A Pale View of Hills (15 page)

For a few moments, Mariko remained standing at the edge of the tatami, looking at the doorway where her mother had disappeared.

Wait for your mother here, Mariko-San,” I said to her.

The little girl turned and looked at me. Then the next moment, she had gone.

Fora minute or two, I did not move. Then eventually Igot to my feet and put on my sandals. From the doorway, I could see Sachiko down by the water, the vegetable box beside her feet; she appeared not to have noticed her daughter standing several yards behind her, just at the point where the ground began to slope down steeply. I left the cottage and made my way to where Mariko was standing.

“Let’s go back to the house, Mariko-San” I said, gently. The little girl’s eyes remained on her mother, her face devoid of any expression. Down in front of us, Sachiko knelt cautiously on the bank, then moved the box a little nearer.

"Let’s go inside, Mariko,” I said again, but the little girl continued to ignore me. I left her and walked down the muddy slope to where Sachiko was kneeling, The sunset was coming through the trees on the opposite bank, and the reds that grew along the water’s edge cast long shadows on the muddy ground around us. Sachiko had found some grass to kneel on, but that too was thick with mud.

“Can’t we let them loose?” I said, quietly. “You never know. Someone may want them.”

Sachiko was gazing down into the vegetable box through the wire gauze. She slid open a panel, brought out a kitten and shut the box again. She held the kitten in both hands, looked at it for a few seconds, then glanced up at me. “It’s just an animal, Etsuko,” she said. “That’s all it is.”

She put the kitten into the water and held it there. She remained like that for some moments, staring into the water, both hands beneath the surface. She was wearing a casual summer kimono, and the corners of each sleeve touched the water.

Then for the first time, without taking her hands from the water, Sachiko threw a glance over her shoulder towards her daughter. Instinctively, I followed her glance, and for one brief moment the two of us were both staring back up at Mariko. The little girl was standing at the top of the slope, watching with the same blank expression. On seeing her mother’s face turn to her, she moved her head very slightly; then she remained quite still, her hands behind her back.

Sachiko brought her hands out of the water and stared at She kitten she was still holding. She brought it closer to her , We and the water ran down her wrists and arms.

“It’s still alive,” she said, tiredly. Then she turned to me and said: “Look at this water, Etsuko. It’s so dirty.” With an air of disgust, she dropped the soaked kitten back into the box and shut it. “How these things struggle,” she muttered, and held up her wrists to show me the scratch-marks. Somehow, Sachiko’s hair had also become wet; one top, then another fell from a thin strand which hung down me side of her face.

Sachiko adjusted her position then pushed the vegetable box over the edge of the bank the box rolled and landed in the water. To prevent it floating, Sachiko leaned forward and held it down. The water came almost halfway up the wire-grid. She continued to hold down the box, then finally pushed it with both hands. The box floated a little way into the river, bobbed and sank further. Sachiko got to her feet and we both of us watched the box. It continued to float, then caught in the current and began moving more swiftly downstream.

Some movement caught my eye and made me turn, Mariko had run several yards down the river’s edge, to spot where the bank jutted out into the water. She stock there watching the box float on, her face still expression. less. The box caught in some reeds, freed itself and continued its journey. Mariko began to run again. She ran some distance along the bank, then stopped again to watch the box. By this time, only a small corner was visible about the surface.

This water’s so dirty,” Sachiko said. She had been shaking the water off her hands. She squeezed in turn the sleeve-ends of her kimono, then brushed the mud from her knees. “Let’s go back inside, Etsuko. The insects here are becoming intolerable."

"Shouldn’t we go and get Mariko? It will be dark soon.”

Sachiko turned and called her daughter’s name. Mariko was now fifty yards or so away, still looking at the water She did not seem to hear and Sachiko gave a shrung. “She’ll come back in time," she said, "Now. I must finish packing before the light goes completely” She began to walk up the slope towards the cottage.

Sachiko lit the lantern and hung it from a low wooden beam. "Don’t worry yourself, Etsuko,” she said, “She’ll back soon enough.” She made her way through the various items strewn over the tatami, and seated herself, as before in front of the open partitions. Behind her, the sky had become pale and faded.

She began packing again. I sat down at the opposite side of the room and watched her.

“What are your plans now?” I asked. "What will you do once you arrive in Kobe?”

"Everything’s been arranged, Etsuko” she said, without looking up. “There’s no need to worry. Frank has seen to everything”

“But why Kobe?"

“He has friends there. At the American base. He’s been entrusted with a job on cargo ship, and he’ll be in America in a very short time. Then he’ll send us the necessary amount of money, and He’s seen to all the arrangements.”

