A Pale View of Hills (7 page)

“Three years. I never saw the point in these long engagements. Yes, Michiko was a nice girl. I’m sure she’d be the first to agree with me about Kazuo mourning her like this. She would have wanted him to continue with his life.”

“It must be difficult for him though. To have built up plans for so long only for things to end like that.”

“But that’s all in the past now,” said Mrs. Fujiwara. “We’ve all had to put things behind us. You too, Etsuko, I remember you were very heartbroken once. But you managed to carry on.”

“Yes, but I was fortunate. Ogata-San was very kind to me in those days. I don’t know what would have become of me otherwise.”

Yes, he was very kind to you. And of course, that’s how you met your husband. But you deserved to be fortunate.”

“I really don’t know where I’d be today if Ogata-San hadn’t taken me in. But I can understand how difficult it must be—for your son, I mean. Even mel still think about Nakamura-San sometimes. I can’t help it. Sometimes I wake up and forget. I think I’m still back here, here in Nakagawa

“Now, Etsuko, that’s no way to talk.” Mrs. Fujiwara looked at me for some moments, then gave a sigh. “But it happens to me too. Like you say, in the mornings, just as you wake, it can catch you unawares. I often wake up thinking I’ll have to hurry and get breakfast ready for them all.”

We fell silent for a moment. Then Mrs. Fujiwara laughed a little.

“You’re very bad, Etsuko,” she said. “See, you’ve got me talking like this now.”

“It’s very foolish of me,” I said. “In any case, Nakamura-San and I, there was never anything between us. I mean, nothing had been decided.”

Mrs. Fujiwara went on looking at me, nodding to some private train of thought. Then across the forecourt a customer stood up, ready to leave.

I watched Mrs. Fujiwara go over to him, a neat young man in shirt-sleeves. They bowed to each other and began chatting cheerfully. The man made some remark as he buttoned his briefcase and Mm Fujiwara laughed heartily. They exchanged bows once more, then he disappeared into the afternoon rush. I was grateful for the opportunity to compose my emotions. When Mrs. Fujiwara came back, I said:

“I’d better be leaving you soon. You’re very busy just now.”

“You just stay there and relax. You’ve only just sat down. I’ll get you some lunch.”

“No, that’s all right.”

“Now, Etsuko, if you don’t eat here, you won’t eat lunch for another hour. You know how important it is for you to eat regularly at this stage.”

“Yes, I suppose so.’

Mrs. Fujiwara looked at me closely for a moment. Then she said: “You’ve everything to look forward to now, Etsuko. What are you so unhappy about?”

“Unhappy? But I’m not unhappy in the least.”

She continued to look at me, and I laughed nervously.

“Once the child comes,” she said, “you’ll be delighted, believe me. And you’ll make a splendid mother, Etsuko.”

“I hope so.”

“Of course you will.”

“Yes.”! looked up and smiled.

Mrs. Fujiwara nodded, then rose to her feet once more.

The inside of Sachiko’s cottage had grown increasingly dark—there was only one lantern in the room—and at first I thought Mariko was staring at a black mark on the wall. She reached out a finger and the shape moved a little. Only then did I realize it was a spider.

“Mariko, leave that alone. That’s not nice.”

She put both hands behind her back, but went on staring at the spider.

“We used to have a cat once,’ she said. “Before we came here. She used to catch spiders.”

“I see. No, leave it alone, Mariko.”

“But it’s not poisonous.”

“No, but leave it alone, it’s dirty.’

“The cat we used to have, she could eat spiders. What would happen if late a spider?’

“I don’t know, Mariko.”

“Would I be sick?”

“I don’t know” I went back to the sewing I had brought with me. Mariko continued to watch the spider. Eventually she said: “I know why you came here tonight.”

“I came because its not nice for little girls to be on their own.”

“It’s because of the woman, It’s because the woman might come again.”

“Why don’t you show me some more drawings? The ones you showed me )ust now were lovely.”

