THE
MAKIOKA
SISTERS

*^^3s9s^sy^^s^3s^^s^^3s9s?^^^>^^9^^s3s9s^3^

Junichiro Tanizaki

TRANSLATED FROM THE JAPANESE

by Edward G. Seidensticker

VINTAGE INTERNATIONAL

Vintage Books
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York
FIRST VINTAGE INTERNATIONAL EDITION, OCTOBER 1995

Copyright Đ 1957 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Copyright renewed 1985 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. Published in the United States by Vintage Books,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously
in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Originally published in Japan as Sasame Yuki. First published in
the United States in hardcover by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.,
New York, in 1957.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Tanizaki, Jun'ichiro, d 1886--1965.
[Sasameyuki. English]
The Makioka sisters / Jun'ichiro Tanizaki;
translated from the Japanese by Edward G. Seidensticker. --
1st Vintage International ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0679761640
I. Seidensticker, Edward, 1921- . II. Title.
PL859.A7S3713 1995
895.6'344-dczo 95-13245
CIP

Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9

The. Principal Characters

Vft The four Makioka sisters:

tsuruko, the mistress of the senior or "main" house in Osaka,
which by Japanese tradition wields authority over the collateral
branches.
sachiko, the mistress of the junior or branch house in Ashiya, a
small city just outside of Osaka. For reasons of sentiment and
convenience, the younger unmarried sisters prefer to live with
her, somewhat against tradition.
yukiko, thirty and still unmarried, shy and retiring, now not much
sought after; so many proposals for her hand have been refused
in earlier years that the family has acquired a reputation
for haughtiness even though its fortunes are declining.
taeko (familiarly called "Koi-san"), willful and sophisticated
beyond her twenty-five years, waiting impatiently for Yukiko's
marriage so that her own secret liaison can be acknowledged
before the world.

Vgt

tatsuo, Tsuruko's husband, a cautious bank employee who has
taken the Makioka name and who, upon the retirement of
the father, became the active head of the family according
to Japanese custom.
teinosuke, Sachiko's husband, an accountant with remarkable
literary inclinations and far broader human instincts than
Tatsuo; he too has taken the Makioka name.
etsuko, Sachiko's daughter, a precocious child just entering
school.
o-haru, Sachiko's maid.
The Principal Characters

mrs. itani, owner of a beauty parlor, an inveterate gossip whose
profession lends itself to the exciting game of arranging marriages.
okubata (familiarly called "Kei-boy"), the man with whom
Taeko tried to elope at 19, and whom she still sees secretly.
itakuka, a man of no background to whom Taeko is attracted
after her betrothal to Okubata is too long delayed.
THE MAKIOKA SISTERS
BOOK ONE

^yywywyss^y^ys?yw^yw^Kys>y

would you do this please, Koisan?"
Seeing in the mirror that Taeko had come up behind
her, Sachiko stopped powdering her back and
held out the puff to her sister. Her eyes were still on the mirror,
appraising the face as if it belonged to someone else. The long
under-kimono, pulled high at the throat, stood out stiffly behind
to reveal her back and shoulders.
"And where is Yukiko?"
"She is watching Etsuko practice," said Taeko. Both sisters
spoke in the quiet, unhurried Osaka dialect. Taeko was the youngest
in the family, and in Osaka the youngest girl is always "Koisan,"
"small daughter."
They could hear the piano downstairs. Yukiko had finished
dressing early, and young Etsuko always wanted someone beside
her when she practiced. She never objected when her mother went
out, provided that Yukiko was left to keep her company. Today,
with her mother and Yukiko and Taeko all dressing to go out, she
was rebellious. She very grudgingly gave her permission when they
promised that Yukiko at least would start back as soon as the
concert was over--it began at two--and would be with Etsuko
for dinner.
"Koi-san, we have another prospect for Yukiko."
"Oh?"
The bright puff moved from Sachiko's neck down over her
4 the makioka sisters

back and shoulders. Sachiko was by no means round-shouldered,
and yet the rich, swelling flesh of the neck and back somehow gave
a suggestion of a stoop. The warm glow of the skin in the clear
autumn sunlight made it hard to believe that she was in her
thirties.
"It came through Itani."
"Oh?"
"The man works in an office, M.B. Chemical Industries, Itani
says."
"And is he well off?"
"He makes a hundred seventy or eighty yen a month, possibly
two hundred fifty with bonuses."
"M.B. Chemical Industries--a French company?"
"How clever of you. How did you know?"
"Oh, I know that much."
Taeko, the youngest, was in fact far better informed on such
matters than her sisters. There was a suggestion occasionally that
she took advantage of their ignorance to speak with a condescension
more appropriate in someone older.
"I had never heard of M.B. Chemical Industries. The head office
is in Paris, Itani says. It seems to be very large."
"They have a big building on the Bund in Kobe. Have you
never noticed it?"
"That is the place. That is where he works."
"Does he know French?"
"It seems so. He graduated from the French department of the
Osaka Language Academy, and he spent some time in Paris--
not a great deal, though. He makes a hundred yen a month teaching
French at night."
"Does he have property."
"Very little. He still has the family house in the country--his
mother is living there--and a house and lot in Kobe. And nothing
more. The Kobe house is very small, and he bought it on installments.
And so you see there is not much to boast of."
"He has no rent to pay, though. He can live as though he had
more than four hundred a month."
"How do you think he would be for Yukiko? He has only his
mother to worry about, and she never comes to Kobe. He is past
forty, but he has never been married."
Boofe One 5

