WIFE: If the scallions are overcooked, don’t blame me.
HUSBAND: Scallions. We having scallions in the soup today?
The sound of Husband washing his face. In a moment he appears, wiping his face with a towel. Passing him, Wife brings the rice pot from the kitchen.
WIFE: We’re going to buy another serving tub for rice, aren’t we?
HUSBAND (hanging the towel on a peg and sitting in front of the rectangular brazier): I could use a cigarette.
WIFE: It’s all right with me. Take it up with the clock.
HUSBAND (lighting a cigarette): I still have time. (Looking outside.) What great weather! (Pause.) The point is my interest in dreams has to do with the dreams themselves.
Wife places individual bowls filled with rice on the table.
HUSBAND: Dreams save me from boredom. They show me the shadings in life.
Wife ladles miso soup into bowls.
HUSBAND: Yesterday and today, today and tomorrow, in the spaces between I take these free trips. The trips are fun. Dreams for me are a part of reality. They’re not fantasies like hopes and ideals.
WIFE (picking up her chopsticks): It’s amazing you have the time to dream like that.
HUSBAND: Jealous? Anyway, the dream I had last night. . . . (He also picks up his chopsticks.)
WIFE: Before that, would you hurry up and claim the travel allowance for your trip the other day?
HUSBAND: Right, of course. Nine yen, seventy sen. I wish that were a dream! . . . Which is not how I should be thinking, of course. I’ll be sure to claim it today.
Silence.
WIFE: No eggs this morning.
HUSBAND: How come?
WIFE: I forgot to buy any.
HUSBAND: There you go! See? “I forgot.” What wonderful words. They conceal all ugliness, gloom, pain, and fear. Go ahead, forget . . . forget everything!
WIFE (uncomfortably): But I really did forget.
HUSBAND: Even better. (Pause.) And on top of that, the breakfast today is delicious!
WIFE (forcing herself to smile): The charcoal, we . . .
HUSBAND (noticing her expression): I’m serious!
WIFE: Really? (A tear runs down her cheek.)
HUSBAND: You’re such an idiot. The problem is you don’t dream enough. If you dream only once in a while, you have only crummy dreams.
WIFE: But I haven’t got a clue which dreams are interesting.
HUSBAND: I see. The ones I’ve told you about were too complicated, and you didn’t understand them. You didn’t understand them, so they didn’t appeal to you. The one I had last night, you’ll understand that one. I’ll explain it so you’ll understand. You’re my wife. A wife should know her husband’s dreams.
WIFE (refilling husband’s rice bowl): Here’s a little extra.
HUSBAND: Hey, take it easy!
WIFE: You’ll be hungry again before lunch.
HUSBAND (taking the bowl): In the dream, it seems I’m still a child. I say child, but I’m sixteen, maybe seventeen. The time when the world seems strangely lonely. (Pause.) As I always tell you, I had no friends. For fun, I’d hunt dragonflies by myself. In winter, I’d spend days drawing the faraway forest from the sunny slope of the hill behind our house. That’s how I amused myself.
WIFE: Don’t use so much soy sauce!
HUSBAND: When I was a child, I used to put soy sauce on rice all the time.
WIFE: It’s poison.
HUSBAND: You turn everything into poison. Anyway, about my dream. I wander into this forest. The forest I used to draw every day. It’s night, and . . .
WIFE: These pickles are better.
HUSBAND: It’s night, and . . . I go into the forest, and the forest, the one I’ve been drawing, is this vast, endless expanse. Russia or South America. It’s the kind of forest you’d find in a place like that, where no human being has ever set foot before . . . (Wife starts to say something.)
HUSBAND: Just be quiet and listen. It’s night. I’m not scared. Not in the least. Just sad; desperately sad. I decide to commit suicide.
WIFE: That’s enough! Are you sure you have time for this?
HUSBAND: I’m fine. Just listen. I decide to commit suicide. I find the branch of a tree. I toss my sash over the branch and tie the ends above my head. I’m all set to hang myself.
WIFE (looking away): Please!
HUSBAND: Listen. Just then, see, just then, I’ll be damned if someone doesn’t tap me on the shoulder.
WIFE: Somebody was there?
