Tetsuyuki placed the two bags of an elderly German couple in the entrance to their guest room. The luggage was so heavy that he wondered what could possibly be in it. He bowed and was about to leave when the wife grabbed his elbow with her soft hand.
Neither of them could speak English, but with exaggerated gestures asked him to wait a moment. He had never received a tip from a foreign guest. Foreigners who visit Japan have all been thoroughly instructed by the guidebooks that tipping is not necessary and never offer so much as a 100-yen coin.
The white-haired husband and wife were small of stature and gentle of countenance. Discussing something in German, the two of them fumbled about in their pockets, opened their wallets, and shrugged their shoulders with embarrassed looks. She took a 10,000-yen bill out of her wallet and said something in an apologetic tone. Judging from their exchanges with each other and from the expressions on their faces, Tetsuyuki realized that they wished to give him a tip but unfortunately aside from this bill did not have suitable small change between them and were at a loss what to do. Waving his hand, he smiled and used the only German he knew.
“Danke schön!”
Then he bowed again and left the room. The husband followed after him, mimicking walking unsteadily carrying two bags. He brought Tetsuyuki to a halt with a hand on his shoulder, then hurried by himself toward the elevator. It seemed he intended to break the 10,000-yen bill at the front desk. Tetsuyuki declined to accept the money, explaining in his imprecise English that the kind thought was sufficient reward, that carrying bags was his job, and that no tip was necessary. Taking the bill from the old man’s hand, Tetsuyuki folded it in two and returned it to the man’s coat pocket.
But the old man was obstinate and waited for the elevator to arrive, indicating to Tetsuyuki to remain there. His wife then came out of the room and said something to him, to which he grunted a reply and put an arm around Tetsuyuki’s shoulders, speaking to him in German. The wife smiled at Tetsuyuki. He recalled that one of the cooks down in the kitchen had spent three years working in Munich and, motioning for the elderly couple to wait in their room, got on the elevator. He opened the door to the basement kitchen and looked about for Nabeshima. Their busiest hours had ended, and the cooks were leaning against wooden crates and walls, smoking. He found Nabeshima sitting by an enormous refrigerator, leafing through a weekly magazine.
“Some German guests I showed to their room tried to detain me, but I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Could you come interpret for me?”
A good-natured man, Nabeshima sometimes secretly passed on to Tetsuyuki cake or roast beef that guests had left untouched.
“Just leave it to me.” He got up and followed Tetsuyuki. The German couple were still waiting for Tetsuyuki in the hallway. Nabeshima conversed with them for a long time, then turned toward Tetsuyuki with a smile.
“They had requested an interpreter, but due to some slip-up at the tour agency, they won’t get one until the day after tomorrow. They want you to be their guide in Kyoto tomorrow, and will give you a hundred U.S. dollars for your trouble.”
“Me? But I don’t understand a word of German!”
“It seems they don’t mind that. They’ve really taken to you.”
“Even so, if we can’t communicate, I can’t be their guide.”
Nabeshima and the German couple again negotiated. The three of them laughed and turned to look at Tetsuyuki.
“They say they’ll just follow your lead, and even if you can’t understand each other’s words, you’ll be able to communicate by spirit. They say ‘This young man’s honest. We feel at ease with him.’”
The next day Yōko planned to come to his apartment—the one day of the week he could hold her in his arms. But a hundred U.S. dollars amounted to a third of his monthly part-time income, and he would be able to afford a Christmas present for Yōko: the silver bracelet she had been wanting. He wasn’t very familiar with the layout of Kyoto and asked if he might invite someone who knew the city well to accompany them. Nabeshima relayed the question to the couple, who immediately gave their consent.
“Is this person who knows Kyoto well a man or a woman?” The question appeared to be Nabeshima’s own, reflecting his personal curiosity.
“A woman.”
“Is it the girl who sometimes comes to the back of the hotel?” A smile spread on Nabeshima’s hardy face. Tetsuyuki answered in the affirmative, taken aback. He had assumed that no one saw them. Nabeshima talked to the elderly couple, and the three of them again laughed, turning to Tetsuyuki.
“He said, ‘It appears he’s going to bring his girlfriend along. If he says she knows Kyoto well, who could doubt it? We’ll make sure not to disturb the two of them.’”
With Nabeshima interpreting, they determined the time and place to meet. Then with a smile and a wave the couple disappeared into their room.
“This is perfect. Tomorrow’s your day off, isn’t it?” Nabeshima asked as he put his white cap back on in the elevator. Then he went over the plan once more, adding that tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, the German couple would be waiting by a mailbox and public phone down the street to the right of the hotel entrance.
“If you went to the lobby to meet them, there’d be all kinds of gossip. The employees in this hotel are all pretty conniving.”
“I hear there are tensions in the office. Is it like that in the kitchen, too?”
“Cooks are all craftsmen of sorts and a lot of them have their idiosyncrasies, especially the section chief. He wears his ten years of training in France like a badge of honor and lords it over everyone from dawn till dusk. One guy who studied with him in France received some kind of fourth-order medal, and since he didn’t get one he’s been in a bad mood for some time now.”
“So then, getting a medal is that big a deal, huh?”
“As you get older you lose your sex appeal, but you have as much money as you need. All that’s left is a thirst for honor and recognition.” Then with a look of indifference he added: “That old guy is especially critical of me. He insisted that the essence of cuisine is in France, and asked me if I went all the way to Germany and spent three years just to learn to make Vienna sausages. I’ve heard plenty of boasting from that age-spotted face of his.” He got off the elevator and opened the hallway door to the kitchen. “Hey, whatever you do, don’t even think of working full-time in a hotel like this.”
Tetsuyuki returned to the lobby and assisted in attaching tags with room numbers to the Boston bags of a party of tourists. He recalled his father’s advice a month before he died. “You never know what life has in store for you, but if you’re going to spend it as a salaried worker, make sure it’s with a major corporation. If that doesn’t work out, then work in a government office. If you can’t get a job with either one of those, then any company will do, but just work conscientiously for ten years or so and save money until the right time comes along, and then start some business.
“If you’re able to work with a large corporation or in a government office, then stay with it no matter what. The wind doesn’t always blow from the same direction, and someday it will surely come your way. There are always those who quit, thinking, ‘The boss is bullying me’ or ‘I’m not really suited to this work,’ but no matter where they end up, it turns out that they’re bothered by the same things. And so they go from company to company and just end up as a salesman with some piddling outfit. Then, when they figure out that they’ve blown it, they’re already in their late forties and no longer worth much.
“But there’s the old saying: ‘Selling baking pans is also my business.’ If you can’t secure employment with a large company or a government office, then any small business will do. Just study and prepare to become lord of your own castle. A ramen shop will do, or even dealing junk. Just keep cultivating your own small plot. That’s the only secret to living, I can say with conviction after seventy years of seeing all kinds of people and having faced one setback after another.” He held and rubbed his son’s hands after muttering these last words, which rang now in Tetsuyuki’s ears.
“I don’t like to sound preachy, but just think of this as a sort of pompous last will and testament. There are people out there who have courage but lack endurance. And there are those who have hope but no courage. And some have as much hope and courage as anyone, but give up at the drop of a hat. Then there are lots who go through life enduring everything, but never rise to any challenge. Courage, hope, patience—only those who keep holding on to all three of these will achieve their potential. If one of them is lacking, then no end will be reached. I had courage and hope, but no patience. I was unable to wait for the right time. I couldn’t stick it out until a favorable wind blew my way. Someone who possesses all three of these qualities is the most fearsome of all. No matter he turns into a beggar or is sick and at death’s door, he’ll always crawl back up to the top.”
