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Fish of the Seto Inland Sea
Ruri Pilgrim


An extraordinary portrait of one family across the years of Japan’s greatest changes; a loving, honest, moving biography of the author’s mother.Ruri Pilgrim tells the story of her family from the 1870s to the 1950s. She begins with the formality and security of the arrangements of life for a Japanese middle-class family, living in a walled compound with their servants, following exactly the tradition inherited from their parents, with marriages arranged for the children, which continued up till World War II.By then her mother was married to an engineer and living in Japanese-occupied Manchuria. That period, with her mother’s often funny, painful experiences of learning about the Chinese and Russians with whom she now lived with her growing family, and the war seen from her point of view, is fascinating. At the end of the war, the Japanese – women, children, everyone – had to escape, walking hundreds of miles to the coast.The family returned to a Tokyo where the society, the culture, the economy was entirely overturned. The Americans were everywhere, the Japanese were unemployed, and the ways of society that they had all known had vanished. And yet somehow Ruri’s indomitable mother survived.















DEDICATION (#ulink_fb0bc8bd-58b3-559a-a910-814bb3cb0104)


To my Father and Mother

Itsuji and Shizuko Kumoi


This book is about a family whose traditional home is by the Seto Inland Sea in Southern Japan.

There is a saying that the best fish in Japan comes from here because, as is quoted in the book, the rapid flow of water in many places in the sea makes the fish especially firm and good.

These qualities seem to mirror the strength and resilience shown by the three generations of women of the Shirai family.





HARUKO’S FAMILY TREE










THE SANJOS (Haruko’s in-laws)










CONTENTS


COVER (#u8cc14ecf-7e49-5b46-a897-ffc4d63d1d5b)

TITLE PAGE (#u88fc1958-6dfa-573d-b70b-a1b878bbd2ad)

DEDICATION (#ulink_2ade74ac-71d3-5eb8-ba2b-9876ebdc2c5d)

PART ONE (#ulink_83a99908-be9e-5d07-abbc-90e4f06b46ea)

1 The Landowner’s Family (#ulink_9b8bdcd0-ed5e-5e60-b5a2-0aa157b65013)

2 The Russians (#ulink_1fbb2bb5-d2ce-542f-8cd1-b1d4e8125d9c)

3 Haruko and Her Father (#ulink_46889a5a-1ae0-595a-a451-da89dc931006)

4 Shobei’s Garden (#ulink_ef8d8d4a-b7a1-5778-821c-0511edf9471b)

5 Spring (#ulink_cee8e7e6-4f46-5a81-a66c-34e6cfb5893b)

6 Haruko’s Uncles (#ulink_50fd2fa1-e488-5822-bbdb-20cb621ec80f)

7 The Flood (#ulink_d9552a13-b2d5-5803-9133-a4fae0fdfa11)

8 Takeko is Seventeen (#ulink_15a3f39c-d5d8-51e6-a7ea-2d33d91ee938)

9 The Maple Tree (#litres_trial_promo)

10 The Medicine Store (#litres_trial_promo)

11 The Chief Engineer San’s Friend (#litres_trial_promo)

PART TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

12 To Manchuria (#litres_trial_promo)

13 The Farewell Party (#litres_trial_promo)

14 The City of Acacia (#litres_trial_promo)

15 Gathering Clouds (#litres_trial_promo)

16 Bamboo Spears (#litres_trial_promo)

17 The Summer of 1945 (#litres_trial_promo)

18 The Chinese and the Russians (#litres_trial_promo)

19 A Journey to Chenyang (#litres_trial_promo)

20 Survival (#litres_trial_promo)

21 Going Home (#litres_trial_promo)

PART THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

22 The Ruined City (#litres_trial_promo)

23 The Ming Dish (#litres_trial_promo)

24 Struggle (#litres_trial_promo)

25 Kei, Her Sons and Daughter (#litres_trial_promo)

26 The Sisters (#litres_trial_promo)

27 Ayako and Her Daughters (#litres_trial_promo)

28 A God to Rescue You (#litres_trial_promo)

29 For Better Times to Come (#litres_trial_promo)

GLOSSARY (#litres_trial_promo)

AUTHOR’S NOTE (#litres_trial_promo)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#litres_trial_promo)



ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo)

COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo)




PART ONE (#ulink_87e51820-fc8a-5e8e-b3fe-8034b0b96616)

















1 (#ulink_aed69109-b344-50a2-bd12-55fb584d27e3)

The Landowner’s Family (#ulink_aed69109-b344-50a2-bd12-55fb584d27e3)


Shobei Miwa was a rich landowner. His land spread far beyond the village of Takao. He could walk from his house for about forty minutes to the nearest railway station without stepping on anyone else’s land. In fact, it was Shobei who had sold the land for the railway and station to the government.

Shobei Miwa had two sons, Shintaro and Rinji. His elder son, Shintaro, was sent to Tokyo at the age of fourteen before the railway had been built. He was accompanied by a servant and walked on the trunk road to Tokyo, taking nearly a month. The servant carried his money, including his school fees, in a bundle firmly tied around his waist which he did not take off even when he slept at night. The rooms of the inns had sliding doors and no locks. There were many thieves. The young master and his servant kept to themselves but at the same time had to take care not to look too cautious and attract attention.

When they reached the Oigawa river, the servant would not trust the boatmen and he crossed the river carrying Shintaro on his shoulders. In the middle of the river, the water came up to his chest. Every year, until the railway was built, he made the same trip to Tokyo bringing Shintaro’s expenses.

Shobei was not much worried about how Shintaro lived as a student. When a rumour reached him that Shintaro was drinking heavily, Shobei laughed and said, ‘A man who cannot drink cannot succeed in life.’

He was generous about his son’s expenses as well. ‘Let him have a good time. One can never be young again.’ He was concerned only about one thing. This was that Shintaro should come home without getting seriously involved with a woman. Shobei was anxious that his son should marry a girl from a good family known to everybody around them.

‘Occasional relaxation from hard work is necessary, but you must remember to honour your obligation to your family,’ Shobei wrote to Shintaro in every letter. Shobei’s letters were written with brush and ink and were difficult to decipher but Shintaro knew the last few sentences without reading them.

Imperial University students were considered to have good prospects and were targeted by ambitious mothers with unmarried daughters, but Shintaro returned to his father’s village, Takao, without mishap. With Shobei’s influence, Shintaro’s future was promising. It was as the director of a new hospital, the largest in the area, that he began his professional life. He was considered the most eligible bachelor for several counties.

Who would be the lucky girl? People speculated. There were many young ladies of suitable families. Relatives and friends were busy sounding out the possibility of a match with girls they knew or had heard about. Parents who had daughters of the right age called on people who knew the Miwas to impress their names on them. The hospital was visited by more young girls, taken by their mothers or maids with minor complaints.

Shobei rejected these proposals one after another without even telling Shintaro.

‘Thank you for your concern, but he has been away so long and has just started his career. It is important for him to concentrate on his work at the moment,’ was his stock reply to every one, although Shobei knew that they were well aware it was not true.

‘What is he scheming for his son’s marriage? Is he thinking of marrying Dr Shintaro to a nobleman’s daughter?’ People talked. It was generally believed that the real reason was that the girls’ families were not considered good enough.

When Shobei refused a proposal from the Abes, a family richer and older than the Miwas, Shobei’s wife confronted him for the first time.

‘Excuse me, but Shintaro san is over thirty now. I would like to ask you what is in your mind. Shintaro san will end up as a bachelor because you are ...’ She wanted to say ‘fastidious’ but said, ‘Well, because you are too careful.’

‘We cannot have Abe’s daughter.’ Shobei’s answer was categorical.

His wife persisted. ‘But may I ask why? They say she is pretty and we have heard nothing against her. The family, of course, is beyond criticism.’

‘She might be acceptable, but she has two brothers.’

‘But it’s good that she has brothers. What is wrong with that?’

His wife was mystified. If the family did not have sons, the girl had to stay at home and take a husband into her family to carry on the family name. She could not marry out. That was how the family line was kept. The system was called yohshi, adoption.

‘Abe’s sons are lazy and stupid. The younger one is mean as well.’

‘I am sorry, but please explain what you mean. If you worry about everybody in the family, you will always find someone who is not perfect. Shintaro san is not marrying her brothers.’

‘Her brothers may be no problem while the father is alive. But wait till the sons have a chance to control the family affairs. At first they will sell a bit of land away from home to pay off their gambling and womanising debts. Gradually they will get deeper and deeper into debt. The brothers will quarrel. After ten years, there will be nothing left. They will come to Shintaro to borrow and so on. Shintaro will have to be involved. Not only is he a kind fellow but he cannot stand by while his in-laws ruin themselves. The bad name of his wife’s family would spoil the name of the Miwas.’

‘I see. Well, I hope Shintaro san will be able to marry one day.’

‘Of course he will marry.’

‘But ...’

‘I have already decided on his wife.’

‘You have?’

‘Yes, I have. The daughter of the Shirais in the next village.’

His wife was nonplussed.

‘You mean Dr Shirai’s daughter?’

‘Yes, Dr Shirai of Kitani village.’ His tone told her that his mind was made up and that his decision was final.

‘They have four sons.’ She looked him straight in the eyes, which she normally did not dare to do. She was not satisfied with her husband’s decision, because the Shirais were the poorest among all the candidates so far.

‘And all intelligent,’ Shobei replied. ‘The father is a fine fellow and still young. The whole family will be a great support for Shintaro and for his future son.’

‘But the girl is very young. One of the sons is still a baby.’

‘I know. That is why I had to wait. She has a very good reputation. Besides, she should know how a doctor’s household should be run, although Shintaro’s life is a bit different from her father’s.’ Shobei sounded smug. He had already found out a lot about Dr Shirai’s daughter, Ayako.

‘If you say so,’ his wife conceded.

‘Of course!’

When people heard that the daughter of the Shirais was chosen as Shintaro’s bride, they could not understand why. The Shirais had been doctors in traditional medicine for many generations. They had been the retained doctors of feudal lords until the system was abolished towards the end of the 1880s. Since then, the present head of the family, Tei-ichi, continued to look after people in the area with his hereditary knowledge and experience. He was endowed with a progressive spirit and had already contacted Shintaro to seek advice on some of his patients. Tei-ichi was respected and popular, but the family was not well-off.

Tei-ichi’s house was always full of poor patients. With backs and knees bent from hard lives, peasants brought their children who were exhausted from suffering.

Dr Tei-ichi Shirai would shout angrily, ‘Why did you leave the sick child so long without bringing her to me?’

‘I am very sorry ... We have not paid you the last fees and ...’

‘Who is talking about fees? Don’t you see this child is ill because of your neglect?’

They loved to be scolded by Dr Tei-ichi.

As many of his patients were poor, his fees were often not paid or were paid with small amounts of fish, fruit and vegetables. On the other hand, the merchants who dealt with the doctor’s family sent their accounts twice a year, but were not too harsh in demanding payment. Shobei knew it all.

The Shirais lived in an old house surrounded by a moat and high stone walls. A wooden bridge led to a large gate and straight ahead was an open main entrance. The gate was usually closed and people used a small side door to get into the front courtyard. From the courtyard they walked round the back of the house to go in through the family entrance or the kitchen.

Tei-ichi’s wife Kei was open-hearted and cheerful.

‘Now, what is wrong with you this time?’ she would ask a villager who appeared and stood timidly at the kitchen door. ‘Come in, come in. You won’t get better standing outside.’

And they would tell her their symptoms, worries and difficulties.

‘It sounds exactly like what Yohei had the other day. He is fine now. Go in and see the doctor. Only, don’t mention your own opinions and everything the others have said. You won’t die yet.’

Kei had beautiful skin. She washed her face thoroughly every morning with rice bran in a small cotton bag and consulted a thermometer to choose what to wear for the day. The thermometer had been given to Tei-ichi as a thank-you present when he attended one of his well-off patients and it was the only thermometer in the surrounding villages. Schoolteachers occasionally brought pupils to see it. Kei did not use make-up, but her hair was always fashionably done up and she carried a parasol in summer to protect her face from the sun. The villagers called her ‘okkasama’, which means mother, and greeted her warmly as her neat figure hurried down the village street followed by a maid.

She would buy damaged material and sale goods at a cloth shop. She was clever at cutting and sewing kimonos and clad the whole family handsomely. All her household were well mannered and disciplined. Shobei knew this as well.

Kei also made ointment to sell. It was a simple mixture of beeswax and a few other ingredients. Although the recipe was not secret, her special skill was needed in heating and kneading. The finished product was put in sealed sea shells and was sold widely as Shirai Ointment for cuts and bruises. Kei carefully saved from the income for their sons’ education. She was determined that her sons should go to the Imperial University like Dr Shintaro and succeed their father as modern doctors. But she did not have much ambition for her daughter, Ayako. She should marry one day but not into the kind of family that would involve the Shirais in spending a lot of money for a trousseau. Kei hoped that Ayako would be treated kindly by her husband’s family when she married and would be sufficiently provided for. Ayako was a pretty girl so this did not seem like too much to ask for.

‘Being a doctor, he must have a secret recipe for making his daughter so lovely,’ the villagers remarked when they saw Ayako.

She was nicknamed ‘Drop off a bridge’. This strange name came from a story about a man from another village who was crossing a narrow bridge when he saw Ayako coming towards him. Gawping at her, because she was so beautiful, he missed his step and fell into the river.

* * *

When a distant relative brought the marriage proposal from the Miwas, Tei-ichi was surprised. Until then, he had not thought of Ayako as a woman. Wasn’t she running around with her brothers and catching fish in the river? The last time he saw her up a tree, he had vaguely wondered if it was time he should tell her off for behaving like a boy. Wasn’t it only a few years ago? Besides, he had never considered the possibility of his daughter being asked for by the most sought-after bachelor he knew.

‘Let me think about it,’ he said eventually to the go-between. At first he could not believe what he had heard. Then he reconsidered.

‘Why, we are not such a bad family. We have nothing to be ashamed of. And Ayako is an intelligent and beautiful girl.’

But he had not expected to part with her so soon. Ayako seemed totally unprepared for the role of a young wife in such an august family. However, if he missed the opportunity to marry her to Shintaro, he was convinced that he would never find as good a match as this most accomplished young man. Tei-ichi also wanted very much to become the father-in-law of such a well-educated doctor. He would be a fine example for his sons. Undecided, he called Ayako. She was not at all demure. She looked her father straight in the eye and said, ‘Dr Miwa, otohsan? Oh, yes, I will marry him.’

‘W-wait a minute. You don’t have to rush. Think about it carefully,’ he stuttered, confused. ‘In any case, you don’t know him. I ... I am not telling you that you have to marry him.’ He had expected her to be either shy and hesitant, or look totally innocent.

‘I have heard a lot about him,’ she said, ‘and I have seen him.’

‘What?’

Tei-ichi felt that his stern control of the household was crumbling in front of him.

‘When did you see him?’

‘I went to the station with Yasuharu san to see what Dr Miwa looks like, when he came back from Tokyo.’

Yasuharu was one of her younger brothers. The family had the custom of referring to each other with a respectful ‘san’ at the end of their names.

‘Oh!’

‘Everybody says he is very intelligent, and very kind,’ Ayako said.

‘You don’t understand.’ Tei-ichi struggled to regain his composure. ‘You don’t know what it means to get married. You have no idea, do you understand? You have no idea. It is not playing house. You have to leave us and your home for ever and live somewhere else with someone else.’ Then he said, even more sternly, ‘It is not like going to stay at your cousin’s. You cannot come back. I will not allow you to come back.’ But after a moment, he added wistfully, ‘That is, as a member of this family. You can visit here, of course, but not to live.’

Ayako was listening respectfully but Tei-ichi did not feel that she was in any way impressed by his speech.

