A Pale View of Hills (11 page)

“For your mother to keep her vegetables in!” he announced—to the crowd rather than to Mariko—and for a brief moment held up the prize. Beside me, Sachiko burst into laughter and joined in the applause. A gangway formed to allow Mariko through with her prize.

Sachiko was still laughing as we came away from the crowd. She had laughed so much that small tears had appeared in her eyes; she wiped them away and looked at the box.

“What a strange-looking thing,”she said, passing it to me.

It was the size of an orange box and surprisingly light; the wood was smooth but unvarnished, and on one side were two sliding panels of wire gauze.

“It may come in useful,” I said, sliding open a panel.

“I won a major prize,” said Mariko.

“Yes, well done,” Sachiko said.

“I won a kimono once," Mariko said to me. “In Tokyo, I won a kimono once.”

Well, you’ve won again" - “Etsuko, perhaps you could carry my bag. Then I could carry this object home.

“I won a major prize,” said Mariko,

“Yes, you were very good” said her mother, and laughed a little.

We walked away from the kujibiki stand. The street was littered with discarded newspapers and all manner of rubbish,

“The kittens could live in there, couldn’t they?” Mariko said. “We could put rugs inside it and that could be their house.”

Sachiko looked doubtfully at the box in her arms. “I’m not sure they’d like it so much.”

“That could be their house. Then when we go to Yasuko-San’s house, we could carry them in there.”

Sachiko smiled tiredly.

“We could, couldn’t we, Mother? We could carry the kittens in there.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Sachiko. “Yes, all right. We’ll carry the kittens in there."

“So we can keep the kittens then?”

“Yes, we can keep the kittens. I’m sure Yasuko-San’s father won’t object.”

Mariko ran a little way ahead, then waited for us to catch up.

“So we won’t have to find homes for them any more?”

“No, not now. We’re going to Yasuko-San’s house, so we’ll keep the kittens after all.”

- “We won’t have to find owners then. We can keep them all. We could take them in the box, couldn’t we, Mother?”

“Yes,” said Sachiko. Then she tossed back her head and once more began to laugh.

I often find myself recalling Mariko’s face the way I saw it that evening on the tram going home. She was staring out of the window, her forehead pressed against the glass; a boyish face, caught in the changing lights of the city rattling by outside. Mariko remained silent through out that journey home, and Sachiko and I conversed little. Once, I remember, Sachiko asked:

“Will your husband be angry with you?”

“Quite possibly,” I said, with a smile. “But I did warn

him yesterday I might be late

“It’s been an enjoyable day”

“Yes. Jiro will just have to sit and get angry. I’ve enjoyed today very much.”

“We must do it again, Etsuko,”

“Yes, we must.”

“Remember, won’t you, to come and visit me after I move.”

“Yes, I’ll remember

We fell silent again after that. It was a little later, just as the tram slowed for a stop, I felt Sachiko give a sudden start. She was looking down the carriage, to where two or three people had gathered near the exit, A woman was standing there looking at Mariko. She was around thirty or so, with a thin face and tired expression. It was conceivable she was gazing at Mariko quite innocently, and but for Sachiko’s reaction I doubt if my suspicions would have been aroused. In the meantime, Mariko continued to look out of the window, quite unaware of the woman.

The woman noticed Sachiko looking at her and turned away. The tram came to a stop, the doors opened and the woman stepped out.

“Did you know that person?” I asked, quietly.

Sachiko laughed a little. “No. I just made a mistake.”

“You mistook her for someone else?”

“Just for a moment. There wasn’t even a resemblance really.” She laughed again, then glanced outside to check where we were.

In retrospect it seems quite clear why Ogata-San remained with us for as long as he did that summer, Knowing his son well enough, he must have recognized Jiro’s strategy over the matter concerning Shigeo Matsuda’s magazine article; my husband was simply waiting for Ogata-San to return home to Fukuoka so the whole affair could be forgotten. Meanwhile, he would continue to agree readily that such an attack on the family name should be dealt with both promptly and firmly, that the matter was his concern as much as his father’s, and that he would write to his old school friend as soon as he had time. I can see now, with hindsight, how typical this was of the way Jiro faced any potentially awkward confrontation. Had he not, years later, faced another crisis in much the same manner, it may be that I would never have left Nagasaki. However, that is by the way.

