The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868-1945: vol. 1 (Modern Asian Literature Series)

by J. Thomas Rimer

  The old woman seemed shocked by the news but was finally able to mutter, “Congratulations.”

  Jūkichi, born and raised in the provinces, had contempt for ceremony and etiquette. He resented Mrs. Yazawa for leading him into this constraining situation. How had he ended up having to do these things, he wondered, and regretted his unthinking acquiescence the day before.

  Jūkichi took his newspaper out onto the veranda and sat in the warmth of the sun. He looked up at the small patch of sky visible over his neighbor’s roof and lethargically watched the thin white clouds drift slowly by. He glanced down at the paper, and his attention was caught by a photograph. The caption stated that the young women pictured had graduated with honors from a women’s college. The face he had recognized was that of Kimura Otoku.

  “With a little luck, she would have been my better half.” He felt regret, but he was also amused by his own reaction. An arranged marriage was like a blindfolded man and woman bumping into each other by chance and thereupon exchanging vows to bind them together forever. He found it curious that two people could find happiness together under such circumstances. After several days, however, Jūkichi, as he always did when events did not turn out as he expected, shrugged his shoulders and concluded, “Whatever happens will happen.” He still had not come to the full realization that he would marry soon. Mrs. Yazawa had found him a suitable house in Ushigome Ward, and he had moved in. New surroundings, however, did not improve his chaotic lifestyle. Ceremonial betrothal gifts had been exchanged; he had new clothing made for the wedding; and he had informed his family and a few friends of the date of the ceremony.

  Jūkichi told the news to a merchant in the Kabutō district with whom he was acquainted, “Congratulations! There’s no greater treasure than a good wife. You won’t have conflicts of interest as we merchant families always do,” the merchant said, chuckling. “Once a man’s developed a taste for the pleasures of the demimonde, he can’t stay away, even after he’s married. But never spend the whole night away from your bride. Another thing. For better or worse, stick with your first wife. I’m on my third wife now, but I can’t forget the first one, no matter how hard I try. Don’t change wives again and again.”

  “Good for you!” a former schoolmate commented. “You’ll discover new meaning in life.”

  “I wonder if I can give up my bad habits and ‘discover new meaning in life,’” Jūkichi declared theatrically, mimicking his friend for Mrs. Yazawa.

  “We can joke, but the bride and her family are probably frantically busy. She has to visit each of her relatives to bid farewell. She has the ceremony to formally part from her parents. There’s the trousseau and all the rest to prepare. I heard they intend to have most of the things made in Tokyo. I wonder what they’re going to do about the clothes. Since it’s the same amount of money, I’d have new kimonos made by Daihiko. They know the latest fashion in Tokyo. But her people in the countryside seem to want her to use the Matsuya store.”

  Mrs. Yazawa wanted to advise Tokiko and her family on the style of kimono they should have made. She had confidence in her eye for fashion and seemed to resent Mrs. Onose’s lack of concern about clothing.

  “We’ll receive money and property from my family as well. Personally, though, I’ve been hard pressed for cash recently. I’ve run out of things to pawn!” He imagined the goods and furnishings the bride would bring with her.

  The wedding was to be held before the cherry blossoms scattered in the wind. But this year spring had come early to Tokyo, and the cherry trees along the Sumida River had already lost half their blossoms. Only a few days remained before April 7, the auspicious date Mrs. Onose had chosen by leafing through an astrology book. Mrs. Yazawa had arrived and was supervising Jūkichi’s housekeeper as she pasted new paper on the shōji and took apart Jūkichi’s old clothing to wash it. The old woman dragged herself outside and slowly raked the garden. Chests, a large brazier, and a makeup stand with a full mirror had been arranged in the middle room. “This’ll be your wife’s room. See how the house has a focus now,” Mrs. Yazawa said and seemed very happy. The new look of the house pleased Jūkichi, too. His old furniture looked shabby. “This marriage business has advantages. I don’t have to say a word, and people haul in all this new stuff.”

  “From now on, your house is going to look much neater.”

  “How old is the new mistress?” the housekeeper asked in a small voice, a rag still in her hand.

