The sisters slept until nine-thirty the next morning. Unable to wait for the dining room to open, Sachiko had toast in her room, and afterwards set out with Yukiko for the Shiseidō beauty shop. Though there was a beauty shop in the basement of the Imperial Hotel, Mitsuyo had suggested the night before that they go to the Shiseidō, where they could have the Zotos cold wave and avoid scorching their hair. There were some twelve or thirteen customers ahead of them, and it was impossible to know how long they would have to wait. In Itani’s shop they could have had their way—the waiting list could always be juggled—but here such stratagems were impossible. The waiting room was full of strangers, women of the Tokyo breed, none of whom seemed ready to strike up a conversation. Ashamed, even when they talked in hushed voices, to have their west-country accents overheard, the sisters felt as if they were in the heart of the enemy country. They could only sit and listen timidly to the brisk Tokyo speech around them. Wasn’t it crowded, said one woman. Of course, answered another—it was a lucky day for weddings, and every beauty shop in town was full. The horoscope was good today, Sachiko remembered. Perhaps Itani had deliberately chosen the day to bring Yukiko luck. More and more customers poured in, and two or three managed to move ahead in the line. They were very sorry, but they simply had to be ready at a certain hour. It was two, and the sisters had come before noon, and they began to wonder whether they would be ready by five. She would never again come to the Shiseidō, thought Sachiko. Though she managed to hold back her anger, it was now clear that she had not had enough breakfast. She was ravenously hungry. And it was even worse for Yukiko. Yukiko liked to say that she had “a smaller stomach than most people,” and it was true that she ate little at any one time, but it was also true that she was hungry again sooner than most. Sachiko looked nervously at her sister, silent and dispirited. Might
Yukiko faint with hunger? Would she be able to stand the ordeal of a permanent wave? Finally their turns came, and Yukiko went first, and it was nearly five when Sachiko was finished. As they were about to leave, there was a telephone call for “Mrs. Makioka.” Not ready yet? But it was already five. Taeko was calling from the hotel. “Yes, yes, we are on our way,” Sachiko slipped into the Osaka dialect in spite of herself. The two sisters ran for the door.
“Remember, Yukiko, never to go to a strange beauty shop on a lucky day.”
As she hurried through the hotel to the farewell party, she passed at least five women, all in formal dress, whom she had seen at the Shiseido that afternoon.
“Never go to a strange beauty shop on a lucky day,” she said to Itani.
31
ON THE THIRD DAY, their last in Tokyo, they were busy all morning and into the afternoon.
Sachiko had at first planned to leave this day open for the theater, and, visiting the Shibuya house the next morning and finishing her shopping in the afternoon, to go home on the night train. She had had enough of night trains, however, and the lack of sleep was beginning to tell. She wanted only to be back in her own bed as soon as possible. It was Taeko who said so first, and Yukiko immediately agreed. And they wanted to make the visit to the Shibuya house as short as possible. It seemed, then, that they would take the Swallow Express back the next morning, and, between shopping in the morning and the Kabuki in the afternoon, they would dash out to Shibuya and keep the cab waiting no more than five or six minutes. Sachiko knew how her sisters felt. Taeko had always disliked the main house, and Yukiko had been back in Ashiya now for more than a year. The autumn before, when the order came from the main house that Taeko must decide whether to come to Tokyo or to leave the Makioka family, very much the same choice had been presented to Yukiko, but the order was not clear in Yukiko’s case, and, remarking that she could not know how serious they were, she had chosen to ignore it. No word had come since to remind her. Possibly Tatsuo, who had had trouble with Yukiko before, had decided not to risk angering her, or possibly he considered her disinherited along with Taeko. In any case, Tsuruko was likely to mention the problem, and Sachiko was therefore as reluctant as Yukiko to go to the Shibuya house. On her trip to the Fuji Lakes, she had only telephoned her sister, partly because she was having trouble with her eye, but very largely because she feared being caught in a cross fire. Tsuruko might transmit an order from Tatsuo, and Yukiko might well ignore it again. And Sachiko had her own reasons for staying away from her sister. Though she may