‘Did you realise that Ayako is growing up to be a daring modern girl?’ Tei-ichi complained when he was alone with Kei that night.

Kei put a cup of tea in front of her husband and sat directly on the tatami floor without a zabuton, a cushion.

‘Has Ayako done something wrong?’ she asked.

‘I asked her what she thought of marrying Dr Shintaro.’

‘It was kind of you to ask how she feels about it.’

‘Hum!’

Tei-ichi realised that it had been thoughtful of him. A lot of girls would not be given the opportunity to express their opinion. Marriage was the union of two families regardless of the sentiments of the persons immediately concerned.

Kei had not been told about the proposal from the Miwas.

‘So, are you giving her to the Miwas?’

‘There is no reason why not. He is a splendid fellow. But Ayako is too young. She does not know what marriage means. She does not know anything about men and women.’

‘So, what did Ayako say?’ As Tei-ichi went silent, Kei prompted him.

Tei-ichi remembered his surprise.

‘Amazing!’ He suddenly looked animated and young, telling Kei what he had discovered. ‘Kei, she is not a child any more. She said she wanted to marry Dr Shintaro. She said she knew about him already. Can you believe it? She seems to understand what marriage means.’ Then he repeated, ‘I thought she was only a child.’

Kei laughed. She was not disquieted. She merely said, ‘Girls mature early.’

Tei-ichi felt that he was slighted by both mother and daughter. He straightened up a little. He regained his air of importance.

‘She said she had gone to the station to see Dr Shintaro. Such behaviour is not allowed. From now on, teach her manners and be strict with her. You must not let her go out on her own.’

‘Yes.’ Kei bowed a little and stopped laughing. She admitted to herself that it had been indiscreet for a young unmarried girl of a decent family to go out with her brother, without her knowledge. But in the big house that the Shirais had to manage, there were not enough maids to accompany Ayako every time she went out. Kei had to spare Shige to accompany Ayako for sewing and koto music lessons. Kei’s youngest son, Hideto, was not a year old yet. Shige’s daughter, Kiyo, would have to clean the kitchen and perhaps Kei herself would carry the baby on her back while she prepared the meals ... She could manage. It would all be worthwhile if Ayako could marry such a well-qualified man.

‘We have to prepare her to become a suitable bride for the eldest son of the Miwas,’ Tei-ichi was saying. ‘Don’t be lazy about chaperoning her. It is your responsibility.’ While he was talking to Kei, he made up his mind about his daughter’s marriage.

‘Yes,’ Kei said, looking at her folded hands on her lap.

‘There will be a lot of expenses, to be equal to the Miwas. But we must do our best not to shame ourselves. We must also think of Ayako’s position after she has married. We have to send her off properly. The boys’ education might have to be reconsidered. I hope you understand that,’ Tei-ichi told his wife solemnly.

‘Yes,’ Kei said again, but she was not as worried about money as Tei-ichi was. When the negotiations started, she would gently suggest that her husband have a frank talk with Shobei. Shobei must know the Shirais’ financial situation. If it was money he wanted, he certainly would have accepted the Abes’ daughter. He would not be as unworldly as her husband. Kei sensed that her sons’ education, on the other hand, was far more important than before. They were the family assets, not a large trousseau.

She went back to the kitchen where Shige was supervising Kiyo, who was measuring rice and washing it ready for the next day. Shige had come to the Shirais as Kei’s personal maid when she married Tei-ichi. They had grown up together.

‘O’Shige san,’ Kei called. ‘Come here a minute.’

When Shige went into the chanoma, a small back living room next to the kitchen, Kei was sitting by the hibachi, an elaborate charcoal burner. An iron kettle was always placed on it during the day and from it now came the soft noise of water evaporating.

‘Sit down for a minute.’

Kei pointed towards the other side of the hibachi. As soon as Shige sat down, Kei giggled and whispered, ‘Ayako gave dansama such a surprise.’

She remembered how her husband was flurried and lost his usual dignified air of importance.

‘He is so naive!’ She kept on laughing. Shige, too, laughed.

‘Oh, men are all very naive.’

‘They think they are cleverer than us.’

‘What happened?’ Shige’s husband was bringing in wood from outside and, hearing the laughter, poked his head into the chanoma.

‘Go away. This is women’s talk.’ Shige waved her hand to chase him away. The two women continued to chat to each other, giving vent to feelings pent up by the strain of constant obedience.

As Kei hoped, Ayako was welcomed and treated like a real daughter by Shobei and his wife. Most of her trousseau was made up of the ‘presents of welcome’ from the Miwas. This did not shame the Shirais. On the contrary, people realised that Shobei esteemed the Shirais and their respect for the Shirais increased. At the same time, they appreciated Shobei’s generosity. Shintaro loved his young and lovely wife. Ayako adored him. For her, there was no one as handsome, intelligent and kind as he was. She looked up to her husband with respect and worshipped him as though he was a god. Her obedience to him was sincere.

For ten years, there was nothing but happiness in the Miwa family. The villagers said, ‘Even the sun shines brighter over their house.’

When Ayako produced a healthy first child, even though it was a girl, there was a celebration. She was named Takeko. Then, two years later, in the first year of a new century, 1900, Haruko was born. Slight disappointment was felt at the arrival of a second daughter, but the husband was thirty-five and the wife was only nineteen.

‘We’ll have more children,’ Shintaro said to Shobei.

‘Of course you will,’ he answered.

When a third daughter was born, Shintaro, who had been telling his wife that he was not at all worried whether it would be a boy or a girl, had to walk around the garden before he went to see her to make sure he looked cheerful and pleased. The third child was called Sachiko.

It was when Ayako was pregnant for the fourth time that, one frosty morning, Shobei went to inspect his charcoal-making lodge. Wearing his padded jerkin, he bent forward and walked on hurriedly. As he came to the foot of the steep stone steps leading up to a temple, he made out a pair of women’s footwear left neatly at the bottom. He was not surprised. The temple was famous for divine favours for childless women and women without sons. They would go to the temple every day and climb up and down the steps barefoot for their wishes to be fulfilled. During the day, there were always one or two women in the vicinity who had come from far away.

In the grey light, he saw Kei coming down the steps. Unaware that the passer-by was Shobei, Kei squatted once more in supplication when she reached the bottom of the steps. Kei must have been there every morning praying for Ayako to have a boy, before Tei-ichi got up. Tei-ichi’s dislike of what he called superstition was well known.

And a son, Shuichi, was born. Shobei opened kegs of saké and invited the villagers. He ordered pink and white rice cakes from the largest cake shop in town and distributed them. He also donated a large sum of money to the temple. It was in honour of the quiet figure who was praying barefoot in the icy morning for the sake of her daughter and her family. It was his way of thanking her without telling her.

All day, relatives and friends arrived. They brought a large red sea bream as a symbol of felicitation, silk, cakes and other presents. In the kitchen, sushi was prepared in quantity. Only one person did not participate in the party. In the quiet inner room, Ayako was fast asleep.

That was the happiest day for the Miwas.











2 (#ulink_65bbf6a7-581e-566b-8bd4-2d34960bcdb8)

The Russians (#ulink_65bbf6a7-581e-566b-8bd4-2d34960bcdb8)


At the outbreak of the Russo-Japanese War, the International Red Cross appointed Shintaro to be responsible for war casualties. He was one of the few doctors in the country qualified in European medicine. He was stationed on an island of Oki in the Japan Sea where the Red Cross Hospital was set up. Anticipating that the war would last more than a year, Shintaro took his wife and young family with him.

‘Haruko ojosama, there is a Russian man’s body washed up on the shore. Let’s go and see,’ a young servant said to Haruko.

He knew she would come. He was excited and itching to go, but thought that it would be prudent to take one of the children with him. It would look better than leaving work on his own. Of the four children in the Miwa family, the younger two were not old enough, while it was unthinkable to ask Haruko’s older sister, Takeko. At the age of seven, Takeko was a prim young lady. Haruko was different. When she heard the servant, she neither asked questions nor hesitated.

Haruko went out through the gate ahead of the servant. Once outside the garden, the servant rolled up his hakama (wide trousers). Haruko hitched up the skirt of her cotton kimono. Both of them took off their geta (wooden footwear) and, carrying them in their hands, ran along the dusty lane leading to the sea shore.

There was a crowd of some fifty people standing on the beach looking at the body, which was lying on the sand face up. It was late spring and the breeze felt pleasant to the people who were standing around.

‘Huge!’ a well-tanned and bow-legged man exclaimed, looking at the body.

‘If the country is big, it is natural that the people are big,’ someone else said. He meant to state a fact, but the villagers broke out into fits of laughter. ‘They may be big, but we defeated them.’

The Japanese navy had attacked a Russian task force and won an outright victory. Everybody was good-humoured, as though this success was a personal achievement. They forgot about the dead body for a moment. It lay as though it had never known life.

Several children tried to peep between the onlookers’ legs and were scolded and chased away, but someone noticed Haruko and said, ‘Ah, the doctor’s daughter,’ and let her get inside the circle of men.

Haruko thought that the colour of his hair was strange, like an ear of wheat. The face was unnaturally pallid. The eyes were closed. Haruko crouched down to take a closer look.

‘Aren’t you afraid, Haruko ojosama?’ a shop-keeper asked. She shook her head. There was hardly anything that made her afraid, she thought. She was not like Takeko, who was scared of almost everything and squeamish as well.

‘Look at this.’ Someone standing behind Haruko pointed at the chest of the body. A gold chain with a green enamelled ball about one centimetre in diameter hung from the neck. She had noticed it but was not sure if she was allowed to touch it. Tiny diamonds encircled a small piece of glass at the top of the green ball, and threw little rainbow-coloured lights in the sun.

The man bent over the body and picked up the pendant, turning it around. Standing up, he told Haruko to look through the top. It was a small magnifying glass. When she managed to focus, she gasped. There was a foreign lady inside the small green ball. She was sitting sideways with one elbow lightly resting on a cushion. She had long reddish golden hair and blue eyes. Her shoulders were bare. She had something red and gold around her neck and on her ear.

‘Haruko ojosama,’ the servant whispered, and poked at her. She turned around indignantly and realised that her father was coming with several people, among whom were the head of the village and the chief of police.

Her father was busy talking to the others about identifying the body and taking it to the temple.

‘Do not touch him. You must respect the dead, enemy or not,’ she heard him say to the villagers. He was also saying to the police chief, ‘There may be more bodies drifting this way.’

Two days before, Haruko had been to the beach with the same servant and they had seen many columns of black smoke on the horizon.

‘There are fifty Russian warships.’ Someone was knowledgeable. ‘They came all the way from the North Sea, taking eight months.’

‘Eight months!’ a fisherman repeated in surprise. ‘Ships like that cannot be in the sea for long without supplies. Barnacles and seaweed grow on the hull. If they are not cleaned off they will slow down the ship. Even our little boat ...’

‘Yes, yes.’ The first man interrupted the chatter impatiently.

The world knew the difficulties of the task force and watched its heroic progress through the Baltic Sea and the North Sea, the Atlantic and Indian Oceans, the South China Sea, the East China Sea and, finally, the Sea of Japan. Anchorages en route were mainly hostile. The long suffering of the sailors was nearly over. The year was 1905.

The motive for this extraordinary expedition by the Russians was to secure command of the Sea of Japan by reinforcing the First Pacific Fleet based at Port Arthur. The Russians had leased this port at the southern tip of Manchuria from the Chinese. But Port Arthur had fallen and the entire First Fleet had been destroyed by the Japanese navy. The new objective of the Russian Commander Rozhdestvensky, was to carry as many of his warships as possible safely into Vladivostok, north of the Sea of Japan. The last thing he wanted was to meet the Japanese en route.

For the Japanese the confrontation with the Russian fleet was the culmination of half a century of struggle and preparation. Technology was behind. The nation was poor. Most people had only millet and dried fish to eat. And yet the Japanese had invested heavily in the navy. Those in power were conscious of the vulnerability of an island nation that lacked the natural resources to modernise. A nearby land empire in China would be a lifeline. If they lost the sea battle against the Russians, the Japanese army, which was narrowly winning in Manchuria, would be isolated. It would not take long for them to be ousted.

As the Russian ships neared their destination they had to decide whether to take the direct and shorter route to Vladivostok through the Tsushima Strait into the Sea of Japan or sail along the east of the Japanese archipelago in the Pacific Ocean. The Japanese did not have enough warships to meet them in two places. Which route would the Russians choose? This was the question in everyone’s mind. The nervousness of naval headquarters permeated down to the streets. Rumour had it that a samurai in white clothes had appeared in a dream to the Empress and said, ‘Don’t worry. They will come to the Sea of Japan.’

Standing on the beach, Haruko saw the columns of black smoke far away above the horizon, and heard a man mutter, ‘Thank God, they came this way.’

The news that Haruko and the servant had been down to the beach to see the dead body had already reached home by the time they entered the house.

‘What have you been up!’ Ayako sighed and smiled at the same time. ‘Can’t you behave like a girl?’

‘How can you go and see a body!’ Takeko made a show of shuddering and covered her mouth with both hands in a gesture of horror.

Haruko ignored her sister. She did not dislike Takeko, who was two years older, but she could not respect her.

In the morning, Takeko often said, ‘I don’t feel well,’ before setting off for school. ‘In that case, you had better stay at home,’ her Miwa grandmother, would say and Takeko would stay at home. After all, she was a girl; she did not need an education. As a girl of a well-to-do and long-established family she would have good marriage prospects if she was pretty, and that was all that mattered. Even at school, Takeko often said she felt ill and went home, leaving her books and other belongings for Haruko to bring back later.

For Haruko, school was important. Besides, she enjoyed it. The work was easy for her. She could dominate the village rascals in the classroom. She was given prizes. And she always finished her homework before the lesson was over.

That night, the Miwa children sat on cushions placed on the tatami floor while their father had his dinner. The children usually finished their meal early around a big table with their mother. A maid sat and attended them. Shintaro had his meal later, attended by his wife. He had a small table to himself, and Ayako sat by a little rice tub with a tray on her lap. The dishes were more elaborate than for the earlier gathering. There was soup in a black lacquered bowl with gold and silver chrysanthemums painted on it, a broiled fish with garnish and more plates of vegetables in season. Saké was served as well. As Shintaro ate, he talked to his children.

‘And what did you see in the pendant that you were peeping in?’ he asked Haruko that night. He had seen her on the beach.

‘I saw a lady. Is she Russian?’ Haruko relaxed. She was not going to be scolded.

‘Very likely. She must be his wife or fiancée.’

‘She had jewels around her neck.’

‘Did you like them?’

‘The jewels? I don’t know,’ she said. They had seemed so unreal that she had no feelings except awe. Shintaro laughed.

‘What is a pendant?’ Takeko wanted to know.

‘Russians are enemy,’ three-year-old Sachiko said.

‘Haruko.’ Her father called her as she was getting ready to go to school the next day. ‘I want you to come with me to the Russian hospital ship today. I will send someone to fetch you from school.’

‘But I cannot miss school.’ It was an awful dilemma. To miss school was bad. On the other hand, she had been told that her father’s word was absolute.

‘I will send a note to the teacher. It is to help me visit the wounded and make them feel better.’

‘Russians?’ Ayako opened her eyes wide with astonishment. She forgot her usual modesty in front of her husband and protested, ‘You cannot go to the enemy place with a little girl. They will kill you.’

‘No, no. They will not kill us. They are doctors like me and their patients.’

Ayako was not totally convinced but did not say any more.

‘In foreign countries,’ Shintaro explained gently, ‘it is the wife’s duty to go with her husband on such occasions.’

‘Wife!’

‘Yes. Wife. You see, in foreign countries, wives attend dinner parties looking like the lady that Haruko saw in the pendant, and are able to carry on conversations with other men.’