"Why not, if he is past forty?"
"He has never found anyone refined enough for him, Itani says."
"Very odd. You should have him investigated."
"And she says he is most enthusiastic about Yukiko."
"You sent her picture?"
"I left a picture with Itani, and she sent it without telling me.
She says he is very pleased."
"Do you have a picture of him?"
The practicing went on below. It did not seem likely that Yukiko
would interrupt them.
"Look in the top drawer on the right." Puckering her lips as
though she were about to kiss the mirror, Sachiko took up her
lipstick. "Did you find it?"
"Here it is. You have shown it to Yukiko?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"As usual, she said almost nothing. What do you think, Koisan?"

"Very plain. Or maybe just a little better than plain. A middling
office worker, you can tell at a glance."
"But he is just that after all. Why should it surprise you?"
"There may be one advantage. He can teach Yukiko French."
Satisfied in a general way with her face, Sachiko began to unwrap
a kimono.
"I almost forgot." She looked up. "I feel a little short on 'B.'
Would you tell Yukiko, please?"
Beri-beri was in the air of this Kobe-Osaka district, and every
year from summer into autumn the whole family--Sachiko and
her husband and sisters and Etsuko, who had just started school--
came down with it. The vitamin injection had become a family
institution. They no longer went to a doctor, but instead kept a
supply of concentrated vitamins on hand and ministered to each
other with complete unconcern. A suggestion of sluggishness was
immediately attributed to a shortage of Vitamin B, and, although
they had forgotten who coined the expression, "short on 'B'"
never had to be explained.
The piano practice was finished. Taeko called from the head
of the stairs, and one of the maids came out. "Could you have
an injection ready for Mrs. Makioka, please?"
.ys^^^s^^s7Si^s?<^^?s^'^s^,^?sJs^?s3s3s^

2

mrs. itani ("Itani" everyone called her) had a beauty shop near
the Oriental Hotel in Kobe, and Sachiko and her sisters were
among the steady customers. Knowing that Itani was fond of
arranging marriages, Sachiko had once spoken to her of Yukiko's
problem, and had left a photograph to be shown to likely prospects.
Recently, when Sachiko went for a wave-set, Itani took
advantage of a few spare minutes to invite her out for a cup of
tea. In the lobby of the Oriental Hotel, Sachiko first heard Itani's
story.
It had been wrong not to speak to Sachiko first, Itani knew, but
she had been afraid that if they frittered away their time they
would miss a good opportunity. She had heard of this possible
husband for Miss Yukiko, and had sent him the photograph--only
that, nothing more--possibly a month and a half before. She
heard nothing from the man, and had almost forgotten about him
when she learned that he was apparently busy investigating Yukileo's
background. He had found out all about the Makioka family,
even the main branch in Osaka.
(Sachiko was the second daughter. Her older sister, Tsuruko,
kept the "main" house in Osaka.)
.... And he went on to investigate Miss Yukiko herself. He
went to her school, and to her calligraphy teacher, and to the
woman who instructed her in the tea ceremony. He found out
everything. He even heard about that newspaper affair, and he
went around to the newspaper office to see whether it had been
misreported. It seemed clear to Itani that he was well enough satisfied
with the results of the investigation, but, to make quite sure,
she had told him he ought to meet Miss Yukiko face to face and
see for himself whether she was the sort of girl that the newspaper
article had made her seem. Itani was sure she had convinced
him. He was very modest and retiring, she said, and protested that
he did not belong in a class with the Makioka family, and had very
little hope of finding such a splendid bride, and if, by some
chance, a marriage could be arranged, he would hate to see Miss
Book One 7

