took orders from people she knew in the neighborhood, and in general saw that Koi-san had money to live on. She had gone out of her way to believe Koi-san, who boasted that she was able to support herself quite without help from the family. Had Sachiko made too many allowances because it was her own sister, had she refused to believe the truth? But what had Koi-san said of Okubata? Had she not said that she could not expect to rely on so incompetent a person, that indeed she would have to support him once they were married? Had she not said that she received nothing from him, not a fraction of a cent, and that she even tried to keep him from touching his own money? Had those fine words been to deceive the world, and her sisters too?

  But perhaps it was not Taeko they should blame. Perhaps it was the sisters, easily convinced, wholly unworldly, easy, trusting, foolish. Sachiko had to admit the truth
in the old woman’s arguments, now that it was here before her: one simply did not live in luxury on the income from a girl’s hobby. Sachiko had had her suspicions, and her refusal to pursue them, one was forced to conclude, was less foolish than cunning. She had refused to believe that she could have such a sister, and her refusal had caused all the trouble. She felt her cheeks bum at the thought that the world, and still more the Okubata family, must have interpreted her motives differently. She had not been able to restrain her annoyance when she heard how strongly Okubata’s mother and brother were opposing the marriage. Now she saw their reasons. Taeko was to them a vampire, and the family behind her was wholly disreputable. How to account for sisters and brothers-in-law who let the girl behave so? Sachiko had to agree that Tatsuo had been right to dismiss Taeko from the family. She remembered too that Teino-suke always tried to have as little as possible to do with Taeko’s affairs. He would only say that Koi-san was too complicated, that he could not understand her, and probably he had guessed something of these darker matters. Possibly, in his roundabout way, he had been suggesting as much to Sachiko. If so, he could have spoken more plainly.