The Makioka Sisters

by Junichiro Tanizaki

  They were able to get berths for the next evening, and all that day they were busy getting ready. Sachiko and Yukiko needed permanent waves. They did not know where to go, however, with Itani no longer in business. If Koi-san were there she could recommend a place. Why was she so late? And so the morning passed, and at two in the afternoon Taeko appeared, her hair neatly waved. Always one to lay her plans carefully, she had gone off to a beauty shop by herself. How nasty of her. They had wanted her to take them along. But Taeko was not disturbed: there would be a beauty shop in the Imperial Hotel. Quite true—consoled, they turned to decide what clothes they would take, and packed a large and a small suitcase and a bag. When they had finished dressing, it was nearly train time.

  29

  “MRS. MAKIOKA?” In Tokyo Station the following morning, a small young woman in Western clothes came briskly up and attached herself to Sachiko. “I’m Mitsuyo.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Itani’s …”

  “It’s been a long time. Mother should have come to meet you, but she had all sorts of things to do.” Mitsuyo glanced at the baggage. “Shall I call a redcap?” She pounced on a redcap. “And this will be Miss Yukiko, and this Koi-san. How long has it been, I wonder. You’ve all been so good to Mother. Thank you for coming—just think, all three of you. Mother was so happy when she spoke of you last night.”

  Two or three miscellaneous pieces—cosmetic cases and the like —were left when the redcap had taken the larger baggage. “Let me have them. Come on, let me have them.” Mitsuyo seized the pieces the sisters were carrying and darted off into the crowd.

  Sachiko and the others had seen the girl once or twice when she was in a Kobe high school. There was no sign now of the old provincial manner, and they would never have recognized her if she had not announced herself. Itani was tall, though rather slender. Mitsuyo on the other hand had been small as a child, and she had hardly grown at all. Sachiko remembered her as swarthy and round-faced, and just a little plump. Now the face seemed much fairer, and Sachiko would have said that the body had even shrunk. The hands were no larger than those of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old. Mitsuyo was only an inch or so shorter than Taeko, but by contrast with Taeko, heavy in kimono and cloak, she seemed tiny and bird-like. And, as her mother had said, she was just a little “forward.” Her speech was almost laughably like her mother’s. The glib flow suggested a too-knowing child. Yukiko squirmed each time this girl ten years her junior called her “Miss Yukiko.”

  “How nice of you to come to the station. You must be so busy.”

  “It’s nothing, nothing. But as a matter of fact we are rather busy this month, with the celebrations and all. And then along comes Mother.”

  “I understand there was a naval review the other day.”

  “And the day after that a meeting to organize the Rule Assistance Association. And the festival at the Yasukuni Shrine is going on, and on the twenty-first there is a parade. Oh, Tokyo is just full of excitement. All the hotels are overflowing. That reminds me—the Imperial Hotel has twice as many people as it can handle. We got you a room, but not much of a room.”

  “Anything will do.”

  “It’s a tiny little closet of a room, but it’s all they have. We did complain when we saw that there were only two single beds, and we got one changed for a double.”

  Mitsuyo told them all this as they drove through the city, and much besides: that she had tried to find Kabuki tickets for that day, but, with Tokyo in such a stir, tickets were not to be had by ordinary means for a full ten days ahead; that, through her magazine, she thought she had tickets for two days later; that she and her mother and Mr. Mimaki, whom she believed her mother had described to them, would ask to go along; and that it would probably be impossible to have six seats together.

  “Well, here it is. Hardly any sunlight—but try not to mind too much.” Mitsuyo saw them to the room, put down the baggage, and started for the door. “Mother should be back any time now. She said to tell you she would call. If you’ll excuse me, then, I do have to go to the office. I’ll stop by later. Is there shopping I can do for you? Just let me know—here is my number.” Mitsuyo reached into her purse for a calling card. The fingernails on the tiny hand were as bright a red as one could hope to find anywhere.