not have been entirely conscious of the fact herself, she had been chilled by the reply to her letter about Taeko’s illness. For all these reasons, she would as soon have gone back to Ashiva without seeing the people in the main house at all, but Teinosuke had said that there would be trouble if they learned of the visit later. And it was just possible this time that Yukiko’s marriage talks—the people at the main house should be given some slight preparation. The truth was that Sachiko herself had not been particularly hopeful. Now she had had an evening with Mimaki, and she had met the Kunishimas, who seemed happy to act as intermediaries, and had seen what sort of atmosphere they moved in. The old feeling that the Makiokas must not venture too far had left her. She had a distinct impression that, quite without their having planned it so, the meeting the night before had been a true miai, and the results had been pleasing to both sides. What delighted her most was the civility with which both Mimaki and Kunishima treated Taeko. They took the greatest pains, almost by turns, to talk to her in a most agreeable and unchallenging manner. They seemed prepared to overlook her faults, and they even seemed to be sympathizing with her, and, since nothing in their manner suggested condescension, Taeko too was completely open and relaxed, and quite ready to entertain them with the witty remarks and imitations that were her speciality. Sachiko felt her eyes growing moist at the thought of the affection for Yukiko that made Taeko thus play the comedian. It seemed that Yukiko too noticed. For Yukiko, she was remarkably lively. Though Mimaki said several times that he would buy a house in Kyoto or Osaka, Sachiko now felt that with such a husband it would make no difference where Yukiko lived, in Tokyo or in Osaka.
Waiting until she was sure Tatsuo would have left for work, Sachiko called Tsuruko and gave her a summary of all that had happened: these were Itani’s plans, and the three of them had come to Tokyo for her farewell party; they would leave on the express the following morning; they were going to the Kabuki with Itani, and, because they would have only that time open, they would like to stop by the Shibuya house for just a few minutes before the theater; and there had been mention at the farewell party of a possible husband for Yukiko, though Sachiko still had little concrete information to report.
The sisters wandered about the Ginza all morning. After they had passed the main Ginza intersection some three or four times and had lunch at the Hamasaku, they hailed a cab. Taeko had been complaining of fatigue all the while. In their private dining room at the Hamasaku, she lay down on the straw matting with a cushion for her pillow, and as her sisters got into the cab she said she thought she would not go after all. The family had thrown her out, and Tsuruko would only be embarrassed, and. she herself had no desire to see Tsuruko. Possibly so, answered Sachiko, but it would be a little insulting if Koi-san alone were to stay behind. However Tatsuo might feel, Tsuruko at least would not be fussy about the matter of the “disinheritance.” She would be delighted to see Koi-san, especially since the latter had been so ill. Koi-san must go with them. But Taeko answered that it was far too much trouble, that she would have a cup of coffee somewhere and go on ahead of them to the Kabuki Theater. Presently they left without her.
He would rather not wait, said the driver when they arrived at the house. They had to plead with him—it would be no more than fifteen or twenty minutes, and they would of course pay for his time. They went up to the second-floor parlor. The vermilion table, the Rai Shunsui motto over the door, the decorated-lacquer shelves—everything was as it had been. Since all of the children except Umeko, now five, were in school, the house was much quieter than Sachiko remembered it.
“But you
could at least send the taxi back.”
“Would we be able to find another?”
“There used to be all sorts of taxis. But you can take the subway. It is no walk at all from the subway to the Kabuki Theater.”
“Next time we can stay longer. We will be coming again soon, I am sure.”
“What is at the Kabuki Theater this month?” The question was a little unexpected.
“ ‘Briar’ and ‘Chrysanthemums’ and—what else, I wonder.”
Umeko had come upstairs. Yukiko took the child downstairs to play, leaving her two sisters alone.
“And Koi-san?”
“She was with us till just now, but she said she thought it would be best if she stayed away.”
“Why? She should have come.”
“I thought so too. But we have been so busy these last two or three days, and she seems terribly tired. She is not really well yet, you know.”