His father’s words rang true. Courage, hope, patience—these three words, trite as they may sound, presented him with a challenge. Repeating them in his mind, he lifted the heavy tagged bags and headed toward the elevator to take them to the guest rooms.
Tetsuyuki had taken the exam for employment in major companies and government offices, and three days ago he’d received the notification that he hadn’t passed. The moment the elevator doors closed, he resolved to take Section Chief Shimazaki’s advice and seek permanent employment at this hotel. He called out “Kin-chan!” and Kin immediately appeared in his mind’s eye: shining, his small, frigid eyes turned toward Tetsuyuki. What was Kin if not an embodiment of these three words? Then what was the nail that pierced his torso? As he was absorbed in these thoughts, the elevator stopped and a couple entered: a man who could be called elderly, and a woman about Yōko’s age.
“The meat today was kind of tough.”
“And the consommé was salty, too,” the woman responded. Having worked as a bellboy since spring, Tetsuyuki could immediately tell that such couples were not parent and child.
At 8:45, Tetsuyuki went to the place Nabeshima had mentioned. Although it was a Sunday, the street was crowded. Yōko sprang out of the throng, trying to surprise him.
“Did you eat a good breakfast?” she asked. Tetsuyuki was fond of Yōko’s morning fragrance. The scent she exuded when she was asleep—after all artificial fragrances had dissipated—was at times like that of an osmanthus blossom, at other times that of straw after it had soaked in the sunlight, and at still other times simply that of a woman’s body.
“I did exactly as you told me. I heated some milk, had bread and butter with cheese, and a whole tomato, too.” He took in Yōko’s fragrance as he answered.
“After I talked to you yesterday, I got out my German–Japanese and Japanese–German dictionaries. And I borrowed these from my dad.” She excitedly showed him a volume titled Easy German Conversation.
“I wanted to see you, and at the same time I wanted the hundred-dollar guide fee, so without thinking I let it slip out that I’d bring along a friend who was familiar with Kyoto. Is it really okay?”
“Two years ago I toured Kyoto with a friend, so I know my way around there.”
At exactly nine o’clock the elderly German couple came. Both were wearing brown overcoats and olive-green hats which, though different in shape, appeared to be from the same set. Tetsuyuki pointed at Yōko and said, “Yōko,” and then at himself and said, “Tetsu.” He thought “Tetsuyuki” would be too difficult for foreigners to remember.
Nodding, they repeated their names and shook hands. As they stood there in the street, Yōko leafed through the Japanese–German dictionary she had brought and pointed to the word for “train.” The German couple began to discuss something between themselves, and then said something to her slowly. She was able to catch the word she had pointed to, along with “taxi.”
“They seem to be asking which would be faster, a train or a taxi.”
“The train would be faster. We could take the Hankyū Line to Kawaramachi, and then take a cab from there. It would be both faster and cheaper. Tell them that.”
“You think I can say something like that?”
Yōko pointed to the word in her dictionary for “train,” and started walking ahead. At the ticket counter, the wife handed her big leather wallet to Tetsuyuki, who took out the necessary amount and made the purchase. They boarded the special express bound for Kawaramachi, and Tetsuyuki quickly secured seats for the couple. With Tetsuyuki in the seats behind them, Yōko opened her Easy German Conversation.
“I wonder if this has any phrases asking people what they want to see.” At length Yōko found something suitable and pointed that section out to the couple. They responded with the same words at the same time. Then, remembering that neither Tetsuyuki nor Yōko understood German, they began leafing through Yōko’s German–English dictionary. First, they pointed out the word meaning “garden,” and next the adjective for “quiet.”
“Hmm, a quiet garden. Are there any quiet gardens in Kyoto on a Sunday? All of them would be crawling with tourists.”
Yōko thought for a while. “Oh, yes, there is one.”
“Where? Any temple that charges money to show its garden would be filled to capacity on a nice day like today, especially since the autumn leaves are at their best.”
“It isn’t a temple. It’s an ordinary house. An elderly woman in her eighties lives there alone.” She went on to say that it was close to the Shūgakuin Imperial Villa, and that when she had toured Kyoto two years previously, she happened to go past it. It was such a magnificent, elegant building in the pure Japanese style that she peered inside, and the woman who lived there invited her in and treated her to tea and sweets. Yōko sent her a thank-you note and then later New Year’s greetings, and always got a reply.
Arriving at Kawaramachi, Yōko found a public phone and dialed the number. Tetsuyuki and the German couple stood off to the side, avoiding the crowd and watching Yōko. Whenever their eyes met, the couple would smile gently at Tetsuyuki, who would return the look.
Yōko came running up to them. “She said we’re welcome to come by.”
“Won’t it be an imposition?”
“She said that she didn’t have anything on hand that would likely suit German tastes, but that we shouldn’t hesitate to come by.”
Tetsuyuki hailed a cab and urged the couple to get in.
“There’s also a house within the garden, a splendid, small retreat that looks as if Prince Genji might steal in for a visit.”
They passed the Shūgakuin Imperial Villa and came to an intersection where Yōko told the driver to turn right. Alongside a stream of clear moving water, the road sloped uphill gently. A forest of chestnut and oak trees stretched out before them, and they saw nothing that looked like human habitation. Yōko had the driver stop in front of a grove of tall bamboo.
“This is it? There’s a house here?”
“It’s inside this grove. The bamboo serves as a wall.”
To pay the taxi fare, the wife again handed her wallet to Tetsuyuki, who had the driver write a receipt just to make sure, and handed it back to her along with the change.
Along the way to Shūgakuin they had seen several old temples that seemed likely to attract the attention of foreigners, but the couple showed no particular interest in them and made no comment. Tetsuyuki felt something slightly suspicious about their lack of interest, but as they followed Yōko along the winding path through the bamboo grove where countless bright rays of light filtering through the leaves created geometric patterns, they would occasionally come to a stop and talk in low voices. Each time, Tetsuyuki and Yōko would also come to a standstill and wait for them. A large gate with a tiled roof opened and a gaunt elderly woman with a half-coat over her kimono stepped out. She wore small square glasses and, appearing to be rather unsteady on her feet, used a cane. Yōko rushed up to her. “We’re sorry to impose on you like this.”
“Not at all! Mine is a lonely life, with guests coming around only about once a year. I was happy to hear from you and have been on pins and needles since your call.” Her build was that of an old woman, but there was something bold and energetic about her manner of speaking. Yōko introduced her to Tetsuyuki and the German couple.
“I’m Sawamura Chiyono. Welcome to my home.”
When she introduced herself by name, Tetsuyuki realized that he did not yet know the German couple’s name. He opened the conversation book and showed them the phrase “What is your name?” They also seemed to have realized that they had not yet told anyone their names, and introduced themselves to Sawamura Chiyono as they shook her hand. Tetsuyuki did not catch their first names, but understood their last name.
“I believe they are Mr. and Mrs. Lang. Neither Yōko nor I understand German, but their last name sounds like Lang. At any rate, I’d like to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Lang.”
“Please, make yourselves at home,” Sawamura Chiyono said to the foreign couple and showed her four sudden guests inside. Her Kyoto accent was clipped, and sounded slightly unnatural.
“Aren’t you from Kyoto?” Tetsuyuki asked.
“I’ve lived longer in Tokyo, but sometimes I do try to use Kyoto dialect.”