  Sachiko wanted if possible to have her hair taken care of that day, but they ought to rest. With Itani about to call, they could not expect to catch up on their sleep. Even so, they might loosen their obis and lie down for a while. Sachiko was less worried about herself than about Yukiko. Possibly because of the injections, the spot over Yukiko’s eye was much less conspicuous, though it had not entirely disappeared. The dangerous time of the month was coming, however, and the spot tended to be darker when she was tired. Sachiko looked at the worn face and concluded that the most important thing was to let her sister rest.

  “Shall we wait until tomorrow, Yukiko? You must be tired.”

  “Today will be all right.”

  “But the party is at five, and we can always find time tomorrow. Suppose we rest a little and go out to the Ginza. We have our shopping to do.”

  “I am going to lie down.” Taeko was sprawled in the armchair that was clearly the most comfortable in the room. She had occupied it as soon as they came in. While her sisters were talking, she undid her obi, and, with only a narrow sash holding her kimono together, threw herself down on the double bed. She would once have been the last to show her exhaustion. She would have left her less energetic sisters behind and set off on her business; but the old liveliness had disappeared. On the slightest pretext she would fall into a chair and fling her feet out before her, or lean heavily on an elbow and yawn and sigh, and otherwise show that her manners, never good, had become worse of late. Not quite over her illness, she had perhaps fattened herself too indulgently.

  “You lie down too, Yukiko.” Yukiko nodded and, putting aside the cloak and obi Taeko had thrown across the armchair, sat down without undoing her obi. She would have to sleep with Taeko, but she did not feel in the mood to lie down beside her sister now. The bed, though double, was smaller than most double beds, and she meant to leave the single bed for Sachiko. It was nonetheless Yukiko and not Taeko who was presently asleep.

  Whether or not she noticed this evidence of Yukiko’s thought-fulness, Sachiko lay down on the single bed. Yukiko slept happily in her chair, and Sachiko and Taeko lay awake on the beds.

  “Suppose we have our baths, Koi-san.” Yukiko slept on while they had their turns at the bath. They woke her for lunch, and there was still no sign of Itani. At about three they decided to go shopping. They absolutely had to find that farewell present. Nothing Western seemed appropriate—they must find something uniquely Japanese that would please foreigners. After much perplexed searching they decided on a mother-of-pearl jewel box that could be Sachiko’s present, and a tortoise-shell broach set with pearls, from Yukiko and Taeko. The search left them exhausted.

  “No more, no more.” Taeko headed for the hotel after tea at the Colombin, though they still had shopping to do. In the hotel room (it was by then four-thirty) they found an orchid, and beside it a note on Itani’s calling card: “Telephone me when you come in. We can have tea together.”

  “No more tea!” Taeko was not to be pried from the armchair, which she had occupied again. The other two sat on the beds. Not ten minutes later the telephone rang.

  “It must be Itani,” said Sachiko as she picked up the receiver. Itani had been out since early that morning, and she hoped they would forgive her. She had come back a few minutes before. She would order tea, and they were to meet her in the lobby.

  “Thank you, thank you. I was about to call you. Thank you. We will be right down.”

  “Leave me here,” said Taeko. “The two of you can have tea with her.”

  But they must not be rude to Itani, said Sachiko. The others were just as tired as Koi-san. Soon all three went down to the lobby.