HUSBAND: Not someone, a beautiful young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen. She’s laughing and staring at my face.
Pause. Wife picks up the rice bowl that Husband has replaced on the tray, fills it with rice, and puts it back in his hands.
HUSBAND: She’s staring at me. I’ve met her someplace before. That’s what I think to myself, but I can’t remember where.
WIFE: Did you figure it out later?
HUSBAND: Wait, wait. (He shovels the remainder of the rice into his mouth.) Then she asks me what I’m doing, as if we know each other. I say I’m making a swing, and she says, then let’s play on it together. I answer that the sash is too short.
WIFE (bursting out laughing): How lame!
HUSBAND (seriously): That’s what I said. (Pause.) So then she replies, let’s tie my sash on, too, and she undoes her red, muslin sash.
WIFE (laughing): That’s enough!
HUSBAND: No, she undoes it. (Pause.) I have no choice, so I make a swing, and the two of us get in together. (Pause.) The trunk of the tree sways. There is the loud sound of wings flapping abruptly overhead, and all of a sudden every bird in the forest is in an uproar. Before you know it, the two of us are embracing on the swing.
WIFE (her face darkening slightly): Tea?
HUSBAND: Tea, yes. (Pause.) Tea, but the interesting part’s still to come.
WIFE: All right, I’ll hear it tonight. Now it’s time for me to shine your shoes.
HUSBAND: I’ll wear the Bulldogs. They’re already polished.
Wife stands and takes out Husband’s business clothes.
HUSBAND (watching wife): That’s when I really look at her face for the first time. I’m not sure, but she reminds me of someone. I’ve seen her, met her, spoken with her somewhere before.
WIFE (picking out socks): You’re not visiting anybody today, are you?
HUSBAND: No. I don’t plan to, anyway. Wait. No, I won’t have to. Anyway, she’s a girl I’ve met sometime, somewhere before. You know who she was?
WIFE: Of course. Now, come on, it would be a shame to keep him waiting.
HUSBAND: Who, then?
WIFE: Anybody. It doesn’t matter. You’re always like this. Especially in the morning when there’s no time. If you wait till evening, we’ll have more time.
HUSBAND: More time, yes, but the impression won’t be fresh anymore. This morning feeling, when your head’s filled with the dream, that won’t last till evening. Once I’ve breathed the dusty air of the office, I’m finished. It’s frightening. I come home and see your face, and of course, I feel good. I feel good, but that’s it. I can see you too clearly. (Pause.) But I’d better change. The Mantis is late today.
He empties his teacup in one gulp, stands, and begins to remove his kimono.
WIFE (helping him): This is already too warm, isn’t it?
HUSBAND (singing in a strange voice from deep within his throat): Tra-la-lala-la!
WIFE (not unkindly, as she brushes the lint from his clothes): What a silly song!
HUSBAND: Silly? Just because you don’t know it, does that make it silly? (Pause.) But you said you knew who she was, who that girl looked like. Isn’t that strange, though? I mean, how old were you the first time I saw you? Nineteen? Twenty, maybe? That’s right. I have no way of knowing what you looked like when you were twelve or thirteen.
WIFE: You’ve seen photographs.
HUSBAND: Right! That must be it. You’re awfully calm, though. It’s amazing! But . . . if all
doubts disappear, then. . . . While you’re at it, though, I also want you to believe how happy I am.
WIFE: I’m . . . I’m happy, too.
HUSBAND: Bravo! Well said! Well said! (Pause.) All right, so the girl resembled you somehow. In fact, she was your spitting image. In other words, she was you. But that’s what’s so interesting about dreams. I realize this, but it doesn’t surprise or shock me in the least. There I am, sixteen years old, with my arms around a twelve-year-old you on a swing, whiling away the night.
WIFE: Your vest.
HUSBAND: Swinging takes no effort at all. (Pause.) Your soft hair brushes against my face every time you lean forward. You say it’s amusing and intentionally bring your face close to mine.
WIFE (laughing): How shameless!
HUSBAND: The swing seems to sway back and forth of its own accord. (Pause.) The soft light wetting the leaves of the trees dyes your face silver each time we look up. I stare into your eyes, devouring them. You’re laughing!
