About a week later, a note came from Tsuruko. Tsuruko wrote only when there was something important on her mind, and Sachiko wondered what it would be now, but, strangely, the note was a random assortment of inconsequentialities:
November 5
DEAR SACHIKO,
I hoped to have a good talk with you for a change, and I am sorry you were in such a hurry. I know you enjoyed the Kabuki. Take me with you next time.
What has happened to Mr. Mimaki? It has seemed too early to say anything to Tatsuo, but 1 do hope everything goes well. Though there can hardly be any need to investigate a man from such a good family, we will do whatever you suggest. I always feel guilty about leaving the hard work to you and Teinosuke.
With the children growing up, I find I have time to write letters for a change, and now and then I practice my calligraphy. Are you and Yukiko still taking lessons? I am rather hard up for a practice book, though, and I am wondering if you have an old one you could send me. I would be especially grateful for one with the teacher’s notes in it.
And while I am begging, I wonder if you would mind sending underclothes you no longer need. I can always find a way to use things you might not want yourself, and I would be grateful for clothes you are thinking of throwing away or giving to the maids. And Yukiko and Koi-san too—underclothes, bloomers, whatever you have. I have more spare time as the children grow up, but they take more and more money. I have to pile economy on economy. It is not easy to be poor, and I often wonder when life will be more comfortable.
Somehow I wanted to write today, but I see I am complaining. I had best stop. I will be waiting for good news about Yukiko. My regards to Teinosuke, Etsuko, and Yukiko.
As always,
TSURUKO
As she read the letter, Sachiko thought of the tears streaming down Tsuruko’s face outside the cab window. Probably Tsuruko had felt like writing, and then she had things to ask for; but it seemed too that she had not forgotten the theater party. Perhaps she was subtly making known her resentment at having been left out. Tsuruko’s letters in the past had been in the nature of magisterial pronouncements, and Sachiko was always impressed at how this sister, so gentle when one was talking to her, had to censure one or another of them whenever she took up her writing brush. It was odd that she should now be writing this sort of letter. Sachiko immediately sent off a package to Tokyo, but she did not answer the letter for a time.
Mrs. Hening’s daughter Friedl was to go to Berlin with her father, it appeared, and in mid-November Mrs. Hening called on Sachiko. Though Mrs. Hening had great misgivings about sending her daughter off to a Europe at war, Friedl, intent on studying the dance, quite refused to listen, and Mrs. Hening had finally given up when her husband said that he would take the girl if she was so set on going. They had found traveling companions, and there seemed nothing to worry about on the road at least. The father and daughter would be visiting the Stolz family in Hamburg. They would be glad to pass on any messages. Sachiko had had Mrs. Hening write a letter in German and had sent it to Hamburg with a dancing fan and a piece of white silk, and she was uneasy that there had been no reply. This would be her chance to send something more. She would be around with a gift for the Stolzes before the daughter sailed, she replied. Some days later she selected a pearl ring for Rosemarie and delivered it to the Hening house with a letter for Mrs. Stolz.
As Mitsuyo had led them to expect, one evening toward the twentieth there was a call from Mimaki, who was at the Viscount’s house in Saga. He had come from Tokyo the day before, he said, and he meant to stay two or three days. He would like if possible to visit them and meet Teinosuke. Any evening, at his convenience, answered Sachiko. He suggested the next evening, and appeared at about four. Teinosuke, who had come home early, talked with him for the better part of an hour, and afterwards the two went with Sachiko, Etsuko, and Yukiko to the Oriental Hotel for dinner. Mimaki was much as he had been in Tokyo, open, expansive, and witty—in general an easy man to talk to. He drank even more than before, refilling his whiskey glass time after time. His drollery was inexhaustible. Etsuko was more delighted than anyone, and took his hand as they walked to the station. He would make a good husband for Yukiko, she whispered to her mother. And what had Teinosuke thought of him? He had certainly not disliked the man, Teinosuke answered after a moment’s thought. Indeed the first impression had been entirely favorable. The man was most engaging. But genial, polished gentlemen could often be difficult, and it was their wives who suffered. The type of which he was thinking was particularly common among pampered sons of the aristocracy. It would not do to fall recklessly in love with the man. In short, Teinosuke was cautious. He did not think it necessary to investigate the family, but it might be well to investigate the man himself—his character, his behavior, the reasons why he had not married sooner.