I have recounted earlier some details of the evening my husband’s two drunken colleagues arrived to interrupt the chess game between Jiro and Ogata-San. That night, as I prepared for bed, I felt a strong urge to talk to Jim about the whole business concerning Shigeo Matsuda while I did not wish Jiro to write such a letter against his will, I was feeling more and more keenly that he should make his position clearer to his father. As it was, however, I refrained from mentioning the subject that night, just as I had done on previous occasions. For one thing, my husband would have considered it no business of mine to comment on such a matter. Furthermore, at that time of night, Jiro was invariably tired and any attempts to converse would only make him impatient. And in any case, it was never in the nature of our relationship to discuss such things openly.

Throughout the following day, Ogata-Sàn remained in the apartment often studying the chess game which—so he told me—had been interrupted at a crucial stage the previous night. Then that evening, an hour or so after we had finished supper, he brought out the chess-board again and began once more to study the pieces. Once, he looked up and said to my husband:

“So, Jiro. Tomorrow’s the big day then.”

Jiro looked up from his newspaper and gave a short laugh. “It’s nothing to make a fuss about," he said.

“Nonsense. It’s a big day for you. Of course, it’s imperative you do your best for the firm, but in my view this is a triumph in itself, whatever the outcome tomorrow. To be asked to represent the firm at this level, so early in your career, that can’t be usual, even these days.”

Jiro gave a shrug. "I suppose not. Of course, even if tomorrow goes exceptionally well, that’s no guarantee I’ll get the promotion. But I suppose the manager must be reasonably pleased with my efforts this year.”

“I should think he has great faith in you, by all accounts. And how do you think it will go tomorrow?”

“Smoothly enough, I should hope. At this stage all the parties involved need to co-operate. It’s more a case of j laying the groundwork for the real negotiations in the autumn. It’s nothing so special."

“Well, we’ll have to just wait and see how it goes. Now, Jiro, why don’t we finish off this game. We’ve been at it for three days.”

“Oh yes, the game. Of course, Father, you realize however successful I am tomorrow, that’s no guarantee I'll be given the promotion.”

“Of course not, Jim, I realize these things. I came up through a competitive career myself. I know only too well how it is. Sometimes others are chosen in preference who by all rights shouldn’t even be considered your equals. But you mustn’t let such things deter you. You persevere and triumph in the end. Now, how about finishing off this game"

My husband glanced towards the chess-board, but showed no sign of moving nearer it. "You’d just about won, if I remember," he said.

"Well, you’re in quite a difficult corner, but there’s a way out if you can find it. Do you remember, Jiro, when I first taught you this game, how I always warned you about using the castles too early? And you still make the same mistake. Do you see?”

"The castles, yes. As you say.”

“And incidentally, Jim, I don’t think you’re thinking your moves out in advance, are you? Do you remember how much trouble I once took to make you plan at least three moves ahead. But I don’t think you’ve been doing that.”

“Three moves ahead? Well, no, I suppose I haven’t. I can’t claim to be an expert like yourself, Father. In any case, I think we can say you’ve won.”

“In fact, Jiro, it became painfully obvious very early in the game, that you weren’t thinking your moves out, How often have I told you? A good chess player needs to think ahead, three moves on at the very least.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

For instance, why did you move this home here? Jiro, look, you’re not even looking. Can you even remember why you moved this here?”

Jim glanced towards the board. “To be honest, I don’t remember,” he said. “There was probably a good enough reason at the time."

