A Dark Night's Passing

by Naoya Shiga

  On the train to P’yongyang he met a Japanese student of Koryo pottery who was touring the sites of the old kilns. He talked interestingly not only about his specialty but about Korea in general. He seemed mature for his age—he was no older than Kensaku—and his opinions about the Japanese administration, for instance, struck Kensaku as worth heeding.

  He told a story about a certain young Korean who had been designated “insubordinate” by the Japanese authorities. By name Min Togwon and a member of the landed gentry, he was before his fall rich and a person of consequence in his district. One day he was approached by a Japanese official who informed him that they were planning to build a railroad through the district. Would Min Togwon undertake single-handedly to buy up the necessary land for them? Min Togwon agreed to do so.

  The matter was to be kept absolutely secret, mostly to enable him to acquire the land cheaply. Mortgaging his entire landholdings and raising what money he could from those of his kinsmen who had any to spare, he proceeded to buy up one piece of property after another. Very soon the secret was out.

  He was now a hated man, a puppet of the Japanese. To those who attacked him he simply replied that he was pro-Japanese in principle.

  But when the Japanese authorities finally announced their plans for the railroad, he was shocked to learn that they intended to build it not along the stretch of land he had amasssed, but almost ten miles away. Presumably it had not been the Japanese official’s intention to put Min Togwon in such a predicament, but the change in plans occurred after Min Togwon had already bought up a lot of land, and he must have decided that it would be too awkward to inform him of it.

  It was a terrible blow to Min Togwon. Penniless, hated by his kinsmen, derided by his neighbors—“Serves the traitor right,” they said—he was now a total outcast. With no one to turn to but the Japanese authorities, he pleaded with the viceroy’s office to accept some of the responsibility for his present predicament. True, he said to them, he ought not to have been so naively trusting of the Japanese administration as to agree to undertake the disastrous venture, but surely he was entitled to some kind of compensation; surely they were not content to see him destroyed before their very eyes. But no one in the office would listen to him. When he asked that they at least bring out the official who had first negotiated with him, they replied merely that he had gone back to Japan. Perhaps they were lying, perhaps they were not. At any rate, there was not the slightest show of sympathy for him. And as his indignation at their injustice grew, so did their indifference. Indeed, it was suggested that should he become more openly indignant, he might very well be viewed as an “insubordinate Korean.” There was no choice left for Min, then, but to withdraw.

  A couple of years later, Min became in fact an “insubordinate Korean.” He was bent on having his revenge on the Japanese, whatever form that revenge might take. He was not the man to think of independence for his nation. He did not think it possible; nor was he capable of committing himself to such an ideal in any case. All he wanted was to avenge himself on those who had taken everything from him. He had become a hopeless, desperate man, for whom the only end was to satisfy his craving for revenge; and he came to associate himself indiscriminately with all kinds of destructive activities.

  “He was caught, you know,” said Kensaku’s companion. “The last I heard of him, he was due to be executed. I met him four or five years ago when I was looking for kiln sites, and he offered to help me locate some. He was such a quiet fellow, you’d never have imagined that he would end up like that.”

  3

  Ten days after he had left Japan, Kensaku returned with Oei. The long train journey to Kyoto took place during the day, and was hot and uncomfortable. “I think I may come and meet you on your way back to Kyoto,” Naoko had said. So in the hope of being met by her before they reached Kyoto—say, in Osaka—Kensaku had sent her a telegram from Shimonoseki. As they neared Osaka, he stepped off the train every time it stopped—at Kobe Station, at Sannomiya Station—just in case she was on the platform looking for them. At Osaka he stuck his head out of the window before the train had even entered the station; and as it drew alongside the bustling platform, he felt that at last he had come home.

  He looked for Naoko in the crowd, but she was not there. Feeling somewhat let down, he began to regret not having told her clearly that he would like to be met before they reached Kyoto.

