In little more than a month, he was able to rise from his bed of convalescence, and they celebrated his recovery. After this, Shuun, his mind made up, took Tatsu by the hand and led her into another room. They spoke, and spoke long, and when they emerged, Tatsu’s ears were crimson. The following day, Shuun formally asked Kichibei, man to man, if he would serve as matchmaker. Kichibei laughed.
A cow’s crupper and a geezer’s gab—did I tell you or did I tell you? The preparations are mostly made, of course: why wait to do good? Let it be tonight. Some strange karma has made her my foster daughter; if I marry her off, why, that’s a good deed for me. He beamed with pleasure and immediately summoned the maids and other servants. The orders flew. Bring out the trays! And those wooden bowls! Those flasks for saké! Even his nephew was scolded: What, you good-for-nothing! You don’t know how to fold a paper butterfly?
Such a commotion! Such a testament to the righteous spirit of the country folk!
Into the midst of all this came a man who handed over a letter “for Miss Tatsu.” No sooner did Tatsu read it than she stepped outside with him “for a moment” and did not return. Evening came—the appointed hour. Kichibei, frantic, dashed about, hither and yon, seeking her. It transpired that Tatsu had left town in the company of a young man staying at another inn.
At this point, the crupper came loose, the old geezer too cowed to gab even a “moo.” So what kind of excuse can I make to Shuun? And yet if anyone could be counted on not to behave promiscuously, that would be Tatsu! Kichibei was busily spinning yarns in his head when the same man who had come by earlier returned—delivering, this time, a parcel. The letter inside read as follows:
To Kichibei, of the Kameya Inn.
Sir, although we have not yet had the honor of making your acquaintance, please permit us to address to you these few lines.
We understand that you have shown Miss Tatsu many courtesies, for which you have our profound gratitude. Nonetheless, we were surprised to learn, sir, that you had arranged a wedding ceremony for her, to be held today. Regrettably, at this juncture we have some difficulty in countenancing a marriage by Miss Tatsu. We do realize that we were remiss ourselves in not having ventured to pay our compliments to you in person and to ask you then to desist. However, the case was one of extreme urgency, as it would have been most inconvenient if Miss Tatsu’s wishes had precipitated a situation in which I myself could not have made a decision on my own authority. Thus—although it was indeed exceedingly abrupt and disrespectful—I did act decisively to postpone the wedding, by deceiving Miss Tatsu. It is our intention to call on you in the near future, sir, if we may, to satisfy you as to the somewhat involved reasons for our actions. In the interim, we beg you to accept one hundred yen in recompense for the monies disbursed to Shichizō some time ago and another one hundred yen as a token of our gratitude.
Sincerely, Eisaku Tahara,
Personal Sec’y to Viscount
Iwanuma
It ended with a postscript: We should like to ask you, please, to acquaint the person known as Shuun with the import of this letter.
In the parcel with the letter, two hundred yen. What of it? More paper.
Chapter 7: Thus the Reward
I HAVE COME FLYING TO THE HIGHEST OF HEAVENS
Ah, Tatsu!
As she regarded the gentleman embracing her, she found the man’s beard splendid, his countenance noble, his suit impressive. She thought, Hmm . . . it’s as if I’ve seen him somewhere before. Then she shrank from him and looked up timidly. The warmth of his tears falling onto her upturned face penetrated to her very marrow.
Oh!
Five days ago, applying makeup before a mirror for the event of a lifetime . . . the “I” that looked back had the very same features. So, as the young woman quickly realized, clinging to him, You must be my father!
A celerity of mind that put the viscount very much in mind of Muroka, and he was pleased to recognize such traces of her aura.
Twenty long years ago, when he was seen off by Muroka with a dispirited fare-thee-well! he had wanted to turn in his tracks and exchange even a few more words. For whose sake had he so perversely bit his lip, put on a manly air, and forced the pace of his departure when there was no particular need for haste? Now, unstoppably, there welled up within his heart the memory of how, in parting, he had regretted that his eyes could not see backward.