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AWARE THAT HE was being tested, Mimaki did not mention the marriage proposal. He talked about many other things: architecture and painting, the old gardens and temples of Kyoto, the grounds of the Viscount’s mansion, foreign food, liquor, stories his father had heard from his grandfather about the Emperor Meiji and the Dowager Empress Shōken. On a Sunday morning some ten days later, Mitsuyo suddenly appeared. She had business in Osaka, and she had been asked by Mr. Kunishima and by Mimaki himself to see whether Mimaki had “passed the test.” Sachiko answered that upon Teinosuke’s suggestion they were investigating the man. Teinosuke planned a trip to Tokyo in December, at which time he would talk to the people in the main house, and call on the Kunishimas. And on what points were they in doubt, asked Mitsuyo, as aggressive as her mother. There was no one she saw oftener than Mimaki, and since she knew all his merits and faults, Sachiko could ask whatever questions came to her. Unable to manage the girl by herself, Sachiko summoned Teinosuke. Mitsuyo’s manner invited questions, and Teinosuke was quite unreserved. These facts became clear: though Mimaki was on the surface a very polished gentleman, he was surprisingly touchy, and sometimes very irritable; his relations with his half-brother, the Viscount’s heir, were particularly bad and they often quarreled; Mitsuyo could not claim to have witnessed such violence, but it was said that he had even struck the half-brother; he was too fond of his liquor, and drink sometimes made him pugnacious; now that he was older, however, he rarely drank too much; and because he had lived in America and was exceedingly polite to women, Mitsuyo could assure them that, however drunk, he never raised his hand against a woman. Without being asked, Mitsuyo volunteered another fault or two: though the man was extremely knowledgeable, he had not been able to pursue any one thing to the end; he was fond of entertaining people and otherwise doing favors, and good at spending money, but unfortunately he was not much of a hand at making money. Teinosuke replied that he could guess, from all he had heard, what sort of man Mimaki was. To be quite frank, he was worried about money: how would the couple live after they were married? He hoped she would forgive him for saying so, but the man seemed to have lived as he pleased on money he begged from his father. He had done nothing for himself. Teinosuke could not help being uneasy, then, as he asked himself whether even with Mr. Kunishima’s backing Mimaki would be a success as an architect. There was no place these days for the sort of architect Mimaki hoped to become, and it seemed unlikely that conditions would improve in say the next three or four years. How would they live in the meantime? Through the good offices of Mr. Kunishima, he understood, the Viscount would help them for a time, but they could hardly expect him to go on helping them indefinitely. The crisis might last five or six or even ten years. Or perhaps they would in fact be dependent on the Viscount to the end, and that prospect was far from pleasant. He knew he was sounding a little petulant, but to be quite frank the Makiokas were interested in the proposal and had almost decided that they would ask Mimaki to marry Yukiko. In any case, Teinosuke meant to go to Tokyo the following month, and he could discuss the problem with Mr. Kunishima then. She understood, said Mitsuyo, and she thought it quite right of
Teinosuke to have these misgivings. Since she could not give him an answer herself, she would tell Mr. Kunishima everything and see if Mimaki’s future could not be guaranteed to the satisfaction of the Makioka family. And she would be waiting for the visit in December. She had to take the evening train to Tokyo, she said, declining Sachiko’s invitation to stay for dinner.
Early in December, Sachiko and Yukiko bought an amulet at the Kiyomizu Temple in Kyoto. As if by prearrangement, Miyoshi sent an amulet from the Nakayama Temple to Teinosuke’s office, with instructions that it was to be delivered to Taeko. The two amulets were entrusted to O-haru, who came to Ashiya at just the right time and brought Sachiko and the others their first word of Taeko in a very long while: except for a morning walk she stayed quietly in her room; when she went out she avoided the main part of town and chose mountain paths where she was not likely to meet anyone; in her room she read novels, or worked again at the dolls she had once given up, or made clothes for the baby. There had been no suspicious calls, and not a single letter.
