Some Prefer Nettles

by Junichiro Tanizaki

  "How would it be if you were to work up a quarrel?"

  "No good. We would know we were acting. 'Get out,' I'd say. 'I'm going,' she'd answer, and when it actually came to doing it, one or the other would break into tears."

  "A problem couple if there ever was one. Deciding to get a divorce and then putting every possible obstacle in the way."

  "It would be good if there were some sort of mental anesthetic you could take.... How was it when you left Yoshiko? You were able to hate her, I suppose."

  "I did feel some resentment, but I felt a great deal of regret at the same time. I doubt if it's really possible to hate anyone except another man."

  "But—this will sound strange, I know—don't you suppose it's easier to divorce a woman with a past? She doesn't take the matter too seriously, and she's known plenty of men before you and can go happily back to her old life."

  "You probably wouldn t say so if you'd had the experience." Takanatsu's face clouded slightly, but he quickly recovered and went on in his brisk manner: "It's probably like your seasons. There's no type of woman it's easier to leave than any other type."

  "I wonder if that's true. I've always thought the courtesan type—could you call it?—would be easy to leave and the other type hard—the mother type. Maybe I'm thinking only of my own problem, though."

  "But the very fact that a divorce means so little to your 'courtesan type' makes it in a way sadder. Then, too, if she arranges herself a good marriage it's another thing, but if she goes back to the gay life, it reflects on you somehow. I'm quite past it all myself, of course, but you can't say it's easy to leave either a loose woman or a prim one."

  The conversation died and they turned to the food for a time. They had drunk very little, but the slight flush of intoxication persisted surprisingly, and with it a heavy, springlike drowsiness.

  "Shall we have dessert?"

  "All right." Kaname turned moodily to press the button.

  "I suppose, as a matter of fact," Takanatsu began again, "all women these days have a little of the courtesan in them. Misako herself isn't a pure maternal type."

  "Oh, but she is, though, basically. It's just that she's covered it over lately with a coating of the other."

  "You may be right. The matter of the coating is important. It's got so that to some extent every woman tries to make herself look like an American movie star and naturally takes on a little the look of your courtesan. It's happening in Shanghai too."

  "I can't say I haven't tried to push Misako in that direction."

  "Because you're a woman-worshipper. Woman-worshippers prefer the courtesan to the mother."

  "That's not quite the point. The point is—what shall I say?—to go back a little, I've tried to push her in that direction because I've thought the courtesan type would be easier to leave. But it hasn't helped. If she really had changed through and through, it might have worked out as I hoped, but she has only a thin covering and at the crucial moment the metal underneath always shows through and makes everything seem more impossible than ever."

  "What does she think?"

  "She says she's degenerated—she's not so plain and decent as she once was. It's true, of course, but at least half the fault is mine."

  A new thought came to Kaname, and with it he seemed to see himself displayed in all his chilly inhumanity. In the years since he married Misako he had been obsessed with one question: how to leave her. "I must get away, I must get away"—it was as though he had married for that one purpose. He had told himself, however, that though he could not love her, he could at least treat her with respect. But if this was not the most unmixed contempt, what could be? What woman, maternal type or wanton type, lively and sociable or reserved and withdrawn, could bear the cold loneliness of being married to such a man?

  "I wouldn't object if she honestly were a courtesan," Kaname finally added.

  "I'm not so sure of that either. Do you think you could tolerate the sort of thing Yoshiko did?"

  "That's beside the point. Forgive me for saying so, but I wouldn't consider marrying a woman who's actually been a professional. I've never taken to geisha. What I have in mind is a smart, intelligent modern woman with something of the courtesan in her."

  "And would you like it then if she played the courtesan after you were married?"

  "She would be intelligent, I said. She would have some self-restraint."

  "You are being very demanding indeed. Where, I wonder, will we find the woman to satisfy you? You really should have stayed single—all woman-worshippers should be single. They never find the woman who answers all the requirements."