Just as Yōko had said, among the ancient pines and dwarf chestnut trees could be seen a one-story mansion appearing to cover more than seven thousand square feet which, with its stucco walls and thick cypress pillars, created an imposing scene in spite of its simplicity.
“The garden covers more than eighty thousand square feet. I prefer a garden in which trees and flowers grow as they like, but my late husband had gardeners come from a great distance to design it in the style of Kobori Enshū. Beyond that elevation in the lawn there is a pond in the southeast section, and they built a tea hut to the side of it. Since my husband died no one uses it, and now I just take naps there.”
Seemingly oblivious to the fact that her listeners were unable to understand Japanese, the old woman talked on and on to the properly dressed foreigners, who were seven or eight years her junior.
The husband opened the German–Japanese dictionary and pointed to the word “temple.” Tetsuyuki shook his head and, finding the words for “this is her house” in the phrase book, pointed it out to them. This elicited an exclamation of admiration from them. When they reached the front door after walking along the round stepping stones, their edges encased in moss, Mr. and Mrs. Lang called to Tetsuyuki to stop and handed him an envelope. It was apparently the guide fee they had promised him, and so he thanked them and put it in his pocket. It felt rather thick for a single hundred-dollar bill, and it occurred to him that perhaps they had included a little extra.
Two maids were waiting at the front door. One was a plump woman over fifty, the other a young woman of about eighteen or nineteen with a somewhat somber expression. Sawamura Chiyono invited the four of them to go inside, but Mr. and Mrs. Lang conveyed through gestures the desire to see the garden.
“They must want to be alone and take their time,” said Sawamura Chiyono and, turning to the servants, she added: “Show them to the tea hut. From there they can look out over the pond, and the view of momiji leaves falling on the stone lantern is really nice.”
Tetsuyuki showed Mr. and Mrs. Lang his watch, and conveyed through gestures and words from the dictionary that it was now past ten, and they should return to the house by noon. They nodded demonstratively, and shook hands again with everyone.
Birds were alighting here and there in the spacious garden to forage on something or other, and black-eared kites were flying up from the area around the tea hut. After Mr. and Mrs. Lang disappeared over the knoll, Yōko and Tetsuyuki were shown inside.
“Thank you for your annual New Year’s card.” The old woman bowed her head slightly, peering into Yōko’s face as the younger of the maids helped her to sit down on a cushion. “You seem to have matured a lot since I first met you.”
“You, too, seem to be in good spirits. You look a lot younger than before.”
At Yōko’s words, the old woman waved her hand covered with small age spots and said: “I try to be careful, and walk as much as I can, but even so my legs have gotten weak.” In the tokonoma alcove was a scroll painting of two cranes standing in a field of snow and a white ceramic vase with a single camellia of the same color. Yōko looked at Tetsuyuki and a short laugh escaped as she cast her eyes down, thereby communicating to the old woman what she could not have said in words. Was that on purpose or did it just come out without thought? Tetsuyuki could not tell, but feeling the gaze of the old woman, he could not very well laugh back. But neither could he think of anything to talk about, and just fumbled about in his pocket for a cigarette.
Yōko said, “The Langs are lucky, aren’t they? No matter how much they might have searched in Kyoto, they’d never have found a splendid, quiet garden like this.”
“A while ago, I mentioned my late husband, but he wasn’t really my husband,” Sawamura Chiyono said, addressing Tetsuyuki. “I won’t mention his name, but the man who built this house had a wife and children in Tokyo . . . not to put too fine a point on it, but I was his mistress. For about the last three years of his life he hardly ever went back to Tokyo, and just spent all his time here.”
“I see . . .” was Tetsuyuki’s only response as he listened to the old woman.
“And so when he died, there was real trouble. After all, this much land and this mansion were involved. His family in Tokyo insisted that they should of course inherit it, and took the matter to court, but his will clearly stated that the land and house in Shūgakuin were to be left to me. But acquiring this much presented other problems. The inheritance taxes came to a staggering amount, and I even considered just turning it over to his family. However, a friend reminded me that if it became impossible to manage the place, I could always just sell it.”
Suddenly changing the topic, she added in a lowered voice, “It’s really wonderful that a couple who have been together so long as that can go on a trip abroad.” She looked back and forth at Tetsuyuki and Yōko and smiled. When Tetsuyuki pulled the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, the envelope from Mr. Lang came out with it. Feeling it again, it somehow seemed even thicker.
“Mr. Lang promised he’d give me a hundred dollars, but this envelope is way too thick.” Yōko looked at it and said, “Maybe it’s ten ten-dollar bills.” Tetsuyuki broke the seal and looked inside. There were far more than ten, each one a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
“What can this mean?” Tetsuyuki placed the contents of the envelope on the table and, glancing at Yōko and the old woman, counted the money. “It’s more than two thousand dollars.”
Yōko looked again inside the envelope and found a sheet of thin paper, folded in four, covered with small writing in German.
“Mr. Lang handed you the wrong envelope with this in it.”
Tetsuyuki thought it impossible that he could mistake an envelope containing more than twenty hundred-dollar bills for a thin one with only one. He glanced at Sawamura Chiyono, who was looking at the wad of bills with the same suspicious look on her face, and their eyes met. After looking at each other for some time, Tetsuyuki hurriedly stood up. Simultaneously the sound of the old woman’s call for the maid rang throughout the quiet mansion.
Tetsuyuki ran down the long hallway on its well-polished floorboards and dashed out onto the garden path without even putting on his shoes. The grass of the low-cut lawn stabbed the soles of his feet as he ran over the gently sloping green hillock with all the speed he could muster. Startled wild birds flew up in a frenzy, rising into the skies with their cries congealing into a mass of sound. The tea hut by the southeastern pond came into view. The pond was softly gleaming, casting reflections that looked like yellow clouds on the walls and small shōji windows of the hut. Before reaching the hut, he stumbled and fell over, taking a hard hit to his abdomen.
“Mr. Lang!” he called in a loud voice and, opening the sliding door of the hut, dived into the four-and-a-half-mat room. A gentle light from two windows of differing sizes above the entrance and from the low window above the floor on the north side flooded the simple, east-facing room. Sitting side by side with their legs stretched out, the German couple turned their pallid faces toward Tetsuyuki and hurriedly stuffed into their pockets something they had been holding in their hands.
“What were you intending to do? If you want to look at the garden, then you ought to open the windows. What was it that you just hid in your pockets?”
Tetsuyuki’s Japanese was of course unintelligible to them, but they were both silent as they fixed their strangely serene gaze upon him. Gone were their former smiles, the blood appeared to be drained from their cheeks, and they were as listless as invalids who had given up all hope. Their blue eyes trembled somewhat as they stared at him. He thrust his open hands in front of them as if to demand that they surrender what was in their pockets, but they did not make the slightest move, and only continued to stare intently at him.
At length he heard footsteps running toward the hut: Yōko and the middle-aged maid who had shown the couple there. As soon as the maid ascertained that they were all right, she dashed off back toward the mansion. Yōko assumed a formal sitting position by the low window on the north side and said to Tetsuyuki, “Why don’t you sit down too?” He opened all three of the hut’s windows. Supported by the young maid and with the help of her cane, Sawamura Chiyono was descending the grassy knoll. Behind them was the middle-aged maid with the envelope in hand.
“As soon as I came into the hut, the two of them quickly hid something in their pockets. I’ve told them to hand over whatever it was.”
Sawamura Chiyono silently placed the envelope containing more than two thousand dollars before the Langs.