‘Do foreign women eat with men from the same table?’

‘Yes, they do.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they think it is sociable.’

Most of Shintaro’s knowledge of life in Russia came from reading translations of novels by writers such as Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy.

Although she did not understand why Shintaro wanted to take Haruko to see the Russians, Ayako had Haruko’s special kimono, which was kept for New Year’s Day, spread out on the tatami floor and dressed her daughter.

‘You must stay with your otohsan. I heard that foreign men have hair all over their body like animals,’ she told Haruko. A rickshaw came and Haruko climbed up after her father. He held her in front of him. She was almost hidden behind a large bunch of flowers that the servant handed to her.

‘Foreign wives are like geishas,’ Ayako confided to her maid, Kiyo, later.

The hospital ship was a small vessel of about three and a half thousand tons but as Haruko stood in a little boat ready to be hoisted on board, the side of the ship soared up beside her like a cliff. They were winched up in a kind of basket. Shintaro was tall among fishermen and tenant farmers but the person who approached them on the deck was of another species. He was like a bear. A reddish beard covered half of his red face around a big nose. Her mother was right. His hands were covered with golden hair even between the knuckles.

‘This ojisan is the captain of this ship,’ Shintaro told Haruko. Although ‘ojisan’ meant ‘uncle’ it was freely used by children for men of their parents’ age. But this giant was not another ojisan. Shintaro amiably shook hands with him and talked in German. Then he handed Haruko the large bunch of flowers he was carrying for her. Pushing her gently towards the Russian, he said, ‘Give the flowers to the captain.’

The giant said something. His voice was deep and sonorous. He took the flowers from her and, still talking to Shintaro, put his large hand on her head. The hand covered her head and she could see the tips of the fingers. The hand was heavy. She shuddered a little. Her whole body went rigid.

‘Were you scared?’ Takeko asked when father and daughter came home.

‘No,’ Haruko said. ‘Not at all.’ She had decided never to tell anyone that she had wet herself when the large hand was placed on her head.

Soon after the Tsushima naval battle, the war ended, and the Miwas went back to the family home in the southern prefecture of the main island by the Seto Inland Sea.











3 (#ulink_50829683-0928-5e07-b355-b96c061ae09f)

Haruko and Her Father (#ulink_50829683-0928-5e07-b355-b96c061ae09f)


In the autumn after he had been married for ten years, Shintaro caught a cold and could not shake it off. His university friends, who were well-established doctors by then, were consulted. He had suffered from incipient tuberculosis as a student. It had been contained, but it seemed to have resurfaced.

Shintaro was afraid that his condition might be infectious, particularly to his family. He bought a small house not far from home along the coast of the Seto Inland Sea and stayed there. His four children were told that he would be better soon and come home, but they were never taken to see their father till his last days.

When the children were told that they were going to the seaside house, they were delighted. The oldest, Takeko, was then ten and the youngest, Shuichi, was just four.

It was balmy autumn weather and the sky was full of clouds like fish scales. The adults talked about a coming storm but all the children, except Takeko, romped about in the garden and played hide and seek. When they were hushed and scolded, Shintaro gestured that they should be allowed to play and watched them from his bed.

A maid came to Haruko to tell her that she was wanted by her father. When she went into the room, Shintaro nodded slightly to Haruko to come near him. After looking at her for a while, he said, ‘Give me your hand.’ When she placed her little hand on his thin veined hand, he whispered, ‘Promise me to help okahsan look after Shuichi, will you? I can rely on you, can I?’

Haruko nodded gravely. She felt an enormous weight of responsibility. She did not understand how she should help her mother. She concluded that they would become very poor like a lot of her school friends. If it was so, there was no problem. She would carry water, wood, and cook meals for Shuichi. She would fight village boys if they harmed her brother. She could picture herself in a tattered kimono going to school hungry because she had given her breakfast to Shuichi. Yes, she would do that.

‘Yes, otohsan, I will,’ she said. Shintaro smiled a little.

It was an honour to be asked. Haruko thought she knew why she was selected. When she was five, she and Takeko were having a nap in a kotatsu, a little charcoal burner in a wooden frame with a cover over it. Haruko was woken up by Takeko’s scream. Takeko had put her foot too near the fire. Her tabi, a sock, was smouldering. Haruko opened a window, scooped up snow in both hands and put it on the burning sock. By the time the grown-ups came, Takeko was still screaming but the fire was out. The burn was not severe.

‘You are such an intelligent child. You are more cool-headed than most grown-ups.’ Her father had patted her head then.

The night Haruko promised her father to look after Shuichi, there was a lot of rain. The sea was rough and the roar of waves was heard very close. Around midnight, a sliding door was quietly opened and Kei came into the room where the children were asleep. She woke the three girls and carried Shuichi.

When they went into the room where Shintaro lay, they were told to sit by his bedside. Shuichi was made to sit first and the girls followed. Their mother held a bowl of water and a brush for them. In turn, the children were handed the brush and told to wet their father’s lips.

The doctor was at the other side of the bed holding Shintaro’s wrist.

‘I am sorry ... Please look after Shuichi and the other children, and help Ayako,’ Shintaro said in a low but clear voice. In Confucius’ terms, Shintaro was an undutiful son, as his death preceded those of his parents and gave them grief.

‘Don’t worry. Shuichi will be well taken care of as the heir of the Miwas. And the other children, too, of course,’ Tei-ichi said from behind Shobei. Shobei had his arms folded and did not move.

‘Thank you,’ Shintaro said, and closed his eyes.

The wind blew hard and bamboo bushes kept hitting the shutters. The electric bulb hanging from the ceiling swayed in a draught and moved their shadows.

The next morning, Haruko found that all the white hagi flowers had gone from the garden, blown away by the wind.

‘He was blessed with too much,’ people said. ‘He was intelligent, handsome and rich. He had a lovely wife and children. He was so lucky that the devil was jealous of him.’

The coffin was taken back home and there was a quiet family funeral that night. The public Buddhist ceremony was held at home, three days later. Ayako wore a black kimono and the children were all in white. Shuichi was sitting nearest to the altar as chief mourner. Ayako sat next to him and then the girls in order of age.

Baron Kida, a close friend of Shobei, was the senior member of the funeral committee. Led by the head priest of the family temple, the ceremony was impressive and well attended. The house was filled with wreaths sent by the famous. They spilled out from the house through the gate into the street.

The mourners were struck by Ayako’s loveliness. At twenty-eight, she seemed to be at the height of refined beauty. The black kimono enhanced her classical features. It was customary to include a black mourning kimono in a trousseau, and Kei had bought the most expensive black silk. Kei had always been frugal and Tei-ichi had been shocked at its price.

‘It is not necessary to have such good quality,’ he protested.

Kei was undaunted on this occasion.

‘Black silk is very revealing,’ she said. ‘If the material is cheap, the colour is muddy and it will stand out when everybody is in black. The young wife of the Miwas cannot look unstylish.’

Pale-faced but composed, Ayako sat between Shuichi and Takeko. The expensive black silk was almost luminous. The edge of her collar against the dark kimono was so white that it almost hurt her eyes. The guests forgot for a moment the rites and incense when they saw her.

Shintaro had prepared her for the day. During his long illness, he had often talked about her life after he had gone.

‘I have loved you from the moment I saw you,’ he said. Ayako was unaccustomed to this kind of expression and at first she looked at him blankly. He took her hand. ‘I will always love you wherever I am.’

It was Shintaro who told her to become a Christian. He thought that her simple adoration of him could find an outlet in the worship of Christ. The teachings would comfort her.

The funeral went on for a long time. Many people came from all over the area. The thick white smoke of incense and the incessant chanting of sutras continued. Shuichi stayed still all through the funeral and people talked about how good he was.

Shobei sat squarely right behind Shuichi. He kept repeating to himself, as though to convince fate, that he had to live for twenty more years. ‘I have to see to Shuichi until he finishes university.’

The next day, an ox cart made a slow journey to the temple through winding village streets carrying the coffin. The villagers came out to pay their last respects to Shintaro. Most women cried, but their tears were for the four-year-old Shuichi in a white kimono, carrying his father’s name tablet and walking behind the coffin. Haruko walked with him. It was either Ayako or Takeko’s place to be nearest to Shuichi, but no one protested. In the family, Haruko was beginning to be regarded as trustworthy.











4 (#ulink_3f5c7411-3269-5de8-a089-cc904e7320be)

Shobei’s Garden (#ulink_3f5c7411-3269-5de8-a089-cc904e7320be)


Shobei was sitting in his study. It was a room connected to the main house by a covered corridor and faced a garden of its own. The day was fine and all the sliding doors were open. He was at a desk under the window on which were a large abacus, a lacquered box with brush and ink stone, and a wooden box containing a substantial number of documents.

The chrysanthemums in the garden were vivid yellow. He had forgotten that their season had returned. After the funeral, courtesy visits to and from relatives and friends had kept them busy for several weeks. A carp jumped out of the water of a large pond.

He remembered the day when he waded into the pond in a formal hakama and kimono with family crests to catch a carp for a member of the imperial family. That year, on the plain nearby, the Emperor had held grand military manoeuvres over three days and the Miwas were chosen to accommodate a prince. A special cook was hired from the town and the carp was duly presented to the imperial table.

Shobei and Shintaro were invited to sit at the table with the prince and allowed to share the dishes. Ayako, in her specially prepared dark blue kimono with painted and embroidered chrysanthemums, attended the table.

When the prince left, having thanked the host and his son for their hospitality, he fixed his eyes on Shintaro and said, ‘You are a lucky fellow to have such a beautiful wife.’

After he had gone, Shintaro remarked, ‘Thank goodness, we aren’t living in the barbaric feudal period. He might have tried to take Ayako with him.’

‘Don’t be disrespectful to the imperial family,’ Shobei scolded his son, but now he understood Shintaro’s concern for Ayako’s vulnerability.

Until Shintaro’s illness became serious, Shobei thought he had been lucky. They lived in the south along the Seto Inland Sea. The climate was mild. The soil was fertile. The sea was productive. He invested well. And he had an excellent son and grandson to carry on the family name.

Shobei sighed and opened the polished wooden box on his desk and took out an envelope. He began to tear it up.

He could hear his own voice telling Shintaro, ‘I am sure to die before you. All the instructions as regards to our property are kept here when you need them.’ He also remembered that Shintaro hesitated as if to say, ‘No doubt you will live for a long time yet,’ but eventually he just said, ‘I shall carry out your instructions, otohsan.’

Shobei’s reminiscence was broken.

‘Did you want me, otohsan?’ Rinji, Shobei’s younger son, came into the room.

‘Oh, yes, sit down.’ Then Shobei said, ‘It’s very mild for November, isn’t it?’

Rinji, who was not in the habit of being received with such a sociable remark from his father, looked a little surprised. Usually if he was called, his father was ready to go straight to business. Shobei’s loneliness might have made him more gentle than usual. The father and son were looking at the carefully tended garden. Rinji wondered why he had been called.

Although Shobei had never heard directly what the villagers were saying about his second son, he could have made a good guess. They were saying that at the Miwas’, the older son had taken everything good with him when he was born, and left only the dregs behind.

Shintaro was tall, but Rinji was short. They had the same features, yet Shintaro was handsome, and he had a natural grace. Rinji lacked refinement. Shintaro was intelligent, but Rinji had not learnt much at school.

Shobei chose a nearby stonemason’s daughter called Tetsu as Rinji’s wife. It was Shobei’s view that his second son needed a clever wife who could manage his affairs, and not an innocent girl who had been brought up protected in a good family.

At his marriage, Shobei gave Rinji one-third of his property and made him establish his own household independent from the main family.

‘You could give Rinji half the property,’ Shintaro had suggested. ‘You gave me my education and I could support my family.’ But Shobei had been adamant. Rinji was also given land including forests. If managed well, they produced good timber. Rinji had a new house built on the other side of the village. After eight years of marriage, he and Tetsu had no children.

When Shintaro was alive, Shobei felt no pressure to tie the loose knot in the family affairs. Now that he had gone, the bridge he had to build between himself and four-year-old Shuichi was long. Every obstacle had to be removed and the foundations had to be made solid for Shuichi’s sake.

Recently Shobei had been hearing an unsavoury rumour. Tetsu’s nephew, who had run away from his family trade of stonemasonry, had come home and was often at Rinji’s house.

‘People are saying that Tetsu is passing a lot of money to her family. She may eventually adopt her nephew as their heir,’ Shobei’s wife said to him one night. ‘That nephew of hers does not have a good reputation. I think you must have a word with Rinji san.’

When she told Shobei this, his wife felt a sense of retaliation. She had been brought up in an old family which still prided itself on its bygone samurai status. It was beyond her comprehension that her own family should mix socially with people like stonemasons and vendors. Her own son Rinji should not have been treated like a good-for-nothing. She felt rebellious now and again against Shobei’s dogmatic ruling of the family, and she had opposed Rinji’s marriage as strongly as she dared.

Now Shobei turned to Rinji.

‘I hear that Tetsu is passing a lot of money to her family. Is that true?’ he asked without further preliminaries.

‘Oh, well, you know, otohsan, how it is. She might have helped them out once or twice, a little here and there.’

‘You do not have a plan for adopting your wife’s nephew as your successor, do you?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. Nothing definite yet, anyway.’

‘Good,’ Shobei said. ‘You will adopt your niece Haruko. One day she can take a husband and succeed your family.’

As Rinji did not answer right away, Shobei said, ‘That is the best plan for you.’

‘Yes, otohsan.’

‘When Haruko is a little older, I will explain to her and we will make it public. At the moment, it will suffice to decide among ourselves.’

Haruko and Shuichi. Between the two, the families would continue safely, Shobei thought.

Towards the end of the year, Shobei called on Tei-ichi.

‘I came to apologise to both of you,’ Shobei began to say to Tei-ichi. Kei appeared with cups of tea, bowed, and started to leave the room. Shobei stopped her.

‘I asked you to give us your daughter and promised that we would make her happy. Now, I have made her a young widow.’

‘Don’t be absurd!’ Tei-ichi was genuinely moved. ‘Even if it was not long enough, Ayako had a lovely life with your family and now has wonderful children. She does not regret, neither do we.’

‘Thank you.’

After a pause, Shobei said, ‘I came to ask you a favour. I have been thinking about Ayako and the children a lot recently. Since Shintaro died, her days are very lonely. The children, too, need a more lively atmosphere. I wonder if you would agree to have Ayako and the children come to live with you. It is not that I am giving them back to you. If you accept, I would like to provide for them.’

Soon after that, Ayako and the four children went back to live in the Shirais’ house in Kitani village. Ayako insisted on leaving most of her belongings at the Miwas until later. The children were told that they would be staying at their Shirai grandparents for a holiday. They wrapped some of their clothes in small bundles, each using a furoshiki, a square cloth.

‘What about our school things?’ Haruko asked.

‘You take them with you. We will be there for a while as Yasu ojisama is coming home from Tokyo.’

‘We can play with Hiden sama!’ They were delighted. Hideto was the youngest of Kei’s sons and only two years older than Takeko. They called him Hide niisama, older brother, instead of ojisama, uncle, but the pronunciation had degenerated to Hiden sama. He was an excellent swimmer, gymnast and runner. He was a hero among the children.

Ayako insisted on walking. She wanted to make the leaving as casual as possible. A servant carried Shuichi’s furoshiki and the children ran and chatted.

‘A nice day. Where are you going, Shu dansama as well?’ Villagers stopped and asked.

‘We are visiting the Shirais. My brother is coming home from Tokyo,’ Ayako replied politely.

When Ayako had come to Shobei’s study to say goodbye, both of them made light of the leave-taking.

‘Give Shirai oji-isama and obahsama my regards, and all of you, be good. I will come and see you soon,’ Shobei said to the four children.