  "One try at it has been enough. I'll not get married again—for a while at least—maybe for the rest of my life."

  "You'll marry again and make a mess of it again. All woman-worshippers do."

  The waitress came with dessert and interrupted the conversation.

  IT was nearly ten. Misako lay in bed listening drowsily to the sounds from the garden outside. Hiroshi seemed to be playing with the new dog: "Lindy, Lindy," and "Peony, Peony," over and over again. Peony was a female collie they had bought the year before from a Kobe kennel, and she owed her smart English name to the fact that the peony bed had been in bloom when she arrived.

  "You can't do it that way." It was Takanatsu's voice. "You can't get them to be friends so soon. Leave them alone and they'll make up to each other in their own time."

  "But I thought a male and a female weren't supposed to fight." That was Hiroshi.

  "He only came yesterday. Give him time."

  "Which do you suppose would win if they did have a fight?"

  "Which would, I wonder. The trouble is that they're so nearly the same size. If one were smaller, the other would ignore him and they'd be friends in no time."

  One of the dogs barked and then the other in alternation. Misako had not yet seen the new dog. She had come home late the evening before and had talked to Takanatsu, half asleep from the strain of travel, no more than twenty minutes or a half-hour. The hoarse, woolly bark probably belonged to the collie, she decided. Misako was not so fond of dogs as Kaname and Hiroshi were, but this Peony was a little different. When she came home late at night, Peony was always at the station with Jiiya, ready to leap at her with a joyful ringing of its chain, and she would scold Jiiya as she wiped the dirt from her kimono. Gradually she had lost her dislike for the dog, until sometimes now in an affectionate mood she would pat its head and feed it milk. Jumped upon as usual last night at the station, she had said with a friendly pat: "You got yourself a new playmate today, didn't you?" Peony was always the first and gladdest to see her, a sort of special emissary from her husband's house, it almost seemed.

  The shutters had been left closed to let Misako sleep late. She could tell from the light coming through above them that it was a bright, warm day, the sort of day that made one think of peach blossoms and the Doll Festival. She wondered whether she would have to get out all those dolls and arrange them on their tiered stand again this year. Always fond of festival dolls, her father had ordered a set in the old style from Kyoto shortly after she was born, and she had brought them along in her trousseau. She would as soon leave them buried in their closet if the choice were hers, since she had no daughters and she was not the sort to go through old routines for their own sake. The difficulty was that her father was so near. Each year when April came he was taken with a sentimental yearning for the dolls and hurried down from Kyoto to see them. He had done so last year and the year before, and he most probably would this year too. It was not the prospect of dragging all the boxes from the closet and wiping away a year's dust that bothered her—that she could stand well enough. It was rather the thought of another ordeal like the recent one at the theater. Could she avoid bringing them out this year, she wondered. Maybe she should talk the matter over with Kaname. And what would happen to the dolls when she left this house for good? Would she take them with her? She could leave them with Kaname, but that might not be
pleasant for him....

  Her mind ran thus uncertainly to the future because it was quite possible that she would no longer be here when the Doll Festival came. But even in bed she could sense the brightness of the spring morning, and she felt alive and happy. She lay for a time on her back, her head high on the pillow, looking at the light over the shutters. For the first time in weeks she had had enough sleep. The drowsiness fast going, she found it pleasant to stretch her arms and legs under the quilt, clinging greedily to the warmth. Hiroshi's empty bed was next to hers, and Kaname's by the alcove beyond. An emerald-colored vase in the alcove over Kaname's pillow held a branch or two of camellias.