Yukiko try to live on his miserable salary. But since there might
just be a chance, he hoped Itani would at least mention his name.
Itani had heard that his ancestors down to his grandfather had
been leading retainers to a minor daimyo (lord) on the Japan
Sea, and that even now a part of the family estate remained. As
far as the family was concerned, then, it would not seem to be
separated by any great distance from the Makiokas. Did Sachiko
not agree? The Makiokas were an old family, of course, and probably
everyone in Osaka had heard of them at one time or another.
But still--Sachiko would have to forgive her for saying so--they
could not live on their old glory forever. They would only find
that Miss Yukiko had finally missed her chance. Why not compromise,
while there was time, on someone not too outrageously
inappropriate? Itani admitted that the salary was not large, but
then the man was only forty, and it was not at all impossible that
he would come to make more. And it was not as if he were working
for a Japanese company. He had time to himself, and with
more teaching at night he was sure he would have no trouble making
four hundred and more. He would be able to afford at least
a maid, there was no doubt about that. And as for the man himself,
Itani's brother had known him since they were very young,
and had given him the highest recommendation. Although it
would be perfectly ideal if the Makiokas were to conduct their
own investigation, there seemed no doubt that his only reason for
not marrying earlier was that he had not found anyone to his
taste. Since he had been to Paris and was past forty, it would be
hard to guarantee that he had quite left women alone, but when
Itani met him she said to herself: "Here's an honest, hardworking
man, not a bit the sort to play around with women." It was reasonable
enough for such a well-behaved man to insist on an elegant,
refined girl, but for some reason--maybe as a reaction from
his visit to Paris--he insisted further that he would have only a
pure Japanese beauty--gentle, quiet, graceful, able to wear Japanese
clothes. It did not matter how she looked in foreign clothes.
He wanted a pretty face too, of course, but more than anything
he wanted pretty hands and feet. To Itani, Miss Yukiko seemed
the perfect answer.
Such was her story.
Itani supported her husband, bedridden with palsy, and, after
8 the makioka sisters

putting her brother through medical school, had this spring sent
her daughter to Tokyo to enter Japan Women's University. Sound
and practical, she was quicker by far than most women, but her
way of saying exactly what was on her mind without frills and
circumlocutions was so completely unladylike that one sometimes
wondered how she kept her customers. And yet there was nothing
artificial about this directness--one felt only that the truth had to
be told--and Itani stirred up little resentment. The torrent of
words poured on as through a broken dam. Sachiko could not
help thinking that the woman was really too forward, but, given
the spirited Itani's resemblance to a man used to being obeyed, it
was clear that this was her way of being friendly and helpful. A
still more powerful consideration, however, was the argument itself,
which had no cracks. Sachiko felt as if she had been pinned
to the floor. She would speak to her sister in Osaka, then, she said,
and perhaps they could do a little investigating themselves. There
the matter ended.
Some, it would appear, looked for deep and subtle reasons to
explain the fact that Yukiko, die third of the four sisters, had
passed the marriageable age and reached thirty without a husband.
There was in fact no "deep" reason worth the name. Or, if a reason
had to be found, perhaps it was that Tsuruko in the main
house and Sachiko and Yukiko herself all remembered the luxury
of their father's last years and the dignity of the Makioka name--
in a word, they were thralls to the family name, to the fact that
they were members of an old and once-important family. In their
hopes of finding Yukiko a worthy husband, they had refused the
proposals that in earlier years had showered upon them. Not one
seemed quite what they wanted. Presently the world grew tired
of their rebuffs, and people no longer mentioned likely candidates.
Meanwhile the family fortunes were declining. There was
no doubt, then, that Itani was being kind when she urged Sachiko
to "forget the past." The best days for the Makiokas had lasted
perhaps into the mid-twenties. Their prosperity lived now only
in the mind of the Osakan who knew the old days well. Indeed
even in the mid-twenties, extravagance and bad management were having their effect on the family business. The first of a series of
crises had overtaken them then. Soon afterwards Sachiko's father
died, the business was cut back, and the shop in Semba, the heart
Book One 9 __

of old Osaka--a shop that boasted a history from the middle of
the last century and the days of the Shogunate--had to be sold.
Sachiko and Yukiko found it hard to forget how it had been while
their father lived. Before the shop was torn down to make way
for a more modem building, they could not pass the solid earthen
front and look in through the shop windows at the dusky interior
without a twinge of sorrow.
There were four daughters and no sons in the family. When the
father went into retirement, Tsuruko's husband, who had taken
the Makioka name, became active head of the family. Sachiko, too,
married, and her husband also took the Makioka name. When
Yukiko came of age, however, she unhappily no longer had a father
to make a good match for her, and she did not get along
well with her brother-in-law, Tatsuo, the new head of the family.
Tatsuo, the son of a banker, had worked in a bank before he became
the Makioka heir--indeed even afterwards he left the management
of the shop largely to his foster father and the chief clerk.
Upon the father's death, Tatsuo pushed aside the protests of his
sisters-in-law and the rest of the family, who thought that something
could still be salvaged, and let the old shop pass into the
hands of a man who had once been a family retainer. Tatsuo himself
went back to his old bank. Quite the opposite of Sachiko's
father, who had been a rather ostentatious spender, Tatsuo was
austere and retired almost to the point of timidity. Such being his
nature, he concluded that rather than try to manage an unfamiliar
business heavily in debt, he ought to take the safer course and let
the shop go, and that he had thus fulfilled his duty to the Makioka
family--had in fact chosen that course precisely because he worried
so about his duties as family heir. To Yukiko, however, drawn
as she was to the past, there was something very unsatisfactory
about this brother-in-law, and she was sure that from his grave her
father too was reproaching Tatsuo. It was in this crisis, shortly
after the father's death, that Tatsuo became most enthusiastic
about finding a husband for Yukiko. The candidate in question
was the heir of a wealthy family and executive of a bank in To-
yohashi, not far from Nagoya. Since that bank and Tatsuo's were
correspondents, Tatsuo knew all he needed to know about the
man's character and finances. The social position of the Saigusa
family of Toyohashi was unassailable, indeed a little too high for
10 the makioka sisters