  Oei sat sideways on the seat, her legs folded under her in the Japanese fashion. She was dozing fitfully. She had been away from Japan for a year and a half—and what an eventful year and a half it had been—yet she showed little emotion. She’s too exhausted to feel much, Kensaku thought, she’s emotionally all dried up.

  “Can’t you find her?” she asked wearily, straightening herself up. Then, just as wearily, she brought out of her sleeve pocket a package of Shikishima. She had stopped smoking before her departure for the continent, but while there had started again.

  Though Kensaku had been away for only ten days, he was very conscious of having come home. He looked at the faces of the people that had come on at Osaka, and he felt as if he knew them all. Naoko was sure to be at Kyoto Station. He pictured her smiling as she saw him, and wished the train would go faster.

  They finally reached Kyoto some minutes after nine o’clock. He immediately saw Naoko standing a step or two behind the waiting crowd. With her was Mizutani. Kensaku raised his hand.

  Mizutani pushed his way through the crowd, then trotted alongside the train which had not yet come to a stop, all the while trying to reach through the open window for the small bag that Kensaku was holding. Suematsu’s presence on such an occasion Kensaku would have accepted without a thought; but why, he wondered uneasily, had Mizutani come? He hardly knew the fellow. There was something unnatural and unpleasant about his being there.

  “Call a porter, would you?” he said to Mizutani as he and Oei handed over to him various small pieces of luggage through the window.

  “There’s no need,” said Mizutani, “I can manage it all.”

  Naoko approached the window, smiling a little hesitantly. “Welcome home,” she said, bowing first to Kensaku and then to Oei.

  Kensaku said to Naoko, “Will you please get a porter for us?”

  “No, no, Mrs. Tokitō, there’s no need.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Kensaku, irritated by Mizutani’s enthusiasm. “Do you really think you can carry all this?” There were three large suitcases in addition to all the smaller bags and packages.

  Mizutani scratched his head in belated embarrassment. “I’ll find one for you,” he said, and hurried away.

  Having made sure that they had left nothing behind, Kensaku followed Oei off the train. “This is Naoko,” he said simply. “How do you do,” said Oei politely, and the two women exchanged bows.

  Mizutani returned with a porter in tow. “Please go ahead,” he said, “we’ll take care of the luggage.”

  “I’ll carry one of the packages myself.” Kensaku picked up the package containing a few pieces of Koryo pottery and several Yi dynasty jars.

  “I’ll take good care of it, so please let me have it,” Mizutani said, and pulled it out of Kensaku’s hands. He was only being his usual self, but he seemed particularly offensive to Kensaku that day.

  Kensaku and the two women waited for Mizutani and the porter just outside the ticket gate. “Why is Mizutani here?” Kensaku asked Naoko.

  “He happened to be at the house today. By the way, my cousin Kaname came to Kyoto recently, and stayed at the house for about three nights. On one of those nights Mr. Mizutani and Mr. Kuze came over and we played cards all night.”

  “When was that?”

  “Oh, four or five days ago.”

  “When did your cousin go home? And didn’t Suematsu come to the house at all?”

  “No, I didn’t see Mr. Suematsu at all. My cousin left three days ago.

  “Did he go back to Tsuruga?”

  “No, he sa
id something about going to Kyushu to look at a steel mill.”

  “Yahata, I suppose.”

  “That’s right.”

  There was nothing particularly untoward about Naoko’s cousin coming to stay at their house. But he had come during Kensaku’s absence, and not only had stayed three nights but had invited his cronies over and played cards with them all night. Kensaku could not ignore the man’s effrontery; and as he looked at Naoko, he wondered why she had permitted it.

  He had been away for only ten days; but it was the first time he and Naoko had been separated since their marriage. Thinking that she would not be able to bear the loneliness, he had pressed her to go to Tsuruga; and all the time he was in Korea, he had felt guilty about his protracted stay there. He had wanted to come home as quickly as possible, he had so much looked forward to seeing Naoko again. Their meeting at the station, however, had somehow been a disappointment to him. There was from the start something in Naoko’s manner that was not exactly right; and his displeasure at seeing Mizutani seemed to have made her behave even more unnaturally.