“It’s too bad we can’t communicate at a time like this,” she muttered to no one in particular, and then addressed the young maid. “Have Mr. Kumai come. If he’s not at home, call him at his office. He said he would be at his office Sunday to tie up some loose ends.” Then, as the maid was about to leave, she added, “Explain the circumstances briefly, and request that he come right away. Don’t dawdle, be off, quickly!” she commanded in a sharp tone of voice. Then she beckoned for the middle-aged maid.
“It’s been a long time since we made tea here. Build a fire, and bring that red raku tea bowl. It’s in the cupboard in my room.”
After the two maids had gone, Sawamura Chiyono went before the tokonoma and picked up an incense burner.
“Kumai is the nephew of the late master of this place. He’s on his own now, and runs a small trading company, but before that he worked for a commercial firm in Germany for seven years, so he’ll have no trouble conversing with these two.”
“I’m sorry to have put you to such trouble.”
Sawamura Chiyono responded to Yōko’s dejected utterance with a smile. “There’s no need for you to apologize.” She drew herself up to a rigid pose and fixed her eyes silently on the Langs. Then she added, “There is no one here who needs to apologize.”
The middle-aged maid brought live coals and a kettle filled with water.
“Let’s burn just a bit of incense.” At this suggestion of Sawamura Chiyono’s, Tetsuyuki closed the windows and urged the Langs to face the kettle. They meekly complied.
“I received this incense as a gift a long time ago. It’s a highly prized variety known as Mandarin Orange Blossom.”
Seated to administer the tea ceremony, Sawamura Chiyono straightened her back and for a long time looked at the kettle. Tetsuyuki knew nothing about tea, but he sensed that the ceremony that was about to be performed would not be her attempt to soften the hearts of the Langs, nor would it be a means to convey how she felt to people from an alien land.
The slight scent of Mandarin Orange Blossom wafted through the room. Tetsuyuki felt certain that what the couple had been holding in their hands was poison, and that if he had arrived even a few minutes later, they would already have taken it. With a start, his eyes darted around the room. He was seized by the thought that even in this room Kin was nailed fast to a pillar. Sawamura Chiyono drew the red tea bowl up beside her and took a tea caddy out of a bag. Only Yōko had learned the ceremony; the other three were unfamiliar with the proper manners, and clumsily drank the warm, green, frothy liquid.
When they were finished, Sawamura Chiyono said drily, “How dreary! I’ve never experienced a more cheerless tea ceremony. It will no doubt make death seem very attractive, won’t it?” Then, heaving a sigh, she added, “These two were not able to die here, but they will no doubt carry out their plan someplace else. This was a farewell tea ceremony.”
“Why do you think so?” Tetsuyuki asked, but Sawamura Chiyono did not reply. Tetsuyuki handed to the Langs the envelope, which had been left lying on the tatami. Mr. Lang took out one of the bills and placed it on Tetsuyuki’s lap. The young maid’s voice came from outside.
“Mr. Kumai is here.”
“Please show him in.”
A short, round-faced man of forty-four or forty-five whose bearing revealed that he was a “mover and shaker” assumed a formal sitting posture in the entrance to the tea hut. Sawamura Chiyono handed him the slip of paper covered with small German writing, which she had not put back into the envelope but had instead stuffed into her obi. While Mr. Kumai was running his eyes over the note, Mr. and Mrs. Lang looked at each other nervously, then suddenly turned toward the four Japanese with a determined look on their faces.
“Let me tell you exactly what it says.” Mr. Kumai spoke in a measured voice, dropping his eyes to the note.
“‘I, Friedrich Lang, and my wife, Bebel Lang, apologize for creating such trouble for the kindhearted Japanese people whose names we do not even know. Please inform the person noted below of our deaths. He is our son. Please use this money for the cremation of our remains. If it appears that our son will not come to Japan, then we humbly request that you send our ashes to the address below. According to the laws of your country, an autopsy may be required, but we attest herewith that death was caused by potassium cyanide, administered by our own hands. It was by our own mutual agreement that we took this poison. Our determination to die followed many long conversations. We agreed that we wanted to die in a quiet, incomparably beautiful place somewhere in the Far East, and accordingly sold our home and its furnishings, along with our automobile and some jewelry. This yielded a rather large sum, but we gave a third of it to two friends who were in need of money, donated another third of it to our church, and used the remainder for our travel expenses. The $2,500 in the envelope is all that is left of our money. Please use it to dispose of our corpses. Once again, we sincerely apologize for creating such trouble for kindhearted Japanese people whom we do not even know. May God bless them with eternal happiness.’”
After listening to the end, Sawamura Chiyono—erect with her chest thrown out, her shoulders and the hairline above her collar projecting a vigor that belied her more than eighty years—stared silently at the kettle in front of her for what seemed an eternity. Suddenly she smiled. It was a smile that at first glance could be taken as one of a gentle and compassionate elderly person, but to Tetsuyuki it appeared as the reverse side of an incomparably ominous and cruel maliciousness. He shuddered as he waited for the words to issue from her mouth.
“They’ve already died. The two of them have achieved their desire here in my tea hut. Tell them so.”
Kumai conveyed her words in German to the Langs. For a while, they were lost in thought, and seemed not to have understood what she meant.
“I think that tea is a ritual for gazing on life and death. Tea may also be the same as the God you both believe in. Tea is also a religion. While in the tearoom, both host and guest are dead. When they leave the tearoom, they are alive. And so, when you leave here, you must live whether you like it or not.”
The Langs listened intently to Kumai’s fluent German. It was difficult to tell whether the elderly Western couple comprehended the meaning of Sawamura Chiyono’s words, but Mr. Lang occasionally nodded as he listened.
“Let’s go back to the house. Mr. Kumai, get them to talk in more detail about their circumstances. Just as people might suddenly want to die, so might they also suddenly want to live.”
With Sawamura Chiyono’s unsteady steps supported on both sides by Tetsuyuki and Yōko, the three of them left the tea hut. Wild birds came circling back and were chirping here and there on the lawn. Around the stone lantern the deep scarlet leaves of the momiji were falling, illumined by sunlight filtering through the trees. When they came to the highest elevation in the garden, Sawamura Chiyono muttered, “Shall we bask in the sun?” and, sitting on the grass, rubbed the foot that was aching. Then, as the three of them looked at the tea hut, she said, “I met that man about fifty years ago, at a tea gathering.”
“By ‘that man,’ do you mean your husband?”
She tittered slightly at Yōko’s question. “Not my husband, my patron. I was thirty-two at the time. He lavished money on wonderful tea utensils for me, all very famous pieces: pots, tea bowls, tea ladles, kettles . . . The studded kettle that I just now used was one of those. But he didn’t know a thing about tea. Oh, he had a lot of knowledge of Sen no Rikyū and the tea masters of that age but . . . I’ve never seen anyone less adept at tea itself. He used to talk as if anyone who has had the slightest dealings with tea will of course wonder why Sen no Rikyū took his own life, as if anyone who doesn’t talk about such things couldn’t have a real love for the art. He was like that, and so was I. There were various theories: that it was a disguised reproach to Hideyoshi, or that it was intended as a challenge to him . . . But recently—or rather, about two years ago—I finally came to understand.”
Her strange faint smile reappeared in Tetsuyuki’s mind. He didn’t know the first thing about tea. Regarding Sen no Rikyū, he knew only the facts that he was a tea master during the age of Hideyoshi, and that he committed suicide, yet he found himself wanting to hear what she had come to understand about Rikyū’s death. But she only gazed silently with narrowed eyes at the shimmering pond. As Tetsuyuki was about to open his mouth, Yōko asked, “Why did Rikyū die?”