Mariko did not reply. She moved over to the window and looked out into the darkness.

“Your mother won’t be long now,” I said. “Why don’t you show me some more drawings.”

Mariko continued to look into the darkness. Eventually, she returned to the corner where she had been sitting before the spider had attracted her attention.;

“How did you spend your day today, Mariko?” [asked. “Did you do any drawing?”

“I played with Atsu and Mee-Chan.”

“That’s nice. And where do they live? Are they from the apartments?”

“That’s Atsu”—she pointed to one of the small black kittens beside her—“and that’s Mee-Chan.”

I laughed. “Oh, I see. They’re lovely little kittens, aren’t they? But don’t you ever play with other children? The children from the apartments?”

“I play with Atsu and Mee-Chan.”

“But you should by and make friends with the other children. I’m sure they’re all very nice.”

“They stole Suji-Chan. He was my favourite kitten.”

“They stole him? Oh dear, I wonder why they did that.” Mariko began stroking a kitten. “I’ve lost Suji-Chan now.”

“Perhaps hell turn up soon. I’m sure the children were just playing.”

“They killed him, I’ve lost Suji-Chan now.”

“Oh. I wonder why they did a thing Like that.”

“I threw stones at them. Because they said things.”

“Well, you shouldn’t throw stones, Mariko.’

“They said things. About Mother. I threw stones at them and they took Suji-Chan and wouldn’t give him back.”

“Well, you’ve still got your other kittens.”

Mariko moved across the room towards the window again. She was just tall enough to lean her elbows on the ledge. For a few minutes she looked into the darkness, her face close to the pane.

“I want to go out now,” she said, suddenly.

“Go out? But it’s far too late, it’s dark outside. And your mother will be back any time now.”

“Hut I want to go out.”

“Stay hem now, Mariko.”

She continued to look outside. I tried to see what was visible to her; from where I sat I could see only darkness.

“Perhaps you should be kinder to the other children. Then you could make friends with them

“I know why Mother asked you to come here.”

You can’t expect to make friends if you throw stones.”

“It’s because of the woman. ft’s because Mother knows about the woman”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Mariko-San. Tell me more about your kittens. Will you draw more pictures of them when they get bigger?’

“It’s because the woman might come again. That’s why Mother asked you:’

“I don’t think so.”

“Mother’s seen the woman. She saw her the other night.”

I Stopped sewing for a second and looked up at Mariko. She had turned away from the window and was gazing at me with a Strangely expressionless look.

“Where did your mother see this—this person?

“Out there. She saw her out there. That’s why she asked you.”

Mariko came away from the window and returned to her kittens. The older cat had appeared and the kittens had curled up to their mother. Mariko, lay down beside then, and started to whisper. Her whispering had a vaguely disturbing quality.

“Your mother should be home soon,” I said. “I wonder what she can be doing.”

Mariko continued whispering.

“She was telling me au about Frank-san,” I said. “He sounds a very nice man.”

The whispering noises stopped. We stared at each other for a second or so “He’s a bad man’ Mariko said.

“Now that’s not a nice thing to say, Mariko-San. Your mother told me all about him and he sounds very nice. And I’m sure he’s very kind to you, isn’t he?"

She got to her feet and went to the wall. The spider was stiU there.

“Yes, I’m sure he’s a nice man. He’s kind to you, isn’t he, Mariko-San?”

Mariko reached forward. The spider moved quite slowly along the wall.

“Mariko, leave that alone.”

“The cat we had in Tokyo, she used to catch spiders. We were going to bring her with us.”

I could see the spider more clearly in its new position. It had thick short legs, each leg casting a shadow on the yellow wall.

“She was a good cat,” Mariko continued. was going to come with us to Nagasaki.”

“And did you bring her?’

“She disappeared. The day before we were leaving. Mother promised we could bring her, but she disappeared.”

“I see.”