  For him, then, it was not altogether a happy homecoming.

  The porter appeared, followed by Mizutani carrying the package. Smiling brightly at Kensaku, Mizutani said, “You have some checked luggage too, haven’t you? Let’s have the porter collect it.” Kensaku, not deigning to reply, turned to the porter. “I suppose you deliver within the city?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I live in Kinugasamura. Can my things be delivered there?”

  “That’s outside the city limits, so it will be a bit slow.”

  “I see. In that case, we’ll take it with us.” Still ignoring the ingratiating, chattering Mizutani, Kensaku handed over his check to the porter.

  Kensaku ordered four rickshaws, one of them for the luggage. Mizutani, who had at last begun to show some sign of being subdued by Kensaku’s ill-tempered treatment of him, was still able to say as they were about to leave him, “Suematsu and I will call on you in two or three days’ time.”

  “Never mind that, just tell Suematsu I’ll drop in to see him tomorrow.”

  “Very well, sir. The classes end for both of us at noon tomorrow, so we’ll be waiting for you.”

  Kensaku barely managed to keep his temper. “Tell him I want to go out with him and talk to him about something.”

  One streetcar after another passed them as they proceeded northward along Karasumarudōri. When they passed a large temple, Kensaku, who was on the last rickshaw, shouted to Oei who was at the head of the procession, “That’s Higashihonganji!” The old man who was pulling Oei’s rickshaw saw fit to take over as guide and launched into some long explanation. And again, as they passed Rokkakudō, he slowed down to a snail’s pace and began another speech.

  Kensaku said to Naoko who was immediately in front of him, “It’s dark, thank goodness. Just imagine this rickshaw procession crawling along this street in broad daylight!” He was trying to tell Naoko that he was not in a bad temper any more.

  Naoko said something, but Kensaku could not hear. She seemed so dispirited, he began to feel sorry for her. “I should have put Mizutani in charge of the luggage, and we could all have gone home on the streetcar!” This blatantly insincere remark, too, was intended to cheer her.

  It was about eleven when they reached Kinugasamura. Sen, the dried sardine, rushed out to the front hall, as excited as a pet dog. That her welcome should have been so much less guarded than Naoko’s seemed incongruous to Kensaku. Naoko needed comforting, he decided; she needed to be reassured that he really did not mind her having played cards with those fellows; it would be cruel not to make it clear to her that he was not annoyed any more.

  The rooms had been swept spotlessly clean, and a hot bath was ready for them. When she had had her cup of tea in the living room, Oei got up to have a look at the rest of the downstairs. “What a nice house you have,” she said.

  “Where is Oei to sleep?” Kensaku asked Naoko.

  “I wasn’t sure, so I had her bed laid out in your study. I thought that would do for tonight anyway.”

  Kensaku nodded, then turned to Oei. “Do go to bed early tonight. You must be very tired. And please have your bath before we do.”

  “No, you have it first, Kensaku.”

  “No, I’m about to unpack all the pottery, and I’ll be filthy afterward. So tonight at least, please go first.”

  Kensaku unpacked the bowls and jars, wrapped in straw, in the front hall. “Some of this Koryo pottery looks a bit fake to me.” Naoko picked up a decagonal Yi dynasty jar colored with cinnabar. “What a lovely piece.”

  “I brought you a rather nice horn-inlaid box. But if you want that too, you can have it.”

  “I’d love to have it.” She held it up to the light with both hands and gazed at it. “Why does it feel so sticky?”

  “Perhaps they put oil on it.”

  “When Oei comes out, can I have my bath with you?”

  “By all means.”

  “I’m going to wash this in the bathroom.”

  “Do you really want to? You’ll probably wash all that fine patina off, you know.”

  “Never mind. It’s much too dirty as it is. I’m going to scrub it clean with brush and soap. It’s mine now, and it’s no longer an antique.”