Although his study was built away from the main house and he had seldom heard the children before, the quietness was oppressive.

‘What I have done is best for Ayako and the children.’ He rested his chin in the cup of his hands and looked at the garden. ‘The Shirais’ sons are wonderful company for Shuichi. He needs boys around him. And Ayako ... I could not bear watching a beautiful young woman living day after day, lonely and quiet, just waiting for her children to grow up. I don’t think she would want to re-marry even if she was advised to take another husband. She is thinking of Shintaro all the time. Every corner of this house reminds her of the days she has been happy with him.’

‘Yes, I have done the right thing. The Shirais are a lively family, Kei san will not let Ayako dwell on memories. Ayako will eventually regain her cheerful self that Shintaro loved so much. We all did ...’

Shobei stayed in his study all day.











5 (#ulink_6555c89b-aadb-5b7d-a2e7-787caf4a285a)

Spring (#ulink_6555c89b-aadb-5b7d-a2e7-787caf4a285a)


In the spring, lots of snakes came out from between the stones of the walls surrounding the Shirais’ house. Haruko and Sachiko were collecting cast-off snake skins which were like lace. It was six months since they had returned to their grandparents’ house with their mother.

‘Good afternoon, girls,’ a tall black figure said. The two girls looked at each other and ran away from him to the back of the house.

‘Where is Hiden sama?’

Shige’s husband stopped cutting wood and, resting his hands on the handle of the axe, told them, ‘He was with Shu dansama in the garden.’ The two boys were target shooting with handmade bows and arrows. The girls ran to them.

‘Hiden sama, Shu-chan.’

Hideto ignored them. Shuichi copied everything that Hideto did.

‘Listen,’ Haruko said, panting, and Sachiko giggled. ‘The crow has come.’

‘Oh, no.’ Hideto stopped shooting and looked at the girls.

‘I have an idea,’ Haruko said. ‘Let’s all run away to the woods and hide. Are you coming, Hiden sama?’

If they were going to the woods, they needed Hideto to protect them from snakes, village boys and all sorts of dangers.

The crow was a nickname the children had given to Rev. Kondo because of his long black robe. He came every Wednesday afternoon from a nearby town to perform Christian services at the Shirais’. Everybody at home including the servants was expected to attend. Shobei had ordered an organ for Ayako from Tokyo and a former schoolmistress, came and played it.

Not only was the service boring for the children, but Rev. Kondo had an unnaturally long face. When his jaw was pulled down to sing a hymn, the girls and young maids in the back row had to endure excruciating hardship not to burst out laughing. On one occasion, one of the maids who sat right behind Haruko suddenly slapped her on the back and said, ‘Oh, no, Haruko ojosama,’ and went into fits of hysterical laughter. Everybody turned around and stared at Haruko. Altogether, the service was something they did not look forward to.

Later, the children were called by Tei-ichi.

‘Hideto.’ Tei-ichi addressed Hideto in a severe voice. ‘It was very rude of you to run away from the service when Rev. Kondo came all the way from the town to teach us lessons.’

‘Yes, otohsan.’

‘You should be old enough to know that. It was particularly naughty of you to have told the younger ones to run away with you.’

‘I am sorry.’

Haruko’s heart was beating fast, but Hideto did not make any excuses.

‘Go to the storehouse.’

The storehouse was at the end of the corridor and was built to withstand fire. It had mud walls which were one metre thick and no window. Two thick oak doors separated it from the main house. At the outbreak of fire, the doors would be sealed with mud. It was dark and cold inside.

To be locked up in the storehouse was the worst punishment.

Towards night, clanging a bunch of large keys, Kei came in, a lamp in hand.

‘Hideto?’ She held up the lamp and called, peering inside. ‘Come with me and we will apologise to otohsan.’

Kei and her son bowed to Tei-ichi. Kei said, ‘Now he knows he has done wrong. He says that he will not do it again. Please forgive him.’ She turned to Hideto. ‘Apologise to otohsan.’

After that Kei sat Hideto down and gave him his evening meal which she had kept for him.

In the summer, Haruko, Sachiko and Shuichi followed Hideto around. When he appeared, village bullies left them alone. In order to establish this position, Hideto had been involved in a few serious fights and had again been locked up in the storehouse by Tei-ichi.

Unlike the Miwas, the Shirais had evening meals together. Now that the older boys were away at university and school, Tei-ichi, Hideto and Shuichi sat at the top of the table. One evening, Tei-ichi looked down towards the end of the table and said, ‘I saw monkeys today up in a tree in the village.’

‘Monkeys?’ Kei asked. ‘I have never seen them so far away from the mountains.’

‘These monkeys I saw today were strange monkeys. They were wearing kimonos.’

‘I see,’ Kei said. ‘You had better tell them to go back to the mountains next time you see them.’

‘I will try. But I wonder if they will understand ... After all, they are monkeys.’

Haruko and Sachiko were red in the face and hunched their shoulders, making themselves as small as possible. Ayako looked at them amused. As Shobei wished, she was treated by Tei-ichi and Kei as though she was one of the children. She was more relaxed and happier.

‘When I was going on my rounds,’ Tei-ichi would say at another meal, ‘I saw two naked girls swimming in the river with the village children. They looked exactly like ours, but I don’t suppose we have such ill-behaved children in our family, do we? What do you think, Ayako?’

Everybody, even the servants, laughed, except Haruko and Sachiko.

Tomboys ought to be restrained, Tei-ichi believed, but he wanted Shuichi to be vigorous, even boisterous. He was the important charge trusted to him by the Miwas. As a doctor, he did not think that tuberculosis was hereditary, as it was generally believed, but suspected that there might be a constitutional tendency to the disease. Shuichi was tall for his age, but his neck was thin and he looked delicate. In Tei-ichi’s opinion, too many women fussed around him.

One evening, in early autumn, the sun was still high, but it was cooler and the smell of burning dry leaves was drifting in the air. The household was beginning to get busy. The bathtub had to be filled, washing had to be taken in and put away, and the evening meal had to be cooked. By the well, Shige was scaling a large fish. Shobei, who often went fishing early in the morning, had hung his catch at the Shirais’ gate on his way home before the household woke up.

‘Mata san,’ Kei was calling.

‘I sent him to town for shopping,’ Shige’s voice was heard.

‘Haruko nesan,’ Sachiko said, ‘I want a notebook.’ Nesan meant older sister.

‘I will give you one. It is nearly new.’

Sachiko indicated her dissatisfaction by being silent.

‘Let’s go to town,’ Sachiko insisted.

It took about an hour to walk to town and there was a tacit understanding that the children were not allowed to go on their own, especially in the evening.

‘Haruko nesan, let’s go to town,’ Sachiko repeated. Since they had moved to the Shirais’, Kei left social obligations more and more to Ayako and she was often out or away from home for a few days. Takeko had always been Kei’s favourite and hung around her grandmother. Sachiko was increasingly dependent on Haruko.

As the two girls started out, Shuichi appeared from somewhere and followed them.

‘Shu-chan, we will be back soon,’ Haruko tried. They wanted to return home before dark. They did not want to be saddled with a four-year-old boy.

‘I want to come.’ He looked at Haruko.

‘Where is Hiden sama?’ she said, but even before she asked, she knew Hideto had been away the whole afternoon with his friends. He must be climbing up a waterfall, or hanging on vines and jumping across a stream. He would no doubt be a general assaulting ‘Port Arthur’.

‘All right, you can come.’ Haruko stopped walking. She tidied Shuichi’s kimono and tied his sash tight. She held his hand and started off on the path between the rice paddies.

They saw Matabei coming back from shopping.

He asked, ‘Oh, Haruko ojosama and Sachiko ojosama, Shuichi dansama, as well? And where are you going?’

Sachiko said, ‘Just over there.’ She was quicker at tact than Haruko.

‘Over there?’ Matabei bent his head on one side and looked at the girls. ‘Don’t be too long, ojosama,’ he said.

‘Oh, no, we’ll be back very soon,’ Sachiko said.

They started to run. Matabei stood with a pole over his shoulder, shopping dangling from both ends. He looked after them for a minute, then went home, taking steps in rhythm with the movement of the pliable pole.

When they arrived in the little town with one narrow street, the sun had gone farther down and one side of the street was almost in darkness. At the back of a small shop which sold an assortment of stationery, sweets and haberdashery, there was a large persimmon tree laden with red fruit. The persimmons were shining in the evening sun.

The shopkeeper’s wife came out, wiping her hands on her apron, and opened her eyes wide in surprise.

‘Oh, Shuichi dansama, and Haruko ojosama and Sachiko ojosama, that was a long way to come.’

They did not know that they had to pay for the notebook but the woman did not worry about it either. She knew she would be paid later. When they said, ‘Thank you,’ and went out, she called after them, ‘Go home quickly. The autumn sun sinks very fast.’

‘I want to go home,’ Shuichi said. He must have been tired. It was getting dark rapidly and Haruko and Sachiko, too, were homesick. The worry of being scolded began to seem real as well.

‘I am hungry,’ Shuichi said. Haruko and Sachiko also felt hungry.

‘Let’s take the railway track,’ Sachiko suggested. The idea had crossed Haruko’s mind. If they took the railway track, it would take only about half an hour to get home, but they had been told by Tei-ichi many times that they must not walk on it. Even for Hideto, whose activities were hardly restricted at all, the railroad was an exception.

‘I want to go home,’ Shuichi repeated, holding Haruko’s hand. Haruko made up her mind.

They jumped from one sleeper to the next, and sang songs. There were lots of lovely pebbles to collect. They came to a railway bridge. They squatted and looked through the railings. Far below, the Kitaka river was heard, but the water was dark. Their village, Kitani, was along the river, a little upstream. It was the familiar river where they swam in summer when they thought no adults were around.

Home was not far away. They could get off the railway soon after the bridge and, within ten minutes, reach the big gate.

Haruko was relieved and astounded almost at the same time. She heard the tooting of a train and, as she looked, a light was approaching rapidly.

‘Sachiko san, sit here.’ Her voice was harsh in her anxiety. ‘And Shu-chan next to Sachiko san.’

The thought which flashed through Haruko’s mind was that Shuichi should not die. She had promised her father to look after him. How her mother would cry if she lost Shuichi.

She pushed herself against the railings and told Sachiko and Shuichi to do the same. She reached behind Sachiko’s back to hold Shuichi across his shoulders. The train might kill her. She hoped that Sachiko would be safe, though she might be killed as well. But Shuichi would be protected if there were two people shielding him. He had to be saved.

Now she prayed, ‘Please, God, I am sorry I did not listen to Rev. Kondo. Please help Shu chan for okahsan’s sake.’

It did not take long for the train to pass, thundering by.

‘Shu dansama, Haruko ojosama, Sachiko ojosama.’ They saw a lantern and heard Matabei’s voice. A tenant farmer had told Matabei that he had seen three children walking on the railway track.

Tei-ichi had heard from Matabei how Haruko was sitting with the other two, protecting them.

‘Haruko, were you not afraid yourself ?’ Tei-ichi asked. He was unexpectedly gentle.

‘Yes, but I thought it would be all right if Shu-chan was saved. Okahsan won’t cry.’ As far as she could remember, Haruko had not been afraid. She had been too busy trying to save Shuichi.

Tei-ichi was silent. Haruko was surprised that she was not locked up in the storehouse. Her grandfather’s eyes were a little moist. That surprised her as well. After sitting there for a while, Tei-ichi said, ‘Let’s go and have supper.’

By the time Haruko was ten years old, Shobei’s fears about Rinji had been confirmed. It was well known that Tetsu’s father was losing his business to another stonemason in the next village as he had taken to drinking. His son, Tetsu’s brother, had never been promising. The family debt was accumulating. People gossiped that his daughter’s marriage into a rich family had turned the stonemason’s head.

‘Perhaps we should divorce her,’ Shobei muttered in front of his wife. ‘She has no children. We could send her home. We can give her some money ...’

It was the duty of a bride to bear children for the family she married into. The Miwas had a right to divorce Tetsu. It occurred to Shobei that the Chinese characters for ‘barren woman’ were ‘stone’ and ‘woman’, but his sense of decency restrained him from making a poor joke in front of his wife.

‘To send Tetsu home might be a solution,’ his wife said, ‘but you will not be popular. Even if you gave her money, her relatives would bear a grudge against you, and they are not a small family. It will not be good for Shuichi’s future.’

That was true. The little boy would need as much sympathy and help as possible as he grew up. In this part of the country, where tangerines grew in the winter sun, everything was easy-going, and a peasants’ uprising was unlikely. But society was changing. The Socialist Party had been launched and the People’s Newspaper was in circulation. There were strikes in the factories and mines. Shobei was afraid that when Shuichi grew up, the life of a landowner would not be as easy as it had been.

It was not just the material side of life that was under threat. Although Shobei himself was not directly involved in politics, he was recognised as one of the most powerful men in the area. Officials came from the local government to ask his opinion. Candidates for any government office were said to have to get his unofficial approval as the first step. For a person in such a position, a scandal about a member of his household being treated unkindly had to be avoided.

Shobei said to his wife, ‘You are thoughtful. If you have a suggestion, say it.’ It was the first time he had asked his wife’s opinion on a weighty matter since they had married a long time ago.

‘I think you should pay Tetsu’s father’s debt. It could not be too large for you. If the problem is drinking, the chances are that he will not be able to go back to his business. Pension him off. Then, make Haruko the rightful successor to Rinji san. No one will say you are cruel.’

Shobei folded his arms. He was not reflecting on what his wife had just said. He was simply impressed.

The duty of telling Haruko about the adoption fell on Tei-ichi.

‘You know your Rinji ojisan and Tetsu obasan, don’t you?’ Tei-ichi began.

Haruko had never seen her uncle except at formal family gatherings. The furtiveness of his demeanour as he talked to elderly relatives was plain even to the children. Beside Shintaro he had always been an undistinguished son and a mediocre brother. For the children, he had never been a respected uncle nor a friend.

The relationship between his wife and the children was even more vague. With the sensitivity of the young, they felt she was not quite one of them. Haruko once heard grandmother Miwa say to Tetsu, ‘Tetsu san, wear your kimono a little longer. The mistress of the Miwa branch family has to look graceful.’

Haruko noticed that Tetsu wore her kimono as Shige and Kiyo did, showing her ankles, while Miwa obahsama and Ayako wore theirs long so that the hem almost touched the floor. Only the white toes of their tabi were seen peeping in and out as they walked.

Interpreting Haruko’s silence as expectancy of what was coming, Tei-ichi pressed on.

‘As you know very well, Rinji ojisan and Tetsu obasan do not have children, and they want someone to succeed them. Miwa ojisama thought that you would be a very good person to become their child and carry on their name.’

Haruko was bewildered and stared at Tei-ichi. She did not understand.

In spite of himself, Tei-ichi felt uneasy as his granddaughter gazed at him.

Haruko did not look as though she was going to be tall and slender like Ayako. She would be more like Kei, dainty and lively, but she had inherited her mother’s eyes. They were large and liquid, and the fold of her eyelid was not common among the people around them.

He looked away. He felt that he was unable to explain to a ten-year-old why it was advantageous for the family to inherit Rinji’s property. It was too pragmatic for the innocent.

‘It will be to Shuichi’s advantage in the future,’ he said, and felt the remark struck a chord.

Haruko did not understand why becoming Rinji’s child would help Shuichi, but the children were not in the habit of asking questions of grown-ups.

‘Of course, your Rinji ojisan’s house is not far away, and you don’t have to stay there all the time. Even your surname is not going to change. It is just that when you grow up, you will succeed him.’

‘Do I have to call them otohsan and okahsan?’ Haruko asked anxiously.

‘No, you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.’

She had not grasped the full implications and Tei-ichi’s tone was reassuring. She could do nothing but trust her grandfather.

