by Fumiko Enchi
“I’m afraid this won’t be convenient for you, but I know that Yasuko would appreciate the company.” She had made the offer with evident hesitation, but to Ibuki the prospect of traveling alone with Yasuko half a day was far from an imposition.
“I’d welcome an express ticket,” he had said. “Tomorrow morning I have a class, so really it’s better that I get back to Tokyo tonight.” Quickly he had canceled plans to attend a meeting in Kyoto that afternoon.
Now, side by side with Yasuko on the train, he found her rather more subdued than she had been with Mieko the day before, and disappointingly taciturn. He remembered the sudden faintness she had exhibited the previous afternoon. Mikamé had found her pulse to be normal, and moments later she had seemed herself again, watching eagerly as Yorikata demonstrated the mask’s ability to change expressions. Ibuki had forgotten the incident until now.
“How are you feeling today, Yasuko?” he asked casually. “What about that dizzy spell you had yesterday while we were looking at the masks?”
“I don’t know what came over me then. I’m fine now.” She smiled at him.
“The closer you are to those masks, the more uncanny they are,” he said. “Usually after a trip to Kyoto my head is full of temples and gardens, but this time I keep thinking of those masks. This morning, while I was lying half-awake in bed, I had a vision of my dead mother’s face. Something about it seemed strange, and then I realized I was seeing the face on one of those masks we saw yesterday. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that my mother used to look exactly like that. But I suppose Nō masks have such symbolic properties that everyone sees in them the faces of his own dead. Only the faces of the dead wear such frozen expressions.”
“And yet the expression was transformed the moment Yorikata put each mask on, wasn’t it?” said Yasuko. “When he stood up wearing the Zō no onna mask, it took my breath away. It was as if something dead had come to life, or as if male and female had suddenly become one…it was almost as if Akio’s spirit had taken over the mask.” Yasuko stared straight ahead, breathing quickly; she seemed even then to be seeing the mask float up before her. Could it be that once again, as at the séance when the medium first spoke, she was caught up in the illusion that Akio had returned from the dead? Not wanting to encourage her in the notion, Ibuki led the conversation onto other ground.
“At least that mask had a certain beauty. For me the most chilling mask was the one called Ryō no onna.*3 It seemed almost on the point of speaking—and likely to say something more substantial than that medium did the other day.”
Ryō no onna, the finest mask in the Yakushiji collection, was a national treasure of such value that it was ordinarily kept hidden from view, but yesterday, according to Toé, old Yorihito had insisted from his sickbed that it be shown to Mieko and the rest. On the way back in the car, Mikamé had laughingly suggested that some sixth sense must have told the old man of his visitors’ interest in spirit possession.
Still rejecting the idea, Yasuko glanced now at Ibuki. “No one but a few of the pupils has any idea we’re doing that sort of research. And Toé Yakushiji, of all people! She sends us her draft poems by mail, without setting foot out of Kyoto.”
“Yorihito must have had his own reasons. His greatest roles, the son said, were in The Fulling-Block and Lady Aoi. I can’t help thinking that each of the female masks we saw—Zō no onna and Ryō no onna, Deigan*4 and the rest—was somehow transfigured by the sensation he had, while wearing it, of actually becoming a woman. Or does that sound too fanciful?”
“Nō is his whole life, they say, and very little else enters in. So it’s hard to imagine he’s ever read Mother’s poetry, even if Toé does take the magazine. But he must have sensed something—mustn’t he, to have made such a point of showing us the Ryō no onna, even though none of us had said a word about it. The sight of it rather frightened me. I couldn’t help thinking that the one person meant to see those masks must be my own mother-in-law, not because she sees No performed so often or because she can appreciate the artistry of the masks, but because of that look of utter tranquillity they have—a deeply inward sort of look. I think Japanese women long ago must have had that look. And it seems to me she must be one of the last women who lives that way still—like the masks—with her deepest energies turned inward. I’d sensed something of the sort all along, in a vague way, but yesterday, as I watched her studying those masks and costumes, it came to me more clearly than ever before.”