At that, Sawamura Chiyono began to talk. “Do you suppose that Rikyū was afraid of a poor peasant upstart like Hideyoshi, no matter how much power the latter had in the realm? He must have regarded Hideyoshi with disdain. One morning about two years ago, I woke up at a dreadfully early hour and for some reason wanted to make tea. The maids were still asleep, so I had no choice but to make the fire myself in the tea hut. I’ve forgotten which utensils were there except for the tea bowl: the same red raku—from the sixteenth century—that I used just now. Sitting in the formal position in the tea hut before dawn, I stared inside that bowl and wondered: for sixty years from the time I was twenty I had studied tea, and what had I seen in it? At that moment, the tea suddenly appeared as green poison. Or, perhaps rather than poison, it appeared as death itself. There was death, and I was living right beside it. Together with that thought it occurred to me that Rikyū must have realized the same thing. Within the tea bowl is death, and one drinks it and has one’s guests drink it. There is no way a tea master like Rikyū with his long experience could not have understood that; that is, the secret of death. After all, at some point or other tea had definitely become a religion for him.”
With that Sawamura Chiyono broke off and was lost in thought. She continued in a quiet tone.
“But that must have been something he couldn’t talk about. So perhaps there was no way for Rikyū to verify the secret of death he had come to comprehend except by dying himself. That was the only means he had to bring his art of tea to perfection. Hideyoshi’s command that he commit seppuku was merely a convenient excuse for him. He didn’t care about the countless military commanders who had drunk his tea and then gone out to die in battle. Rikyū died as a testament of something that approximated his own inexplicable realization of what death is. I’m certain that must be why. That winter morning before dawn two years ago, when I saw death inside that red tea bowl, I earnestly thought so. That’s why I take naps in the tea hut. That way, I come to understand more fully. When I’m asleep, that’s death. When I’m awake, that’s life. But both are my same self. Life and death, life and death, life and death . . . By dying, Rikyū attempted to ascertain that . . .”
As if embarrassed that she had forgotten herself and been carried away by her impassioned speech, she glanced at Tetsuyuki and Yōko and laughed. Her laugh made the tea hut where the Langs were together with Mr. Kumai seem like an elegant, roofed tomb.
Tetsuyuki recalled his strange dream in which he had turned into a lizard, dying and being reborn again and again over hundreds of years. That dream was strongly connected to Sawamura Chiyono’s reasoning, which could be taken either as erudition or as self-righteousness. It occurred to him that it was time to bring to a conclusion this caring for Kin, which had already turned into a daily routine.
He noticed that the branches of the hackberry and sweet acorn trees surrounding the garden were waving, each time scattering their leaves. Next spring, on a day when vernal warmth filled heaven and earth, he would pull the nail out. If he did it now, Kin would be unable to withstand the cold with a fresh wound, and would likely die.
The door of the tea hut opened and the Langs emerged along with Kumai.
“What time is it now?” Sawamura Chiyono asked.
“Almost twelve.”
“I went ahead and ordered some Kyoto cuisine from a restaurant. They should be delivering it about now. Perfect! The boxed lunches from that place have suitable portions, and are very good. They should be just right for Mr. and Mrs. Lang.”
She stood up, brushing bits of grass from her kimono. The Langs stood next to each other, looking out over the surface of the pond. Kumai walked up the slope and handed to Sawamura Chiyono two small white paper packages.
“It’s potassium cyanide.”
“I’m surprised you got them to hand it over.”
“I told them that, if they were so inclined, there are any number of ways to die, but that I could not let them leave the tea hut with that in their possession,” Kumai explained as they walked toward the house.
“Did you ask about the reason?”
“They have one son, an attorney in Munich. They bought a house in a town about a hundred kilometers away and began their retirement living on a pension. Mrs. Lang said that their son’s wife hates her, and Mr. Lang said that his son hates him. Even though they live only a hundred kilometers away, these two years their son has not come to see them once. They just take care of matters by phone. I’m sure they each have their own excuses, but I couldn’t very well probe further, so I quit asking.”
“Things like that happen in every country,” Sawamura Chiyono remarked.
“Whether his wife would go first, or he would, there’s no way to know, but in either case the one left behind would be lonely. He said that they couldn’t bear even to imagine such sadness.”
“Write a letter to his son. If he’s an attorney, money shouldn’t be a problem for him. Say, ‘For such and such reasons, your parents tried to end their life in Japan. What do you intend to do about it?’”
“Well, if you insist, I can write something right away . . .”
“But there’s nothing else we can do, is there? They gave up their house and all their property, and set out on a journey. All they have left is a little over two thousand dollars, not even enough to buy return tickets to their own country. And even if they do return, they have nowhere to settle down except at their son’s place.”
Listening to this exchange between Kumai and Sawamura Chiyono, Tetsuyuki suddenly recalled the words the old woman spoke in the tea hut: “These two were not able to die here, but they will no doubt carry out their plan someplace else. This was a farewell tea ceremony.” But in spite of that, she was trying to prevent these two foreigners from dying. He felt a kind of eeriness about what she had said, and about Rikyū’s thoughts on death. The maid announced that the meal had been delivered.
“I’ll go call them.” With that, Tetsuyuki set off at a trot toward the pond. At the sound of footsteps, the Langs looked around and gave what sounded like an apology. Using gestures, he communicated that the meal was ready. The Langs looked at each other. There was a note of contrition in their voices as they said, “Danke, danke schön!”
Sitting around a low table, the Langs looked at the Japanese food and asked what things were.
“How to say kōya-dōfu?” Kumai cocked his head. Sawamura Chiyono smiled and said, “I guess there’s nothing to call it but freeze-dried tofu.” At the end of the meal, the maids brought in sliced melon. For a long time, Kumai was engaged in conversation with the Langs.
“‘After making so much trouble for you, you have treated us to such wonderful Japanese cuisine. We were not able to die. God no doubt did not permit it, and so we certainly won’t be able to attempt it again. Please do not worry about us anymore.’ That is what they said.” After Kumai relayed their words, Sawamura Chiyono stared at her melon, then lifted a spoonful of it to her mouth. “Ask them how they’ll return to their country.” The Langs made no reply. Sawamura Chiyono suddenly raised her head and gave them a sharp look.
“How very sad! Why must life end up so sad? What have they lived this long for?”
Kumai relayed what she had said. Mr. Lang loosened his tie and began speaking in a calm tone of voice, with Kumai providing simultaneous interpretation.
“I wonder the same thing. When I retired and purchased a small, comfortable house in the country, I assumed that a new life was about to begin. But then, what is a ‘new life’? The thought that I was a creature of the past took root in my heart. I came into this life in a poor family. I graduated from high school and became a printer. Then there was the great war, and I fought against French and British troops. I could never verify it with my own eyes, but the bullets I fired no doubt killed several people. Germany lost, and a long and difficult period ensued. In the meantime, I became acquainted with my wife, and we began to live together. At length, the printing company where I had been employed was reconstructed and I returned to work there. For ten years my hands were always pitch-black from setting type, but finally machines deprived me of my job. I demanded that my beloved son become either a doctor or a lawyer. I wanted him to have work that only a human being and not a machine could perform, work that would command respect. My son rebelled, saying he wanted to become a chef. But I would not allow it. We tightened our belts on my meager salary and engaged a private tutor for him. Now that I think about it, I marvel at how docile he was. He didn’t like it, but he fulfilled my dream. But it was my dream, not his. When he brought his girlfriend to meet us, neither I nor my wife liked her, but I thought I should at least grant him the freedom to choose his own wife. It appeared he was suited neither to the work of an attorney nor to his wife. My son was too virtuous and gentle of character to perform the work of a lawyer, and it damaged his spirit. The hysterics of his beautiful but vain and extravagant wife led him to excessive drinking. Each time he consumed liquor, he would scream furiously at me that even now he wanted to become a chef. When he didn’t drink, there was no way he could bring himself to shout like that. One day, I said to him: ‘Let’s not see each other anymore.’ At the time I really meant it. He stopped coming to see us. By then, we were already seventy-six years old. There was no ‘new life,’ and no way to seek one but to die. At some point, we began to think that way. This past spring, two of my friends from my childhood died at about the same time. That urged me to do something. There are lots of lonely old folk and they’re just waiting. I began to be afraid of waiting. Rather than wait, I wanted to go on my own accord. My wife was afraid, but I persuaded her. ‘We’ve lived long enough. Whichever of us goes first, the remaining one will just face loneliness, and that’s even more frightening.’”
