The cold determination of the girl, prepared to take whatever extraordinary measures served her interests! Probably she had considered the fact that Sachiko would be angry, and the fact that she would again alienate Teinosuke, and the fact that for Yukiko the damage would be incalculable. Given Koi-san’s view of life, one had to accept the extraordinary measures as inevitable, but why did she have to choose a time when Yukiko’s fate hung in the balance? True, it could not have been part of her plan to make her pregnancy known at the moment Yukiko was having a miai, but if she was sincere in saying that she would wait until Yukiko was married, that she would do nothing that might embroil Yukiko, then could she not have waited until Yukiko’s future was secure? Why had she not been tactful enough to stay behind in Ashiya? In her delight at once again being accepted as a Makioka daughter and in her gratitude to Itani, who had given her the opportunity to step forth in the role, she had forgotten how easily she tired and, with her usual confidence, had told herself that she could stand the trip. Finally the exhaustion had gotten the better of her, and she had seen her chance to confess. Be that as it might, a woman three or four months pregnant was very likely to attract the attention of the outsider, even though people who saw her every day noticed nothing, and it had taken great confidence indeed for her to go out nonchalantly to a dinner party and even to the theater, where great crowds of people would see her. And this was the most dangerous time of all. What had she meant to do if, shaken by the train ride, she had had a miscarriage? Koi-san herself would not have minded, but what of the confusion and the shame for Sachiko and Yukiko? Sachiko’s heart went cold at the very thought of such a possibility. Someone must have noticed Taeko, perhaps at Itani’s party, and without their even knowing it, they had already been disgraced.
There was nothing to do now; Sachiko had been made a fool of. Having kept the secret so long, however, could Koi-san not have chosen a more appropriate time and place to make her confession? Here Sachiko was, off on a trip, in a cluttered hotel room, thoroughly exhausted and wanting only to rest. Was it not cruel to choose such a time for a disclosure that might be said to have turned her world upside down? Koi-san was lucky that Sachiko had not fainted. What a complete lack of consideration, what thorough heartlessness! Pregnancy could not be concealed forever, and Sachiko was grateful to be told so soon, but what a moment Koi-san had chosen! A moment when Sachiko was quite defenseless, when; with the three of them in one small room in the dead of night, she could neither weep nor rage nor even run away. Was this the way to treat a sister who had done her best, small though it was, over the months and years? The slightest consideration should have made Koi-san endure the discomfort and wait until they were back in Ashiya. There, after a good rest, Sachiko would have been calmer. Sachiko asked little of her sister, but was it unreasonable to ask this much?
She heard the early streetcars and saw daylight through the opening in the curtain, and she was as wide awake as ever. She kept turning the problem over in her mind. Soon Koi-san’s condition would be clear to everyone, and something would have to be done. What, then? They might move in darkness from one secret to another and tell no one, but it seemed, from Taeko’s earlier remarks, that she would never agree. It might not be wholly impossible for someone to make her see the evil of her selfish ways, to make her agree, for the Makioka name and for Yukiko’s future, to sacrifice the child, and it might not be impossible to force her into an abortion even against her will. But someone as weak-willed as Sachiko could not hope to move her sister. And there was another difficulty: until two or three years before, any doctor would have operated without hesitation. There were now strong social pressures to be considered, and even with Taeko’s consent it would not be easy to carry the plan out. They would have to send Taeko away, and let her have the child in secret. She would be forbidden to see the man, and she would be under the strict supervision of the Makiokas, who would pay all expenses, and in the meantime Yukiko would be married. At the thought that she must tell her husband—she would have to have his help—Sachiko was wearier than ever. Much though her husband loved her and trusted her, could she tell of this new misstep without the deepest shame? As she thought how Teinosuke—only a brother-in-law, after all, and at that a brother-in-law in an entirely different position from Tatsuo—had looked after Yukiko and Taeko as a real brother might have, and how this devotion was, in the final analysis,—she knew she could be accused of conceit when she said so— a product of his affection for Sachiko herself, she felt both grateful and apologetic. Teinosuke too had been made unhappy, and Taeko’s affairs had brought discord to their otherwise peaceful home. And now, just when he was feeling friendlier toward Taeko, and had allowed her back in the house—and when Sachiko her- self was looking forward to taking home the present that would make him happiest of all, news of the successful miai—to have unpleasant news again! Being the man he was, Teinosuke would contrive not to add to the humiliation. He would seek to console his wife, but Sachiko would only be unhappier, knowing that he was restraining his own feelings.