‘For Shu-chan’s sake, I will do it.’

‘Thank you,’ Tei-ichi said solemnly.

As Haruko came out of her grandfather’s study, she saw Ayako sitting on the verandah. The sun was shining on her thick coiled hair, making it look deep purple. She was bending over a cloth spread on her lap and peeling a persimmon. More fruit lay in a shallow bamboo basket placed near her. Sachiko and Shuichi were sitting on either side of her. Sachiko moved closer to her mother and made a place for Haruko on the same zabuton.

Ayako had a kitchen knife in her right hand and skilfully turned round and round a persimmon held in her left hand. An orange ribbon grew longer and longer and hung from her hand. When the fruit was peeled, she cut it into four pieces, put them on a plate and stuck a toothpick into each one.

As she handed the plate around, a waft of clean gourd water scent that Kei made for the family as a lotion passed over the children.

Ayako picked up the last piece left on the plate and ate it herself.

‘Very sweet,’ she said smiling at the children. She picked up the peel from her lap and put it in the basket. Then she bent down again to peel another fruit.

‘M-m-m,’ Shuichi uttered. Ayako put down the persimmon she was holding and held out her palm to let Shuichi spit out a stone. She wiped her hand with the cloth and picked up the fruit again.

Haruko suddenly thought that it was unfair that she was to be taken away from her family while the other children could live peacefully in such a loving atmosphere. Why did she alone have to go to her uncle’s house when she hardly knew him?

‘I have to go and live with Rinji ojisan,’ she said, and unexpectedly tears started to roll down her cheeks. They were warm and salty. Ayako looked up.

Sachiko said, ‘Why?’ and started to cry herself. ‘Oh, no, I don’t want you to go away,’ she wailed.

‘I don’t want you to go away, either,’ Shuichi cried, too.

Ayako put down the knife and said, ‘Look, you don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. Don’t cry,’ and put her arms around the three children, holding them tight. ‘There is nothing sad about it. It is to keep our family together. There is nothing to worry about at all. God will be with us always.’

Desperation surged through Haruko. She felt the helplessness of her mother without realising it. Still in his mother’s arms, Shuichi stroked Haruko’s hand. She smiled at him. She had to go to Rinji ojisan’s house. She would go because that would help Shuichi.

In Rinji’s house, there were no thick pillars blackened by time and polished by generations of hands like the Miwas’ main house or the Shirais’. Each room was elaborately decorated but small.

‘Come this way,’ Rinji said, and took Haruko to a tiny room built into the garden. ‘Use this as your own. See, you have your own room. Pleased?’ and he left her.

She sat on the tatami floor. Takeko would not be able to stay here, she thought, as she imagined how dark and quiet it would be at night. She untied the furoshiki she had brought with her and, since there was no desk, spread her school books in front of her. Crouching, she opened them.

As it was getting dark and cold, Tetsu came.

‘We will eat now,’ she said, and led the way to the kitchen. A simple meal of rice, miso soup and cooked beans was ready for two. A bowl of pickles was in the centre of the table. Tetsu ate without speaking. She picked up a piece of pickle with her chopsticks and noisily crunched it. Kei and Ayako would certainly frown. It was good manners to take a piece from the bowl into your own plate and eat it. When Tetsu finished eating, she poured tea into her rice bowl. At the Shirais’, tea was served in a tea cup.

‘I will show you how to wash up,’ Tetsu said. Haruko had never done any washing up and she noticed that Rinji and Tetsu did not have maids. Getting water from the well was not easy, but she felt grown up. When the washing up was done, Tetsu followed Haruko to her room and showed her where the futons were kept. Obviously Haruko was not going to be given a lamp and there was nothing to do but to go to bed.

She wondered how Sachiko was. Neither of them had ever slept alone. Sachiko had a habit of wetting her bed, and she often crawled into Haruko’s bed early in the morning. When Ayako was away and the wind woke them up, all three children slept huddled under one cover. What would Sachiko do? When Shuichi woke up in the middle of the night with nightmares, would Kei be able to hear him scream and sob?

The sliding door was opened and a man’s voice said, ‘You have to get up.’ Haruko jumped out of bed. At the Shirais’, Kiyo softly called them from outside before she came into the room. Each child had a shallow box into which Ayako or Kei would put the clothes they needed for the day. Haruko found that she had gone to bed without changing. She had to go to school in a wrinkled kimono. It was grey and cold. She shivered.

‘From today, you are a child of this family,’ Rinji said. ‘You have to learn lots of things. To get up early is the first important thing. One shouldn’t be idle. Now, the first duty of the day is to clean the verandah.’

‘Children have to be disciplined,’ he had told Tetsu. ‘The worst thing that can happen to a child is to be spoilt.’ He was determined to educate Haruko to be an obedient and hard-working woman capable of managing a house.

Tetsu came out with a bucket of water and a floor cloth and left them in front of Haruko without speaking.

‘I will show you how to clean the floor,’ Rinji said. In front of the astonished Haruko, he knelt down on the floor with his knees apart and his heels together. Supporting himself on his spread-out left hand, he moved the cloth with his right hand from left to right and then, having turned the cloth upside down, wiped the boards this time right to left. He continued this way gradually going backwards. His bottom swayed rhythmically with the motion and Haruko thought it was most undignified. It was comical, too. It was something that she certainly had to tell Sachiko. Ayako would smile and Kei would laugh, Haruko was sure.

In what period of his life had Rinji taken up cleaning the floor, Haruko wondered. She had never seen a man doing housework. At the Shirais’ even Matabei, who did almost everything else, was not expected to clean inside the house.

She received the cloth from Rinji and tried to wash and wring it as he did. The water was icy, and she thought of Tetsu’s large hands. When the cloth was soaked with water, it was too voluminous for the child’s hands to wring it. It was heavy and dripping.

‘Watch it!’ Rinji shouted. ‘Water will mark the floor. Wring it tight. Tighter. Tighter. I will teach you how to sweep the rooms after breakfast.’

Haruko was alarmed. ‘I must go to school,’ she said. Already it was getting late.

‘You don’t have to go to school today,’ Rinji told her. ‘We have more important things for a girl to do.’

Haruko had to dust the sliding screens. She had to polish shelves and sweep the tatami floor. All morning, the house was quiet except for the noise Haruko was making.

Rinji had very few visitors. At the Shirais’, there were always lots of people coming and going. First of all there were patients. Then there were relatives. Merchants called. The most popular merchant among the children was a man from the cake shop in town who came a couple of times a week. He brought a shallow box slung round his neck. The box was neatly sectioned and in each little square, there was a sample of an exquisite cake. They were mostly rice or bean-based and not only tasty but had lovely colours and shapes. Their names were artistic, too, ‘Spring Rain’, ‘Shower of Petals’, ‘Autumn Mist’, ‘Chrysanthemum in the Evening Sun’, ‘Dawn’, and many more. The samples of cake changed according to the season. The cake man would be given a cup of tea while Kei was deciding what to order. The children often sat around hoping that their grandmother’s choice would fall on their favourites.

The tofu man called every day as Tei-ichi had a piece for dinner with ginger and spring onions. Kei made a special citron and soya sauce for that dish. The man carried a pole across his shoulders with a tub hung from either end. He had a little brass trumpet that he would let the children blow if Tei-ichi was not looking. In summer, a goldfish man would call and, from her brocade purse, Ayako would give the children money.

Once a year in the autumn, a man came from Kyoto with a large bundle on his back. Even if it was a chilly day, he wiped his bald head with a folded handkerchief when he put down his load in the living room.

‘Are you all well? Dannasama and young dannasama as well?’ he would inquire politely. He brought silk. It was not the sort of material which Kei bought for daily kimonos; the silk was for special occasions such as New Year’s Day when they had to dress up. The kimono dealer held the end of rolled material and, with a flip of his arm, spread lengths of cloth one after another across the tatami floor. Kei and Ayako would be deep in consultation, discussing and examining each piece.

‘I thought this would particularly suit young Miwa okusama,’ the man would say to Ayako. To Kei, he said, ‘Since you have given me such long patronage, I will make it as cheap as possible. If you just stand, please, allow me.’ He draped a long and narrow cloth over Kei’s shoulder.

‘What do you think, young Miwa okusama?’

Then they began to discuss the linings to go with the kimono material.

Kei and Ayako usually bought several pieces of material for the whole family, and, finally, presents for the servants were put aside as well.

Only the tofu man came to Rinji’s house.

On the fourth day after Haruko arrived at Rinji’s, Matabei came early in the morning bringing some fish and vegetables as presents.

That evening, Haruko was washing rice by the well at the back of the house. She heard a whisper, ‘Haruko nesan.’ At first she thought it was her imagination. She was thinking of Sachiko and home. It was icy cold. She felt miserable and homesick.

‘Haruko nesan.’ It was Sachiko calling her from behind the hedge.

‘Quick!’ Sachiko said. ‘I came to get you. Let’s go home!’

Involuntarily, Haruko looked around. ‘I’ll get my school things.’ She tiptoed into her room and got all her books and pencils. She left her clothes.

Matabei had heard from the tofu man of Haruko’s plight and, having been there himself, told Kei and Ayako.

‘Poor Haruko ojosama! Please being her home. She is too young and the dansama of the branch family does not know how to treat children. After all, he has no experience with them.’

Kei and Ayako were already concerned as Sachiko had been telling them of Haruko’s absence from school.

While the grown-ups were discussing how to deal with the situation, Sachiko heard them and decided to rescue her sister.

The two girls hurried out of the gate. Once outside, they ran. Evening stars were beginning to appear in the pale blue sky. After a while they were out of breath and stopped. Their cheeks were red but their hands were cold.

‘Haruko nesan,’ Sachiko said. Haruko took Sachiko’s hand and they walked home.

That night, Matabei carried a lantern and hurried back along the same path. He had two letters from Tei-ichi to deliver, one, a letter of explanation to Shobei, and the other, a letter of apology to Rinji.











6 (#ulink_e4e74a22-d257-5c53-997c-929878b44964)

Haruko’s Uncles (#ulink_e4e74a22-d257-5c53-997c-929878b44964)


The drama was soon forgotten in the excitement of the approaching New Year’s celebration and Haruko’s uncle Yasuharu’s home-coming for a holiday from Tokyo.

Tei-ichi was just as pleased as the others to see his son but, to maintain his dignity, he made himself look specially glum on the day of Yasuharu’s arrival. Even so, he could not keep himself away from the rest of the household.

‘Kei.’ He came out from the consulting room. ‘Yasu might like a hot bath after a long journey.’

‘Yes,’ Kei replied. ‘Mata san has it ready.’

‘Hum! One does not want to make a fuss, but I thought it was essential.’

After ten minutes, he came out again.

‘Kei, what are we having tonight? He is coming home just for a holiday. You don’t have to make anything special. Get the front path swept, will you? One’s front garden always has to be clean whether Yasu comes home or not.’

In the afternoon, Matabei brought round a cart. The children crowded around it and walked to the station with him. When Yasuharu appeared at the ticket barrier with a porter behind him, the children shrieked, ‘Yasu ojisama!’ The station master came out from his office to greet him. Passengers who got down from the same train bowed and wished him a good holiday before they parted.

A rickshaw was ready for Yasuharu. Shuichi sat on the cart with the luggage and the rest of the children sometimes ran in front, sometimes dragged behind, chatting and laughing.

The front gate of the Shirais’ was wide open. Yasuharu was to enter the house from the formal open porch and not through the back entrance. The eldest son was the next important person to Tei-ichi in the family and Kei made sure that all the formalities were observed. The members of the household gathered at the front porch to welcome him home. Tei-ichi stayed in his study.

When Yasuharu went in to greet his father, Tei-ichi said, ‘Oh, is it you?’ and, as though he had just remembered that his son was coming home, turned round from his open book. ‘How are you? You look well.’

‘Thank you, otohsan. I am very well. I am glad you are keeping well, too.’

After formal exchanges, Tei-ichi released Yasuharu saying, ‘You must be tired after your long journey. I understand there is a bath ready for you. Relax and let’s hear your news later.’

Yasuharu always brought back lots of presents. For his nieces, there were little silk pouches. Takeko was given a pair of red patent leather zori, a pair of sandals.

‘Let’s see.’ Kei and Ayako admired them. As may be expected, anything you buy in Tokyo is very well made.’ Both women turned the zori and examined them.

‘Isn’t it a lovely colour, okahsan,’ Ayako said to Kei, and eventually to Takeko, ‘Put them away carefully. You can wear them on New Year’s Day when we go and see Miwa oji-isama and obahsama,’ and the sandals were given back to Takeko.

They admired Shuichi’s kaleidoscope, an English dictionary for Hideto, ribbons and hair ornaments and pencil cases, water pistols and toy boats. ‘How nice!’ the women exclaimed. He would bring appropriate presents for Kei and Ayako and the servants.

When everybody was happy, Yasuharu said, ‘Haruko, I hear you had quite an adventure. This is specially for a brave girl,’ and he gave her a book. It was thin but about twenty centimetres wide and three times as long. On a glossy green cover, three bears in European clothes were dancing together. The title was written across the cover but Haruko could not read it.

Inside there were more beautiful illustrations of three bears and a girl. She had blue eyes, and golden hair like the Russian soldier whom Haruko had seen on the beach.

The next day, another family member arrived. Tei-ichi’s younger brother, Haruko’s great-uncle, had gone to a Buddhist temple as a novice when he was a little boy. It was the traditional way for a boy of intelligence to be educated. He had become a priest of high position. With a shaven head and wearing a simple black robe, the venerable man would visit his old home to pray for the ancestral spirits. He was always accompanied by a young novice who looked after him.

Villagers came to pay their respects to him one after another, then they went round to the back of the house and asked for his bath water. No one knew how it had started but the belief was that if one drank this noble priest’s bath water, it would purify the mind and keep the body healthy.

Tei-ichi told them off whenever he found out.

‘Holy Man? Don’t be ridiculous. I have told you before. What a disgusting idea. Matabei, empty the bath tub immediately. Drinking bath water, indeed. You will all die of cholera one day.’

‘They still come for your uncle’s bath water,’ Kei said to Yasuharu. ‘Country folk are so superstitious.’

Yasuharu laughed indulgently. He knew that his mother was also full of odd ideas.

‘Do you remember the Takanos of Miura village?’ The talk of superstition gave Kei the chance she had been waiting for. ‘Their son Fusataro san was at school with you.’

‘Ah, Fusatan.’ Yasuharu involuntarily resorted to the childhood nickname. ‘A very nice guy. He went to Waseda University. I met him in Tokyo by chance some time ago, and we had a meal together.’

‘He is the representative of his village now and comes often to see otohsan. Both of them are very keen on the problem of diet and sanitation.’

‘Oh, that’s good. I want to go and see him one day.’

As the conversation was going in the direction that she wanted, Kei was encouraged.

‘You know Fusataro san has a younger sister.’

Yasuharu said he did not remember, and now realised what was coming.

‘Okahsan,’ he said, ‘I am not against marriage. On the contrary, I know it is important for me to marry.’

He then told Kei that his world was no longer confined to Kitani village or to the prefecture. For that matter, his horizon was beyond Japan.

‘The Ministry of Education has set up a scholarship for medical researchers to go to Germany and study. I haven’t talked to otohsan, yet, but I am thinking of applying for it in a few years’ time. I will get his consent when I know better what I am doing. You see, okahsan, there are things that I want to achieve before I am saddled with responsibilities.’

The news that Yasuharu planned to go abroad did not shock Kei unduly because, in her mind, the distance between Kitani village and Germany was not much further than that between Kitani village and Tokyo. She accepted his view on marriage calmly, and embraced his ambition. Yasuharu told her that he wanted to specialise in ophthalmology and the study of trachoma.