  Kensaku thought she was beginning to sound like her old self.

  They took all the pieces into the living room, and arranged them in the alcove. “My jar is the best of the lot, isn’t it?” she said.

  “Well, of the Yi dynasty things, it may be the best.”

  “Don’t start regretting that you gave it to me. You won’t get it back.”

  From another package Kensaku got out the box he had bought for her. She was pleased with it, but seemed not at all sure she liked the way the horn inlay was beginning to come off here and there.

  “I should have bought you something new,” he said. “You like things to be pretty and shiny.”

  “You’re a snob.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “My taste is improving gradually, you must admit.”

  When Naoko had finished her toilet after their bath, he asked her what they should do with Oei. She would like to have her stay, was her answer. Kensaku was not sure for what reasons she had given this answer. He was certainly not about to assume that she really meant what she said. He was nevertheless pleased that she had not been openly negative.

  “It was very good of you to say that,” he said.

  “Why? We simply have no right to think of any other solution, that’s all.”

  “You’re right, of course. She brought me up, after all. But you know, she comes from a background that’s quite different from yours, and it’s possible that the two of you will find yourselves thinking differently about all kinds of things. Looking after her doesn’t necessarily mean that we have to have her living in this house. We can rent a small house for her nearby.”

  “That’ll be much too complicated.”

  “All right, so long as you’re agreeable, we’ll keep her here. I just thought that if you didn’t want her here, setting her up in another house might be a good solution.”

  “It’ll be fun having her around to talk to.”

  Since neither of them was particularly opinionated or temperamental, Kensaku decided, they would probably get along quite well with each other. And one of the nice things about Oei was her capacity to put the past behind her and accommodate herself to the present.

  Kensaku thought it strange that Naoko so far had said nothing voluntarily about what she had done during his absence. Had his brief display of ill temper at the station put such a constraint on her? Perhaps out of consideration for her feelings he ought not to bring up the subject, and simply accept her uncommunicativeness as an indication of remorse. But would not such restraint on his part in fact create unnecessary awkwardness between them? Would it not be best if he were to invite her to talk openly about what had happened, provided, of cours
e, he could do so without any suggestion of threat? And then perhaps he could tell her gently to be more careful in the future. Having thus made up his mind, he sought some way of introducing the subject inoffensively; but it was difficult to find the right opening, especially in the wake of the agreeable discussion of Oei’s situation. Gradually the conversation became more and more strained.

  Finally Kensaku said, “When is Kaname going to graduate?”

  “Either he has graduated already or will graduate this year—I don’t remember which he said. I think he went to Yahata as a student observer, but I suspect that’s where he’ll be employed later anyway.”

  “Is he stopping here again on his way back?”

  “I’m not sure. I hardly talked to him all the time he was here. On his first day here he went out immediately after arriving, and then the next evening there was that card game with Mr. Kuze and Mr. Mizutani. The game went on all night and all next day, until nine or ten in the evening. We played over thirty complete year-cycles. They were talking about finishing fifty, but I couldn’t go on so I left the game then.”

  “And did Kaname leave the day after that?”

  “Yes, he left without saying anything while I was still in bed. Wasn’t that rude of him? It was hardly what you might call a friendly visit.”

  “It’s obvious he came to our house to play cards. No doubt at Mizutani’s suggestion.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “The whole thing must have been planned beforehand. They were taking advantage of my absence. Why couldn’t they have played in Mizutani’s place anyway? Why did they have to use our house?” Kensaku was becoming increasingly critical. Naoko said nothing. “In matters like that Suematsu is almost neurotically conscientious. But Mizutani is a different kettle of fish.”

  “But my cousin, too, is to blame.”

  Kensaku was about to blurt out, “It’s you I blame most,” but restrained himself in time.

  “I won’t let it happen again,” Naoko said. “You’re right, my cousin was being very thoughtless. He should never have behaved like that in our house while you were away. He may be my cousin, but he had no right to be so rude.”