“You mean, he’s leaving Japan without you?" Sachiko laughed. “One needs to be patient, Etsuko."

Once he arrives in America, he’ll be able to work and send money. Its by far the most sensible solution. After all, it would be so much easier for him to find work once he’s back in America. I don’t mind waiting a little.”

“I see".

“He’s seen to everything, Etsuko. He’s found a place for Us to stay in Kobe, and he’s seen to it that we’ll get on a ship it almost half the usual cost." She gave a sigh. “You have no idea how pleased I am to be leaving this place.”

Sachiko continued to pack. The pale light from outside bu on one side of her face, but her hands and sleeves were ught in the glow from the lantern. It was a strange effect.

“DO you expect to waft long in Kobe?" I tasked. She shrugged. “I’m prepared to be patient, Etsuko. One needs to be patient.”

could not see in the dimness what it was she was folding; it seemed to be giving her some difficulty, for she opened and refolded it several times.

In any case, Etsuko,” she went on, “why would he have gone to all this trouble if he wasn’t absolutely sincere? Why would he have gone to all this trouble on my behalf? Sometimes, Etsuko, you seem so doubting. You should be happy for me. Things are working out at last."

“Yes, of course. I’m very happy for you.”

“But really, Etsuko, it would be unfair to start doubing him after he’s gone to all this trouble. It would be quite unfair"

"Yes.”

“And Mariko would be happier there. America is a better place for a young girl to grow up. Out there, could do all kinds of things with her life. She could bec a business girl. Or she could study painting at college become an artist. All these things are much easier America, Etsuko. Japan is no place for a girl. What can look forward to here?”

I made no reply. Sachiko glanced up at me and gave small laugh.

“Try and smile, Etsuko,” she said. Things will turn well in the end.”

“Yes, I’m sure they will.”

“Of course they will."

“Yes."

For another minute or so, Sachiko continued with packing. Then her hands became still, and she gazed across the room towards me, her face caught in that strange mixture of light.

“I suppose you think I’m a fool, she said, quietly “Don’t you, Etsuko?”

I looked back at her, a little surprised.

“I realize we may never see America," she said.—even if we did, I know how difficult things will be. Did you think I never knew that?”

I gave no reply, and we went on staring at each other. “But what of it?” said Sachiko. “What difference does It make? Why shouldn’t I go to Kobe? After all, Etsuko, what do I have to lose? There’s nothing for me at my uncle’s house. Just a few empty rooms, that’s all. I could sit there in and grow old. Other than that there’ll be nothing. Just empty rooms, that’s all, You know that yourself, Etsuko.”

”But Mariko,” I said, “What about Mariko?” “Mariko? She’ll manage well enough. She’ll just have Sachiko continued to gaze at me through the dimness, e side of her face in shadow. Then she said: "Do you imagine for one moment that I’m a good mother to her?"

I remained silent. Then suddenly, Sachiko laughed.

"Why are we talking like this?” she said, and her hands

to move busily once more. "Everything will turn out , I assure you. I’ll write to you when I reach America. haps, Etsuko, you’ll even come and visit us one day. U could bring your child with you.”

Yes, indeed.”

Perhaps you’ll have several children by then.” Yes,” I said, laughing awkwardly. “You never know.” Sachiko gave a sigh and lifted both hands into the air. "there’s so much to pack,” she murmured. “I’ll just have to some of it behind.” at there for some moments, watching her.

"If you wish,” I said, eventually “I could go and look for it. It’s getting rather late.”

You only tire yourself, Etsuko. I’ll finish packing and t still hasn’t come back we could go and look for her all right. I’ll see if I can find her. It’s nearly dark now”

Sachiko glanced up, then shrugged. “Perhaps you’d best We lantern with you,” she said. It’s quite slippery the bank.”

The to my feet and took the lantern down from the shadows moved across the cottage as I walked towards the doorway. As I was leaving, I glanced back towards Sachiko. I could see only her silhouette, seated before the open partitions, the sky behind her turned almost to night.

Insects followed my lantern as I made my way along the river. Occasionally, some creature would become trapped inside, and I would then have to stop and hold the lantern still until it had found its way out.

In time, the small wooden bridge appeared on the bank ahead of me. While crossing it, I stopped for a moment to gaze at the evening sky. As I recall, a strange sense of tranquillity came over me thereon that bridge. I stood there for some minutes, leaning over the rail, listening to the sounds of the river below me. When finally I turned, I saw my own shadow, cast by the lantern, thrown across the wooden slats of the bridge.