“A good enough reason? What nonsense, Jiro. For the first few moves, you were planning ahead, I could see that. You actually had a strategy then. But as soon as! broke that down, you gave up, you began playing one move at a time. Don’t you remember what I always used to tell you? Chess is all about maintaining coherent strategies. It’s bout not giving up when the enemy destroys one plan but to immediately come up with the next. A game isn’t won and lost at the point when the king is finally cornered. The gaines sealed when a player gives up having any strategy at all. When his soldiers are all scattered, they have no common cause, and they move one piece at a time, that’s when you’ve lost.”

“Very well, Father, I admit it. I’ve lost. Now perhaps we can forget about it.”

Ogata-San glanced towards me, then back at Jiro. "Now what kind of talk is that? I studied this board quite hard today and I can see three separate means by which you can escape”

My husband lowered his newspaper. "Forgive me if I’m mistaken” he said, “but I believe you just said yourself, the player who cannot maintain a coherent strategy is inevitably the loser. Well, as you’ve pointed out so repeatedly, I’ve been thinking only one move at a time, so there seems little point in carrying on. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish reading this report.”

“Why, Jiro, this is sheer defeatism. The game’s far from lost, I’ve just told you. You should be planning your defence now, to survive and fight me again. Jiro, you always had a streak of defeatism in you, ever since you were young. I’d hoped I’d taken it out of you, but here it is again, after all this time."

“Forgive me, but I fail to see what defeatism has to do with it. This is merely a game

“It may indeed be just a game. But a father gets to know his son well enough. A father can recognize these unwelcome traits when they arise. This is hardly a quality I’m proud of in you, Jiro. You gave up as soon as your first strategy collapsed. And now when you’re forced on to the defensive, you sulk and don’t want to play the game any more. Why, this is just the way you were at nine years old.”

“Father, this is all nonsense. I have better things to do than think about chess all day.”

Jiro had spoken quite loudly, and for a moment Ogata-San looked somewhat taken aback.

“It may be very well for you, Father,” my husband continued. “You have the whole day to dream up your strategies and ploys. Personally, I have better things to do with my time.”

With that, my husband returned to his paper. His father continued to stare at him, an astonished look on his face. Then finally, Ogata-San began to laugh.

“Come, Jiro,” he said, “we’re shouting at each other like a pair of fishermen’s wives.” He gave another laugh. “Like a pair of fishermen’s wives.

Jiro did not look up.

Come on, Jiro, let’s stop our argument. If you don’t want to finish the game, we don’t have to finish it.”

My husband still gave no sign of having heard.

Ogata-San laughed again. “All right, you win. We won’t play any more. But let me show you how you could have got out of this little corner here. There’s three things you could have done. The first one’s the most simple and there’s little I could have done about it. Look, Jiro, look here. Jiro, look, I’m showing you something.”

Jiro continued to ignore his father. He had all the appearance of someone solemnly absorbed in his reading. He turned over a page and carried on reading.

Ogata-San nodded to himself, laughing quietly. Just like when he was a child,” he said. “When he doesn’t get his own way, he sulks and there’s nothing to be done with him.” He glanced towards where I was sitting and laughed rather oddly. Then he turned back to his son. “Jiro, look. Let me show you this at least. It’s simplicity itself.”

Quite suddenly, my husband flung down his news-paper and made a movement towards his father. Clearly, what he had intended was to knock the chess-board across the floor and all the pieces with it. But he moved clumsily and before he could strike the board, his foot had upset the teapot beside him. The pot rolled on to its side, the lid fell open with a rattle, and the tea ran swiftly across the surface of the tatami. Jiro, not sure what had occurred, turned and stared at the spilt tea. Then he turned back and glared at the chess-board. The sight of the chessmen, still upright on their squares, seemed to anger him all the more, and for a moment I thought he would make another attempt to upset them. As it was, he got to his feet, snatched up his newspaper, and left the room without a word.

I went over quickly to where the tea had spilt. Some of the liquid had begun to soak into the cushion Jiro had been sitting on. I moved the cushion and rubbed at it with the edge of my apron.

“Just like he used to be,” Ogata-San said. A faint smile had appeared around his eyes. “Children become adults but they don’t change much.”