The inescapable conclusion was that Sachiko would have to tell her husband and trust his tact and understanding. What upset her most was the thought that Yukiko might once again miss her chance. Always it was the same: negotiations would progress smoothly, and at the very last minute difficulties would arise. Even if they sent Taeko off to some mountain resort, would they be able to avoid notice? Might not Mimaki learn the truth? If, as their negotiations with Mimaki became more active, Taeko vanished from the scene, could they keep him from having suspicions, however they sought to cloud the issue? And might they not expect opposition from Okubata? He could hardly be angry with Sachiko and Yukiko and yet, in his chagrin, might he not consider the whole Makioka family his enemy? Not above having his revenge, he might take steps to let Mimaki know everything. Would it be better to tell the truth, and hope Mimaki would understand? He had said that Taeko’s affairs were no concern of his, and a confession might be better than a clumsy attempt at concealment that would later be exposed. He might be surprisingly liberal when he heard. No, no. Mimaki himself would perhaps be indifferent to the ugliest facts about Taeko, but what of his friends and relatives? What of the Viscount and the Kunishimas? Could they help frowning upon the proposal once they knew the truth? The Viscount in particular—could he possibly consider an alliance with a family that had produced such a woman?
Again, again, it would come to nothing. Sad for Yukiko, but …
Sachiko heaved a sigh and turned over in bed. When she opened her eyes the room was bright. In the next bed, Taeko and Yukiko lay back to back, as when they were children. Yukiko, still asleep, faced Sachiko. Sachiko gazed on and on at the white face, and wondered what her sister was dreaming.
33
TEINOSUKE heard the news when his wife returned from Tokyo. The moment she saw his face, she knew she could no longer keep it to herself. (She had told Yukiko that morning, when Taeko was out of the room for a short time.) Calling him upstairs before dinner, she told him everything, from Yukiko’s miai to Taeko’s pregnancy.
“I wanted to bring back good news this time. And now I have to upset you again.”
Sachiko was in tears, and Teinosuke sought to comfort her. It was a pity, he said, that the troublesome matter should have come up just when they were ready to congratulate Yukiko. Even so, he could not believe that because of it Yukiko’s hopes would be destroyed. Sachiko need not trouble herself; she should leave everything to him. He wanted two or three days to deliberate. He said no more, and some days later he called her into his study. How would it be, he asked, if they did this:
No doubt Taeko was, as she said, three or four months pregnant. Still, the first thing was to have her see a specialist and learn exactly when the child would be born. They would then have to move her, and on the whole Arima Springs seemed most convenient. Since she was living in a room of her own, they could, for the time being, forbid the man Miyoshi to see her; and they would send her off to Arima S
prings some night in a cab. It was not easy to decide who should attend her, but he thought they might send O-haru, after giving her very strict instructions. At Arima Springs they would not use the Makioka name. They would say that Taeko was a housewife away for her health. She would stay until her time approached, and she could have the child at Arima or, if there seemed no danger of having the news leak out, she could be moved to a hospital in Kobe. It would be necessary to have the consent of both Taeko and Miyoshi. Teinosuke would see them and persuade them to agree. He felt that Taeko must in the course of time marry the man, and he had no objections to the match himself. They could not let it be known, however, that without the consent of her family she had become pregnant, and for the time being the two should not see each other. Taking full responsibility for Taeko’s safety, Teinosuke and his wife would see that the delivery went smoothly. Afterwards they would send Taeko and the child off to Miyoshi and do their best to win the approval of the main house. The marriage need not be postponed long, only until Yukiko’s fate was decided one way or the other. In general, that was the plan he would present to the two. Taeko would stay out of sight, and everything possible would be done to keep the affair secret. According to Taeko, only Miyoshi, Okubata, and Taeko herself knew or had guessed the truth, and there were also Teinosuke and his wife and Yukiko, and it would be impossible to keep the news from O-haru and the other maids. But they should make absolutely sure that it spread no farther.