She moved suddenly and caught one of the spider’s legs. The remaining legs crawled frantically around her hand as she brought it away from the wall.

Mariko, let that go. That’s dirty.”

Mariko turned over her hand and the spider crawled into her palm. She closed her other hand over it so that it was imprisoned.

“Mariko, put that down.”

“It’s not poisonous,” she said, coming closer to me. No, but it’s dirty. Put it back in the corner”

“It’s not poisonous though.

She stood in front of me, the spider inside her cupped hands. Through a gap in her fingrs, ld see a leg moving slowly and rhythmically

“Put it back in the corner, Mariko.”

“What would happen if late it? It’s not poisonous"

“You’d be very sick. Now, Mariko, put it back in the corner.”

Mariko brought the spider closer to her face and parted her lips.

“Don’t be silly, Mariko, That’s very dirty."

Her mouth opened wider, and then her hands parted and the spider landed in front of my lap. I started back. The spider sped along the tatami into the shadows behind me. It took me a moment to recover, and by then Mariko had left the cottage.

I cannot be sure now how long I spent searching for her that night. Quite possibly it was for a considerable time, for I was advanced in my pregnancy by then and careful to avoid hurried movements. Besides, once having come outside, I was finding it strangely peaceful to walk beside the river. Along one section of the bank, the grass had grown very tall. I must have been wearing sandals that night for I can remember distinctly the feel of the grass on my feet. As I walked, there were insects making noises all around me.

Then eventually I became aware of a separate sound, a rustling noise as if a snake were sliding in the grass behind me. I stopped to listen, then realized what had caused it; an old piece of rope had tangled itself around my ankle and I had been dragging it through the grass. I carefully released it from around my foot. When I held it up to the moonlight it felt damp and muddy between my fingers.

“Hello, Mariko,” I said, for she was sitting in the grass a short way in front of me, her knees hunched up to her chin. A willow tree—one of several that grew on the bank—hung over the spot where she sat. I took a few steps towards her until I could make out her face more clearly.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Nothing. It just tangled on to my foot when I was walking.”

“What is it though?"

“Nothing, just a piece of old rope. Why are you out here?”

“Do you want to take a kitten?” 

“A kitten?”

“Mother says we can’t keep the kittens. Do you want one?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But we have to find homes for them soon. Or else Mother says we’ll have to drown them.”

“That would be a pity"

You could have Atsu.”

“We’ll have to see.”

“Why have you got that?

“I told you, it’s nothing. It just caught on to my foot.” I took a step closer. Why are you doing that, Mariko?”

“Doing what?”

“You were making a strange face just now.”

“I wasn’t making a strange face. Why have you got the rope?”

“You were making a strange face. It was a very strange face."

“Why have you got the rope?”

I watched her for a moment. Signs of fear were appearing on her face.

“Don’t you want a kitten then?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so. What’s the matter with you?” Mariko got to her feet. I caine forward until I reached the willow tree. I noticed the cottage a short distance away, the shape of its roof darker than the sky. I could hear Mariko’s footsteps running off into the darkness.

When I reached the door of the cottage, I could hear Sachiko’s voice from within, talking angrily. They both turned to me as I came in. Sachiko was standing in the middle of the room, her daughter before her. In the light cast by the lantern, her carefully prepared face had a mask-like quality.

“I fear Mariko’s been giving you trouble,” she said to me.

“Well, she ran outside”

“Say sorry to Etsuko-San.” She gripped Mariko’s arm roughly.

“I want to go outside again.”

“You won’t move. Now apologize.”

“I want to go outside.”

With her free hand, Sachiko slapped the child sharply on the back of her thigh. “Now, apologize to Etsuko-San.”

Small tears were appearing in Mariko’s eyes. She looked at me briefly, then turned back to her mother. “Why do you always go away?”

Sachiko raised her hand again warningly.

“Why do you always go away with Frank-San?”

“Are you going to say you’re sorry?”