Resting her shoulders against the seat cover, hands folded in her lap, Yasuko turned her head toward Ibuki and fixed him with such a look that he started; with her chest thrust slightly forward, her head twisted at an odd angle, she had a look of cruel eroticism, like a woman wrapped in chains.
“Do you know what I’m thinking?” she asked.
“Sorry. I’m not psychic, I’m afraid.” To cover his confusion, he bent forward and lit a cigarette. “You do seem awfully quiet. I wondered if something made you feel awkward around me today.”
“If you can tell that much, you’re doing well.” She unclasped her hands and smiled at him, the dimple showing in her cheek. “To tell the truth, I’ve decided to leave the Toganō family, and Mieko, if I can. I’ve been thinking it over for some time. And I’m afraid that if I don’t act soon, it will be too late.”
“I can understand why Mieko would be sorry to lose you. She’s already lost Akio. Apart from that, she could probably never find another secretary who would be so devoted to the magazine and the poetry circle.”
“Is that what you really think?” She smiled.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”
“No. If that were all, any number of people could take my place. Mother’s pupils idolize her. Lots of them would gladly slave for her. That’s not why she thinks she needs me.”
“Ah, I know. It’s because she’s so determined that you take up where Akio left off, and finish his research. You were forced into it by the strength of her determination, and lately the whole thing has become a burden. Am I right?”
“Only partly. Even if it was mainly her idea in the beginning, by now the project is part of me; I would keep on with it even if I left and married again.” Yasuko spoke flatly, then reclasped her hands with a sigh. “Oh, I’m not expressing myself well. But I did want to ask your advice today.”
“My advice? You mean about leaving Mieko?”
“I suppose I do mean that.” She stretched out her arms, hands inverted, the fingers still clasped, so that her small palms turned delicately back; the round pink flesh appeared directly beneath Ibuki’s eyes as he sat bent forward in his seat. The way she sat, her way of using her hands were unusually flirtatious.
“You know,” she said, “Toyoki Mikamé says certain things to me now and then. I’ve never given him any encouragement, but do you suppose that if I did make up my mind to leave the Toganō family, he’d marry me?”
“Mikamé?” Struck momentarily dumb, Ibuki stared at Yasuko’s face, at once guilty and coquettish, as she sat with arms outstretched before her. “Of course. Gladly, I’m sure. He’s a bit of a ladies’ man, and he enjoys a good time; but he has strong likes and dislikes, and his taste is good. I’ve known him a long time, and I have no doubt he’s head over heels in love with you.” Ibuki became silent so abruptly that it was as if a lamp had gone out. After a pause he said, in a different, quiet voice, “But why?” Then he added peevishly, “I’m against it.”
“Against it? You are?”
“Mikamé is no better a man than I am, I happen to think, and what’s more, I happen to think you care more for me than you do for him.”
“It’s true, I do…I do, but…” She floundered. “It wouldn’t work. Because if anything happened between you and me, I…that would only make it harder for me to get out of the situation I’m in.”
“Oh? How so?” Ibuki was able, despite the critical turn in the conversation, to sound coolly objective, the shadow of a smile even crossing h
is face. “Because I’m married, you mean? Because I have a family already, so I can’t ask you to be my wife? But I don’t believe that married life is what you really want. That’s one thing about you I’ve always liked: you don’t seem infatuated with the idea of marriage for its own sake.”
“True. The marriage ritual has no intrinsic appeal for me at all. It’s only that—” She would have gone on, but just then an American couple came in from the dining car and sat down across the aisle. The young man, whose short-cropped hair resembled the fur of a small animal, sat with one arm around the woman and said something to her in a nasal voice, all the while fondling her hand as if loath to give it up even for a moment. Ibuki glanced coldly in their direction before completing Yasuko’s unfinished statement.
“Only what? You don’t like committing yourself without a promissory note, is that it?”