Tetsuyuki thought about the frail constitution of his own mother, who about now was probably cleaning the restaurant, and did not realize that he was being addressed by Sawamura Chiyono until Yōko nudged him.
“Please call the hotel and inform them that the Langs will be staying in Kyoto tonight. Rather than returning to the hustle and bustle of Osaka, they’ll relax here this evening.” With exaggerated gestures, Mr. Lang declined her offer, but she replied with a smile. “Since you’ve put us to great trouble, you’re obliged to do as I say.” Only then did he dejectedly droop his shoulders. Tetsuyuki sensed that it would be better to return to the hotel and explain the situation directly to Section Chief Shimazaki, and suggested this to Sawamura Chiyono. She conceded. “It would be a bother for you, but that would no doubt be best.”
Tetsuyuki and Yōko went down the slope from the front gate and hailed a taxi. Once inside, Yōko languidly pillowed her head on Tetsuyuki’s shoulder. The scent of her usual perfume now smelled like sunshine. He wanted to embrace her so badly he could no longer bear it, and evoked the usual code the two of them employed at such times.
“Kin-chan is calling.”
He thought she was sure to put him off, accusing him of being out of his mind. But she muttered, “Mm, all right,” and grasped his index finger.
“As long as we’re back in Osaka by nightfall, it should be okay, huh?” Yōko also clearly indicated her desire, her glum countenance and the deliberate lisping of her words notwithstanding.
Beyond the street-front buildings the neon-lit tower of a love hotel left one wondering what colors it must project at night onto the roadside trees and roofs of houses. Tetsuyuki told the driver to stop.
“Didn’t you say you wanted to go to Kawaramachi?” The driver deliberately slammed on the brakes and glared at Tetsuyuki through the rearview mirror.
“Sorry, I suddenly remember that a friend’s house is in this area,” he said to vindicate himself as he paid the fare, thinking at the same time, It’s the customer’s business where and when he wants to get out.
Why must people be so brutal? The street was filthy and noisy, and everyone was irritable and short-tempered. The driver clicked his tongue to show his annoyance as he handed over the change, and then drove off at breakneck speed. The driver’s decidedly unhappy face emblazoned in his mind’s eye, Tetsuyuki glanced at Yōko.
“I feel exhausted. Somehow, everything has become repulsive to me.”
“Didn’t you just say that Kin-chan is calling?” Bathed in the autumn sunlight, Yōko’s face appeared more beautiful than usual. What was this strange wholesomeness her features possessed? At the same moment this thought came into his head: he had no confidence in his ability to make her happy.
“In the middle of the day like this, you won’t like people seeing you come out of the hotel, will you?”
“Well, no, but then there’s not enough time to go to your apartment.”
Tetsuyuki looked down silently at the scattered leaves around his feet. Yōko whispered, “Kin-chan is calling,” and pulled him by the hand. Following along the wall of a temple, the street turned to the left and led directly to the entrance to the hotel. Across the street, several boys of junior high school age were playing on roller skates. One of them spied Tetsuyuki and Yōko and began to jeer, “Oh, they’re going in! They’re going in!” As they entered, they could hear shouts peppered with obscene words. A man appeared, muttering, “Every time customers come, those kids taunt them like that.” Leaving Tetsuyuki and Yōko there in the entranceway, he went out front.
“Hey! Get out of here!”
“We can play wherever we want!”
Hearing the footsteps of the man in pursuit and the sound of fleeing roller-skaters, Tetsuyuki and Yōko smiled at each other.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the man said as he returned and set out two pairs of slippers. “Until six o’clock the price remains the same no matter how many hours you stay. We offer three courses: for three thousand yen, four thousand yen, or five thousand yen. So, which would you like?” He explained in a lively tone of voice, as if he were a merchant in a fish market bargaining with customers, “The four-thousand-yen room comes with its own bath.”
“Well, then, we’ll take that one.” After Tetsuyuki stated his choice, the man called out in a loud voice, “Show these guests to a four-thousand-yen room!” They thought that perhaps an usher would appear at such a signal, but the same man brought a key from the reception desk and pressed the elevator button. When they entered the room, he knocked on the mirror in the bathroom, then on the wall, and took down a framed cheap art reproduction.
“There are no peepholes, so don’t worry about that.” Then he took out a business card on which was printed an unusual name: Mata Kitarō. (Meaning, you’ve come again, haven’t you?) Tetsuyuki stared at the characters.
“How are these characters read?”
“Mata Kitarō.”
“Huh?”
“The name is Mata Kitarō.”
“That isn’t your real name, is it?”
“Of course not. If I had really been given a name like that, I’d resent my parents.” He smiled congenially as he left the room. “Please come again.”
Tetsuyuki kept staring at the business card with knitted brow when he heard Yōko’s suppressed giggle near his ear. Controlling her laughter with both hands over her mouth, she fell back on the bed. Joining in the hilarity, Tetsuyuki fell over on top of Yōko. He asked her to get in the shower with him. Still laughing, she refused, saying that it would wash out the curls she had set in her hair. He persisted: she could just take care not to get her head wet. Her glee suddenly stopped and, with eyes only inches from his, stared silently for a long time. Wrapping both arms around his head she asked quietly, “What’s to become of me?”
Indistinct voices, reverberating in such a way as to leave the direction of their source obscure, filled Tetsuyuki and Yōko with a sort of sadness. The heat in the room, so high that they were perspiring, preventing their anxiety from taking shape in words.
“I don’t know. I don’t even know what things will be like an hour from now.” He finally managed to get that much out, and leaned his forehead against her neck.
“I wonder . . . if a woman marries, maybe she has to throw all caution to the wind, not really caring what he’s like.” With that, she drew her lips close to him, then pulled back, asking, “Are you strong?”
“I’m weak.”
Yōko again drew her lips near. They covered his with a pleasant, tumbling sensation.
“Can you live to an old age?”
“I have a feeling that I’ll probably die young.”
“Are you good at making money?”
“That’s what I’m worst at.”
“Will you cheat on me?”
“I might.”
Yōko sensed that he was not merely joking, and stood up. “It’s hot.”
“Of course it is. This is a place for getting naked.”
“You’ve come again, haven’t you?” Yōko mumbled as she went into the bathroom. Her figure as she took off her clothing was projected onto the frosted glass, and at length he could hear the sound of the shower. Tetsuyuki shed his clothes and went into the bathroom, where he gazed to his heart’s content at her naked body as she tilted her head backward under the water. The cramped bathroom was soon steamed up, and spray from the stream beat against and ran down Tetsuyuki’s face and chest. He reached out and grabbed her by the waist, turning her to face him, then massaged the stiffness in her muscles.