“I saw Mr. Kyrilenko today,” said O-haru.
Kyrilenko was standing at the gate when she got off the train in Kobe. He remembered her and smiled, though she had met him no more than once or twice, and she nodded back. Was she alone, he asked. She was—she had just been up to Bluebell Hill. And how were all the Makiokas, and what had happened to Taeko? They were all very well—O-haru thanked him for asking. He must apologize for his remissness, he continued. He hoped O-haru would pass on his regards. Adding that he was on his way to Arima, he started for the tracks. Had he heard from Katharina, asked O-haru. London seemed to be suffering terribly from German air raids, and they were worried about Katharina. That was very kind of them, he answered, but there was nothing to fear. Only the other day he had received a letter posted in September. Though her house in the suburbs was on the bombing route and every day and every night fleets of bombers flew over, Katharina herself found the war rather enjoyable. She had a deep and luxurious air-raid shelter, and they turned on the bright lights and put records on the phonograph, and danced and drank cocktails. As O-haru could see, there was nothing to worry about. How like Katharina, thought Sachiko. She was both amused and distressed, however: the talkative O-haru might have let the secret slip out. Did Kyrilenko say anything else about Koi-san? No, nothing more. You are quite sure, O-haru? You are sure you said nothing you did not have to say? And did it seem that he knew about Koi-san? Not at all—O-haru was emphatic, and in the end Sachiko was satisfied. She sent O-haru back with careful instructions not to let anyone see her. It would be bad enough if she happened to be alone, but when she went out walking with Taeko she must heap precaution upon precaution to be sure that they were not seen. Who could know when they might run into someone?
December was nearly over. It was the twenty-second when Teinosuke set out on a business trip to Tokyo. Having made inquiries about Mimaki’s character and behavior, and his relations with the Viscount and his half brothers, Teinosuke was by now sure that Mitsuyo had not lied to him, but on the problem of Mimaki’s livelihood, not even the visit to Kunishima resulted in what he could call concrete guarantees. Kunishima had not yet seen the Viscount, and there was little he could say definitely, though he did think he could promise that the Viscount would buy the house and give Mimaki a certain amount of help for the time being, and that, to see that the money was not spent recklessly, he himself would take it in charge and give Mimaki a monthly allowance. And as for what was to happen later, might he not ask Teinosuke to have faith in him? He would see that Mimaki was never in serious financial trouble. He had great confidence in Mimaki’s talents as an architect, and he would do everything possible when times were better to see that lost ground was recovered. Everyone had his own pet theories, of course, but Kunishima could not believe that the crisis would last much longer. Even if it did, Mimaki’s friends should at least be able to piece together a livelihood for him. Kunishima said in effect that he stood behind Mimaki, whatever that fact might be worth. Teinosuke was shown through the Kunishima house, said to have been designed by Mimaki, but, knowing almost nothing about architecture, he could not really say how much talent it revealed. But if so well-placed a man as Kunishima was prepared to guarantee the man’s future, there was nothing to do but trust him. It was clear, moreover, that Sachiko was even more enthusiastic about the proposal than Kunishima himself. There could be no doubt that she found Mimaki most engaging and that, though she had not actually said so, she was delighted at the prospect of an alliance with a noble family, and Teinosuke could imagine her disappointment if he were to step in and break off the negotiations. He too was beginning to think that this was the very best match they could hope for. He would leave everything to Kunishima, then, he said, but since in the natural order of things he must have the permission of the main house, and he ought to make very sure how Yukiko felt—he knew that she would have no objections—he hoped Kunishima would wait a little longer before telling Mimaki that they meant to accept his proposal. He would send his answer (the merest formality) early in the New Year. Kunishima might for practical purposes consider the negotiations concluded today. Kunishima answered that he would call upon Viscount Mimaki when he had Teinosuke’s formal answer. Teinosuke went directly from ‘Kunishima’s to the Shibuya house, told Tsuruko in detail of the talks, and asked her to tell him about Tatsuo’s views as soon as possible.