what the Makioka family had become. The man himself was admirable
in every respect, and presently a meeting with Yukiko
was arranged. Thereupon Yukiko objected, and was not to be
moved. There was nothing she really found fault with in the man's
appearance and manner, she said, but he was so countrified. Although
he was no doubt as admirable as Tatsuo said, one could
see that he was quite unintelligent. He had fallen ill on graduating
from middle school, it was said, and had been unable to go farther,
but Yukiko could not help suspecting that dullness somehow
figured in the matter. Herself graduated from a ladies' seminary
with honors in English, Yukiko knew that she would be quite unable
to respect the man. And besides, no matter how sizable a
fortune he was heir to, and no matter how secure a future he
could offer, the thought of living in a provincial city like Toyohashi
was unbearably dreary. Yukiko had Sachiko's support--surely,
said Sachiko, they could not think of sending the poor girl off to
such a place. Although Tatsuo for his part admitted that Yukiko
was not unintellectual, he had concluded that, for a thoroughly
Japanese girl whose reserve was extreme, a quiet, secure life in a
provincial city, free from needless excitement, would be ideal,
and it had not occurred to him that the lady herself might object.
But the shy, introverted Yukiko, unable though she was to open
her mouth before strangers, had a hard core that was difficult to
reconcile with her apparent docility. Tatsuo discovered that his
sister-in-law was sometimes not as submissive as she might be.
As for Yukiko, it would have been well if she had made her position
clear at once. Instead she persisted in giving vague answers
that could be taken to mean almost anything, and when the crucial
moment came it was not to Tatsuo or her older sister that
she revealed her feelings, but rather to Sachiko. That was perhaps
in part because she found it hard to speak to the almost too enthusiastic
Tatsuo, but it was one of Yukiko's shortcomings that
she seldom said enough to make herself understood. Tatsuo had
concluded that Yukiko was not hostile to the proposal, and the
prospective bridegroom became even more enthusiastic after the
meeting; he made it known that he must have Yukiko and no one
else. The negotiations had advanced to a point, then, from which
it was virtually impossible to withdraw gracefully; but once Yukiko
said "No," her older sister and Tatsuo could take turns at talking
Boofe One n

themselves hoarse and still have no hope of moving her. She said
"No" to the end. Tatsuo had been especially pleased with the proposed
match because he was sure it was one of which his dead father-in-law
would have approved, and his disappointment was
therefore great. What upset him most of all was the fact that one
of the executives in his bank had acted as go-between. Poor
Tatsuo wondered what he could possibly say to the man. If Yukiko
had reasonable objections, of course, it would be another matter,
but this searching out of minor faults--the fellow did not have an
intelligent face, she said--and giving them as reasons for airily dismissing
a proposal of a sort not likely to come again: it could
only be explained by Yukiko's willfulness. Or, if one chose to harbor
such suspicions, it was not impossible to conclude that she had
acted deliberately to embarrass her brother-in-law.
Tatsuo had apparently learned his lesson. When someone came
with a proposal, he listened carefully. He no longer went out
himself in search of a husband for Yukiko, however, and he tried
whenever possible to avoid putting himself forward in marriage
negotiations.

^^C^C^C^C^C^G^CNC^C^tf^CNC^G^CNC^GSG^G^^G^C^CNCt

3

theke was yet another reason for Yukiko's difficulties: "the affair
that got into the newspapers," Itani called it.
Some five or six years earlier, when she had been nineteen,
Taeko, the youngest of the sisters, had eloped with a son of the
Okubatas, an old Semba family who kept a jewelry store. Her motives
were reasonable enough, it would seem: custom would not
allow her to marry before a husband was found for Yukiko, and
she had decided to take extraordinary measures. The two families,
however, were not sympathetic. The lovers were promptly discovered
and brought home, and so the incident passed--but for the
unhappy fact that a small Osaka newspaper took it up. In the
newspaper story, Yukiko, not Taeko, was made the principal, and
even the age given was Yukiko's. Tatsuo debated what to do:
12 the makioka sisters

