The Scent of Sake (24 page)

other night with Jihei. Yoshi tells me that the brewers were talking about you and Kinno as an unbeatable combination, almost like watching Kabuki.” Her father chuckled. “Selling Shrine Water took them all by surprise when they realized we were behind it.” He chuckled again.

“Yes.” Rie smiled. She couldn’t be more delighted. “It has worked out well.”

She put her hand on the calendar. “It’s New Year’s next Sunday, Father. I think I’ll take the children to the temple after breakfast. It can’t hurt to have people see the girls looking their best. It will help when it comes time to arrange their marriages if other families have seen them growing up. And they’ll enjoy the outing, whether or not my husband goes with us.” She just prayed she didn’t run into Saburo and his wife for fear of her reaction, seeing them together for the first time. But she knew she would have to face them eventually. Her joy at seeing Saburo’s face would outweigh her heartache at seeing him with his wife. She hoped so, anyway.

Fortunately, New Year’s was the busiest time of year in any household and kept her in motion so that she didn’t have time to think. Not only was it necessary to clear all debts from the year just ending, but gifts had to be prepared for regular customers and suppliers. The house was given a thorough cleaning, decorations of pine and bamboo were placed at the main entrance, and ceremonial lacquerware cups and trays were unpacked and cleaned. Toji brewed a traditional sweet sake to serve callers, but work in the brewery halted for five days so that the kurabito could return home for the holiday.

Three days before the holiday the children gathered around the large stone mortar and pestle near the well as Kin and Jihei pounded the rice into
mochi
. Kin held the hammer-shaped pestle high while Jihei quickly thrust his hand into a water bucket then back into the glutinous rice and water mass before Kin slammed

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the pestle down on the mortar again. Mochi pounding was a ritual Rie had loved to watch, even as a child. She felt mesmerized by the rhythmic thudding as Kin wielded the pestle. Mochi pounding reminded Rie that it was time to take stock of White Tiger’s progress over the preceding year. Her musing was interrupted by Yoshi’s voice and she turned to watch the two.

“Let me try,” he begged his father.

Jihei stopped and looked at him. “You’ll have to be really fast, Yoshi. Move your hands quickly after you turn.”

“I will.” When Yoshi stepped up to the mortar, Kin slowed his strokes. Yoshi struggled to keep pace until Rie noticed that he was tiring. Jihei soon replaced him. That he was stronger than a thirteen-year-old was the only accomplishment Rie could think of since marrying him.

For several days the kitchen maids worked, preparing the festive foods that would be served New Year’s morning and also shared with visitors who came to pay their respects that day and the three days following. Long noodles symbolizing longevity were cooked for the New Year’s Eve meal, and even Jihei remained at home with the family that night.

In the morning Rie wished her father felicitations and saw the pride on the faces of the boys as they stood for inspection in their black kimono wraps and brightly colored obis. They sat behind her as she lit incense and poured New Year’s sake before her moth-er’s name tablet at the altar already decorated with piles of mochi cakes, tangerines, and bamboo stalks. Then the children were allowed to open their gifts, brightly colored kites for the boys and for the girls a complete set of formal dolls for Girls’ Day.

New Year’s breakfast was the most elaborate meal of the year: soup with mochi and beautifully arranged morsels of fish cake, pickles, and vegetables in artfully cut shapes and colors, served in small exquisite dishes on individual lacquer tables.

“We’re all going to the temple this morning, to pay our re—

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spects,” Rie said while they were finishing breakfast. “You know this is our family temple, where our family grave is located.” She patted Sei’s shoulder. “You may come this year, Sei, and bring your paddles.”

The children’s holiday spirits were contagious, and even Jihei seemed agreeable. “Yes, I’ll go with you,” he said to Rie, “but I need to be back early to help Father greet the callers.”

Rie and the girls walked slightly behind Jihei and the boys as the family strolled like peacocks in their finery through the pine tree-lined temple walkways. She bowed and smiled at neighbors and was careful to speak to brewers as they passed.

Her worries about meeting Saburo and his wife soon faded as she saw brewer after brewer and none was Saburo. She had thought that perhaps she would avoid him after all when suddenly she recognized Saburo Kato and his wife coming toward her. She started, her heart pounding.
Saburo, my own heart!
She should have been the one beside him. They had not been able to arrange a meeting since the night they spent together, the most important of Rie’s life. Memories of that precious time crowded in as she attempted to keep her emotions in check and to greet the couple formally.

“Happy New Year,” she said, smiling and bowing, her heart breaking. “So wonderful to see your family.” She saw three sons, one a striking replica of his father, and a lump formed in her throat. Saburo was still as handsome as he was then, even distinguished now with graying temples, a reminder that they were approaching middle age.

“You’re looking well, Mrs. Omura,” he said.