‘Oh, Yasuharu san.’ She was pleased. ‘How marvellous! Go to Germany or anywhere and study as much and as long as you need. When you come home, you can cure Yone san, Katsu’s okahsan, Ken san of the Matsudos and ... oh, they will be so relieved.’

‘Okahsan, it will be a long time before anyone can cure Yone san and everybody else,’ Yasuharu told her in haste. He was horrified to imagine that when he came home next time, there would be a queue of villagers and their friends and relatives waiting for him to cure their trachoma.

‘It does not matter. I will be a good mother for the doctor of trachoma and wait until the time comes.’

‘Can I be a doctor, too?’ Haruko suddenly said from the corner of the room. As she had been quietly looking at her new book, both Kei and Yasuharu had forgotten that she was there. Some of her schoolfriends had eyes caked with mucus. Although she did not know what they were suffering from, the Miwa children were warned by Kei not to hold these friends’ hands.

‘I want to be a doctor and cure people,’ she said. Her grandfather wore a white apron to see his patients, but her uncle wore a smart white coat when he helped grandfather. She had thought that she would become a teacher, but being a doctor seemed more interesting and exciting.

Kei looked at Haruko affectionately and smiled. ‘Oh, what an idea! Girls cannot be doctors. It’s a man’s job. But you will be a lovely bride one day like your okahsan, won’t you?’

It seemed the new year opened a new page for the Shirai family. On the seventh of January, it was the custom to have rice gruel with seven kinds of herbs for breakfast. In the mountain areas, people often had to look for tiny shoots under the snow. On the fifteenth, to mark the end of the New Year’s celebration, they had rice gruel with red beans. The battledore and shuttlecock that girls played, and the kites that boys flew, were all put away.

As if he had been waiting for the holiday season to end, Tei-ichi announced, ‘Kei, I will stand as candidate to be a member of the Prefectural Assembly.’

Kei received the news calmly. For men, the world was changing and progressing, but her role remained the same. She accepted and gave support as always.

She had heard Tei-ichi say many times that hygiene was more important than medicine – ‘The way they live, it is a miracle they don’t get ill’ – and he had been excited about a plan for a health-care centre.

She had never thought she would be a politician’s wife, but she would do her best. Kei suspected that there was another reason for Tei-ichi’s decision to direct his efforts in a different direction. Whenever Yasuharu came home, there were villagers who came in with sheepish grins and asked, ‘Eh, I wonder if the young Dr Yasuharu is at home?’ Tei-ichi would say with a wry smile, ‘Cunning rascals. Drinking bath water and wanting a new doctor.’ Although Kei’s interpretation was simpler, Tei-ichi felt that the time had come for a new generation of doctors with knowledge and technology. Experience alone was no longer enough to gain people’s confidence. He had suspected this for a long time, perhaps since Shintaro came home from university.

Kei calculated that with his reputation and the respect he had among people, he would succeed in being elected. As though she had planned it all along, she said, ‘It is very good timing.’

Their second son had been adopted by a landowner’s family in a nearby village. Their third son, Masakazu, Kei said, would not need any more education.

‘Why?’ Tei-ichi wondered why she was telling him about their sons and also why there would be no more expense for Masakazu’s education. Their third son had always been a worry for Tei-ichi. Shobei had said that the Shirai boys were all bright but he had overlooked Masakazu. He was a kind, cheerful boy but would not be able to go to university without great expense for special tutoring, and even that might not achieve the aim.

Kei argued, ‘Any more education for him would be a waste of money.’

Tei-ichi had always thought of Masakazu as a failure. Many times he had sat with the boy till late at night trying to teach him things he could not grasp. The more annoyed and angry Tei-ichi became, the more confused the boy became until he could not answer questions that even Haruko was able to get right. But Tei-ichi was nevertheless determined to go on trying harder to make him like his other sons.

‘He is not good at school, but that does not mean he is not worthy,’ Kei was saying. ‘He is kind and honest. The post master in town promised to employ him if you agree. He can work from this spring when he finishes school. He will be able to have a contented and respectable life.’

Although Kei did not name him, Rinji was in her mind.

As for Hideto, Kei said, he was a bright boy. If it was difficult to send him to university, he could go to military college or naval college. They were free.

‘It does not matter if we have to sell our land now,’ she went on. ‘Kitani village is too small for our children. They should go out, and get their places in the wider world. Your ancestors would be proud of you if you spend what they passed on to you for the sake of the people around here.’

‘Oho!’ Tei-ichi stared at his wife. If Haruko had been present, she would have understood that Yasuharu’s ambition had inspired Kei. ‘You have grown to be a great woman.’ Tei-ichi disguised his surprise by teasing.

‘Oh, no,’ Kei replied modestly. ‘I am just repeating something Yasuharu san told me the other day.’

Tei-ichi Shirai’s campaign had hardly any opposition, particularly after Shobei offered his wholehearted support. Shobei’s trust in the Shirais as a mainstay for his family, expressed before his son’s marriage, had been fulfilled.

Tei-ichi was busier and within a few years had risen to the position of Chairman of the Assembly.

In the spring, Masakazu started to work at the post office. Kei bought him the first bicycle in the village. On the morning of his first day, she lit new candles in the recess where the ancestral name tablets were placed. She made Masakazu sit by her and both of them prayed.

‘I thanked our ancestors that you have grown up to be a fine man,’ she said. ‘I am sure they are very proud of you.’ She handed him his lunch box. She stood at the gate and watched him ride away until he waved at her and turned a corner.

The villagers were getting used to hearing the bell of the bicycle through the early morning mist, and a cheerful ‘Good morning.’ ‘Kuma san, if you want to write to your son again, I’ll do it for you. Come to the post office.’ ‘Thank you very much, Masakazu dansama. I’ll come to see you tomorrow, if it’s all right with you.’ Watching his disappearing back, they would say, ‘The young dansama of the Shirais are all hard-working and well educated.’ Kei’s plan was successful.

‘It is better to be a chicken’s head than an ox’s tail.’ Kei was breezy when talking to Ayako about her younger brother. ‘He is respected now and appreciated. He would have been miserable among scholars.’

‘What does that mean, obahsama?’ Haruko asked, laughing. ‘Why is he a chicken’s head?’

Kei was serious. ‘It means, it is much better to know one’s place than to hang at the bottom of more able people and be undistinguished. Remember it. It is an important lesson in life.’

As for Hideto, Kei was confident and hardly worried about her youngest son. He was now a boarder at a school in town. Although he was mischievous, he was popular among his friends. Kei secretly believed that he had the potential to become a great man. He would be a hero among heroes, she thought. The school tolerated most of his adventures and he was given only minor punishments.

It was mere boyish misbehaviour. On winter evenings, when the boys were hungry, the vendors came around calling, ‘Baked sweet potatoes! Baked sweet potatoes!’, or, ‘Buckwheat noodles. Hot noodles!’, over the school walls. The vendors had earthen barrels with burning charcoal on a cart, and the sweet potatoes were hooked and baked inside. It was always Hideto who had to go and buy them for everyone, as he was the best able to climb up on the high wall of the boarding house.

One night, as Hideto carried a hot newspaper bag and jumped down into the school premises, a teacher was waiting for him. He was also involved in many fights, mostly defending weak boys from bullies. All the incidents were duly reported to his parents and they both ignored them.

‘He has already been punished at school,’ Tei-ichi would say. ‘Leave him. If he is still like that when he is eighteen, then, I will disown him.’ Kei secretly loved these stories which she thought gallant and fun. But when he participated in a strike against the school authorities, the matter could not be left unattended. It was an incident concerning a young history teacher. He was enthusiastic about democracy and freedom and excited the boys with an idealism bordering on anti-imperialism and anti-militarism.

This was at a time when twelve people had been sentenced to death just for being accused of planning the assassination of the Emperor. Socialism was a dangerous word. The Military Police were increasing their influence. Although Hideto was not a senior pupil or the main agitator, taking part in the strike was judged to be a grave offence. Tei-ichi was not only Chairman of the Assembly but also by then the head of the parents’ association of the school. The school hesitated to publicise his son’s misconduct. If it was known that Hideto was treated generously because he was Dr Shirai’s son, Tei-ichi’s name would be tarnished. On the other hand, if Hideto was either suspended or expelled from school, it would affect his future.

Kei visited the headmaster, the deputy headmaster, the class teacher, and all the other teachers, even the kendo instructor, and apologised to each one. She was the wife of the Chairman of the Prefectural Assembly and a doctor who was widely known and respected. Her family was also closely connected with the Miwas, but she humbly and politely asked everybody to forgive him as in future he would be strictly supervised. All the teachers sympathised with Kei. She was admired as ‘a very accomplished lady’.

‘What has he done?’ Haruko asked Kei.

‘Boys get passionate about new ideas. That is the way they learn. Only those who are stupid never get into trouble when they are young, but only stupid ones go on being trouble after they grow up,’ Kei said.

‘What trouble, obahsama?’

‘Oh, politics. Something that we women do not have to understand.’

And it was not long before Hideto proved himself worthy of his mother’s efforts.

The summer holiday came and Yasuharu returned home. He brought with him a friend who was a paediatrician. The children were told to call him Dr Komoto but, in spite of the formal address, he was soon joining in with wrestling, games and other lively activities. Haruko’s English alphabet progressed from ‘apple’ to ‘pen’ with Dr Komoto’s help.

The days passed, happy and uneventful, until the day that Yasuharu, Dr Komoto, Hideto and Shuichi decided to go sea fishing. Early in the morning, they left, both Yasuharu and Dr Komoto in yukata, cotton kimono, and Hideto and Shuichi in cotton shorts, all wearing straw hats. The day promised to be fine. They carried rice balls that Shige had made. The rice balls had cooked seaweed inside instead of the usual pickled plums. Pickled plums prevented the rice from going sour but, if taken fishing, Shige insisted, there would not be any catch.

‘Oh? That won’t do, Shige san. Thank you,’ Dr Komoto said politely. Yasuharu just opened his mouth and laughed noiselessly.

At the shore, a fisherman was waiting for them with a small boat. He said, ‘It is windy further offshore. Come home early before the weather changes.’ But the sky was deep blue and the temperature was rising. The sun was already strong. They got into the boat and the fisherman pushed it out into the water.

‘Shu-chan, you must get as tanned and strong as Hideto,’ Yasuharu said. Yasuharu, Dr Komoto and Hideto rowed the boat in turn until they were a long way from the shore. They were all happily fishing when Dr Komoto said, ‘Oh?’ and looked up at the sky.

The wind was getting cool and he thought he felt a raindrop on his face. But he did not pay further attention as Yasuharu and Hideto did not seem to be worried. They were brought up in the area, he thought, they should know. But although they had grown up near the sea, neither Yasuharu nor Hideto had much knowledge or experience of boats. Yasuharu looked up at the sky as large drops of rain started to come down on them.

‘It will pass,’ he said, and asked Shuichi if he was cold. Shuichi was catching the rain water running down his cheeks by sticking out a lower lip. He shook his head. The boat began to sway and he was a little afraid but he trusted his uncles and was quietly holding on to the side of the boat.

As the wind rose, wave after wave crashed into the small boat.

‘Hideto, scoop up the water in the boat with your hat,’ Yasuharu said and Dr Komoto and Hideto started to bail out water.

‘Shu-chan, you help us, too,’ Hideto said and Shuichi joined them. The boat was lifted up by a big wave and crashed down and reeled round. Despite all their efforts, they were soon ankle-deep in water.

‘Shu-chan, come here,’ Yasuharu said, and pulled him to his side.

‘Which way is the wind coming from?’ Dr Komoto said. In the middle of the storm, Hideto thought the question was silly and inconsequential, but then it occurred to him that Dr Komoto might be trying to compose himself.

‘It seems to be blowing us along the shore,’ he answered.

At home, the three girls were sitting around Kei sewing dolls’ clothes. Ayako was not at home, having gone to a relative’s wedding party. The pieces of cloth the girls were given were mostly dark-coloured cotton with stripes. Silk remnants were kept to make cushions for guests or sleeveless tops, but Kei gave them each a small piece of brightly coloured, patterned silk. The material was carefully smoothed with a flat-iron. Kei had taken it out from a chest of drawers with large iron handles.

As they all bent down around Kei’s sewing box, Tei-ichi said from the verandah, ‘Has Yasu not come home yet?’

‘No, he has not come home,’ Kei said.

Tei-ichi’s voice was heard calling Matabei. The girls had not noticed but the raindrops were causing ripples on the surface of the pond. Plantain leaves swayed and rustled. Kei said, ‘You stay here,’ to the girls and hurried to join Tei-ichi.

Matabei ran out barefoot into the rain towards the sea wearing a waterproof cape.

‘Yasuharu is with them. They will be all right,’ Tei-ichi said, and went back to his study. The rain was getting harder.

The girls felt restless and put away their sewing. Shige came into the kitchen and started to make a fire in the range. The dark and damp kitchen became steamy and hot. Shige said, ‘Don’t worry. Mata will soon bring them back.’

While it was getting dark inside the house, it was not yet dark on the sea, but the rain was coming down harder and the bottom of the boat was full of water. The straw hats were no longer useful. Many times the boat nearly capsized and Yasuharu realised that it would soon start to sink.

‘Hideto,’ Yasuharu called. ‘You are the best swimmer in the prefecture, aren’t you?’

Hideto said, ‘Yes,’ but the sea around them was so different from the sea on the day of the swimming competition.

‘Hideto,’ Yasuharu called again, keeping his balance. ‘Carry Shuichi on your back and swim back to the shore.’

Hideto could not believe what he was hearing. It was true he was the best swimmer in the prefecture. For two years he had come first at all the prefecture swimming competitions for the adults. He had never felt tired, even after swimming a long-distance race. He remembered the sight of many heads behind him all in a line as though they were strung together by a long string, and the roll of drums from boats with flags bobbing up and down. The sky was blue and there were spectacular summer clouds. There was also sweet crystallised sugar thrust from the boats in a long-handled spoon.

Hideto was about to say, ‘I cannot do it. It is not possible,’ when his brother ordered him with all the authority of an eldest brother. ‘Don’t think. Just do it. We have to save Shu-chan ... Look there!’ Yasuharu had seen the faint glimmer of lights.

Yasuharu untied his sash and passed it across the little boy’s goose-pimpled back, under his arms and around Hideto’s chest. He crossed it in front, wound it back and tied it securely.

‘Go!’ Hideto jumped into the water. Even though he was the best swimmer in the prefecture, for the sixteen-year-old, an eight-year-old boy was heavy. Tossed about by the waves Hideto swam. Shuichi was holding on to him tightly.

At the shore, a big fire had been built. Women and children were out, and as the children ran near the fire, mothers and grandmothers scolded them. Men were calling, ‘Shuichi dansama, Yasuharu dansama, Hideto dansama, Doctor Komoto,’ in turn.

Somebody shouted, ‘Oh, there’s Hide dansama and Shu dansama!’ Hideto appeared, staggering in the light of the torches, supported by a group of men who had formed a search party down the coast. One of them carried Shuichi.

Yasuharu and Dr Komoto arrived a few minutes later. They had abandoned the sinking boat shortly after Hideto.

Hideto was sitting in front of the fire, hugging his knees. Kei stroked his back. It was the first time Haruko had seen her grandmother cry. She was saying, ‘Oh, well done. You are brave. Well done,’ with a tear-stained face.

They could not find Tei-ichi. Only Matabei knew where he was. He was standing alone on a cliff overlooking the sea, but Matabei did not tell anyone.

The next day, Tei-ichi called Hideto. He said, ‘I will give this to you,’ and gave him an antique sword forged by a famous swordsmith. It was the most precious treasure belonging to the family.