“Frank-San pisses like a pig. He’s a pig in a sewer.” Sachiko stared at her child, her hand still poised in the air.

“He drinks his own piss.”

“Silence.”

“He drinks his own piss and he shits in his bed.” Sachiko continued to glare, but remained quite still. “He drinks his own piss.” Mariko pulled her aim free and walked across the room with an air of nonchalance. At the entryway she turned and stared back at her mother. “He pisses like a pig,” she repeated, then went out into the darkness.

Sachiko stared at the entryway for some moments, apparently oblivious of my presence.

“Shouldn’t someone go after her?” I said, after a while. Sachiko looked at me and seemed to relax a little. “No,” she said, sitting down. “Leave her.”

“But it’s very late."

“Leave her. She can come back when she pleases.” A kettle had been steaming on the open stove for some

time. Sachiko took it off the flame and began making tea. I watched her for several moments, then asked quietly:

Did you find your friend?”

“Yes, Etsuko," she said. “I found him.” She continued with her tea-making, not looking up at me. Then she said:

“It was very kind of you to have come here tonight. I do apologize about Mariko.”

I continued to watch her. Eventually, I said: “What are your plans now?”

“My plans?” Sachiko finished filling the teapot, then poured the remaining water on to the flame. “Etsuko, I’ve told you many times, what is of the utmost importance to me is my daughter’s welfare. That must come before everything else. I’m a mother, after all. I’m not some young saloon girl with no regard for decency I’m a mother, and my daughter’s interests come first.”

“Of course.”

“I intend to write to my uncle. I’ll inform him of my whereabouts and I’ll tell him as much as he has a right to know about my present circumstances. Then if he wishes, I’ll discuss with him the possibilities of our returning to his house.” Sachiko picked up the teapot in both hands and began to shake it gently. “As a matter of fact, Etsuko, I’m rather glad things have turned out like this. Imagine how unsettling it would have been for my daughter, finding herself in a land full of foreigners, a land full of Ame-kos. And suddenly having an Ame-ko for a father, imagine how confusing that would be for her. Do you understand what I’m saying, Etsuko? She’s had enough disturbance in her life already, she deserves to be somewhere settled. It’s just as well things have turned out this way.”

I murmured something in assent.

“Children, Etsuko,” she went on, “mean responsibility. You’ll discover that yourself soon enough. And that’s what he’s really scared of, anyone can see that. He’s scared of Mariko. Well, that’s not acceptable to me, Etsuko. My daughter comes first. It’s just as well things have turned out this way.” She went on rocking the teapot in her hands.

“This must be very distressing for you," I said, eventually.

“Distressing?”—Sachiko laughed—“Etsuko, do you imagine little things like this distress me? When I was your age, perhaps. But not any more. I’ve gone through too much over the last few years. In any case, I was expecting this to happen. Oh yes, I’m not surprised at all. I expected this. The last time, in Tokyo it was much the same, he disappeared and spent all our money, drank it all in three days. A lot of it was my money too. Do you know, Etsuko, I actually worked as a maid in a hotel? Yes, as a maid. But I didn’t complain, and we almost had enough, a few more weeks and we could have got a ship to America. But then he drank it all. All those weeks I spent scrubbing floors on my knees and he drank it all up in three days. And now there he is again a bar with his worthless saloon girl. How can I place my daughter’s future in the hands of a man like that?

“I’m a mother, and my daughter comes first."

We fell silent again. Sachiko put the teapot down in front of her and stared at it.

“I hope your uncle will prove understanding," I said.

She gave a shrug. “As far as my uncle’s concerned, Etsuko, I’ll discuss the matter with him. I’m willing to do so for Mariko’s sake. If he proves unhelpful, then I’ll just find some alternative course. In any case, I’ve no intention of ccompanying some foreign drunkard to America. I’m quite happy he’s found some saloon girl to drink with him, I’m sure they deserve one another. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m going to do what’s best for Mariko, and that’s my decision.”