  “She’s twenty, and she’ll make a fine young wife,” Mrs. Yazawa answered.

  “Twenty? She’s not so young, is she?”

  “Young women who graduate from college are different from the girls of your day. She’s just the right age.”

  Mrs. Yazawa inspected every corner of the kitchen and parlor and drew up a list of utensils and other things the house needed. She insisted that Jūkichi buy them that evening.

  Jūkichi and Mrs. Yazawa went out to shop in the neighborhood around Kagurazaka. In front of this shop and that, Mrs. Yazawa continued to refer to “Jūkichi’s wife”: “This’ll be your wife’s tea bowl”; “These are perfect; your wife’s chopsticks; perhaps your wife already has one of these. . . .” This had a strange ring to Jūkichi’s ears. They descended the hill, crowded with people, and took a side street to a dim shop where they bought an earthen saké vessel to be used in the ceremony. On the way back to the main street, Jūkichi suddenly blurted out, “The fate that binds us is curious. It never leads us where we expect, always to where we don’t expect, as the saying goes.” A sense of futility welled up inside him. His dissatisfaction was not directed at anyone in particular. He had once been convinced that somewhere there existed a woman whom he could love with his whole heart and physical being and that she would love him in the same way. This illusion was now dead. Still, the notion remained with him that fate never aligns with our expectations and leads in unanticipated directions. This made more appealing a marriage for which he otherwise had little enthusiasm.

  “It’s the same with everyone in this world,” Mrs. Yazawa agreed with unexpected feeling.

  “But I suppose if you live with a woman for a few years, a certain intimacy and sense of affection is bound to come about.”

  “That’s true. Therefore you must be loving and true to your wife. After all, a wife has only her husband to depend on.”

  “I know,” Jūkichi said, but he did not pursue the matter further. Jūkichi and Mrs. Yazawa parted company. He walked to the streetcar line and boarded a tram for downtown. He amused himself at one place and another, wandering until late at night in the lively entertainment districts. Still, he felt compelled to return to his own house to sleep that night.

  On the seventh, the sky was clear and there was no wind. A variety of people in formal dress had crowded into the small house. Jūkichi followed Mrs. Yazawa’s suggestion in serving a large fish, with head and tail attached, for lunch. After this auspicious meal, the hour of the ceremony was approaching and Jūkichi went to bathe. Dressed in his newly tailored, soft silk kimono, he studied himself in Tokiko’s full-length mirror. “I look great!” he said to himself, smiling, “I guess the clothes do make the man.” As someone who always wore cotton, the new clothing felt pleasant against his skin. However, he experienced no special sense of anticipation of the sort the guests were probably imagining. He wished only that at least for the day of the wedding, his bride would be beautiful and charming, but he realized this was too much to expect.

  The bride and her party arrived before dusk, later than they were expected. Engaged in conversation, the guests suddenly became piously silent. In the next room, Jūkichi could hear the light patter of feet and the rustling of silk. Then Mrs. Yazawa returned and had the mirror and stand hauled out to the veranda, where she began fixing the bride’s makeup.

  Mrs. Yazawa joined Jūkichi, and they were finally called into the main room. The bride, dressed in the traditional three-layered kimono, seemed to shrink under the weight of the heavy clothing. She
kept her head bowed in embarrassment. Her white face powder had been applied too heavily. Onose was accustomed to acting as the intermediary at weddings, and the ceremony proceeded smoothly. Seated across from the bride, Jūkichi was contemplating the absurdity of his situation. The exchange of nuptial cups began. Three times they each drank saké from three cups to represent the bond formed between them in the past, present, and future worlds. But Jūkichi found it difficult to believe that any kind of bond had been formed at all. Indeed, he was repelled by drinking from the same surface that had touched her unappealing lips, and he unobtrusively wiped the rim of the cup when it was his turn to drink from it. They say that for those in love, a pockmark looks like a beauty spot, but even when Jūkichi was in love, he remained critical. He certainly was not going to be carried away by infatuation for his new bride.

  Jūkichi approached Mrs. Yazawa on the veranda and whispered, “Tell her to keep her chin up. Her forehead looks even larger when she bows her head. Also, tell her she’s wearing too much face powder.”