“What are you doing here?” tasked, for the little girl was before me, sat crouched beneath the opposite rail. I came forward until I could see her more clearly under my lantern. She was looking at her palms and said nothing.

“What’s the matter with you?” I said. “Why are you sitting here like this?”

The insects were clustering around the lantern. I put it down in front of me, and the child’s face became more sharply illuminated. After a long silence, she said: “I don’t want to go away. I don’t want to go away tomorrow.”

I gave a sigh. "But you’ll like it. Everyone’s a little frightened of new things. You’ll like it over there.”

“I don’t want to go away. And I don’t like him. He’s like a pig.”

“You’re not to speak like that,” I said, angrily. We stared at each other for a moment, then she looked back down at her hands.

“You mustn’t speak like that,” I said, more calmly, “He’s very fond of you, and he’ll be just like a new father. Everything will turn out well, I promise.”

The child said nothing. I sighed again.

“In any case,” I went on, “if you don’t like it over there, we can always come back.”

This time she looked up at me questioningly.

“Yes I promise,” I said. “If you don’t like it over there, we’ll come straight back. But we have to try it and see if we like it there. I’m sure we will.”

The little girl was watching me closely. “Why are you holding that?” she asked.

“This? It just caught around my sandal, that’s all.”

“Why are you holding it?”

“I told you. It caught around my foot. What’s wrong with you?” I gave a short laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not going to hurt you.”

Without taking her eyes from me, she rose slowly to her

"What’s wrong with you?” I repeated.

The child began to run, her footsteps drumming along the wooden boards. She stopped at the end of the bridge and stood watching me suspiciously. I smiled at her and picked up the lantern. The child began once more to run.

A half-moon had appeared above the water and for several quiet moments I remained on the bridge, gazing at it. Once, through the dimness, I thought I could see Mariko running along the riverbank in the direction of the cottage.

At first, I was sure someone had walked past my bed and out of my room, closing the door quietly. Then I became more awake, and I realized how fanciful an idea this was.

I lay in bed listening for further noises. Quite obviously, I had heard Niki in the next room; she had complained throughout her stay of being unable to sleep well. Or possibly there had been no noises at all, I had awoken again during the early hours from habit.

The sound of birds came from outside, but my room was still in darkness. After several minutes I rose and found my dressing gown. When [opened my door, the light outside was very pale. I stepped further on to the landing and almost by instinct cast a glance down to the far end of the corridor, towards Keiko’s door.

Then, for a moment, I was sure I had heard a sound come from within Keiko’s room, a small clear sound amidst the singing of the birds outside. I stood still, listening, then began to walk towards the door. There came more noises, and I realized they were coming from the kitchen downstairs. I remained on the landing for a moment, then made my way down the staircase.

Niki was coming out of the kitchen and started on seeing me.

Oh, Mother, you gave me a real fright.”

In the murky light of the hallway, I could see her thin figure in a pale dressing gown holding a cup in both her hands.

“I’m sorry, Niki. I thought perhaps you were a burglar.”

My daughter took a deep breath, but still seemed shaken.

Then she said: “I couldn’t sleep very well. So I thought I might as well make some coffee.”

“What time is it now?"

“About five, I suppose."

She went into the living room, leaving me standing at the foot of the stairs. I went to the kitchen to make myself coffee before going to join her. In the living room, Niki had opened the curtains and was sitting astride a hard-backed chair, looking emptily out into the garden. The grey light from the window fell on her face.

“Will it rain again, do you think?" I asked.

She shrugged and continued to look out of the window. I sat down near the fireplace and watched her, Then she sighed tiredly and said:

“I don’t seem to sleep very well. I keep having these bad dreams all the time.”

That’s worrying, Niki. At your age you should have no problems sleeping.”

She said nothing and went on looking at the garden.

“What kind of bad dreams do you have?" I asked.

“Oh, just bad dreams.”

“Bad dreams about what, Niki?”

“Just bad dreams,” she said, suddenly irritated. “What does it matter what they’re about?”

We fell silent for a moment. Then Niki said without turning:

“I suppose d should have looked after her a bit more, shouldn’t he? He ignored her most of the time. It wasn’t fair really.”

I waited to see if she would say more. Then I said: “Well. it’s understandable enough. He wasn’t her real father, after all.”

“But it wasn’t fair really.”

Outside, I could see, it was nearly daylight. A lone bird was making its noises somewhere close by the window.

“Your father was rather idealistic at times," I said. “In those days, you see, he really believed we could give her a happy life over here."

Niki shrugged. I watched her for a little longer, then said:

“But you see, Niki, I knew all along. I knew all along she wouldn’t be happy over here. But I decided to bring her just the same.