For some time, Sachiko continued to stare at the teapot. Then she sighed and got to her feet. She went over to the window and peered out into the darkness.

“Should we go and look for her now?" I said.

“No,” Sachiko said, still looking out. “She’ll be back soon. Let her stay out if that’s what she wants”

I feel only regret now for those attitudes I displayed towards Keiko. In this country, after all, it is not unexpected that a young woman of that age should wish to leave home. All I succeeded in doing, it would seem, was to ensure that when she finally left— now almost six years ago—she did so severing all her ties with me. But then I never imagined she could so quickly vanish beyond my reach; all I saw was that my daughter, unhappy as she was at home, would find the world outside too much for her. It was for her own protection I opposed her so vehemently.

That morning—the fifth day of Niki’s visit—I awoke during the early hours. What occurred to me first was that I could no longer hear the rain as on previous nights and mornings. Then I remembered what had awoken me.

I lay under the covers looking in turn at those objects visible in the pale light. After several minutes I felt somewhat calmer and closed my eyes again. I did not sleep, however. I thought of the landlady—Keikos landlady— and how she had finally opened the door of that room in Manchester.

I opened my eyes and once more looked at the objects in the room. Finally I rose and put on my dressing gown. I made my way to the bathroom, taking care not to arouse Niki, asleep in the spare room next to mine. When I came out of the bathroom, I remained standing on the landing for some time. Beyond the staircase, at the far end of the hallway, I could see the door of Keiko’s room. The door, as usual, was shut. I went on staring at it, then moved a few steps forward. Eventually, I found myself standing before it. Once, as I stood there, I thought I heard a small sound, some movement from within. I listened for a while but the sound did not come again. I reached forward and opened the door.

Keikos room looked stark in the greyish light; a bed covered with a single sheet, her white dressing table, and on the floor, several cardboard boxes containing those of her belongings she had not taken with her to. Manchester. I stepped further into the room. The curtains had been left open and I could see the orchard below. The sky looked pale and white; it did not appear to be raining. Beneath the window, down on the grass, two birds were pecking at some fallen apples. I started to feel the cold then and returned to my mom.

“A friend of mine’s writing a poem about you,” said Niki.

We were eating breakfast in the kitchen.

“About me? Why on earth is she doing that?”

“I was telling her about you and she decided she’d write a poem. She’s a brilliant poet."

“A poem about me? How absurd. What is there to write about? She doesn’t even know me.”

“I just said, Mother. I told her about you. It’s amazing how well she understands people. She’s been through quite a bit herself, you see.”

“I see. And how old is this Mend of yours?”

“Mother, you’re always so obsessed about how old people are. It doesn’t matter how old someone is, it’s what they’ve experienced that counts. People can get to be a hundred and not experience a thing.”

“I suppose so.” I gave a laugh and glanced towards the windows. Outside, it had started to drizzle.

“I was telling her about you," Niki said. “About you and Dad and how you left Japan. She was really impressed. She appreciates what it must have been like, how it wasn’t quite as easy as it sounds.

For a moment, I went on gazing at the windows. Then I said quickly: “I’m sure your friend will write a marvellous poem." I took an apple from the fruit basket and Niki watched as I began to peel it with my knife.

“So many women”, he said, “get stuck with kids and lousy husbands and they’re just miserable. But they can’t pluck up the courage to do a thing about it. They’ll just go on like that for the rest of their lives

“I see. So you’re saying they should desert their children, are you, Niki?”

You know what I mean. It’s pathetic when people just waste away their lives.”

I did not speak, although my daughter paused as if expecting me to do so.

“It couldn’t have been easy, what you did, Mother. You ought to be proud of what you did with your life.” I continued to peel the apple. When I had finished, I dried my fingers on the napkin.

“My friends all think so too,’ said Niki. “The ones I’ve told anyway.”

“I’m very flattered. Please thank your marvellous friends.”

“I was just saying, that’s all.”