should he, for Yukiko's sake, demand a retraction? But that might
not be wise, since it would in effect mean confirming the story of
Taeko's misbehavior. Should he then ignore the article? He finally
concluded that, whatever the effect might be on the guilty party,
it would not do to have the innocent Yukiko spattered. He demanded
a retraction. The newspaper published a revised version,
and, as they had feared, this time the public read of Taeko. While
Tatsuo knew that he should have consulted Yukiko first, he knew
too that he could not expect a real answer from her. And there
was a possibility that unpleasantness might arise between Yukiko
and Taeko, whose interests lay on opposite sides in the matter. He
took full responsibility, then, after consulting only his wife. Possibly
somewhere deep in his mind lay a hope that, if he saved
Yukiko's reputation even at the cost of sacrificing Taeko's, Yukiko
might come to think well of him. The truth was that for Tatsuo,
in a difficult position as adopted head of the family, this Yukiko,
so gentle and docile on the surface and yet so hard underneath,
was the most troublesome of his relatives, the most puzzling and
the most difficult to manage. But whatever his motives, he succeeded
in displeasing both Yukiko and Taeko.
It was my bad luck (thought Yukiko) that the affair got into
the papers. And there is no help for it. A retraction would have
done no good, down in a corner where no one would have noticed
it. And retraction or no retraction, I loathe seeing our names
in the papers again. It would have been much wiser to pretend
that nothing had happened. Tatsuo was being kind, I suppose, but
what of poor Koi-san? She should not have done what she did, but
after all the two of them were hardly old enough to know what
they should and should not do. It seems to me that the blame
must really be laid on the two families for not watching them
more carefully. Tatsuo has to take part of it, and so do I. People
can say what they will, but I am sure no one who knows me can
have taken that story seriously. I cannot think that I was hurt by
it. But what of Koi-san? What if she becomes a real delinquent
now? Tatsuo thinks only of general principles, and never of the
people concerned. Is he not going a little too far? And without
even consulting the two of us.
And Taeko, for her part: It is only right of him to want to protect
Yukiko, but he could have done it without getting my name
Boofe One 13

into the papers. It is such a little paper that he could have bought
it off if he had tried, but he is always afraid to spend a little
money.
Taeko was mature for her age.
Tatsuo, who felt that he could no longer face the world, submitted
his resignation to the bank. It was, of course, not accepted,
and for him the incident was closed. The harm to Yukiko, however,
was irreparable. A few people no doubt saw the revised newspaper
story and knew that she had been maligned, but no matter
how pure and proper she might be herself, it was now known what
sort of sister she had, and, for all her self-confidence, Yukiko presently
found marriage withdrawing into the distance. Whatever
she may have felt in private, she continued to insist that the incident
had done her little harm, and there was happily no bad
feeling between the sisters. Indeed Yukiko rather tended to protect
Taeko from their brother-in-law. The two of them had for
some time been in the habit of paying long visits to Sachiko's
house in Ashiya, between Osaka and Kobe. By turns one of them
would be at the main house in Osaka and the other in Ashiya.
After the newspaper incident, the visits to Ashiya became more
frequent, and now the two of them could be found there together
for weeks at a time--Sachiko's husband Teinosuke was so much
less frightening than Tatsuo in the main house. Teinosuke, an accountant
who worked in Osaka and whose earnings were supplemented
by the money he had received from Sachiko's father, was
quite unlike the stern, stiff Tatsuo. For a commercial-school graduate,
he had remarkable literary inclinations, and he had even
tried his hand at poetry. Now and then, when the visits of the
two sisters-in-law seemed too protracted, he would worry about
what the main house might think. "Suppose they were to go back
for a little while," he would say. "But there is nothing at all to
worry about," Sachiko would answer. "I imagine Tsuruko is glad
to have them away now and then. Her house is not half big
enough any more, with all those children. Let Yukiko and Koisan do as they like. No one will complain." And so it became the
usual thing for the younger sisters to be in Ashiya.
The years passed. While very little happened to Yukiko, Taeko's
career took a new turn, a turn that was not without import for
Yukiko too. Taeko had been good at making dolls since her school
14 ___________the makioka sisters

days. In her spare time, she would make frivolous little dolls
from scraps of cloth, and her skill had improved until presently
her dolls were on sale in department stores. She made French-
style dolls and pure Japanese dolls with a Bash of true originality
and in such variety that one could see how wide her tastes were
in the movies, the theater, art, and literature. She built up a following
in the course of time, and, with Sachiko's help, she had
rented a gallery for an exhibit in the middle of the Osaka entertainment
district. She had early taken to making her dolls in
Ashiya, since the main Osaka house was so full of children that it
was quite impossible to work there. Soon she began to feel that
she needed a better-appointed studio, and she rented a room a
half hour or so from Sachiko's house in Ashiya. Tatsuo and
Tsuruko in Osaka were opposed to anything that made Taeko
seem like a working girl. In particular they had doubts about her
renting a room of her own, but Sachiko was able to overcome their
objections. Because of that one small mistake, she argued, Taeko
was even farther from finding a husband than was Yukiko, and it
would be well if she had something to keep her busy. And what if
she was renting a room? It was a studio, and not a place to live.
Fortunately a widowed friend of Sachiko's had opened a rooming
house. How would it be, suggested Sachiko, if they were to ask
the woman to watch over Taeko? And since it was so near, Sachiko
herself could look in on her sister from time to time. Thus Sachiko
finally won Tatsuo and Tsuruko over, though it was perhaps an
accomplished fact they were giving their permission to.
Quite unlike Yukiko, the lively Taeko was much given to pranks
and jokes. It was true that she had had her spells of depression
after that newspaper incident; but now, with a new world opening
for her, she was again the gay Taeko of old. To that extent Sachiko's
theories seemed correct. But since Taeko had an allowance
from the main house and was able to ask good prices for her dolls,
she found herself with money to spend, and now and then she
would appear with an astonishing handbag under her arm, or in
shoes that showed every sign of having been imported. Sachiko
and her older sister, both somewhat uneasy about this extravagance,
urged her to save her money, but Taeko already knew the
value of money in the bank. Sachiko was not to tell Tsuruko, she
aooR une 15