  They had this guest named Takanatsu, she knew, and she should be up and about, entertaining him, but it was so rare that she had the luxury of sleeping late in the morning. Hiroshi had always slept between her and Kaname, and when one of them had to get up in the morning and see him off to school, Misako usually let Kaname sleep. On Sunday mornings, when there was no school, she would have enjoyed staying in bed herself, but even then Hiroshi was up at seven or so and she felt she ought at least to make a gesture toward looking after him. She had to consider too the fact that she had started putting on weight these last two or three years. It was not good to allow herself too much sleep. Still, there was nothing quite like the pleasure of staying in bed late, and indeed she wondered occasionally whether she might not be getting too little sleep. Her attempts to sleep in the daytime were never as successful as they might be, however. The sleeping medicine she sometimes took in the afternoon only made her more alert and wakeful than ever. Once a week Kaname had to show his face at the office in Osaka, and sometimes, perhaps twice or three times a month, perhaps not that often, he would have a fit of helpfulness and see Hiroshi off to school himself. In any case, whether to sleep or not, it was a very rare thing for her to have the bedroom to herself.

  The commotion outside, the barking and Hiroshi's voice, had about it the feel of spring and made her think of the tranquil, soft skies they had had the last three or four days. She would have to talk to Takanatsu today, of course, but that thought upset her only as much as the earlier thought of the festival dolls had. If she let everything upset her, there would be no end to her wretchedness. She wanted always to be in spirits as bright as the skies today, and she wished she could meet every problem with the casual, unhurried eye one has for festival dolls. Presently she gave way to a child-like curiosity about the dog Lindy and turned to get out of bed.

  "Good morning." She opened one shutter and called out in a voice quite capable of competing with Hiroshi's.

  "Good morning," Takanatsu answered. Hiroshi was busy with the dogs. "How much longer do you intend to sleep?"

  "What time is it?"

  "Twelve noon."

  "You lie. It's no more than ten."

  "But how can you sleep on such a beautiful morning?"

  Misako laughed. "It's a beautiful morning for sleep, too."

  "But the important thing is that you're being rude to your honored guest," Takanatsu countered.

  "Oh, him. He's no guest. There's nothing at all to worry about."

  "I forgive you. Brush your teeth and come on out. I have something for you too." Takanatsu's face as he looked up at the window was partly hidden by a branch of plum blossoms.

  "That's the new dog?"

  "That's the new dog. They're very popular in Shanghai these days."

  "Isn't he a beauty, Mother?" Hiroshi spoke for the first time. "Uncle Hideo says you ought to go out walking with this sort of dog."

  "And what reason does he give?"

  "Foreign women use dogs as a sort of ornament," Takanatsu answered. "Go out with him and you'll look more beautiful than ever."

  "Even I will look beautiful?"

  "I guarantee it."

  "But he's so thin. I'd look even plumper than I am.

  "That would be nice for the dog, wouldn't it? 'She sets me off so beautifully,' he'd be saying."

  "I won't forget that remark."

  Hiroshi joined in the laughter, whether he understood or not.

  There were five or six large plum trees in the garden, left from what had been a farm orchard when this suburb was still open country. The first blossoms came out early in February, followed through to the end of March by one branch after another. Even now, when most of the petals had fallen, there was still a dot of the purest white here and there in the bright sunlight. Peony and Lindy were tethered to the trunks, just far enough apart so that they could not spring on each other. Apparently tired of barking, they lay like a pair of glowering sphinxes. Misako could not see very clearly through the plum branches, but Kaname seemed to be sitting in a rattan chair on the veranda of the Western-style wing. He had a teacup in his hand and was flicking over the pages of a large book. Takanatsu had taken a chair out to the edge of the garden, where he sat with a cloak thrown over his night kimono, his long underwear showing untidily at the heels.

  "Leave your dogs there. I'll be right down."

  She came out on the veranda after a quick morning bath.

  "Have you eaten?"

  "Of course. We waited and waited, but you showed no sign of getting up." Kaname took a sip from the teacup in his right hand and turned his attention back to the book.

  "Would you care for a bath, madame?" said Takanatsu. "The lady of the house does nothing for her guests, but the maids are wonderful. They got up early this morning and heated the bath specially. If you don't mind going in after me, why don't you have a bath yourself?"

  "I've had one—I didn't realize it was after you, of course."

  "It must have been a quick one."

  "Do you suppose it's all right?"