Daughter, I beg you to forgive me. The hardships you have suffered have been all my fault. Nevermore will you be obliged to sell flowers or to clothe yourself in rags or to stand exposed to the harsh wind. Surely you must have wondered about my actions. Hear me out.
A few days after parting from your mother, thoughts of her began to soften the hardness of my heart. Alone in the deep of the night, I gazed up at the moon. So lonely is it at the front that drops of dew overwhelm a soldier’s meager sleeves, unseen by others. Even when the army decamped in its entirety, advancing bravely, horses’ hooves resounding as they kicked aside the morning mist, I wavered in my heart as though my scabbard tip were being tugged.
In all this tumult, I did not have time to write a single missive. Gradually, I became estranged from my past, not because my feelings were so weak, but because the battle was so fierce. We marched into Edo and, without even securing a base, pushed on through to Ōshu in the north, such was the momentum of our bravado. It was only natural that I grew accustomed to the smoke of gunpowder and forgot the fragrance of face powder. When the blare of the bugle burst apart my very dreams, there was no time even for an image of my beloved wife, her hair in seductive disarray as when she slept, to flit before my eyes. I forgot both love and life.
When the army lost a battle, the chagrin of failure spurred my fiercer efforts; when victory songs were sung, my spirits soared. From sunrise to sunset, the tension was so great my very vitals burned; the frustration so intense I wrung my wrists. Like an ashura,29 I wreaked carnage on the battlefield as if I were so famished I would feast on the enemy’s flesh, so parched I’d slake my thirst with his blood.
I was awarded a medal, then another. I came to the attention of a general, and I advanced through the ranks. I was entrusted with a command, further increasing my responsibilities, and I gave my all to my work. From every battle I returned triumphant—and, happily, without having been struck by a bullet.
Then I was told: You have ability and learning; you accompany Ambassador So-and-So abroad to study such-and-such regulations. Upon your return, you’ll be given a post of considerable weight in the government. It contradicted my commitment to Muroka, but a man of promise must seize such opportunities to further his youthful and lofty ambitions. As a hot-blooded young man, I was overjoyed. The sojourn was a lengthy one, some seven years: America; Europe.
Ah, but how is she doing, these days? And the child—is it a girl or a boy? We do not know each other’s face. Soon may I nestle my little one’s cheek against my own, set the child on my lap, and watch it delight in the rubber dolls, air guns, and so many other marvelous toys I shall bring home as gifts! Thus would I often pray, standing on my toes on the top of some three- or four-story building, gazing in the direction of Japan.
An august personage of noble status, one Lord Iwanuma, in Europe on business at the time, took notice of me, unworthy though I was. Childless himself, he generously asked me to become his heir and successor. Again and again I declined, yet he would not desist; finally I gave my consent. Together and happily, we returned to our homeland, where I was given a not inconsiderable post in the government. What is more, with my new family name, I was at last accorded general respect.
All this notwithstanding, how could I forget the love shown me by your mother, Muroka! I ordered my retainers to make inquiries. In vain! For she could not share my happiness. How painful it was to learn that she had crossed to the other shore! My many years of labor had been for nation, yes, in part; but also, in part, from a desire to secure the contentment of my dearest, dearest wife, that we might even take pleasu
re speaking of the hardships of our past. When I was hiding from the world, she had sheltered me, risking danger, braving censure; she had sacrificed the external appearances women find so hard to sacrifice; she had committed herself to me when I was merely a man wearing a crazily patched jacket and two swords with the lacquer peeling off the scabbards, a man with nothing whatsoever to recommend him! If I lived seven lives, I could never forget her spirited devotion.
Even when I had declared my intent to rally to the support of the government forces—my own decision, yet my voice clouding over as I spoke it—though her eyes brimmed with tears of love and concern, still she made the proper response, as dictated by duty: Often have you wished this. How glad I am for you! If her smile was forced, she had reason enough: her man might never know the morrow. Yet she cared for me. She would let no others tend to my hair and beard. Coming around behind me, but lacking strength in her hands to draw the string sufficiently tight, she bit it between her back teeth, and in that way contrived for me a respectable topknot. She even pulled out the ornamental gold hairpin from her own hair and sold it while it was still warm, to purchase necessities for my journey.