“No.” Yasuko shook her head slowly and gave him a pensive look. “Our marriage was short, but Akio and I were happy together, and if I became independent now, I’m sure I could earn at least enough to support myself. So you see, even if I did care for you—even supposing we were lovers—I’d never show such lack of good sense as to ask you to leave your wife for me.”
“Take me that lightly, and I might be the one to lose my good sense.” He laughed, even as he felt something in him flinch at the suggestion.
“No, you aren’t that brave, and I know it. That possibility wouldn’t worry me. As far as marrying Mikamé goes, there are two reasons: first, I’m not in love with him, and secondly, that way once and for all I can dissolve my ties to the Toganō family, and Mieko.”
“And why is that so vital?”
Yasuko made no reply, only turned her eyes wordlessly in his direction.
“As long as you don’t remarry, what harm is there in keeping the Toganō name? Or is Mieko so old-fashioned that she expects you to belong to Akio forever and never to anyone else? She doesn’t seem to me to think that way, but who knows? Maybe it would offend her if you started seeing another man. I don’t pretend to understand a woman’s feelings. Mikamé talks as if he did, but he doesn’t fool me.”
“Well, speaking as another woman, I’m certainly very far from understanding how she feels myself.” With her eyes on the hands folded in her lap, Yasuko went on slowly and deliberately. “But I do understand more than I once did, and that’s why I think now is the time to leave. It’s not that she pries into my affairs, really; nothing of the kind. She’s hardly that small-minded. She has a peculiar power to move events in whatever direction she pleases, while she stays motionless. She’s like a quiet mountain lake whose waters are rushing beneath the surface toward a waterfall. She’s like the face on a Nō mask, wrapped in her own secrets.”
“Go on.” Ibuki looked at Yasuko with interest. Beyond her head he could see the American woman’s flaxen hair swaying playfully against the man’s shoulder. They were asleep, leaning against one another like a pair of tame animals. “What do you mean? How does she move other people without giving any sign?”
“You’re an example yourself. You’re following exactly the path she’s laid out for you.”
“I am?” Ibuki shook his head and looked at her un-comprehendingly.
“You don’t know it, do you? I only realized it myself a little while ago. It goes back to what you said before: if I started seeing you, it would hardly offend her. On the contrary, that’s precisely what she wants. Getting us to ride alone together on the train like this is part of it. It wasn’t only that she had to go to Nara all of a sudden, I’m sure of that.”
“Wait a minute. I suppose it’s obvious that Mikamé and I are both in love with you, but why should she want you to take up with me and not him? Is it because I already have a family, so she thinks there’d be no risk of your marrying me and she could keep you with her for as long as she liked?”
“I suppose that’s part of it. But there’s something more devious going on in her mind. I don’t understand it yet myself….”
Still talking, Yasuko dropped her hand casually in Ibuki’s lap and took his hand, cigarette and all, in hers; then skillfully she pried the cigarette from his fingers and lifted it to her mouth. He looked on in startled silence as her small lips, round and pink, tightened on the cigarette which moments ago had been his. Through the cloud of smoke that veiled her profile momentarily, he watched a slow smile settle on her face.
Ibuki took her hand and pressed it tightly in both of his, as he had done once before in the dark of the séance. “I’m surprised at you, Yasuko,” he said. “No self-respecting bar hostess would do a thing like that.” His hands, curiously at odds with his words, moved gently back and forth, fondling the smooth skin of her palm and the back of her hand. “Tell me, the day of the séance, what made you reach out suddenly and hold my hand? Mikamé remembers it, too.”
“I don’t know why myself. Oh, of course I do like you, Tsuneo, but when I act this way, it’s as if some outside force has taken over my mind and my body.”
“Are you saying that this force is the will of Mieko Toganō?”
“No, I’m not. Just because I’m studying spirit possession doesn’t mean that I think I’m under the spell of my own mother-in-law.”