From the moment Sachiko began talking to her sister, her vague resentment left. One could be displeased with Tsuruko from afar, but face to face one found her the same genial Tsuruko. Suddenly asked what was playing at the Kabuki Theater, Sachiko thought it somehow malicious to leave only one of her sisters out of the theater party. She would not have worried if she had thought Tsuruko was her usual impassive self, but Tsuruko, in some ways rather childlike even now, had very probably wanted to go along as soon as she heard the word “Kabuki.” And did it not seem likely too that, since the carefully guarded property of the main house had almost vanished with the collapse of the stock market, Tsuruko could go to the theater only on very special occasions—occasions like today, for instance? To console her sister, Sachiko exaggerated Yukiko’s prospects a little. Mimaki was most enthusiastic, she said, and only waited to know what the Makiokas thought. If they were willing, there could be no doubt that a marriage would be arranged. This time surely they would have good news for Tatsuo and Tsuruko. In any case, Sachiko would have more to say after Teinosuke had met the man.
“Mr. Mimaki and Itani and her daughter are going to the Ka- buki with us.” Sachiko stood up to leave. “We will see you again soon, I am sure.”
Tsuruko followed her downstairs. “Yukiko really must try to be more entertaining.”
“She was different this time, very lively. She talked and talked. I know everything will be all right.”
“I do hope so. Here she is thirty-three.”
“Goodbye, then. We will see you soon.” Yukiko, waiting downstairs, flew out ahead of her sister.
“Goodbye. Say hello to Koi-san.” Tsuruko saw them to the gate, and talked on after they were in the cab. “So Mrs. Itani is going abroad. I wonder if I should see her.”
“You hardly need to. After all, you have never met her.”
“But should I at least introduce myself, now that I know she is here? When does she sail?”
“The twenty-third. But she says no one is to see her off.”
“Shall I go around to the hotel?”
“It hardly seems necessary.”
As the driver stepped on the starter, Sachiko noticed that her sister was in tears. Very odd—why should she weep for Itani? The tears flowed steadily, and the cab moved off.
“She was crying,” said Yukiko. “Why should she cry over Itani?”
“It must have been something else. Itani was an excuse.”
“Do you suppose she wanted us to invite her to the Kabuki?”
“That must have been it. She wanted to see the Kabuki.”
Though ashamed to have them catch her crying over the Kabuki, it would seem, Tsuruko had in the end been unable to control herself.
“Did she say I was to come back?”
“Neither of us said a word about it. She was too full of the Kabuki.”
Yukiko was relieved.
Their seats at the Kabuki being separated, the sisters and Mimaki had little chance to become better acquainted. He was with them in the dining room, however, and during the five- and ten-minute intermissions he would ask if they might not like to step out into the lobby. Well-versed though he was in things foreign, he confessed that he knew absolutely nothing about the old Japanese theater. They did not find it hard to believe him. Mitsuyo was most scornful when it became apparent that he could not even distinguish the two main styles of singing.
This would be goodbye, then, said Itani when she heard that they were taking the morning express. She was delighted at having been able to leave behind such a “present,” and, though there were numerous details she would have liked to tend to herself, she was sure Mitsuyo would soon be writing to them. Mimaki suggested that they walk back toward the hotel together. Itani called Sachiko apart from the others, and as always said a great deal in a very short time: as Sachiko could see, Mimaki was most enthusiastic; the Kunishimas, after having met Yukiko the evening before, were if anything more in love with her than Mimaki himself was; Mimaki hoped to visit Ashiya some time during the following month, and to meet Teinosuke; and Mr. Kunishima, once he had the informal permission of the Makiokas, would arrange an interview with Viscount Mimaki. Promising to be at the train the next morning, Mimaki and Mitsuyo left the others after tea at the Colombin. The three sisters and Itani walked back to the hotel.
Itani, talking all the way, had seen them to their room, Sachiko had had her bath and Yukiko had gone in for hers. Still in her theater clothes, Taeko lay sprawled against an arm of the chair, a newspaper spread on the floor below her. The walk back had been a strain, but this exhaustion was a little too extreme.