Wife rests her cheek against his shoulder.
HUSBAND: But finally you drift off to sleep. I drift off with you. (A long silence.) You already know the rest. Of course, the world’s nothing like that. (Pause.) Do you remember? The next morning, we moved straight into this house. And what a house! (He surveys the room.) Is this any place for human beings to live? For human beings to love? (Pause.) But last night was different. What I thought was a forest was actually a palace. What I thought was a swing was really a soft, warm, velvet hammock.
WIFE: What’s a hammock?
HUSBAND: A hammock, you know, like a rocking cradle for adults.
WIFE: In a palace?
HUSBAND: Yes. But not your run-of-the-mill, fairy-tale type.
(The sound of the outer gate opening)
VOICE: Aren’t you ready yet?
WIFE (hastily moving away from husband’s shoulder): See! You’re late again!
HUSBAND (hastily buttoning his vest): I’m fine. I won’t be late. (In a loud voice.) You going after all? I was beginning to think you were taking the day off.
VOICE: Anybody home? (The owner of the voice pokes his head into the room.)
WIFE: Please! You mustn’t come in here!
COLLEAGUE: You back from your trip already? Good morning, ma’am.
WIFE: I told him he’d be late, but as you can see . . .
HUSBAND: You’re just in time. Anyway, listen to the rest of the story. The palace was not your ordinary, fairy-tale type.
WIFE (helping him on with his suit coat): Not there, a little higher.
HUSBAND: Maybe the world “palace” is misleading. The point is everything about this place is designed for the people who live there.
COLLEAGUE: Interesting. But do you think such a design is possible?
HUSBAND: Of course it’s possible. Take the hammock, for instance. It’s completely unconventional. The swing, I mean, in other words . . .
COLLEAGUE: What swing?
HUSBAND: What?
WIFE: Look at you, Mr. Katagiri, taking this all so seriously! (To Husband) That’s enough now.
COLLEAGUE: What are you talking about?
WIFE: A dream, his dream. You know, the usual . . . (She gives Husband his handkerchief, watch, and wallet.)
COLLEAGUE: Oh, is that it?
HUSBAND: But you’re a man who understands the fascination of dreams, even if you don’t seem to dream yourself.
COLLEAGUE: Not me. By the way, ma’am . . .
HUSBAND: Have you ever ridden on a swing?
COLLEAGUE: Never. Actually, ma’am . . .
HUSBAND: OK, OK. She’ll hear about it later. See, the dream I had last night went like this. . . . (Lighting a cigarette.) I’m sixteen or seventeen, when the world, you know, seems strangely lonely. . . . (Moving toward the door.) But when, without realizing it, you’re also most impressionable.
They exit.
COLLEAGUE: Actually, I’m in a bit of a bind.
HUSBAND’S VOICE: Why should you be in a bind?
Wife goes out into the entranceway.
COLLEAGUE (not getting up, his words directed at husband but with wife in mind): No, you see, all of a sudden my father says he’s coming in from the country, and I don’t mind if he comes, of course, but . . .
HUSBAND: Come on, come on, let’s go.
COLLEAGUE: I’m coming. But I was wondering, ma’am, if just tonight . . .
HUSBAND’S VOICE: Of course, of course. We’ll think of something. Come on. (He is apparently pulling at his colleague’s arm.) But first I want you to hear about my dream.
COLLEAGUE (getting up, he also leaves): The thing is, ma’am.
HUSBAND’S VOICE: OK, OK. It doesn’t have to concern her. Out you go, out you go.
WIFE’S VOICE: Oh! (She is taken aback by something.) Hurry home!
The sound of the gate closing. Wife returns and sits with her elbows on the rectangular brazier and her cheek on one hand. Alone now, a smile creeps over her face.
HUSBAND’S VOICE (some distance away): I’m a boy of sixteen, see, and . . . the world . . . strangely. . . . Hey, where’re you going?
COLLEAGUE’S VOICE: I’ve got to take a leak. Wait a minute.
HUSBAND’S VOICE: Hurry up, somebody’s going to come.
One of them starts whistling; the other joins in, and before long the sound of their off-key, intertwining melodies is heard.
Curtain.