7 (#ulink_3e2a435e-c558-5a17-bd55-49d221f58b39)

The Flood (#ulink_3e2a435e-c558-5a17-bd55-49d221f58b39)


Autumn came earlier than usual that year. Haruko was now fourteen years old. The rain which started in September continued without stopping into the middle of October. At first the Kitaka river had roared and foamed, swollen by the heavy rains. The volume of water increased until, for the past few days, the river was lapping at the top of the dyke. The water looked ominously quiet. It was dark and flowing swiftly.

The dyke had contained the river for as long as the villagers could remember. People stood by the water and shook their heads. That day, the river was higher than ever before. It was already overflowing here and there in thin streams, and crabs were crawling around.

The wind got up in the afternoon. People finished work early and secured their shutters and doors. When Masakazu arrived home and put away his bicycle in the old stable, he saw his father washing his feet by the well.

‘Oh, Masa, you crossed the river all right?’ his father asked.

‘I came home over the New Bridge, otohsan. Good job it was finished,’ Masakazu replied. The concrete bridge connecting Kitani village to the town had been finished earlier in the year. Shobei had donated generously to its completion.

‘Ah, the New Bridge will be all right, but it may be only a matter of hours until the dyke bursts. If that happens, several houses in the village will go under water.’ Then Tei-ichi said, ‘Masa, when you go in, ask someone to bring a towel out for me.’

Almost at the same time, Kei appeared with a towel and a pair of dry geta. ‘I am sorry. I didn’t realise you were home.’

‘Have you seen the river?’ Kei asked both of them, as she squatted and dried Tei-ichi’s feet.

‘I was telling Masa that houses of the Miwa tenant farmers might be flooded.’

‘Use this.’ Kei stood up and handed the towel to Masakazu. She asked both of them, ‘Shall I send Mata san to get the women and children from those houses?’

‘That might be an idea. Masa, you go and alert the youth club members. ‘We’ll send Yohei and Mata to the three houses nearest the river.’

‘Yes, otohsan.’ Masakazu went back to the stable and brought out the bicycle he had just put away.

‘Yohei.’ Tei-ichi called Shige’s husband. ‘Go to Kawabata and bring people from those three houses nearest the river. Take Mata with you.’

‘O’Shige san,’ Kei was heard calling. ‘Cook plenty of rice and make rice balls for the people who are coming. We need lots of hot water as well.’

‘Can we help make rice balls?’ The girls came to the kitchen.

‘Yes, yes, we need all the help we can get. Ask your okahsan to find you aprons.’

‘Oji-isama, can I go with Mata san to the river to help people?’ Shuichi asked.

‘Oh, yes, you can go, but stay with Mata and do not go near the river, do you understand?’

Watching the boy running after Matabei, Kei remarked, ‘He is getting clever. He knows I wouldn’t say “yes”.’

‘He is ten. You shouldn’t pamper him.’

Kei was quiet but she still shuddered when she remembered how close he had come to drowning.

As the darkness fell, the rain beat down harder. Masakazu came home and was going out again.

Tei-ichi called him back. ‘How is it? Do the upstream villages seem to be holding all right?’

‘So far we have not seen any sign of disaster, otohsan, but I don’t think some of the bridges are strong enough. I just came back to leave my bicycle. The wind is so strong that it’s difficult to ride.’ He called out. ‘Okahsan, I am going with the others to help the villagers upstream. Don’t worry about me, if I am late,’ but his voice was almost drowned in the torrents of rain.

‘I hope Shu-chan is all right,’ Kei said to Ayako, peering outside.

‘He is not stupid, okahsan, and Mata san will not let him out of sight,’ Ayako replied. ‘Besides, although he wouldn’t go up, the top of the dyke is quite wide. People can’t fall into the river easily. You know very well no one ever has.’

‘No, but he must be soaking wet. You get his dry clothes ready and let him have a hot bath when he comes home.’

Kei peered outside once more before she went back to the kitchen.

The wind became stronger towards midnight and brought more rain. About fifteen people including children were evacuated from their homes and came to the Shirais’. Kei did not hesitate to open up the rooms reserved for guests and special occasions and the whole household tried to settle down for an uneasy night. Outside the wind was howling.

It was about four o’clock when the rain began to subside. Once the storm had passed, the dawn brought a beautiful day such as people had not seen for a month. Shafts of golden light shone through clouds. The white feathers of pigeons on the still-wet roof were pink in the sunlight. Sparrows chattered. The hills in the distance were the colours of autumn and the leaves left on the trees were washed clean and shining. Masakazu arrived home caked with mud and without shoes. He had a bath and breakfast, and left for work. At every house, people were hanging their clothes out to dry.

A large area of the rice paddies was flooded and the water stretched far, reflecting the white clouds in the serene sky. Big trees had been washed downriver and lay sideways here and there gathering debris. Upstream the damage was considerable but in Kitani village, two houses had gone and there were no human casualties.

In the afternoon, a servant arrived from the Miwas, and Kei and Ayako realised that they had not sent a message of inquiry to Shobei and his wife. The Miwas’ house was on high ground and there was no cause for worry, but it would have been a matter of courtesy to have contacted them.

‘Oh, Zen san,’ Ayako said. ‘How are otohsama and okahsama? We are sorry we haven’t been in touch with you yet. We had so many people last night, and we are still in a muddle.’

‘They are all right, young okusama, although dansama seems to have caught a chill. He says he will come to see you tomorrow. He wanted to know if you need a hand.’

Ayako remembered that whenever there was anything unusual, however insignificant, Shobei would call on the Shirais himself.

‘Is otosahma all right?’

‘He says you should not worry.’

The day before, when the wind had been getting stronger, Rinji had called in to see if his parents needed any help. Seeing that everything had been in order, he had had a cup of tea and left soon afterwards. Shobei had stayed home and, after supper, had gone out without anyone noticing. Later when his wife had realised that he was not in his study, she had not been too concerned. He had a group of friends with whom he played the game of Go and she had thought he might have gone out to meet them, although it had not seemed like a good night to go visiting.

‘Actually, dansama walked upstream to see how his land and farmers were. I don’t think he realised how quickly the dyke would burst there. He was trapped in the flood till the youth club members rescued him early in the morning.’

Ayako frowned. She excused herself and quickly changed her kimono. To Kei she said, ‘I know he would come himself unless he felt really ill. I will just go and see how he is.’

‘Take your overnight things with you and stay there tonight. I don’t want you to come back in the dark.’

After Ayako left, Kei spent the afternoon alone worrying. She had never known Shobei to be ill. He was vigorous and had not shown much sign of ageing, but she realised that he was in his late seventies. Time had passed quickly.

Kei remembered a saying, ‘An old man should not have a cold shower’. It was a warning to old men against rash behaviour. There was a particular reason that the news of his illness disturbed her. She went into the butsuma where the ancestors’ name tablets were kept and prayed.

As she sat in supplication, she could hear in her mind Shuichi’s shrill voice calling, ‘Oji-isama! Oji-isama!’ It had been in the spring. Tei-ichi told the boy off for running around like a puppy. He said, ‘A man should never hurry, Shuichi.’ The boy said, ‘Yes, oji-isama,’ but could not hide his agitation.

‘Now, what is it?’ Tei-ichi asked.

‘There is a gigantic white snake in the butsuma, oji-isama. You should come and see. It’s hanging between the lintels like a bridge. Something bad is going to happen.’

‘In spring all snakes come out of hibernation. It is not at all unusual to see one in the house. A lot of them live among the stones of the wall.’

‘But o’Shige san said that this one is the old spirit of the house. He comes out only when a bad thing is going to happen. Last time it appeared, otohsan died.’

‘Tell Shige we have only one old spirit in this house and that is me, oji-isama.’ Shuichi looked at his grandfather and saw that his eyes were dancing with fun. ‘It is not just in spring that I am around. I am always here to guard the house. Nothing bad will happen in our family.’

Shuichi laughed and seemed to have dismissed the white snake from his mind, but Kei had not forgotten. She and Shige shared the same beliefs. Since then, she had felt uneasy whenever something happened to a member of her household. If Ayako had a cold, she had been more worried than before. Every time Shuichi set off on an adventure, she had prayed for his safety. In Shobei’s case, it was unfortunate that Rinji had not offered to undertake the inspection himself or at least accompanied his father. One thought followed after another and Kei sat in the room for a long time. Eventually she got up and told herself that, after all, Shobei would get better. He might have stayed home realising himself that he ought to be more careful.

Ayako’s stay at the Miwas’ was extended from a week to two and then three. Instead of their mother coming home, the children were called to the Miwas’. When Haruko arrived with the other children, she saw by the entrance a broad-brimmed oilskin hat and a coat that had once belonged to Shintaro. Shobei had come home wearing them and soon afterwards had taken to his bed. No one had thought of putting them away.

When Haruko had seen him on her way home from school a few days before the flood, Shobei had been wearing the oilskins.

‘Oji-isama,’ she had called, as he had not noticed her and passed by.

‘Oh, Haruko.’ He had looked surprised, then he smiled. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, oji-isama.’ She had nodded.

‘Good. Good.’ He had looked as though he had wanted to tell her something but large drops of rain had started to hit them.

‘Hurry home. You’ll get wet. I’ll see you soon.’

He had stood and watched her go. He had looked as robust as ever.

While her sisters shied away from their paternal grandfather, Haruko respected him and at the same time felt close to him. Her father had trusted her and she felt the same sympathy from his father as well.

Haruko was surprised to see how Shobei had changed within a few weeks. His face was ashen and gaunt.

‘I am scared,’ Takeko whispered when they came out of the room. Shobei’s wife, Ayako, and a nurse took turns to sit by him.

Tei-ichi had just gone and Rinji arrived.

‘How is he?’ he asked, moving his lips without making a sound.

‘Just the same, but he had a small amount of rice gruel,’ his mother replied in a low voice. ‘Come and have supper with us.’

Shobei lay in his study and away from the main house, but everybody tiptoed and tried not to make a sound. During the meal, however, there was some conversation and an exchange of outside news.

‘I will go and sit by oji-isama,’ Haruko offered, ‘so that the nurse can come and eat. I am not hungry. I will eat later.’

‘Thank you, Haruko san.’

She went into the room quietly. Her grandfather looked asleep but when the nurse closed the sliding screen, he gestured to her by a slight movement of his hand to come near him. He spoke to her in a hoarse faltering whisper.

‘Your speech ... was well-written.’ He stopped and Haruko waited. ‘General Akashi ... was very ... impressed, so was I ... and the headmaster.’

There was a smile on his face.

Shobei was referring to a general who had been invited by Haruko’s school to give a talk to the pupils and, as was often the case with a distinguished visitor to the area, Shobei had invited him after the talk to his house for dinner.

General Akashi was an unusual hero of the Russo-Japanese war, Haruko was told. His achievements were reputed to have made a significant contribution to Japan’s victory, but he had never met the enemy in the battlefield. As a colonel, he had spent the entire war in the capitals of Europe, meeting the leaders of anti-Tsarist underground groups, helping them with funds which had been entrusted to him by the Japanese government.

When it became known that the school was going to invite General Akashi and had selected Shuichi to make a speech of thanks, Shobei called Haruko to give her some advice. Everybody, including the teachers, counted on Haruko to write Shuichi’s speech.

At the school, General Akashi’s talk had been about the courage of other people who were passionate about saving the Russian people from destitution, and the surrounding countries from Russian tyranny.

Shobei impressed on his fourteen-year-old granddaughter that courage was needed to pursue a career with little public recognition.

‘You ... should have been a ... boy,’ Haruko’s grandfather repeated from his bed in a voice which was barely audible. Haruko nearly replied, ‘So that I could be a spy, oji-isama?’, but she noticed that his breathing had become more laboured. His windpipe began to make a whistling noise.

‘Are you all right? I will call someone.’ As she was going to stand up, his eyes gleamed for a second. He was clearly impatient and agitated. He seemed to try to draw Haruko’s attention to the shelf above his head on which she could see a wooden box.

‘The box, oji-isama?’

He looked satisfied and relieved. He breathed, ‘Your Shi’ ... oji-isama ... okahsan.’ His eyes were closed. His head rolled a little sideways.

‘Someone, come quick.’ Haruko ran out of the room, shouting. The first person who came running out was her uncle Rinji. He collided with Haruko and nearly knocked her off her feet. As she reached the main house, she looked back and saw her uncle coming out of the room. He was carrying the wooden box under one arm. As he ran, he looked like a picture of a devil with wide open eyes and flowing hair. His free arm was moving from front to back as though he was swimming in the air, staggering with the size and the weight of the box.

On a clear autumn day, a long cortege went through the village. Shuichi was again the chief mourner and walked behind the coffin, but this time he was no longer an infant, and was wearing a black kimono and hakama. Haruko in a white kimono walked behind with Ayako and her sisters.

From Shobei’s village and also from the surrounding villages, a lot of people came to see the last of their landowner.

They whispered and shed tears as Shuichi walked by. ‘Poor child! He was born into such an excellent family, but he has had to attend two funerals and he is only ten years old.’

After the funeral, the Miwas’ big house was in turmoil with a crowd of relatives and friends milling about losing each other and finding unexpected acquaintances. Everybody had thought that Shobei would live for a long time.

Tei-ichi followed the priest to the entrance and thanked him. As he was walking back to the living room, he saw Haruko waiting for him in a corridor.

Oji-isama,’ she said. ‘Have you found out what happened to the box Rinji ojisan took with him?’

‘What box?’ Tei-ichi had totally forgotten about it, although Haruko had told him everything that had happened.

‘Oji-isama, I have told you already. The wooden box that Miwa oji-isama always kept in his study. He had it by his bed after he had been taken ill. He has told me many times that it has important documents.’

‘Why, isn’t it in his study?’ The question was just a reflex. He did not mean it. He knew very well that the box was not in the study. He reflected on his carelessness and as the implications dawned on him, he was belatedly alarmed. He had not fully realised the importance of the contents of the box. He saw impatience and concern in his granddaughter’s face, even a little reproach.

‘Oh, I know. I am sorry. I have been so busy. I’ll talk to Rinji ojisan. He must be keeping it in a safe place. Don’t worry. Leave it to me.’

Having told Haruko to leave the matter with him, he wondered what he could do. Shuichi was Shobei’s heir and no one could dispute his legal position, but his material inheritance was a different matter. Tei-ichi needed documentation to act on his grandson’s legal status. He would approach Rinji but if Rinji’s intention was to seize the family fortune by force, recovering it in any civilised way did not seem possible.

Soon after the funeral, Rinji moved back into the main house. Rumour had it that he began vigorously collecting repayment of the loans that Shobei had made.

‘There is no one more dangerous than a fool,’ Tei-ichi muttered. He was worried.

Shobei’s brother intervened and suggested that they should take the financial situation and the issue of the missing will to court. Tei-ichi opposed this strongly on the grounds that a family dispute right after Shobei’s funeral would disgrace the honourable man and his family.

‘If the worst comes, I am able to look after my daughter and her children,’ he insisted in front of the relatives.

Eventually Rinji agreed that some property and the rent from it should be given over to Shuichi for his education on condition that Rinji would manage the money till Shuichi was twenty-five. That was all that Shuichi was to receive out of everything that Shobei, one of the largest landowners and the richest man in the area, had carefully guarded to pass on to his grandson and his future descendants. As for Ayako and the three granddaughters, there was a piece of land already notified under their names with Tei-ichi as their guardian.











8 (#ulink_047f971a-2bb1-50fa-a422-7e4566521ab1)

Takeko is Seventeen (#ulink_047f971a-2bb1-50fa-a422-7e4566521ab1)


A year after Shobei’s death, Takeko finished school, and by that time there had been a few marriage proposals for her. When a family friend came to talk about the prospect of a match for her daughter for the first time, Ayako could not help feeling a slight shock, although she had been conscious of the possibility for some time. She herself had married at an even younger age. Takeko was certainly not too young to marry.