How she had missed him. She wanted to embrace him, not walk formally past, but she merely smiled and said, “The boys are helping with brewing already.”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Kato bowed. “Already? And your girls are so pretty.”

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Wasn’t it annoying that Mrs. Kato was glancing at Teru, not Fumi? Well, maybe the Katos would consider Teru as a bride for one of their sons. Perhaps even Kazu for another son. Of course for Fumi it was out of the question, something Fumi would never know.

As they walked past, Rie glanced quickly back, and caught Saburo doing the same. Rie felt tantalized, drawn to him as always, but knew a tryst such as the one they had shared was unlikely to happen again, especially now that he was also married. Besides, her family and business responsibilities were now so heavy. She did not have even the smallest chance at the liberty she had taken then.

She let herself steal one last look at him.

At the temple entrance Rie pushed away her thoughts of Saburo, clapped her hands to attract the notice of the gods, then stood silently and offered a prayer for the welfare of the house and brewery. She dropped coins into the offertory box and lit an incense stick. The girls begged for amulets being sold by the priests, and Rie bought three.

When they returned home Rie found her father still greeting callers, visitors below her father in age and status. Each guest was offered a cup or two of ceremonial sake and a package of mochi to take home. Rie thought her father was looking especially tired after the long day, his face haggard and gray. His younger brother had come with his wife, son-in-law, and daughter Sunao, Rie’s friend. They chatted and exchanged family news.

Rie glanced at her father. “He looks so exhausted, Sunao. I’m worried about him.” She rested her hand on Sunao’s arm and frowned at her father’s ashen face.

“He does look older than last year,” Sunao agreed.

“He stays in his room a lot now, but he especially wanted to come out today and greet people. But uncle is looking well, and you always look so fashionable.” Rie scrutinized her cousin’s glowing complexion and flawless kimono and obi.

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“Yes, Father is what, seven years younger? He still works hard,” Sunao said.

“The children could all have played together.”

“Yes, maybe next year.” Sunao glanced around the room at the children.

“Who does Teru look like?” Sunao asked.

“I’m not sure,” Rie answered, her face flushing beneath her cousin’s scrutiny. “You know she and Kazu came from distant relatives on Mother’s side. They’re from the country, both of them.” Rie was relieved she could come up with a plausible explanation in a hurry. “I’m sorry we don’t have a chance to get together more often,” she said as she bade good-bye to Sunao and her parents. “I wish you could come by sometimes. We could go to the flower show next year.”

Rie turned back to the room where guests continued to call and mingle in the room around Kinzaemon and Jihei. Maids scurried in still bearing carafes and sweets. Sei began to cry and throw himself on the floor.

“Fumi, would you please take Sei to bed?” Rie said. “And Yoshi, you can go and play cards with the girls now.”

Rie saw that the noise and confusion were fatiguing her father. He sat stooped and suddenly silent. Rie and Jihei sat with each set of guests who came to offer greetings until the last visitor departed and darkness was whispering into the room.

Rie hurried over to her father, who was slumped over his tray. “Father, are you all right?” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Oh,” he murmured feebly and looked up at Rie.

Jihei quickly joined Rie and put his arms around Kinzaemon’s shoulders. “Can you get up, Father?”

“Are you in pain?” Rie’s voice rose.

Kinzaemon struggled to move his legs as if to rise. “Rie . . . no,” he gasped for breath. “There’s . . . something I must . . .

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tell you.” He moved forward slightly, then slumped over on the tatami.

“Father!” Rie gasped and reached for his wrist and pulse. His arm went limp.

“No!” Rie put her hands to her head and rocked back and forth. “No!”

Jihei cradled Kinzaemon’s head on his lap and looked at Rie, disbelief on his face.

Rie had spent the day thinking of her children and had ne-glected her father, the most important person in the world. Now he was dead.

After the initial shock of her father’s death Rie felt bereft, totally abandoned. She mourned for days and weeks following the funeral, a ceremony attended by every brewer in the city. The morning after the funeral she sat at the Butsudan weeping, offering sake and rice before the tablet newly inscribed with her father’s posthumous name. For nearly eleven years following her mother’s death he had been her solace, her support in every major crisis. Now she had just Jihei and the children. She felt utterly alone. There seemed no way to assuage her grief. She alternated between numbness and sorrow. For days she wandered through the garden and rooms of the house that seemed colder now than ever, often ending up in her father’s room, as if she half expected to find him there.

One evening, the hour after dinner when she had so often enjoyed her father’s companionship, she opened his cupboard and took out his kimonos, piling them on the tatami. She picked up one of the finest formal kimonos, held it to her face and inhaled the camphor aroma mingled with the slightly woodsy scent she associated with her father. Tears ran down her cheeks and she let them fall freely. No, she would give none of the kimonos to Jihei.

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He did not deserve anything her father had worn. One or two could go to Yoshi, and some to Sei when he was old enough.