  Ten rickshaws arrived. The neighbors came out to see off the bride, groom, and guests. The party went to a restaurant in the Kagurazaka area. The bride’s relatives were already waiting in the large banquet room upstairs. There was the faint sound of someone playing the shamisen in the large room below. Jūkichi forced himself to carry on lively conversations and drink more than his customary amount of saké, which he did not enjoy. He observed the gentle features of Tokiko’s mother and the pretty features of her older sister, who resembled her mother. There must have been some mistake when Tokiko was born, for she was the image of her father. After the guests had consumed a fair amount of alcohol, Jūkichi’s friends rose and gave congratulatory speeches. At the end of the party, Mrs. Onose and Mrs. Yazawa sang a duet, the American ballad “My Sweet Home.” The provincial guests found this quite impressive, and it lent an air of solemnity to the occasion.

  Mr. and Mrs. Yazawa accompanied the newlyweds back to their new home. As Jūkichi was changing out of his formal clothing, he commented, “At last I’ve done something respectable. I’ve done my duty.”

  “It’s a load off my shoulders. I’m still in shock that you actually went through with something I suggested,” Mrs. Yazawa replied, sounding inordinately self-satisfied.

  When Tokiko left the room, Jūkichi said, “Her older sister is an elegant woman. She’s much prettier than Tokiko.”

  “Stop it!” she said, waving her hand as if to brush his remarks away. “It’s bad luck. You’ll remember your wedding day for years to come.”

  After the Yazawas left, Jūkichi spoke to his bride for the first time.

  “Aren’t you hungry? You ate next to nothing.”

  “No, I’m full,” she replied. Jūkichi was surprised by the frankness of her answer.

  “I suppose if you always have enough to eat in life, you’re doing fine.” Jūkichi was wide awake and knew he could not sleep. He lit a cigarette and asked, “Why did you decide to marry me?”

  “Because my father told me to,” she replied.

  “That’s your only reason? Did you immediately agree just because he told you?”

  “No. I thought about it for quite a while. After the marriage was arranged, I didn’t sleep much. I thought I’d be happy married to you.”

  “I don’t know whether you’ll be happy or not,” Jūkichi said and did not try to engage Tokiko in further serious conversation. Instead, he tried to imagine what happiness might consist of for a young bride. It was a lonely night for him.

  Neither of them could sleep, but the thoughts that kept them awake were quite different.

  VI

  The next day, the weather was warm but strangely unpleasant. The wind was blowing dust all about. Tokiko, having barely dozed off, woke with a start when she heard the old housekeeper opening the shutters in the room below. She hurriedly got up and went down to the kitchen, where she clumsily tried to be of help. Jūkichi also got up early. He went down to his desk and, bored, stared out the window. It was a desolate sort of spring. The veranda, swept and polished the day before, already was white with dust. The soil in the garden was dry as stone. There were three red blossoms on the camellia bush and a small white flower, he did not know the name, blooming in the shade of a butterbur plant, but the colors seemed faded.

  “Nasty weather today,” Jūkichi muttered. “Certainly is,” Tokiko replied.

  “We have to get our photograph taken,” Jūkichi said. “I don’t want to. I won’t,” Tokiko declared. She seemed almost frightened. Her hand covered her breast, her eyes grew wide, and she was trembling. Jūkichi noticed for the first time that her eyes were like lusterless blackberries.

  “I don’t want to have photographs taken either,” he replied sharply. In truth, he disliked the idea of having his image and hers preserved together forever. “Now, why don’t you take off that fancy kimono and change into plain cotton clothes? You can’t work in that billowing thing with long sleeves flapping. You didn’t marry just so you’d have time to amuse yourself, did you?”

  “I have no intention of amusing myself. But I didn’t bring any cotton clothes.”

  “Why not?”

  “Onose told me I shouldn’t pack them.”

  Tokiko hesitantly recounted what Mrs. Onose had told her father and aunt. Jūkichi was a professor at a private university. He had studied abroad. His acquaintances included many famous people. Because guests were visiting Jūkichi all the time, Tokiko must never wear cotton clothes, not even while doing everyday chores in the house. She innocently repeated what she had been told. They had even said that Jūkichi was madly desirous of the match and had sent numerous telegrams asking for Tokiko’s hand in marriage.