‘It is eighteen years since I married,’ Ayako was thinking while she watched the visitor’s mouth which moved incessantly, telling her and Kei about a family that she thought suitable for a daughter of the Miwas. Living with her own parents as though she had never left them, Ayako had pushed away the idea that one day her pleasant family life had to be broken up and that, one after another, her daughters would leave her.

In a few years, Haruko would leave home and then Sachiko, too. When Shuichi left for Tokyo to go to university, which Ayako hoped he would, then what? Yasuharu would marry. Masakazu would marry. Even Hideto would marry. Everybody was kind and considerate to her in the family, but eventually she would have to leave and live with Shuichi and his wife. Where would that be?

‘I thought it would be really a very advantageous match for you,’ the woman was saying. ‘I’m sorry to say it, but your family is not exactly as it was a year ago, is it? They are saying a lot of things about Rinji san, and although I told them that it is all foolish nonsense, you know how they are, those village folks, if you listen to them. I told them, after all the Miwas are a distinguished family. But I must tell you that in a few years time, they will forget about Shobei san. Rinji san seems to be wasting a lot of money on some sort of investment that the son of that stonemason is involved in. They are crooks, those people. As I was saying, you don’t have to take what they are saying seriously. This is a great match and honestly you cannot expect a better one ...’

Ayako excused herself and went to the kitchen where Kiyo was arranging a fine tea-set on the table.

‘Where is o’Shige san?’ Ayako asked, as it was usually Shige who made tea for guests.

‘She is out in the back somewhere. She says she doesn’t like that lady.’

‘Oh.’ Ayako feigned surprise and took the tea tray. As she went back into the room, the woman turned to Ayako.

‘I was just telling your okahasama. The Matsudo family are even bigger landowners than your father-in-law used to be. But they say they do not mind having a daughter-in-law from a poor family so long as she is pretty and good. To tell you the truth, they don’t need any more money.’

In a flat voice, Kei cut in. ‘Thank you. We know who the Matsudos are. But we don’t know anything about their son who, I assume, is the one who might marry our Takeko. How old is he and what sort of person is he?’

‘Oh, a very nice man. Very nice, indeed. He is, I think, about twenty-three or thereabouts. He is at home. He went to school, but school was not interesting enough for him.’ She laughed, making a short ‘ho ho ho’ noise through a puckered mouth.

‘I see,’ Kei said. ‘It was so very kind of you to think of us. As you said yourself, more or less, a girl without a father does not exactly have good prospects for marriage. We know our place and we would like to find our Takeko a match which is suitable for us. Thank you for coming.’

‘Okahsan,’ Ayako said, after the visitor had gone, ‘is it wise to make an enemy of her? She will spread some kind of fabricated story.’

‘I will not let anyone insult us in our own house. In any case, who wants a man who could not finish even basic schooling? You can tell he is a good-for-nothing, lazy lad.’

The name Matsudo did not reach Tei-ichi, as mother and daughter did not bother to repeat the conversation to him, but the following proposal was brought to him directly. An acquaintance came to sound out a match with a family running a large draper and haberdasher shop called Tagawa-ya. It had an extensive frontage opening on to the busiest street in a big town which was the political as well as the commercial centre of the prefecture.

Tei-ichi would have said that it was not a convincingly good match, but he found himself less particular than before.

‘A merchant?’ Kei raised her cleanly-arched eyebrows. Tei-ichi had felt the same mental reaction when he was told about the match.

Nearly half a century had passed since the collapse of the Tokugawa feudal regime. Tei-ichi reflected, ‘What a lot of social and technical changes and progress we have experienced.’ Yet, he had to admit that he was not entirely against the old rigid class system. After all, when he was born, feudal lords were still travelling up and down the main roads to and from the capital which was called Edo and not Tokyo, in palanquins surrounded by samurais each bearing two swords and wearing a topknot.

Samurais were at the top of the class system in those days. They had the right to kill anyone, anywhere. The rice-growing farming class was the next in rank. Rice was important. The economic power of each feudal domain was determined by the amount of rice it produced. The samurais’ stipend was calculated in rice. Then came the artisan class. The merchant class occupied the bottom position. They were not allowed to wear silk, and their houses were inspected lest they should be too luxurious. Dealing with money was despised and the profession whose ultimate purpose was the accumulation of wealth had to be at the bottom.

When Tei-ichi was little, his father told him a story about a castle which was besieged, and how the defending samurais had to eat the mud walls to survive. Even then, those who accompanied their lord to the peace negotiations in the enemy camp did not touch the food offered to them. They were so proud, and could withstand material temptation.

If he told such stories to his sons they would listen, but Tei-ichi knew that to his sons these were only epic tales. Times had changed.

‘Well, we are living in a new age,’ Tei-ichi said to Kei and Ayako. ‘We cannot be prejudiced against new ways of thinking in the modern world. Our feudal period ended because the samurais could not maintain themselves economically and had to rely on merchants. You see, the standard of life was going up and up, yet the amount of rice produced could not be increased beyond a certain limit. It was the economy ...’

Tei-ichi showed his scholarship and would have gone on lecturing them with his interpretation of the arrival of the Meiji era, but the women did not seem to be impressed. They listened respectfully, but as soon as they were left alone, Ayako said, ‘It’s sad to think that the status of the Miwas has fallen, okahsan. In the olden times, no one considered it proper to think of such a match, however prosperous their business was.’

‘Oh, it is good to have a lot of proposals. To accept or refuse is our prerogative. We would worry about our fallen status if nobody thought of match-making with us,’ Kei said, trying to cheer up Ayako and herself, and added with conviction, ‘It’s not the Miwas’ status which has sunk. It is the Tagawa-yas’ status which has gone up. That is what otohsan calls the new age. In ten years’ time, the likes of them will be members of the Prefectural Assembly and the National Parliament.’

In the end they decided to go ahead with the prospective match with Tagawa-ya. The draper’s son was in Tokyo. After graduating from one of the universities, he was staying on to study English, they were told. He had been hoping to go to Europe to learn business, as he was convinced that soon the time would come when people would wear more European clothes than the traditional kimono. However, the situation in Europe was taking an ugly turn and war was about to break out. He would stay home and wait for an opportunity. For the same reason Yasuharu’s plan of going abroad was postponed. It was 1914. Archduke Ferdinand had been assassinated and the ripples from Sarajevo were felt as far away as Kitani village.

When Tei-ichi heard of Tagawa-ya’s son’s ambition, his last feelings of hesitation disappeared and he positively looked forward to the successful conclusion of the negotiations.

Kei and Ayako wanted to settle Takeko’s marriage within a year or two at the latest. There were two more daughters to think of and it was necessary for the eldest to marry, otherwise she would hinder the younger ones’ chances. Encouraged by her family, Ayako visited the go-between friend’s house.

‘We are very grateful that you have taken the trouble to think of my daughter, Takeko. We think that the match with Tagawa-ya san will be very desirable and I came to ask you to proceed with the negotiations.’

The friend also expressed in formal language her pleasure at being of use and promised to do her best to arrange the match, but she was slightly confused about who Ayako was until she had time to think about it.

‘Surely she could not be older than her late twenties. No, if this is Takeko san’s okahsan, she has to be at least about thirty-four.’ The friend was calculating in her mind and admired how young Ayako looked.

Tagawa-ya himself was a plump and happy-looking man, with humble manners. On several occasions, when Kei and Ayako had visited the draper’s shop, he had been sitting among the young employees, greeting a customer, telling his assistant what to do, being consulted about what to buy. The shop was always full of customers and they could tell that the business was flourishing.

Ayako and the Shirais needed at least a year to prepare for the marriage. Once the marriage was finalised, there would be much to do. Since Takeko was marrying into a family which handled kimono materials, it might not be necessary to have a lot of kimonos made, but a chest of drawers, a dressing table, a desk, bedding, all had to be specially made. The lacquered utensils had to be ordered from Kyoto. Good lacquering would take over a year.

Since Ayako’s wedding had been organised mostly by Shobei, it was Tei-ichi’s first experience of handling arrangements, and when he was shown the shopping list, he said with a sigh, ‘They say three daughters are the ruin of a family, and they are quite right.’

Ayako had made up her mind to spend all that Shobei had left for his granddaughters on their weddings. It was the last luxury the Miwas would be able to afford.

About a month after Ayako had asked the go-between to proceed with the marriage negotiations, she came back to Kei and Ayako to tell them that Tagawa-ya was very pleased about the prospect of having Dr Shirai’s granddaughter as their son’s bride. They had sent someone to Takeko’s school to find out about her, and had heard that she was a very polite, gentle lady and there had never been any problems.

Tei-ichi was known among his neighbours as an honourable person, particularly since he had intervened in the family feud over the inheritance.

‘They also heard about your second daughter, Haruko san,’ the go-between friend said, ‘and should you have already accepted another proposal for Takeko san, they would be pleased to ask for Haruko san. She seems to be a highly intelligent young lady and Tagawa-ya san thinks that she would be a very suitable wife for his son who also likes books and studying. After all, we are in a modern age. It is not shameful for a girl to like studying.’

‘That is very thoughtful of Tagawa-ya san, but Haruko is still only fifteen and we hope Takeko will make a good wife for their son,’ Ayako answered politely.

The Shirai side wanted to settle the negotiations and exchange the gifts of engagement as soon as possible and were disappointed when nothing happened for a few months. The next step was to set a date for the meeting of the two young people before the marriage was finalised.

‘Tagawa-ya san is saying that their son is coming home from Tokyo next month, and then we will know when to get together,’ was the message.

‘We’d better visit Mrs Kawamatsu with some presents,’ Ayako said to Kei, referring to the go-between friend. ‘She has been coming and going between our houses for some time.’

‘When all is formalised, we will give her proper presents. For the moment, you will go to her taking perhaps a bottle of saké and a box of cake,’ Kei suggested.

Another month had passed without further news. One day, Mrs Kawamatsu finally returned but when they saw her, they knew the news was not good before anything was said.

After an exchange of seasonal greetings, the visitor said, ‘I will not beat about the bush. I will be straightforward and say I come to apologise today. Tagawa-ya san is so embarrassed and angry as well.’

Tagawa-ya’s son had already met someone whom he intended to marry, but knowing how his family would react, he had been waiting for a good opportunity to tell them. The young lady was the daughter of his landlady.

‘After all, he is a well brought up young man and does not know what people are really like. That crafty landlady must have tricked him. The whole Tagawa family is upset. Tagawa-ya san is very angry and he is saying he will disinherit the son. Certainly Tagawa-ya san will not give him permission to marry this young lady in Tokyo. They don’t know anything about her family, of course. Tokyo women are so dangerous.’

She leant forward and lowered her voice. ‘Apparently women dance with men. Would you believe such disgraceful behaviour? Of course, for a young man from the countryside, there must be so much temptation.’

After the friend left with lots of apologies and stories of orgies going on in the capital, Kei and Ayako each let out a deep sigh. The rumour had already spread that Dr Shirai’s granddaughter was marrying Tagawa-ya’s son, and they had not bothered to deny it.

Once Tei-ichi had become enthusiastic, the whole family began to believe that it was a most desirable marriage.

‘Never mind. There will be better proposals. We might be thankful in the end.’ Kei tried but could not help feeling humiliated. ‘It’s Tagawa-ya’s fault,’ she said. While there was a prospect of the Tagawa family becoming her relations, she called them Tagawa san or Tagawa-ya san when referring to the shop, but now she put them down as Tagawa-ya. ‘They should control their son. Yasuharu san would never be trapped by women in Tokyo. Look at Shintaro san, too.’ Then she declared with dignity, ‘We are glad that we do not have to marry our Takeko to such a feeble-minded merchant’s family.’

In November another proposal came. It was from a rich landowner’s family in Kyushu, and Tei-ichi said, ‘This is a proposal from far away.’

There had been a lull since Tagawa-ya, and both Kei and Ayako were on the point of giving up the idea of getting the marriage settled within a year.

‘In this day and age, when people are going abroad, Kyushu is just next door,’ Kei said, and Ayako came round to agreeing, though she still regretted the abortive liaison with Tagawa-ya.

‘The father of the bridegroom-to-be died several years ago, and the young man is the head of the family now,’ they were told. ‘That is why he has remained a bachelor until the age of thirty. He is a hard-working man and liked by everybody in the area. He is introducing improved rice varieties and organising a cooperative.’

‘I think he is an ideal man.’ Tei-ichi was pleased but Kei insisted that they find out more about the family.

The mutual acquaintance came back and said, ‘The bridegroom’s side wants everything settled as soon as possible. There could be an unexpected hindrance if the negotiations are prolonged. Why don’t you say yes first and then sort things out. The bridegroom-to-be is saying that any time you are ready, he will come and meet your family. He is very enthusiastic.’

‘We can’t say yes without knowing whether this man has brothers and sisters, or other details about him,’ Kei said, and Tei-ichi sent someone to find out about him. As it was already the beginning of December, the settlement would be in the new year, no matter how much they hurried.

‘Do you think she’ll marry this time?’ Sachiko asked Haruko. They had not been told about the negotiations with Tagawa-ya’s son but knew everything that was going on.

‘Why does he want to get a wife from so far away, that’s what I’d like to know,’ Haruko said precociously, and added, imitating Kei’s tone, ‘Aren’t there any women in Kyushu?’

‘Oh, Haruko nesan,’ Sachiko giggled. ‘But it’s funny that they want to hurry so much, don’t you think? He has waited for so long to get married.’

Early in the new year, Tei-ichi received a letter from a friend in Kyushu, whom he had asked to find out about the family of the bridegroom-to-be.



Dear Dr Shirai,

New Year’s greetings to you. May I use this opportunity to wish you and your family a very happy and prosperous year. It has been a long time since I last saw you and it has always been in my mind that I must write and thank you for all the advice and help you have given me. Thanks to you, we have been able to expand our pharmaceutical business and we are doing very well. I would like to visit you soon and tell you all about it.

As for what you asked me to find out, the family is certainly well off and respected and there is nothing negative to report about the person himself. But I regret to say that he has a sister who is confined to the house and nobody has seen her for a long time. According to the tradesmen and servants, she was born deformed and seems to have the intelligence of a three-year-old. There is another similar case in one of his aunts, I was told.

The young man himself is very popular and I do not want to destroy his chances of happiness but on the other hand I have to inform you of the facts.

If there is anything further that you want me to do, please do not hesitate to ask me. I hope to see you soon, but meanwhile I wish your granddaughter the happiness she deserves.

‘I wonder if there is something wrong with us,’ Ayako asked. ‘Why do all the proposals turn out to be inappropriate?’

‘It is quite usual for marriages to come up against a lot of problems. Most old families have a skeleton or two in the cupboard,’ Kei said. In fact, both of them were in a way relieved that Takeko did not have to live far away.

After this the marriage proposals came to a standstill and several months passed. Takeko was eighteen. Both Kei and Ayako were worried and there were new reasons for wanting to hurry Takeko’s marriage.

Haruko came home one day and asked if she could take the entrance examination for the Women’s Medical College in Tokyo. She had found out about fees in detail.

‘Please, if I could use the money that you reserved for my marriage, I would go and live with Yasu ojisama. Then it will not cost much. I will be able to work as their maid.’

‘Where did you get such an idea? Of course not! A woman doctor? It’s so indecent.’

‘Okahsan, it is more indecent to go and ask a man doctor to look at you.’

‘Haruko san, I don’t want to hear you say such a thing.’

After a few days Haruko came home from school and said that if she was not allowed to go to the Women’s Medical College, she would like to go to the Women’s Teaching College for Higher Education in Nara.

‘Okahsan, that’s free. The government pays for fees. If you let me go, I will pay you back whatever I spend when I become a teacher. I will help Shu-chan as well.’




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