Because Sachiko was still worried about Okubata, Teinosuke said he would talk to the man. If Okubata decided that he did not mind sacrificing his own good name, said Sachiko, there was nothing he could not do. He might even resort to violence—to swordplay, so to speak—and he might give damaging information to the newspapers. Teinosuke laughed at these fears. She was imagining things. It was true that Okubata had a criminal streak in his nature, but he was nonetheless the pampered son of a good family, and he would not be capable of “swordplay.” Whatever extravagant ideas he might have, his courage would in the end fail him. And had the Okubata family or the Makioka family ever approved of his relations with Taeko? He was in no position to make demands. Since Taeko had lost her affection for him, Teinosuke would say in the friendliest way, and since she had become pregnant by another man, there was nothing for him to do but break with her cleanly. Sad though it was, he would have to resign himself to the inevitable. He would surely understand, thought Teinosuke.
The next day Teinosuke went into action. He visited Taeko in her room, and Miyoshi in a Kobe rooming house. What sort of person was he, asked Sachiko. A young man who made a surprisingly good impression, said Teinosuke. They had talked for less than an hour, and Teinosuke had not been able to study him in any detail, but on the whole he seemed more honest and sincere than Itakura. Quite of his own accord he admitted his responsibility, and he apologized most politely. Teinosuke suspected that Miyoshi had not taken the initiative, but had been seduced by Taeko. Though it would seem cowardly of him to be making excuses, said Miyoshi, and he should certainly have had more will power, he hoped Teinosuke would understand that he had not gone out aggressively after Koi-san, but had found himself in a position from which he could not retreat, and so the mistake had been made. If Teinosuke were to ask Koi-san, he would find that Miyoshi was not lying. Teinosuke added that he believed the story. The man accepted Teinosuke’s proposal, and even seemed grateful. He was not qualified to take Koi-san for his bride, he said, but if the Makiokas would agree to the marriage he could swear to make her happy. Aware of his responsibilities, he had been wondering what to do if they should indeed give their consent, and he had saved a little money. He meant to open a bar of his own, even a tiny bar—a not-too-vulgar bar catering to foreigners. Koi-san would go on with her sewing, and they would not be a burden to the Makioka family. All of this Miyoshi said, and Teinosuke passed on to his wife.
The next day Taeko went to an obstetrics clinic in Kobe, and learned that she was not yet five months pregnant and that the child would be born early in April. Because she would soon be attracting attention, she was sent off to Arima Springs with O-haru one evening late in October. Sachiko purposely called a cab from a stand some distance away, and had her sister change to another cab in Kobe for the trip across the mountains. She gave O-haru detailed instructions: Taeko was to be in Arima for several months, under the name Abe; O-haru was to call her Mrs. Abe and not Koi-san; for liaison a messenger would be sent from Ashiya, or O-haru herself would come back, and no one was to use the telephone; O-haru was to understand that Miyoshi and Taeko were not to see each other and that Miyoshi was not to be told where Taeko was staying; and O-haru was moreover to watch for strange letters, or telephone calls or visitors. When she had finished, Sachiko received a shock: she supposed it was all right to say now, remarked O-haru, that they had known about Koi-san since before the trip to Tokyo. How had they found out? O-teru had been the first to suspect; there was something strange about Koi-san, she said. Might it not be that? Only the maids knew. They had told no one else.