My daughter seemed to consider this for a moment. “Don’t be silly,” she said, turning to me, “how could you have known? And you did everything you could for her. You’re the last person anyone could blame.”

I remained silent. Her face, devoid of any make-up, looked very young.

Anyway,” she said, “sometimes you’ve got to take risks. You did exactly the right thing. You can’t just watch your life wasting away.”

I put down the coffee cup I had been holding and stared past her, out into the garden. There were no signs of rain and the sky seemed clearer than on previous mornings.

“It would have been so stupid,” Niki went on, “if you’d just accepted everything the way it was and just stayed where you were. At least you made an effort.”

“As you say. Now let’s not discuss it any further."

“It’s so stupid the way people just waste away their lives.”

“Let’s not discuss it any further” I said, more firmly. “There’s no point in going overall that now.”

My daughter turned away again. We sat without talking for a little while, then I rose to my feet and came closer to the window.

“It looks a much better morning today,” I said. “Perhaps the sun will come out. If it does, Niki, we could go for a walk. It would do us a lot of good.”

“I suppose so,” she mumbled.

When I left the living room, my daughter was still sitting astride her chair, her chin supported by a hand, gazing emptily out into the garden.

When the telephone rang, Niki and I were f4iishing breakfast in the kitchen. It had rung for her so frequently during the previous few days that it seemed natural she should be the one to go and answer it. By the time she returned, her coffee had grown cold.

“Your friends again?” I asked.

She nodded, then went over to switch on the kettle.

“Actually, Mother,” she said, “I’ll have to go back this afternoon. Is that all right?” She was standing with one hand on the handle of the kettle, the other on her hip.

“Of course it’s all right. It’s been very nice having you here, Niki.”

“I’ll come and see you again soon. But I’ve really got to be getting back now."

“You don’t have to apologize. Its very important you lead your own life now."

Niki turned away and waited for her kettle. The windows above the sink unit had misted over a little, but outside the sun was shining. Niki poured herself coffee, then sat down at the table.

“Oh, by the way, Mother,” she said. “You know that friend I was telling you about, the one writing the poem about you?”

I smiled. “Oh yes. Your friend.”

“She wanted me to bring back a photo or something. Of Nagasaki. Have you got anything like that? An old postcard or something?”

“I should think I could find something for you. How absurd—I gave a laugh—“Whatever can she be writing about me?”

“She’s a really good poet. She’s been through a lot, you see. That’s why I told her about you.”

“I’m sure she’ll write a marvellous poem, Niki.”

“Just an old postcard, anything like that. Just so she can see what everything was like.” “Well, Niki, I’m not so sure, It has to show what everything was like, does it?”

“You know what I mean.”

I laughed again. “I’ll have a look for you later.”

Niki had been buttering a piece of toast, but now she began to scrape some butter off again. My daughter has been thin since childhood, and the idea that she was concerned at becoming (at amused me. I watched her for a moment.

“Still,” I said, eventually, “it’s a pity you’re leaving today. I was about to suggest we went to the cinema this evening.”

“The cinema? Why, what’s on?”

“I don’t know what kind of films they show these days.. J was hoping you’d know more about it.”

“Actually Mother, it’s ages since we went to a film together, isn’t it? Not since I was little.’ Niki smiled, and for a moment her face became child-like. Then she put down her knife and gazed at her coffee cup. “I don’t go to see films much either” she said, “There’s always loads on in London, but we don’t go much.”

“Well, if you prefer, there’s always the theatre. The bus takes you right up to the theatre now. I don’t know what they have on at the moment, but we could find out. Is that the local paper there, just behind you?”

“Well, Mother, don’t bother. There’s not much point.”

“I think they do quite good plays sometimes. Some quite modem ones. It’ll say in the paper.”

“There’s not much point, Mother. I’ll have to go back today anyhow. I’d like to stay, but I’ve really got to get back.”

“Of course. Niki. There’s no need to apologize.” I smiled at her across the table. “As a matter of fact, it’s a great comfort to me you have good friends you enjoy being with. You’re always welcome to bring any of them here.”

“Yes, Mother, thank you.”

The spare bedroom Niki had been using was small and stark; the sun was streaming into it that morning.

“Will this do for your friend?” tasked, from the doorway. Niki was packing her suitcase on the bed and glanced up briefly at the calendar had found. “That’s fine," she said.

I stepped further into the room. From the window, I could see the orchard below and the neat rows of thin young trees. The calendar I was holding had originally offered a photograph for each month, but all but the last had been torn away. For a moment, I regarded the remaining picture.