But with her cruel death, even the magnificent sight of an expanse of peonies in a flower garden could not afford me as much pleasure as when a few mums, arranged in the Koryū style in a narrow-neck vase, brought smiles to our faces, the praiser and the praised, sequestered in our four-and-a-half-mat room. Looking at blossoms now could give me scant amusement with no one but my own shadow for company. With whom could I share my prosperity? Thinking that my life was over, I did not care to take a new wife.
Nonetheless, I made inquiry after inquiry as to the whereabouts of our child. Finally, from the old country woman who once took you in, I heard the bare rumor that you had gone off in the direction of Shinano. But for whatever reason, even the professionals I engaged were at a loss. I had no other child; the older I grew, the more I longed for you. To Shinshu alone, I dispatched three retainers. At last, with great difficulty, Tahara was able to track you down and was on the point of acquiring you from that villain, Shichizō, when somehow someone interfered.
Shortly thereafter, Tahara heard that you had suddenly arranged to marry some insignificant fellow called Shuun or something, whether out of gratitude for having been rescued or because you were so induced by the Kameya innkeeper. He had actually returned once to Tokyo; it was immediately upon his second arrival in the area that he heard this news and panicked. He apparently counted on your knowing a bit of poetry I had left Muroka as a memento, and he quoted it at the end of a letter to you, as a lure. Then—forcibly, offering no reason—he brought you here.
You must have been shocked, but there is nothing whatsoever to fear. I shall send Tahara once again to the Kameya Inn to settle matters so that henceforth you shall be the legal daughter of Viscount Iwanuma. I’ll have you educated in etiquette and scholarship, and I’ll take in some brilliant young man to be my son-in-law. I am already excited to think that if only I could see the face of my firstborn grandchild, I would be vindicated before your mother, should I meet her in my dreams.
In any event, simply doing your hair and changing your clothes have rendered you so much more beautiful than when I first stole a glimpse of you through the barely opened door a while ago. What a shameful parent, to have let you wear mere cotton and cotton quilting! I’ve also sent for a dealer in notions; he’ll come round soon: choose whatever ornamental combs and hairpins take your fancy. As for kimonos, I’ll order any and every one you like from Echigoya’s; don’t hesitate to use Shimo for that. She’s your personal maid—no need to bow to her so politely as you did earlier. In due course, I’ll take you to see plays and famous sites; and when you understand life in the capital better, I’ll take you to balls, too, and to concerts. Do you read books? You’ve gotten so far as the Shōsoku and Teikin primers? Ah, good, good! And for further study I’ll engage you a fine tutor. Thus he talked and he talked, with a parent’s inexhaustible affection.
And so, happily—and just as Shuun had wished—this female bodhisattva reaped her karmic reward. Yet everything was too perfect. What are we to make of this?
Chapter 8: Thus the Power
1: LOVE & DESIRE, OBSCURING THE EFFECT OF THE INCANTATIONS OF THE RYŌ GON SUTRA
Why, it’s like a tale told by an old-fangled writer! Tatsu, who used to go shopping carrying a miso strainer—that Tatsu?—the cherished daughter of Viscount Iwanuma, a man who lives above the clouds?!30 Kichibei was thunderstruck. Verily, the gods and buddhas watch over us, and swift is the law of cause and effect! Where the soil is well tilled, the daikon grows fat; a person of virtue reaps fruits of good fortune. This happiness is quite rightfully hers!
Thus Kichibei accepted Tahara’s account with unbounded pleasure and gratitude, and with not a qualm or a quibble, and also without saying a word about the marriage he himself had suggested and facilitated—as though he had forgotten all about it. However, he could tell the feelings of the pensive Shuun without even asking; so once he had settled the details, clearing the way for this “mean woman” to be called instead a “woman of means,” he thrust back at Tahara the one hundred ryō from the other day, saying: I know nothing of your modern ways, but I detest the notion of taking money for no good reason. I surely did restore to Shuun his hundred ryō; but to expect this old geezer to accept such a thick wad of a gift, when the viscount has not even thanked Shuun, is less welcome to me than being asked to crunch a mouthful of roasted soybeans with the few poor teeth I have left. I hereby return it.