“Good. Then I’ll assume you’re acting on your own.” He reclaimed the cigarette, which she had taken from her lips, and inserted its lipstick-stained end in his mouth. “Not much of a kiss…All this talk about spirit possession is affecting you, Yasuko. You’ve got to pull yourself back into the real world. One minute you threaten to marry Mikamé, the next you’re seducing me; it’s you who’s acting strangely, not your mother-in-law.”
“But it’s true; I am thinking of marrying Mikamé. If I hadn’t wanted to tell you so, I probably wouldn’t have come with you on this train ride today. Still, it does seem queer—here we are talking, and all of a sudden I do a thing like that. Perhaps underneath I do want you to love me. But somehow I can’t help feeling that these things happen because she’s there in the background, arranging for them to. That’s what I hate.”
“I don’t follow you. You say she stayed in Nara deliberately, so you and I could be alone. But why should a person like Mieko Toganō play silly games like that?”
“It’s no game. Believe me, she is a woman of far greater complexity than you—or anyone—realize. The secrets inside her mind are like flowers in a garden at nighttime, filling the darkness with perfume. Oh, she has extraordinary charm. Next to that secret charm of hers, her talent as a poet is really only a sort of costume.”
“I have a rough idea of what you’re saying, Yasuko, but I can’t be sure unless you talk more plainly….In any case, I do care for you very, very much. Ever since that moment you reached out to me, I’ve felt the barriers between us falling, and now this talk of marrying Mikamé only makes me want you more. That’s why it’s so important that I know more about Mieko. If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to find out for myself.”
“Try if you like, but I warn you, you won’t get very far. Besides, you know very well that as soon as you get back to Tokyo, you’ll be in no position to pursue the matter.”
She hesitated, frowning and biting her lip as if she would have said more. Just then, however, her eyes turned toward the window and she caught sight of Mount Fuji. Struck by the rays of the setting sun, the mountain stood swathed in deep red clouds, as if it had risen that very moment from the earth, the classic curve of its slopes sweeping gracefully to the flatlands.
“Tsuneo, look!” she said, pointing in awe.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? Fuji at sunset,” he said, also looking out the window and thinking nothing more until a glance at Yasuko’s tense and solemn face reminded him that early one winter four years ago an avalanche on those slopes had cost Akio his life. “It must be painful for you still, seeing Fuji at such close range.”
“It happened on the way to station eight on the trail. By the time we reached the foot of the mountain the storm was over, and the path of the
avalanche looked as if somebody had swept it clean of snow. It was right there, in that spot where the snow has melted and you can see that blue-black patch of ground. I remember thinking, This shining white snow has swallowed Akio,’ and feeling almost glad, for that one moment.” She turned dreamy, slightly misted eyes back to the mountain.
The expedition leader, a friend of Akio’s, had invited him to go along with the student group on their high-altitude drill. They had left Tokyo on a Saturday; the accident took place Sunday morning.
The rescue team labored for nearly a week, to little avail; of the thirteen members in the party, the bodies of only three were recovered. The remaining ten had had to be left buried beneath the steadily falling snow until the spring thaw.
“That was when the sight of Mount Fuji hurt most, during those five months, but I always felt as though I had to look. Day after day I would go up somewhere high to stare at it. The mountain seemed like a snow goddess, clutching Akio tightly to her and refusing to give him up. ‘How cold her arms must be,’ I thought, feeling the chill in my own body; then little by little it would give way to a delicious kind of warmth, like being pleasantly drunk. I thought that freezing to death must be like that. The days turned slowly into months, and at last, when the notice came that they had found him, I hardly had the courage to go look.”
“Did Mieko go, too?”
“Yes, although at first she didn’t want to go either. In the end we went together, holding hands like blind people. I was surprised by how frightened I was at the sight of his body—more frightened than sad. She told me afterward that she’d felt the same way. Maybe that was when we realized that our thoughts and feelings were so much in tune. By rights, Akio’s death should have canceled any bond between us, but instead, it was like becoming mother and daughter all over again. It made me so happy to think Akio was born to a woman like her.”