“Don’t give me anything important,” Niki said. “If there isn’t anything, it doesn’t matter.”

I laughed and laid the picture down on the bed alongside her other things. “It’s just an old calendar, that’s all. I’ve no idea why I’ve kept it.”

Niki pushed some hair back behind her ear, then continued packing.

“I suppose,” I said, eventually, “you plan to go on living in London for the time being.”

She gave a shnzg. “Well, I’m quite happy there.”

“You must send my best wishes to all your friends.”

”All right, I will."

“And to David. That was his name, wasn’t it?”

She gave another shrug but said nothing. She had brought with her three separate pairs of boots and now she was struggling to find a way of putting them in her case.

“I suppose, Niki, you don’t have any plans yet to be getting married?”

“What dot want to get married for?”

“I was just asking."

“Why should I get married? What's the point of that?”

“You plan to just go on—living in London, do you?"

“Well, why, should I get married? That’s so stupid, Mother.” She rolled up the calendar and packed it away. “so many women just get brainwashed. They think all there is to life is getting married and having a load of kids.”

I continued to watch her. Then I said: “But in the end Niki there isn’t very much else.”

“God, Mother, there’s plenty of things I could do. I don’t want to just get stuck away somewhere with a husband and a load of screaming kids. Why are you going on about it suddenly anyway?" The lid of her suitcase would not shut. She pushed down at it impatiently.

“I was only wondering what your plans were, Niki,” I said, with a laugh. “There’s no need to get so cross. Of course, you must do what you choose.”

She opened the lid again and adjusted some of the contents.

“Now, Niki, there’s no need to get so cross.”

This time, she managed to close the lid. “God knows why I brought so much,” she muttered to herself.

“What do you say to people, Mother?” Niki asked. “What do you say when they ask where l am?”

My daughter had decided she need not leave until after lunch and we had come out walking through the orchard behind the house. The sun was still out, but the air was chilly. I gave her a puzzled look.

“I just tell them you’re living in London, Niki. Isn’t that the truth?”

“I suppose so. But don’t they ask what I’m doing? Like that old Mrs. Waters the other day?”

“Yes, sometimes they ask. I tell them you’re living with your friends. Really, Niki, I had no idea you were so concerned about what people thought of you.”

“I’m not.”

We continued to walk slowly. In many places, the ground had become marshy. “I suppose you don’t like it very much, do you, Mother?”

“Like what, Niki?”

“The way things are with me. You don’t like me living away. With David and all that.”

We had come to the end of the orchard. Niki stepped out on to a small winding lane and crossed to the other side, towards the wooden gates of a field. I followed her. The grass field was large and rose gradually as it spread away from us. AL its crest, we could see two thin sycamore trees against the sky.

“I’m not ashamed of you Niki,” I said. “You must live as—you think best”

My daughter was gazing at the field. “They used to have horses here, didn’t they?” she said, potting her arms upon to the gate. I looked, but there were no horses to be seen.

“You know, it’s strange,” I said. “I remember when I first married, there was a lot of argument because my husband didn’t want to live with his father. You see, in those days that was still quite expected in Japan. There was a lot of argument about that.”

“I bet you were relieved,” Niki said, not taking her eyes from the field.

“Relieved? About what?”

“About not having to live with his father.”

“On the contrary, Niki. I would have been happy if he’d lived with us. Besides, he was a widower. It’s not a bad thing at all, the old Japanese way.”

“Obviously, you’d say that now, I bet that’s not what you thought at the time though.”

“But Niki, you really don’t understand. I was very fond of my father-in-law.” I looked at her for a moment, then finally gave a laugh. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I was relieved he didn’t come to live with us. I don’t remember flow.” I reached forward and touched the top of the wooden gate. A Little moisture came away on my fingers. I realized Niki was watching me and I held up my hand to show her.

“There’s still some frost," I said.

”Do you still think about Japan a lot, Mother?"

“I suppose” I turned back to the field. “I have a few memories”

Two ponies had appeared near the sycamore trees. Fat a moment they stood quite still, in the sunshine, side by side.

“That calendar I gave you this morning,” I said. “That’s a view of the harbour in Nagasaki. This morning I was remembering the time we went there once, on a day-trip. Those hills over the harbour are very beautiful.”

The ponies moved slowly behind the trees.

“What was so special about it?” said Niki.

“Special?”

“About the day you spent at the harbour.”

“Oh, there was nothing special about it. I was just remembering it, that’s all. Keiko was happy that day. We rode on the cable-cars.’ I gave a laugh and turned to Niki. “No, there was nothing special about it. It’s just a happy memory, that’s all.”