  30

  ITANI immediately began talking, and
while they were having tea she managed to tell them everything. She had just been informed by telephone that she had Kabuki tickets for the day after tomorrow. Only the three Makiokas would be able to sit together. She herself would sit with Mitsuyo, and Mimaki would have to sit by himself. In the course of what seemed the most idle chatter, they learned many important details: Itani had not only spoken of Yukiko to the Kunishimas and Mimaki, she had even shown them the miai photograph Sachiko had left with her; the photograph had been extremely well received; at Kunishimas’ the evening before, everyone had agreed that Yukiko looked far younger than she was; already Mimaki was convinced that she was the wife for him; if the Makiokas had no objections, he was prepared to marry her whenever she said; since Itani wanted to hide nothing, she had told them all she knew of the Makioka family, of relations between the Shibuya house and the Ashiya house, and the unpleasantness between Yukiko and Taeko on the one hand and Tatsuo on the other; Mimaki seemed quite undisturbed, and there was no sign that this new information had weakened his decision; a man who enjoyed life, he was more reasonable than most, and perhaps he was above fussing over small family matters—in any case, she found him extremely easy to talk to. Yukiko and Taeko, sensing that the conversation was moving toward more delicate topics, left as soon as they had finished their tea.

  “I told him about that spot.” Itani lowered her voice and glanced at Yukiko’s retreating figure. “I told him everything. It would not do to have him find out later.”

  “Quite right of you. We will all feel more comfortable. Of course Yukiko has been having injections, and, as you see, the spot hardly shows any more. And it will go away entirely once she is married. Could you explain that too?”

  “Oh, I’ve already explained. He said he’d enjoy watching it go.”

  “Did he really!”

  “And then—about Koi-san. I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but there are all sorts of rumors. But even if they’re true, we needn’t worry. Someone in every family is a little different, and I think myself it’s better that way. Mr. Mimaki says it makes no difference at all. He says he’s not marrying the sister.”

  “That seems very reasonable of him.”

  “Oh, you know, people who’ve had their fun always understand. He said he had nothing to do with the sister, and that I could tell him everything. Not that he wanted to hear everything if I would rather not tell him.” Noting the relief on Sachiko’s face, Itani plunged on. “But what is Miss Yukiko thinking? That is the real problem.”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact. . . .”

  As a matter of fact, Sachiko was for the first time really interested. Until then she had been most emphatic in making the farewell party the chief reason for the trip. Her rather tepid attitude toward the miai itself—though it had not been entirely out of her mind, she was determined to take it seriously only after they had met the man—was owing to a fear that they might once again go too far and be disappointed. She had not really talked to Yukiko. Assuming that conditions were otherwise good, one thing was sure to make Yukiko hesitate: the fact, touched upon earlier, that the man lived in Tokyo. Or rather, to be quite honest, they could no longer let Yukiko have her way, and Yukiko was not likely to be stubborn; and it was Sachiko who secretly hoped that they could find Yukiko a home somewhere in Osaka or Kobe. She hated the thought of sending her sister off to Tokyo. Just for her own information, said Sachiko, she wondered where Mr. Mimaki meant to live. She had heard that his father in Kyoto would buy him a house, and where was it likely to be? Though she was in no sense raising objections, she wondered if it must be in Tokyo. Might he not live farther west? That was a point, answered Itani. She had not thought to ask, but she certainly would now. She suspected that it would be Tokyo. Did they dislike Tokyo?

  “No, not really.” Sachiko hastily revised her answer: “No, not at all.”

  She would see them later, then, said Itani. It was possible that Mitsuyo would be around with Mr. Mimaki after dinner, and Itani hoped they would all come to her room. At about eight there was a telephone call: Itani knew they would be tired, but Mr. Mimaki had just arrived, and she hoped all three sisters would come to meet him. Sachiko helped Yukiko change. While she and Taeko were dressing, Itani called to hurry them.

  “Come in.” Mitsuyo opened the door. “The place is in a terrible clutter, I’m afraid. You’ll have to forgive us.”

  The room was overflowing—five or six suitcases and trunks, cardboard dress boxes, farewell presents, supplies to be taken to America.

  “Please, please. This will be fine for me.” Mimaki sat down on a steamer trunk when the introductions were finished. There were but four chairs in the room, and they were assigned to Itani and the Makioka sisters. Mitsuyo sat on the bed.

  “Now you have a real audience.” Mimaki picked up the conversation the sisters had interrupted. “Suppose you give us a demonstration.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Oh, but I’m going to see you aboard ship, and you’ll have to show me then.”