I went out into the kitchen and found a cloth. When I returned, Ogata-San was sitting just as I had left him, the smile still hovering around his eyes. He was gazing at the puddle on the tatami and looked deep in thought. Indeed, he seemed so absorbed by the sight of the tea, I hesitated a little before kneeling down to wipe it away.

“You mustn’t let this upset you, Etsuko,” he said, eventually. “It’s nothing to upset yourself about.”

“No.” I continued to wipe the tatami.

“Well, I suppose we might as well turn in fairly soon. It’s good to turn in early once in a while.”

“Yes.”

“You mustn’t let this upset you, Etsuko. Jim will have forgotten the whole thing by tomorrow, you’ll see. I remember these spells of his very well. In fact, it makes you quite nostalgic, witnessing a little scene like that. It reminds me so much of when he was small. Yes, its endugh to make you quite nostalgic."

I continued to wipe away the tea.

"Now, Etsuko" he said. “This is nothing to upset yourself about.

I exchanged no further words with my husband until the following morning. He ate his breakfast glancing occasionally at the morning newspaper I had placed beside his bowl. He spoke little and made no comment on the fact that his father had not yet emerged. For my part, I listened carefully for sounds from Ogata-San’s room, but could hear nothing.

“I hope it all goes well today,” I said, after we had sat in silence for some minutes.

My husband gave a shrug. "Its nothing to make a fuss about, he said. Then he looked up at me and said: “I wanted my black silk tie today, but you seem to have done something with it. I wish you wouldn’t meddle with my ties.”

“The black silk one? It’s hanging on the rail with your other ties."

“It wasn’t there just now. I wish you’d stop meddling with them all the time.”

“The silk one should be there with the others, I said. “I ironed it the day before yesterday, because I knew you’d be wanting it for today, but I made sure to put it back. Are you sure it wasn’t there?’

My husband sighed impatiently and looked down at the newspaper. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “This one will have to do.”

He continued to eat in silence. Meanwhile, there was still no sign of Ogata-San and eventually I rose to my feet and went to listen outside his door. When after several seconds I had not heard a sound, I was about to slide open the door a little way. But my husband turned and said:

“What are you up to? I haven’t got all morning, you know.” He pushed his teacup forward.

I seated. myself again, put his used dashes away to one side, and poured him some tea. He sipped it rapidly, glancing over the front page of the newspaper.

"This is an important day for us," I said. “I hope it goes

“It’s nothing to make such a fuss about,” he said, not looking up.

However, before he left that morning, Jiro studied himself carefully in the mirror by the entryway, adjusting his tie and examining his jaw to check he had shaved efficiently. When he had left, I went over once more to Ogata-San’s door and listened. I still could hear nothing.

"Father?" I called softly.

“Ah, Etsuko,” I heard Ogata-San’s voice from within. "I might have known you wouldn’t let me lie in.”

Somewhat relieved, I went to the kitchen to prepare a fresh pot of tea, then laid the table ready for Ogata-San’s breakfast. When he eventually sat down to eat, he remarked casually:

“Jiro’s left already, I suppose.”

“Oh yes, he went a long time ago. I was just about to throw Father’s breakfast away. I thought he’d be far too lazy to get up much before noon.”

“Now, don’t be cruel, Etsuko. When you get to my age, you like to relax once in a while. Besides, this is like a Vacation for me, staying here with you.”

“Well, I suppose just this once then, Father can be forgiven for being so lazy.”

“I won’t get the opportunity to lie in like this once I get back to Fukuoka,” he said, taking up his chopsticks. Then he sighed deeply. “I suppose its time I was getting back soon.”

“Getting back? But there’s no hurry, Father.”

“No, I really have to be getting back soon. There’s plenty well.” of work to be getting on with."

“Work? What work is that?”

“Well for a start, I need to build new panels for the veranda. Then there’s the rockery. I haven’t even started on it yet. The stones were delivered months ago and they’ve just been sitting there in the garden waiting for me.” he gave a sigh and began to eat. “I certainly won’t get to lie in like this once I get back.”