  “This is news to me,” he exclaimed and thought that this is what was meant by the phrase “matchmaker’s talk.”

  “It’s all lies. I’m not a professor. I’ve never studied overseas. Also, I didn’t ask to marry you specifically. I got into this mess on an impulse. For thirty years I’ve searched for a woman or a cause to which I could devote my life. I’ve never found such a person or thing.” Jūkichi felt the sudden need to rouse himself from his lethargy. “I’ll write your father and tell him the truth,” he said gravely.

  “You needn’t inform my father,” Tokiko said, showing no reaction to Jūkichi’s statement. “We’re already married. What does it matter how we got that way?” “No! We have to tell the truth! I’ll write your father today.” Jūkichi, as if relishing the thought of a melodramatic scene, began scribbling down his feelings on paper.

  “My father is a timid man. You’ll make him worry.” Tokiko looked uncomfortable.

  “Can’t be helped. If I take action now, there’s still a way out. It’s for your benefit, too.”

  “What do you mean, ‘There’s still a way out’?”

  “I mean if you don’t like it here, you’ll have an excuse to return to the provinces,” he replied with a smile. “For my part, I have no objection.” Jūkichi deliberately wrote Shiga’s address on the letter and handed it to the housekeeper.

  Tokiko was taken aback. She was not able to regard Jūkichi’s remark as a joke. She had trouble understanding her husband.

  “I am your wife, aren’t I?”

  “Not yet!”

  “But . . . everyone seems to think we are married!”

  About midday, Yazawa, Jūkichi’s younger brother from the provinces, and several other people came to congratulate the newlyweds. Tokiko was busy. The next day, dressed in the formal clothing they wore for the ceremony, Tokiko and Jūkichi went out together to express their gratitude at the homes of Tokiko’s aunt and the intermediary, Onose. The physical strain and psychological pressure that had been building since before the wedding had left Tokiko exhausted. But she was not sleeping soundly. She had been raised in a lively environment with many people about. The silence at night in this strange new home made her feel lonely and abandoned. Soon after she would doze off, she would be awakened by dist
urbing dreams. She had yet to feel intimacy with her new husband. It frightened her to hear Jūkichi gasping for breath in the night or muttering incomprehensible phrases in his sleep. At times she would curl up in her bedding and wait impatiently for the dawn. During the day, she would become unbearably sleepy. She would enter the maid’s small, dirty room, block the sliding door, and nap seated in an old chair. Jūkichi seemed not to notice when his wife disappeared. He would nap in the afternoon as well.

  Letters from the provinces soon arrived. His younger brother, who had two children, circumspectly cautioned Jūkichi. “I know women are a nuisance, but you must not treat them too callously. . . . Your life will be very different now that you are married.”

  Neither did the letter from Tokiko’s father give Jūkichi any encouragement. “The things Mrs. Onose said about you were intended, I am sure, to bring about this excellent marriage. For our part, we take no offense, nor do we think the worse of you. . . . Without doubt, our daughter has many defects. We can only request that you show no leniency in improving her demeanor and guiding her through life.” Jūkichi opened the sliding door to the next room and saw that Tokiko was at his desk reading letters.

  “Did you receive news from home?” he asked.

  “Yes, do you want to read them?” She scooped up the letters and brought them over to him.

  The letters from her father, mother, and aunt all were very long. They consisted of trivial matters, entirely predictable. But as he was reading the mother’s letter, Jūkichi was taken aback by the depth of the love that a mother feels for her child: “I have been unable to attend to my household duties this past week out of worry for you, my dear daughter. You still are inexperienced and have not been exposed to people in the world, so I am certain you are suffering in a new environment. Still, to endure is the primary virtue of the way of women. Discuss your problems with Mrs. Yazawa; you can trust her. Your conduct must be above reproach. Do nothing to give others the opportunity to criticize you behind your back. Please know that your mother is praying for you night and day. Try not to catch cold, and don’t drink unboiled water.”