  "What?"

  "Going in after you. I won't catch any dreadful Chinese diseases?"

  "You're joking. It would be better to worry about what you might catch from Kaname here."

  "I stay quietly at home." Kaname looked up from the book again. "It's you foreigners we need to watch."

  "Mother," Hiroshi called from the garden, "aren't you coming out to look at him?"

  "I don't mind looking at him, but you and your dogs managed to wake me early this morning. And Hideo right in with you, shouting at the top of your lungs, practically from daybreak."

  "I'm a businessman, you know. You perhaps wouldn't guess it from looking at me. In Shanghai I get up every morning at five and go for a gallop out Szechuan Road before work."

  "You still ride?" Kaname asked.

  "I certainly do. No matter how cold the morning is, I don't feel right until I've had my ride."

  "Couldn't you bring the dog over here?" Kaname, reluctant to leave the sunny veranda, called to them as they started out into the garden.

  "Hiroshi, boy," Misako called out to him, "your father says to bring the dog over here."

  Hiroshi seemed to be having trouble. "Lindy!" The branches of the far plum tree began to rustle, and Peony's hoarse bark rang out. "Quiet, Peony, quiet. Will someone come and get Peony? She's making a nuisance of herself."

  "Down, Peony." Takanatsu came over with the collie, and Misako climbed hastily to the veranda as the dog threatened to jump up and lick her cheek.

  "You're much too affectionate, Peony. Really, Hiroshi, you should have left her where she was."

  "But she was making so much noise."

  "Dogs are very jealous animals." Takanatsu squatted at the foot of the stairs beside Lindy, rubbing the palm of his hand over its throat.

  "Have you found a tick?" Kaname asked.

  "I've made a discovery."

  "A discovery?"

  "Come and feel this. It's most remarkable."

  "Do tell us what's remarkable."

  "When you feel it here like this, it's exactly like a human being's." Takanatsu rubbed his own throat and then the dog's again. "Come and feel it, Misako. I'm not lying."

  "Let me feel it." Hiroshi ran over ahead of his mother. "You're right. You really are. Let me feel Mother's now." />
  "Oh, please," Misako protested. " Is it nice to put your mother and a dog in the same class?"

  "What does she mean, 'Is it nice?' Why, Hiroshi, your mother can't compete with this dog. If she had a skin as smooth as this she'd be too conceited to talk to us."

  "Suppose you come feel my throat, sir."

  "In a minute, in a minute. You come feel the dog's throat first. See? What did I tell you? Isn't it strange?"

  "Hmm. Very strange indeed. You're quite right. Don't you want to feel it too?" she called to Kaname.

  "Where, where?" Kaname came down from the veranda. "Well, so it is. Most remarkable. It gives you a strange feeling, doesn't it?"

  "You credit me with a new discovery?"

  "The hair is so short and silky it hardly feels like hair at all," Kaname mused.

  "And the neck is just the right size, too. I wonder which of us has a bigger neck." Misako cupped one hand against the dog's throat and the other against her own. "His is bigger. It's because he's so long and thin that it looks smaller."

  "Exactly my size," said Takanatsu.

  "Collar fourteen and a half," added Kaname.

  "And so whenever I get lonesome for you I can come out and feel the dog's throat."

  "Uncle Hideo! Uncle Hideo!" Hiroshi called into Lindy's ear.

  "So you're changing his name from Lindy to Uncle Hideo? How about it, boy?" Kaname laughed.

  "Really, Hideo," said Misako, "I'm sure there must be places where this dog would be much more welcome than here."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You don't understand? And it's so clear to me. There must be someone who would spend her whole day rubbing the dog's throat and thinking of you."

  "Maybe you brought it here by mistake?" Kaname suggested.

  "You people are impossible. Right in front of the child, too. No wonder he's so brash."

  "That reminds me, Father," Hiroshi broke in. "I heard something good when we were bringing Lindy back from Kobe."

  "Oh? And what did you hear?"