“I have moles,” she said, putting her arms around his neck after he had lathered her body.
“I know. There’s one on your butt, and a big one on your stomach.”
Yōko shook her head and said that there was one in a very embarrassing place. The steam of the shower had already taken the shape out of their hair. They both sat down on the tiles under the shower stream. Tetsuyuki lathered every part of Yōko’s body, washing each part again and again with the palms of his hands. No matter where his hands explored, she did not recoil, but just clung to him tightly. He released himself from her arms and sat cross-legged, placing both hands on the tiles and praising her beautiful body. Yōko listened, leaning to the side and with hands also on the tiles.
He asked her to show him the mole in the embarrassing place. She had to open her legs and bend back as far as possible, but she did as he asked. Steam and water running down her body alternately hid and revealed it. To Tetsuyuki, it looked like one of Kin’s tiny, blinking eyes. He closed her legs and embraced her.
“Actually, I’m strong,” he said. Yōko nodded.
“I’ll live to an old age.”
“I have a knack for making money.”
“I’ll never cheat on you.”
Yōko nodded at each declaration. Yet it was Tetsuyuki who was being caressed, both physically and psychologically, and so it was after they had gotten into bed. He poured his whole heart into performing the few sexual techniques he knew, but felt that it was he who was the recipient, though Yōko remained passive with her eyes closed.
Several hours later, they both recalled the Langs at the same time. During their ecstasy they had forgotten about the life drama they had just witnessed. As they lay in spent embrace they thought of the depressing sadness that constantly flitted through their rapture. Why sporadic gloom during such supreme bliss?
He concluded that it certainly owed to his poverty. Even after graduation and employment, more than half of his meager salary would disappear in repayment of his father’s debts. Despite that, Yōko had accepted his command and assumed that posture in the bathroom. No doubt she would blush and shed tears every time she recalled it. What did that mole mean to her that she was willing to show it to him? Why had she loosened up so much as he was lathering her body in the shower? And why had he felt so caressed by her, though he was the one moving and she was still?
His mind’s eye saw the long way from Osaka Station to his apartment: the crowded, bright brick-red train to Kyōbashi; from the platform at Kyōbashi Station, caked with a thick film of sputum, phlegm, and vomit mixed with cigarette butts, mud, and dust, descending the stairs to the platform for the Katamachi Line; the sewer ditches and construction sites visible from the window of the well-worn and metallic-smelling old car; the sound of cranes; the oil film and methane gas spreading over the ditches; the dirty fluorescent lights blinking at Suminodō Station, a place that felt alien to him no matter how many times he got off there; the smell of garlic always wafting around the shopping arcade where country toughs hung out; the stand-up bars where someone would always be babbling in his cups; the toy store; the pack of mangy, stray dogs; the railroad crossing; the smokestack of the public bath; the single path that was either cold or hot; the laundry waving on the drying platforms of housing complexes all of the same shape; the metal stairs; and his own room: his own room, where Kin was waiting. Tetsuyuki held tightly to Yōko.
“My hair’s a mess. My mom is sure to be suspicious.”
“You could just tell her that it rained only in Kyoto.” Yōko giggled as she rearranged her hair in front of the mirror.
When they went down to the front counter, the man said, “Oh? You’re leaving already? Until six o’clock, it’s the same price no matter how long you stay.” With an ambiguous smile on his face, Tetsuyuki handed over the money.
“When I was young, I’d have kept a knockout like this young lady for a good five or six hours.” Then he went outside and beckoned to the two of them. “There’s no one out here. You can leave without embarrassment.”
At the corner, Tetsuyuki and Yōko looked back. The man suddenly raised his hand and bowed his head. “Please come again.”
“If we come back to Kyoto, let’s really come here again.”
“With a hair dryer and curlers in hand . . .” Yōko responded, blushing.
After hearing Tetsuyuki’s explanation to the end, Section Chief Shimazaki lowered his voice. “Well, this has turned into a fine mess.” He called the front desk. “Please get me the extension for the front-desk manager.” The receiver pressed to his ear, Shimazaki nodded a few times as if to say, “Leave it all to me.”
“Is Section Head Imoto on duty today?” Shimazaki asked the person in charge at the front desk, then, covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he explained to Tetsuyuki with a wink, “Imoto came here when I did. He can be trusted to keep a secret.” When Imoto came to the phone, Shimazaki asked him to come by to discuss an urgent matter. Section Head Imoto appeared immediately. He had the serious, honest face of a country school principal and possessed the greatest language aptitude of anyone in the hotel, his facility with English and French such as occasionally to earn the straightforward praise of foreign guests. He pondered the matter for a while, then went out of the office. When he returned, he announced, “Mr. Lang paid in advance for tonight.” Then, taking a puff on his cigarette, mumbled as if weighed down by anguish, “I’ll refund the charges for tonight. Under these circumstances, they’ll need to reduce any expense possible. I have an eighty-eight-year-old mother who doesn’t get along well with my wife. I’m embarrassed to say so, but last month she decided on her own to enter a rest home in Nishinomiya. It’s a private establishment with good facilities, not gloomy or anything like that. In a way I feel relieved, and in a way I feel very unfilial.”
As Tetsuyuki went out from the employee exit behind the building and headed for the coffee shop where Yōko was waiting, Shimazaki caught up with him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“About permanent employment . . . I’d like to have your answer soon.”
“I’ve decided to take you up on your kind offer.”
“So, you’ve decided, have you? Good. Now, just leave everything up to me.” Shimazaki beamed and bustled back to his office. But, ten years . . . Tetsuyuki thought to himself. He would work hard for ten years, save money, and then start some business of his own, just as his father had said. He had no idea what kind of business he was suited for, or how much capital it would require, but Yōko’s mysterious caresses a mere two hours ago had emboldened him.
At a telephone in the coffee shop, Yōko informed Sawamura Chiyono of the arrangements made at the hotel. She returned to the table with a dejected look on her face.
“What’s wrong?”
“They decided a letter would take too long, so they made an international call to Munich.”
“Will their son come to pick them up?”
Yōko shook her head. “The son said to let them do as they pleased, and then curtly hung up.”
“So then, he’s telling them just to go ahead and die?”
“Mrs. Sawamura seemed a bit surprised by that too. What should I do? After all, I’m the one who took the Langs to her house to begin with.”
There is really such a thing as a son who could be indifferent to his aged parents after they had gone to a foreign country, attempted to poison themselves, and lacked the money for a return trip? Tetsuyuki conjectured that Mr. Lang must be concealing the real reason for the discord between himself and his son.
“She said they called at two thirty. Since the difference between Japan and West Germany is about eight hours, it would have been about six thirty in the morning there. Even so, from his manner of speaking the son seemed to be quite drunk. Mrs. Sawamura said that they’d try calling again after a while.”
“No matter how drunk he might be, a call like that from Japan should sober him up.”
Making no reply, Yōko fingered her curlless hair and said in a barely audible voice, “I’m tired.”
“Go home and have a good rest. I’ll see you to the station.”
“Then you’ll go home too, won’t you?”
“I’ll try going to my mom’s place. We’ve only talked on the phone, and I haven’t seen her in a long time. Today’s Sunday, her day off.”
Once she had gone through the ticket gate and climbed the stairs to the platform, Yōko came rushing back, insisting stubbornly on going with him. It had, in fact, been a long time since his mother and Yōko had seen each other.