said, but look at this--and she displayed her postal-savings book.
"If you ever need a little spending money," she added, "just let
me know."
Then one day Sachiko was startled at a bit of news she heard
from an acquaintance: "I saw your Koi-san and the Okubata boy
walking by the river." Shortly before, a cigarette lighter had fallen
from Taeko's pocket as she took out a handkerchief, and Sachiko
had learned for the first time that her sister smoked. There was
nothing to be done if a girl of twenty-four or twenty-five decided
she would smoke, Sachiko said to herself, but now this development.
She summoned Taeko and asked whether the report was
true. It was, said Taeko. Sachiko's questions brought out the details:
Taeko had neither seen nor heard from the Okubata boy
after that newspaper incident until the exhibit, where he had
bought the largest of her dolls. After that she began seeing him
again. But of course it was the purest of relationships, and she saw
him very seldom indeed. She was after all a grown woman, no
longer a flighty girl, and she hoped her sister would trust her. Sachiko,
however, reproved herself for having been too lenient. After
all, she had certain obligations to the main house. Taeko worked
as the mood took her, and, very much the temperamental artist,
made no attempt to follow a fixed schedule. Sometimes she would
do nothing for days on end, and again she would work all night
and come home red-eyed in the morning--this in spite of the fact
that she was not supposed to stay overnight in her studio. Liaison
among the main house in Osaka, Sachiko's house in Ashiya,
and Taeko's studio, moreover, had not been such that they knew
when Taeko left one place and was due to arrive at another. Sachiko
began to feel truly guilty. She had been too lax. Choosing
a time when Taeko was not likely to be in, she visited the widowed
friend and learned of Taeko's habits. Taeko had become so
illustrious, it seemed, that she was taking pupils. But only housewives
and young girls; except for craftsmen who made boxes for
the dolls, men never visited the studio. Taeko was an intense
worker once she got herself under way, and it was not uncommon
for her to work until three or four in the morning. Since there was
no bedding in the room, she would have a smoke while she waited
for daylight and the first streetcar. The hours thus matched well
________ It) 1 HE MAKIOKA sisters

enough with what Sachiko had observed. Taeko had at first had a
six-mat1 Japanese room, but recently she had moved into larger
quarters: a Western-style room, Sachiko saw, with a little Japanese
dressing room on a level slightly above it. There were all sorts of
reference works and magazines around the room, and a sewing
machine, bits of cloth, and unfinished dolls, and pictures pinned
to the walls. It was very much the artist's studio, and yet something
in it also suggested the liveliness of a very young girl. Everything
was clean and in order. There was not even a stray cigarette
butt in the ash tray. Sachiko found nothing in the drawers or the
letter rack to arouse her suspicions.
She had been afraid she might find incriminating evidence, and
had for that reason dreaded the visit. Now, however, she was immensely
relieved, and thankful that she had come. She trusted
Taeko more than ever.
Two or three months later, when Taeko was away at her studio,
Okubata suddenly appeared at the door and announced that he
wanted to see Mrs. Makioka. The two families had lived near each
other in the old Semba days, and since he was therefore not a
complete stranger, Sachiko thought she might as well see him. He
knew it was rude of him to come without warning--so he began.
Rash though they had been those several years before, he and Koisan
had been moved by more than the fancy of a moment. They
had promised to wait, it did not matter how many years, until they
finally had the permission of their families to marry. Although it
was true that his family had once considered Taeko a juvenile delinquent,
they saw now that she had great artistic talents, and that
the love of the two for each other was clean and healthy. He had
heard from Koi-san that a husband had not yet been found for
Yukiko, but that once a match was made, Koi-san would be permitted
to marry him. He had come today only after talking the
matter over with her. They were in no hurry; they would wait until
the proper time. But they wanted at least Sachiko to know of
the promise they had made to each other, and they wanted her to
trust them, and presently, at the right time, to take their case to
the sister and brother-in-law in the main house. They would be
eternally grateful if she would somehow see that their hopes were
not disappointed. Sachiko, he had heard, was the most under1
A mat is about two yards by one.
DUUK f^lTW 17

standing member of the family, and an ally of Koi-san's. But he
knew of course that it was not his place to come to her with such
a request.
Such was his story. Sachiko said she would look into the matter,
and sent him on his way. Since she had already suspected that
what he described might indeed be the case, his remarks did not
particularly surprise her. Since the two of them had gotten into
the newspapers together, she rather felt that the best solution
would be for them to marry, and she was sure that the main house
too would presently come to that conclusion. The marriage might
have an unfortunate psychological effect on Yukiko, however, and
for that reason Sachiko wanted to put off a decision as long as
possible.
As was her habit when time was heavy on her hands, she went
into the living room, shuffled through a stack of music, and sat
down at the piano. She was still playing when Taeko came in.
Taeko had no doubt timed her return carefully, although her expression
revealed nothing.
"Koi-san." Sachiko looked up from the piano. "Okubata has just
been here."
"Oh."
"I understand how you feel, but I hope you will leave everything
to me."
"I see."
"It would be cruel to Yukiko if we moved too fast."
"I see."
"You understand, then, Koisan?"
Taeko seemed uncomfortable but her face was carefully composed.
She said no more.