To this straightforward speech Tahara replied: You’ve taken this the wrong way. Please do not speak so severely. And please do accept the viscount’s good intentions. We shall express our thanks to Shuun separately. But I haven’t seen him—has he already departed? What, in one of the guest rooms in the back, is he? In that case, if you’ll permit me. . . . Carrying a valise, he headed off, firmly declining the proprietor’s offers to show him the way.
Excuse me! Tahara slid open the paper-screen door. There was an exchange of introductory formalities, after which Tahara related a rough account of Tatsu’s origins and Viscount Iwanuma’s personal history, to which he added effusive expressions of gratitude for everything Shuun had done, then spread out in front of him gift after gift from the viscount, two hundred yen in cash, a statement of thanks from the viscount (written by the viscount), and a letter from Tatsu; following which he devoted himself assiduously to bowing profoundly.
Shuun, a little indignant, took up only the letter, without even touching the rest. Indeed, he then tossed down the one hundred ryō from the other day. He scowled.
Kindly take it all back. I am not amused by your remedies. You seem to think that I did what I did to get what I could as if it were some sort of business stratagem. How ridiculous! Whatever trivial assistance I rendered was not to “Lady Iwanuma”; it was simply because my heart went out to Tatsu. After that, gradually, we developed an intimacy as that karmic connection led to mutual assistance and to the happy opening of our hearts to each other. A traveler of the open road hates even to carry much baggage; yet there was I, actually about to get married and take along a wife. At that very moment you suddenly snatch her away as if I should turn my love into a dream and feed it to a tapir.31 What a heartless way to act!
The first few days, I was so bewildered as to what happened, so resentful, that I grew quite spiritless. Now I am apprised of the father–daughter relationship. I understand the reasoning by which you, as the viscount’s retainer, were alarmed at the prospect of her entering into matrimony with someone so lowly as myself, and so you took her away. Far be it from the likes of me to show such temerity as to meddle in the affairs of the honorable daughter of Viscount Iwanuma. So kindly take back your money and your merchandise.
And yet my engagement to that salted-flower seller is crystal clear to me! Unless she’s had a change of heart herself, I am determined to take her to wife. Even if the snows on Mount Ontake wer
e to vanish in December, this, my resolve, would not. Oh, how I loathe Lady Iwanuma! And how I yearn for that salted-flower seller! A man’s intimate confession, culminating thus in anguish.
Thought Tahara: Indeed, this is vital, the very reason His Lordship ordered me here. Even if this love of Shuun’s is stronger than the ice on Lake Suwa, just as that ice softens under the balmy breeze of spring, so must I thaw his icy will, the better to wash it away and to avoid disruptions downstream. He smiled a smarmy smile and spoke, frequently licking his upper lip.
Every single point you make makes perfect sense. Nonetheless, a human being cannot be doubled. There’s no chance Miss Tatsu will once again become a salted-flower seller, which is to say that there you’re hoping for the impossible. And from your comment that you “loathe Lady Iwanuma,” I take it that you have no inclination yourself to become the viscount’s son-in-law. You may have gone so far as an engagement, but no nuptials were completed. At the present moment, Tatsu would indeed appear to be pining for you. However, His Lordship says that this is an undeveloped sentiment, an immature emotion that undoubtedly will alter by and by.
In the future, it is His Lordship’s intention to seek an appropriate match and to settle on some young, high-ranking member of the nobility. Surely a bright fellow like yourself can see very well that from a parent’s point of view, this is by no means unreasonable. If one puts it like that, it must sound as though we are breaking off your relationship with Tatsu; however, it is also true that your engagement was to her as a salted-flower seller: that is to say, its failed consummation was a matter of fate. It would be best for both sides if you reconciled yourself to that, manfully.
The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868-1945: vol. 1 (Modern Asian Literature Series) Page 21