On January 3, Mitsuyo again appeared in Ashiya. She was spending the holidays with her uncle in Okamoto, and she had been asked by Mr. Kunishima to deliver a message. Kunishima, who had come to Osaka the day before on business, was now at the Miyako Hotel in Kyoto. He hoped that he might have the promised answer before his return to Tokyo. He would then call upon the Viscount and ask him to invite the Makioka family to Saga. Mitsuyo was to visit Ashiya and if possible to give Kunishima an answer the following day. The Makiokas might think Mr. Kunishima a little hasty, said Mitsuyo, but he seemed to feel that the permission of the main house and the assent of Yukiko herself were only formalities. Perhaps Mitsuyo could have her answer that very day. Though Teinosuke had, it was true, promised an answer early in the New Year, he had not thought of taking action before the holidays were over, and he had not yet had word from Tokyo. But Tsuruko had seemed thoroughly delighted at the news—so Yukiko was finally to be married, and to a member of such a fine family—the Makiokas were rising in the world—no one could look down on Tatsuo now— and all because of Teinosuke. The years of waiting had not been in vain. Sure that Tatsuo would have no objections at this late date and that the answer had been delayed only by year-end business, Teinosuke decided to act on his own initiative. But he did have to talk to Yukiko. Yukiko’s feelings were not hard to read, and yet she might be hurt if it seemed that she was being ignored. With many apologies, then, Teinosuke said that he would call Tokyo for Tatsuo’s views, and that he would have to trouble Mitsuyo to come again the following day. They would have an answer for her by then. The “telephone call to Tokyo” was only an excuse. Still, because he did have time, it seemed a good idea to call. Tsuruko came to the telephone and said that Tatsuo was out making New Year calls. Had he sent off his answer, asked Teinosuke. She thought not, what with the year-end confusion and all, but she had told him Teinosuke’s story in the greatest detail. And what had he said? Well—Tsuruko hesitated—there was no possible fault to find with the man’s family, but Tatsuo was worried about the fact that he did not have regular work. Tsuruko had replied that they could no longer worry about such trivialities, and Tatsuo, having admitted that she was right, seemed now to approve of the match. Mr. Kuni-shima’s messenger was waiting, said Teinosuke, and he would answer that there were no objections from Tokyo. But to make quite sure that the negotiations went smoothly, Tsuruko should have Tatsuo send off his formal permission with the greatest possible haste.
Confident that Yukiko would be satisfied if they but made a show of respecting her wishes, Teinosuke and Sachiko spoke to her that evening. Her an
swer did not come as easily as they had hoped. She wanted to know how much time she was being given to consider the proposal. Mitsuyo would be coming again the next morning, said Teinosuke. Yukiko frowned. He meant that she was ordered to give her answer overnight? But it had seemed clear, said Sachiko, that Yukiko was not displeased with the man. Yukiko replied that she meant to marry whomever Teinosuke and Sachiko told her to many, but she thought a person ought to be allowed two or three days’ thought about what was after all her whole future. They knew even so that her mind was made up, and the next morning they at length extracted her assent. She gave it only because Teinosuke had ordered her to make up her mind overnight, she announced peevishly. She took care not to show the slightest pleasure, and above all not to let slip a word of thanks to those who had worked so hard for her.
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MITSUYO came for her answer on the morning of the fourth, and called again on the evening of the sixth. She had expected to leave for Tokyo after telephoning her reply to the Miyako Hotel on the fourth, she said, but Kunishima had ordered her to put off her return. She would have to act as go-between in her mother’s place. She was now able to report that Kunishima’s talk with Viscount Mimaki had gone splendidly, and that the Viscount would like to have Yukiko and her family come to Saga, if possible at three o’clock on the afternoon of the eighth. The Viscount himself would be present, and Mimaki, who would come from Tokyo, and Kunishima and Mitsuyo, and probably two or three Mimaki relatives from the Kyoto-Osaka region. Kunishima was most apologetic for rushing them so, said Mitsuyo, but, busy as he was, he hoped to arrange everything immediately. Viscount Mimaki would like to have Etsuko and Koi-san come too, if they were free. Unfortunately the main house would not approve of Koi-san’s being present, answered Sachiko. It was decided that Etsuko would come home early from school, and that the four of them would go to Saga.
The Makioka Sisters Page 59