Some time after Taeko left for Arima, Teinosuke came home to report that he had seen Okubata. He had heard that Okubata was living near the “Lone Pine” in Nishinomiya, but had not found him there. Someone in the neighborhood remembered that he had moved to a place called the Pinecrest Hotel. At the Pinecrest Hotel, Teinosuke was told that Okubata had been there for only a week and had moved on to the Eiraku Apartments. There Teinosuke finally found him. Although the talk did not go as smoothly as Teinosuke had hoped, the results were in general satisfactory. It was a disgrace to the Makioka name, Teinosuke began, to have so wanton a sister, and he could only sympathize with Okubata, whose great misfortune it was to have become entangled with her. Okubata at first seemed most agreeable. Where was Koi-san, then? Was O-haru with her? With a show of indifference, he probed for news of Taeko. He was not to ask, said Teinosuke—they had not even told Miyoshi. Okubata fell silent. Would it be unreasonable to expect him, continued Teinosuke, to take the view that Koi-san’s whereabouts was no concern of his? With that, Okubata was openly annoyed. He had given up in any case, he said, but did they really mean to let her marry such a man? He had heard that the man was a bartender on some foreign steamer before he found his present job, and beyond that no one knew a thing about him. In Itakura’s case they had at least known where his home was. Okubata could not remember having heard anything about Miyoshi’s family. Who could guess, seeing that the man had been a sailor, what sort of past he had? They were most grateful for this kind advice, said Teinosuke, and they would give it careful attention. He must make bold to ask a favor: Okubata had every right to be angry with Koi-san, but her sisters had committed no crime, and might Teinosuke not ask, for the sake of the sisters and of the Makioka name, that he keep the matter of Taeko’s pregnancy secret? If it should become known abroad, the most seriously injured would be Yukiko, for whom as he knew they had not yet found a husband. Would he agree, then, to tell no one? There was no cause for concern— Okubata seemed a little hesitant, but his answer was clear and positive. Since he had no grudge, even against Koi-san, he had no intention whatsoever of troubling the sisters.
There the matter seemed to rest, and Teinosuke, much relieved, set out for his office in Osaka. Soon there was a call from Okubata. Okubata had a favor of his own to ask, and he would like to call on Teinosuke. Almost immediately he was in the waiting room. He fidgeted for a time; then, his face suddenly doleful, he began to speak. He knew that there was nothing for him to do but accept the facts that Teinosuke had described that morning, and yet he hoped that Teinosuke would try to imagine the inexpressible sorrow of losing one’s love of ten years. And that was not all: as Teinosuke perhaps knew, it was because of Koi-san that he had been turned out by his family, and, as Teinosuke had seen, he had given up his pretty house in Nishinomiya and moved into a shabby room, where he lived all by himself. If he was now to be cast out by Koi-san, he had literally no one on earth he could call a friend. All of this he said w
ith tragic intensity. Then he broke into a half-smile. He was rather troubled for money, embarrassing though it was to make that admission, and—this really would be very hard to say—he had in the past been of some service to Koi-san, and he wondered if he might have the money returned to him. Not that he had meant at the time for her to pay it back—at this point even Okubata flushed a little—and if he had not been so hard pressed he would never have thought of asking for it now. He should of course be paid back all the money he had lent Koi-san, said Teinosuke. How much had it been? He hardly knew, answered Okubata, and if Teinosuke were to ask Koi-san—but suppose they say two thousand yen. Teinosuke thought he might indeed ask Koi-san. He concluded, however, that two thousand yen was not a high price for silencing Okubata and warding off future trouble. Suppose I pay you now, he said, and wrote out a check. And you will remember your promise, of course—we will be most grateful if you say nothing about Koi-san’s condition. Okubata replied that he understood, and that they need fear nothing from him, and left. And so it seemed that Taeko’s affairs were at last under control.
In the midst of this excitement, a letter came from Itani’s daughter Mitsuyo. After thanking the three sisters for coming so far to the farewell party, Mitsuyo reported that her mother had sailed in the best of spirits, that Mimaki planned to go to Osaka about the middle of November, that, since he meant to visit Ashiya, she hoped Teinosuke would find time to inspect him, and that Mr. and Mrs. Kunishima sent their warmest regards.
The Makioka Sisters Page 58