^s9^s3s^<7<7s^s3s9s^3S3s3s^s?s3s9s^s9<7sJs

4

sachiko told no one, not even Yukiko, of her discovery. One day,
however, Taeko and Okubata ran into Yukiko, who was getting
off a bus, just as they started to cross the National Highway.

10 1 Ht, iVIAKlUKA -31bll.K!>

Yukiko said nothing, but perhaps half a month later Sachiko heard
of the incident from Taeko. Wondering what Yukiko might have
made of it, Sachiko decided to tell her everything that had happened :
there was no hurry, she said--indeed they could wait until
something had been arranged for Yukiko herself--but the two
must eventually be allowed to marry, and when the time came
Yukiko too should do what she could to get the permission of the
main house. Sachiko watched carefully for a change in Yukiko's
expression, but Yukiko showed not a sign of emotion. If the only
reason for not permitting the marriage immediately was that the
sisters should be married in order of age, she said when Sachiko
had finished, then there was really no reason at all. It would not
upset her to be left behind, she added, with no trace of bitterness
or defiance. She knew her day would come.
It was nonetheless out of the question to have the younger sister
marry first, and since a match for Taeko was as good as arranged,
it became more urgent than ever to find a husband for
Yukiko. In addition to the complications we have already described,
however, yet another fact operated to Yukiko's disadvantage:
she had been born in a bad year. In Tokyo the Year of the
Horse is sometimes unlucky for women. In Osaka, on the other
hand, it is the Year of the Ram that keeps a girl from finding a
husband. Especially in the old Osaka merchant class, men fear
taking a bride born in the Year of the Ram. "Do not let the
woman of the Year of the Ram stand in your door," says the
Osaka proverb. The superstition is a deep-rooted one in Osaka, so
strongly colored by the merchant and his beliefs, and Tsuruko
liked to say that the Year of the Ram was really responsible for
poor Yukiko's failure to find a husband. Everything considered,
then, the people in the main house, too, had finally concluded
that it would be senseless to cling to their high standards. At first
they said that, since it was Yukiko's first marriage, it must also be
the man's first marriage; presently they conceded that a man who
had been married once would be acceptable if he had no children,
and then that there should be no more than two children, and
even that he might be a year or two older than Teinosuke, Sa-
chiko's husband, provided he looked younger. Yukiko herself said
that she would marry anyone her brothers-in-law and sisters agreed
DUUK ^JTW 19

upon. She therefore had no particular objection to these revised
standards, although she did say that if the man had children she
hoped they would be pretty little girls. She thought she could
really become fond of little stepdaughters. She added that if the
man were in his forties, the climax of his career would be in sight
and there would be a little chance that his income would grow. It
was quite possible that she would be left a widow, moreover, and,
though she did not demand a large estate, she hoped that there
would at least be enough to give her security in her old age. The
main Osaka house and the Ashiya house agreed that this was most
reasonable, and the standards were revised again.
This, then, was the background. For the most part, the Itani
candidate did not seem too unlike what they were after. He had
no property, it was true, but then he was only forty, a year or two
younger than Teinosuke, and one could not say that he had no
future. They had conceded that the man might be older than
Teinosuke, but it would of course be far better if he were younger.
What left them virtually straining to accept the proposal, however,
was the fact that this would be his first marriage. They had
all but given up hope of finding an unmarried man, and it seemed
most unlikely that another such prospect would appear. If they
had some misgivings about the man, then, those misgivings were
more than wiped out by the fact that he had never been married.
And, said Sachiko, even if he was only a clerk, he was versed in
French ways and acquainted with French art and literature, and
that would please Yukiko. People who did not know her well took
Yukiko for a thoroughly Japanese lady, but only because the surface
(the dress and appearance, speech and deportment) was so
Japanese. The real Yukiko was quite different. She was even then
studying French, and she understood Western music far better
than Japanese. Sachiko had a friend inquire whether Segoshi--
that was his name--was well thought of at M.B. Chemical Industries,
and could find no one who spoke ill of him. She had very
nearly concluded that this was the opportunity they were waiting
for. She should consult the main house. Then suddenly Itani appeared at the gate in a taxi. What of the matter they had discussed
the other day? She was, as always, aggressive, and this time
she had the man's photograph. Sachiko could hardly admit that
20 i UK IVlAKlLtKA J15H-.KS