The Yūki restaurant was a considerable distance, on the western end of the main road in Kita Shinchi, far from the Midōsuji Avenue area. Most of the clubs and eateries clustered in Kita Shinchi were closed on Sundays, and were it not for the rancid odor of offal crammed into plastic buckets, the place could seem like a ghost town. Occasionally one might find a young man properly dressed in a jacket and expensive tie standing idly in front of some shop. Without exception, they all possessed comely features, but slight mannerisms betrayed decadence and self-indulgence. A light was on in the second floor of Yūki. Staring at that light, Tetsuyuki thought how he would like to live together with his mother as soon as tomorrow. As long as one or the other of them exercises intelligence, a mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law ought to be able to live together amicably. He expressed this thought to Yōko.
“I’m very fond of your mother.”
Of course, at the beginning no mother-in-law and no daughter-in-law intend not to get along, so why do so few of them live harmoniously under the same roof? Tetsuyuki mused that it was all due to the elemental core of that creature called woman.
Tetsuyuki knocked on the door of Yūki. A second-story window opened, and his mother poked her head out.
“Good evening!” Yōko smiled and waved unreservedly as if greeting a close female friend.
“Oh, Yōko, it’s been a long time since I saw you!” Smiling exuberantly, his mother closed the window and soon they heard her unlocking the front door. Tetsuyuki could tell, by her movements through the frosted glass, just how pleased she was by their visit. As soon as she saw Yōko, a questioning look appeared on her face.
“What happened to you? Your hair . . .” Then she led them to her second-story room.
“Excuse me for a moment. I’ll bring some tea.” With that, his mother went downstairs.
“See, I told you! All because of you, I have this hair that makes me look like a ghost.” Yōko pouted and glared reproachfully at Tetsuyuki.
“I never told you to get your hair wet in the shower. That’s something you chose to do.”
“Yeah, but at the time, I just felt like throwing all caution to the wind.”
“It’s all Mata Kitarō’s fault. He put you in the mood.” After that slipped out, it occurred to Tetsuyuki that it might actually be true. The wretchedness of the love hotel in that section of downtown Kyoto, the momentary sadness when they entered its front door, the good-natured drollery of its manager, and the frightening speed with which the human heart can change as a result of trivial matters—what an absurd thing it is to go through life dominated by such an uncertain heart. In Tetsuyuki’s mind this thought was accompanied by the image of Kin with his tail writhing back and forth.
“Don’t sit over there. Come and get warm under the kotatsu.” Entering the room with a tray bearing a teapot and cups, Tetsuyuki’s mother urged Yōko to make herself comfortable. Yōko asked where the bathroom was, and after making sure that she had gone down the stairs, his mother poked him on the head.
“Men are always in a hurry, aren’t they?”
“What are you talking about?”
“About how perfectly set hair should end up so straight. Yōko isn’t the kind of girl who would ever go out without setting her hair nicely.”
“It rained.” Led on by his mother’s gentle tone of voice, Tetsuyuki answered with a smile.
“A sudden rainstorm?”
“Yeah.”
Yōko returned and began sipping her tea. Tetsuyuki told them that his employment had been decided.
“When?” Yōko asked, surprised.
“A little while ago. They’d offered it to me some time ago, but I wasn’t able to make up my mind. Anyway, I’ve got to set sail, so it doesn’t matter which port I leave from. So when the section chief pressed my for an answer today, I made up my mind.”
“‘I’ve got to set sail, so it doesn’t matter which port I leave from’ . . . now, there’s a showy expression.” Chided by Yōko, he laughed with embarrassment. With a serious look on her face, his mother congratulated him. Since he had last seen her, his mother was thinner and she seemed pale. After much hesitation, Tetsuyuki brought up the matter of having her live with them. Yōko again mentioned the tidy apartment she had talked about before with Tetsuyuki.
“It’s actually more of a two-story town house than an apartment. Downstairs there is a six-mat room and an eat-in kitchen. Upstairs there are three-mat and six-mat rooms. It has a bathroom, and it’s about a five-minute walk from my house.”
Smiling slightly, Tetsuyuki’s mother asked, “Yōko, are you really going to marry Tetsuyuki?” Yōko nodded, but his mother shook her head.
“If I were your mother, I’d be dead set against it. For the next two or three years, we’ll be paying off the debts his father left behind, and until we do that, marriage is out of the question. Our family consists of one mother and one child, we have no home, just a lot of debts. I would never let my daughter marry into a situation like that, and I’m sure your parents wouldn’t either.”
Yōko was about to say something when Tetsuyuki’s mother cut her off. “Even if you make the decision now, in two or three years’ time you might find someone else you like.” Tetsuyuki and Yōko glanced at each other in silence. “And you can’t imagine how thrilled I’d be to have a daughter-in-law like you, but such feelings are not the only basis for a marriage—we can only really be linked by karmic fate.” At that point she paused and, tilting her prim face—the face that still suggested what Tetsuyuki’s father often said without exaggeration when he was drunk, “When your mother was young, she was a real beauty”—mumbled to no one in particular: “Everyone uses the word ‘fate’ without much thought, but it’s a mysterious thing.”
Yōko’s nose was beginning to redden. Tetsuyuki, who knew that was a herald of her tears, felt eager to say something, but no words came out of his mouth. Yōko drooped her head and cried, barely audibly. Tetsuyuki thought that his mother’s words had doused the flame of courage Yōko had mustered, but such was not the case.
“Without telling anyone, I went ahead and rented that place. I’ve paid both the deposit and rent. After graduation, Tetsuyuki and I will both work, and the three of us will live there.”
This time, Tetsuyuki and his mother looked at each other with open mouths. “Where did you get the money for the deposit?” she asked.
“I added my money from part-time work to what I’ve saved since junior high school, and borrowed the rest from a cousin in Yokohama.” Yōko’s answer was delivered in a quivering voice, ending in muffled sobs and difficult to understand. Tetsuyuki’s mother bent forward and wiped Yōko’s tears with her handkerchief. Yōko raised her face and, with eyes closed like a child, allowed her face to be wiped.
“I’m glad I didn’t have a daughter. You never know what they’ll go and do when they grow up.” With that, Tetsuyuki’s mother stood up and, taking a savings passbook out of a dresser drawer, showed it to them. She had nearly 700,000 yen in her account.
“How did you save so much?”
“My net monthly pay is 110,000 yen, you see? But I don’t have to pay for rent or food, so I’ve been able to save 100,000 yen each month.”
“So then, you live on 10,000 a month?”
“Sometimes customers tip me. Some of them slip as much as 10,000 or 20,000 yen into the sleeve of my kimono.” She shrugged. “I’ve always been good at squirreling money away . . . Such a quantity of tears!” Speaking as if in praise, she again leaned forward to wipe Yōko’s face. Yōko giggled, but still kept pouring out tears endlessly.
Tetsuyuki’s mother went along to see Yōko to the station. After parting at the ticket gate of the Hankyū Line, as he was walking alongside his mother Tetsuyuki recalled the blue eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Lang. These several months—or rather these several years—he had never run that desperately. Even during a tennis match he had never chased the ball with such heroic resolve. He was glad that he had made it in time to stop them. He did not want them to die. On no account should he have allowed them to die. His mother suddenly stopped walking, and Tetsuyuki stopped and looked at her.
“She’s had a privileged upbringing, but I think that even tomorrow she’d be able to put off a bill collector.” At his mother’s words, Tetsuyuki’s face brightened and he turned to her. “Any bill collector who encountered tears like that would hightail it.”