TANIZAKI JUN’ICHIRŌ
Tanizaki Jun’ichirō (1888–1965), whose prose writings also are included in this chapter of the anthology, took an interest early on in both film and the theater. Although he soon stopped writing drama, discouraged at the lack of opportunities to see his worked staged, some of his early plays are among the best created during this interwar period. Okuni and Gohei (Okuni to Gohei), a mordant and ironic parody of a traditional kabuki vendetta play, was written in 1921.
OKUNI AND GOHEI (OKUNI TO GOHEI)
Translated by John K. Gillespie1
A Play in One Act
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Okuni
Gohei
Ikeda Tomonojō
TIME
Tokugawa era
PLACE
The countryside of Nasunogahara
An expansive, lonely autumn evening in the countryside of Nasunogahara. A road lined with pine trees slants from upstage to downstage. A lady and her attendant, in traveling clothes, their straw hats off, are resting at the foot of a pine tree. The lady is Okuni, widow of a samurai from western Japan. The attendant is her young servant Gohei.
GOHEI: Madame, how do you feel? Shall we get started again?
OKUNI: Ah, but I’m still so exhausted.
GOHEI: Well, when it gets dark out here in the middle of nowhere, it’ll be hard to make our way. We can be at the next village soon. Please try to endure just a bit longer.
OKUNI: Women are truly weak . . . having such a weak traveling companion must really be annoying for you.
GOHEI: Not at all. Don’t go on like that. Here it is only the second day after your long illness. Of course, you’re worn out. I should’ve looked at it that way and had you stay two or three more days in Utsunomiya.
OKUNI: No, no. Even though my body is weak, it won’t do to just be idle any longer. It’s already two months since I took ill in Utsunomiya.
GOHEI: You may be right, but however strong your spirit, you can’t simply forget your sickness. I mean just today you’ve walked seventeen or eighteen miles since morning.
OKUNI: We have walked and walked, and without seeing any sign of people or villages. . . . So this is the Nasunogahara countryside.
GOHEI: I understand that farther on, beyond this territory, is the northern region. If we stay on this road all the way, in two or three days we’ll reach the Shirakawa barrier.
OKUNI: Oh, the Shirakawa barrier. As a child, I used to hear about it often. When I was seven or eight, my grandmother would talk about it.
GOHEI: We’ll make it to the Sh
irakawa barrier. And far beyond it to the northern region. We may have to go that far, depending on what happens.
OKUNI: My grandmother loved waka poetry and always talked to me about places famous in those poems. The Shirakawa barrier was frequently cited. She said it was several hundred miles beyond Hiroshima. And beyond Osaka, beyond Kyoto, and beyond Edo at the end of the Tōkaidō Road; still it was a destination some hundreds of miles off. And beyond that barrier, she said, was the vast northern region where barbarians once lived.
GOHEI: Depending on how things go, we may need to travel through that vast country.
OKUNI: It’s already been four years since I left home, and now this autumn, too, is fading. How terrible that we still don’t know where my enemy is.
GOHEI: All your family back home must be dying to see you. And your little son this year has turned six. My, how handsome he must be!
OKUNI: Oh, please, don’t talk to me about my child. When you do, I feel the urge to fly right home.
GOHEI: Oh, I’m so sorry. How stupid. Please forgive me. I really hope you can realize your long-cherished desire even one day sooner.
OKUNI: Ah, Gohei, no matter how much I suffer, it’s for my husband’s sake, so I’m quite willing to do it. But Gohei, how terrible all this surely must be for you.
GOHEI: Madame, please don’t say such things. What can you mean? It hurts me. Am I not your retainer, here to serve you?
OKUNI: But you haven’t served all that long, not from your father’s time. Only for five or six years. When my husband was alive, you regarded us as your master. I no longer think of you as a retainer.
GOHEI: I’m unworthy of such a comment. As your husband’s retainer, I must serve you at such times as this even more than ever.
OKUNI: People in this world often forget their debts of gratitude. Then there are those, like you, who unexpectedly make a special effort to serve, who regard the smallest duty as important. My husband, now long in his grave, would certainly be pleased with your loyalty.
The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868-1945: vol. 1 (Modern Asian Literature Series) Page 94