  “I will not. I’m wearing kimono the day I sail.”

  “Come, now. All the way across?”

  “Maybe not all the way. But I don’t mean to wear foreign clothes if I can help it.”

  “A very bad idea. Why did you have them made?” Mimaki turned to the sisters. “We’ve been talking about how Mrs. Itani dresses. Have you ever seen her in foreign clothes?”

  “Never,” said Sachiko. “She has never given us even a glimpse. We have often wondered why.”

  “We all have. Even Mitsuyo here says she’s never seen her mother in foreign clothes. We have to see her at least once.” He turned to Itani again. “Don’t you think you should have a trial run, with all of us here to watch you?”

  “I am to strip down right in front of you?”

  “Yes, please do. Or maybe we could wait in the hall.”

  “You must stop teasing Mother, Mr. Mimaki. You don’t really care what she wears.”

  Itani saw her opportunity to squirm loose. “I’ve noticed that Koi-san is wearing kimono these days.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “Yes, Koi-san has been wearing kimono a great deal. Oftener than foreign clothes, even.”

  “They tell me it is a sign of age.” Like Sachiko, Taeko was quite unashamed of her Osaka accent.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so.” Mitsuyo inspected the bright kimono from top to bottom. “But I think Koi-san would look better in foreign clothes. Not that she doesn’t look good in kimono, of course.”

  “I thought the lady’s name was Taeko. What is this ‘Koi-san?’ “

  “Really! You’re from Kyoto, and you don’t know what ‘Koi-san’ means!”

  “But ‘Koi-san’ is an Osaka word,” explained Sachiko. “I doubt if it is used in Kyoto.”

  Itani brought out a box of chocolates, evidently a present from someone, but they had just had dinner and wanted only tea. “Mother, we must order something for Mr. Mimaki.” Mitsuyo had her mother ring for whisky. Mimaki was not reluctant to drink. “Just leave the bottle here,” he said to the bellboy. As he talked he poured happily from the bottle of Scotch at his elbow. Itani guided the conversation smoothly. She asked, among other things, whether his new house had to be in Tokyo, and he told them much about himself and his future. Mitsuyo had said that he was a Kyoto man, but as a matter of fact the family had lived in Tokyo since his grandfather’s time, and he himself had been born in Tokyo. Though his father was of pure Kyoto blood, his mother was from the old downtown section of Tokyo, and he was therefore half the child of Kyoto and half the child of old Edo. He had in his youth been quite indifferent to Kyoto. He had been drawn to Europe and America, but he had recently begun to feel something like nostalgia for the city of his ancestors. Perhaps that was inevitable: his father too had come to love Kyoto, and had left the Tokyo house and retired to Saga, on the outskirts of Kyoto. Mimaki’s own tastes were turning toward the Japanese. He was beginning to recognize the beau
ty of old Japanese architecture, and he meant, before he became an architect, to study what was uniquely Japanese, and later to give his designs a strongly Japanese flavor. He had begun to wonder whether, for his studies, he might not do better to seek work in the Kyoto region and to live there for a time. And it had also occurred to him that the Kobe-Osaka area would be more congenial to the sort of house he hoped to build. With but a little exaggeration, then, one might say that his future lay in Osaka and Kobe. What part of Kyoto would they recommend? Sachiko gave her opinion, and asked where his father was living, and it was concluded that the only parts of Kyoto to be recommended were the Saga plains to the west and the eastern hills around the Nanzenji Temple. Thus they talked on into the night. Even after a third of a bottle of whisky, Mimaki was completely in control of himself. He only became wittier as he drank. Mitsuyo was a good adversary, and the two of them happily threw barbs back and forth. The entertainment was almost professional, so good that the Makiokas quite forgot their weariness. It was nearly eleven when Mimaki suddenly jumped up. Terrible—he was about to miss the last streetcar. Mitsuyo said that she too must go.