“I know you are not really well yet, Koi-san, but might something else be wrong with you? Suppose you see Dr. Kushida when we get back.”
Taeko nodded apathetically. “I know what is wrong without calling a doctor.”
“Oh? What is it, then?”
Her face against the chair, Taeko looked sluggishly up at her sister. “It looks as though I am three or four months pregnant.” She spoke with the usual calm.
Sachiko gasped, and stared as though to bore a hole through her sister’s face. It was a moment or two before she could ask the question: “Is it Kei-boy’s?”
“Miyoshi’s. I think Yukiko heard about Miyoshi from the old woman.”
“The bartender?”
Taeko nodded. “I am sure that is my trouble.”
As always, after a shock, Sachiko felt the blood recede from her fingers. She was trembling violently. Thinking that the most urgent business was to quiet the pounding of her heart, she said no more to Taeko. She staggered over to turn out the ceiling light, switched on the bed lamp, and crawled into bed. She pretended to be asleep when Yukiko came out of the bathroom. Taeko at length picked herself up and went for her bath.
32
YUKIKO, who had heard nothing, soon went off to sleep, and Taeko apparently followed her. Sachiko lay awake all night with her new problem. Now and then she dabbed at her eyes with the edge of the blanket. She had sleeping medicine and brandy in her bag, but she knew they would do no good.
Something happened every time she came to Tokyo. Was it simply that she and Tokyo did not go together? Two autumns’ before, on that first trip to Tokyo since her honeymoon, she had been startled by the letter from Okubata telling of Itakura, and she had passed just such a night as this, and again, early in spring the year before—it was true that the incident had not directly concerned her—they had been paged at the Kabuki Theater and told of Itakura’s illness. Something always went wrong in any case when Yukiko had a miai, and Sachiko had been uneasy at having a miai in Tokyo. Tokyo boded ill. Since it had been unlucky twice, it must be unlucky three times. She had tried to tell herself, when her third trip to Tokyo had been such a success—indeed her first really happy trip with her husband in years—that the bad luck was broken. And then she had tended to shrug Itani’s proposal off as hopeless in any case, and it had seemed foolish to worry about omens and oracles. Now she knew again that, for her, Tokyo was the devil’s comer. Nothing more was needed to ruin Yukiko’s
prospects. Such an interesting proposal too—what wretched luck that they had had to pick Tokyo for the miai! sadder ana sadder for Yukiko, and angrier and angrier with Taeko, Sachiko wept tears of sorrow and resentment.
Again—it had happened again—again she had been hurt by this sister. But again, did the blame not rest rather with those who should have been watching her? If she was “three or four months pregnant,” then it had happened perhaps in June, after she recovered from dysentery, and there must have been a period of morning sickness. Had pure carelessness kept the others from noticing? Was it obtuseness on Sachiko’s part that with this sister before her for three or four days now, hardly able to lift a fork, tired at the slightest motion—that with all this she had not even suspected the truth? She saw now why Koi-san had given up Western clothes. No doubt Sachiko seemed ridiculously simple to Koi-san, and did Koi-san’s conscience then not bother her at all? From those remarks earlier in the evening, Sachiko was left to suspect that the pregnancy was not accidental, that Taeko and this man Miyoshi or whatever his name was had planned it carefully. Had they not planned it so that they could present an accomplished fact to both Okubata and the Makioka family—to make Okubata accept the inevitable and to wring permission to marry from the Makiokas? That had been very clever of Koi-san. For Koi-san, that was the only course possible. But should they forgive her? After all Sachiko herself, her husband, and Yukiko had done to protect her from the main house and its commands, did it please her to shame them before the world? Sachiko could bear the damage to her own name and to Teinosuke’s, but was Yukiko’s future to be ruined? Why did Koi-san make them all suffer, time after time? How completely devoted Yukiko had been during that illness! Did Koi-san not see that it was really Yukiko who had saved her? It was to repay the debt in some measure, Sachiko had thought, that Koi-san had performed so well at the miai the evening before. She had judged her sister too generously; Koi-san had been gay only because she was drunk. She thought of no one but herself.
The Makioka Sisters Page 57