she had only begun to consider asking her sister in Osaka--that
would make her seem much too unconcerned. They thought it a
splendid prospect indeed, she finally answered, but, since the
main house was in process of investigating the gentleman, she
hoped Itani would wait another week. That was very well, said
Itani, but this was the sort of proposal that required speed. If they
were in a mood to give a favorable answer, would they not do well
to hurry? Every day she had a telephone call from Mr. Segoshi.
Had they not made up their minds yet? Wouldn't she show them
his photograph, and wouldn't she see what was happening? That
was why she had come, and she would expect an answer in a
week. Itani finished her business and was off again in five minutes.
Sachiko, a typical Osakan, liked to take her time, and she
thought it outrageous to dispose of what was after all a woman's
whole life in so perfunctory a fashion. But Itani had touched a
sensitive spot, and, with surprising swiftness, Sachiko set off the
next day to see her sister in Osaka. She told the whole story, not
forgetting to mention Itani's insistence on haste. If Sachiko was
slow, however, Tsuruko was slower, especially when it came to
marriage proposals. A fairly good prospect, one would judge offhand,
she said, but she would first talk it over with her husband,
and, if it seemed appropriate, they might have the man investigated,
and perhaps send someone off to the provinces to look into
his family. In brief, Tsuruko proposed taking her time. A month
seemed a far more likely guess than a week, and it would be up
to Sachiko to put Itani off.
Then, precisely a week after Itani's first visit, a taxi pulled up at
the gate again. Sachiko held her breath. It was indeed Itani. Just
yesterday she had tried to get an answer from the Osaka house,
said Sachiko in some confusion, but they still seemed to be investigating.
She gathered that there was no particular objection.
Might they have four or five days more? Itani did not wait for her
to finish. If there was no particular objection, surely they could
put off the detailed investigation. How would it be if the two were
to meet? She had in mind nothing as elaborate as a miai, a formal
meeting between a prospective bride and groom. Rather she
meant simply to invite them all to dinner. Not even the people
in the main house need be present--it would be quite enough if
UUUK, ^IIK ^i

Sachiko and her husband went with Yukiko. Mr. Segoshi was very
eager. And Itani herself was not to be put off. She felt that she
really had to awaken these sisters to the facts of life. (Sachiko
sensed most of this.) They were a little too fond of themselves;
they continued to lounge about while people were out working
for them. Hence Miss Yukiko's difficulties.
When exactly did she have in mind, then, asked Sachiko. It was
short notice, answered Itani, but both she and Mr. Segoshi would
be free the next day, Sunday. Unfortunately Sachiko had an engagement.
What of the day after, then? Sachiko agreed vaguely,
and said she would telephone a definite answer at noon the next
day. That day had come.
"Koi-san." Sachiko started to put on a kimono. Deciding she
did not approve of it, she threw it off and took up another. The
piano practice had begun again. "I have rather a problem."
"What is your problem?"
"I have to telephone Itani before we leave."
"Why?"
"To give her an answer. She came yesterday and said she
wanted Yukiko to meet the man today."
"How like her!"
"It would be nothing formal, she said, only dinner together. I
told her I was busy today, and she asked about tomorrow. It was
more than I could do to refuse."
"What do they think in Osaka?"
"Tsuruko said over the telephone that if we were going, we
should go by ourselves. She said that if they went along, they
would have trouble refusing later. And Itani said she would be satisfied
without them."
"And Yukiko?"
"Yukiko is the problem."
"She refused?"
"Not exactly. But how do you suppose she feels about being
asked to meet the man on only one day's notice? She must think
we are not doing very well by her. I hardly know, though. She said
nothing definite, except that it might be a good idea to find out
a little more about him. She would not give me a clear answer."
"What will you tell Itani?"
"What shall I tell her? It will have to be a good reason, and we
cannot afford to annoy her. She might help us again someday.
Koi-san, could you call and ask if we might wait a few days?"
"I could, I suppose. But Yukiko is not likely to change her mind
in a few days."
"I wonder. She is upset only at the short notice, I suspect. I
doubt if she really minds so."
The door opened and Yukiko came in. Sachiko said no more.
There was a possibility that Yukiko had heard too much already.

.SS^'^S^sy^S^S^^S^Sys^S^^S^Sy'^S^syS^S^S^S?1^*

5

"You ake going to wear that obi?" asked Yukiko. Taeko was helping
Sachiko tie the obi. "You wore that one--when was it?--we
went to a piano recital."
"I did wear this one."
"And every time you took a breath it squeaked."
"Did it really?"
"Not very loud, but definitely a squeak. Every time you
breathed. I swore I would never let you wear that obi to another
concert."
"Which shall I wear, then?" Sachiko pulled obi after obi from
the drawer.
"This one." Taeko picked up an obi with a spiral pattern.
"Will it go with my kimono?"
"Exactly the right one. Put it on, put it on." Yukiko and Taeko
had finished dressing some time before. Taeko spoke as though to
a reluctant child, and stood behind her sister to help tie the second
obi. Sachiko knelt at the mirror and gave a little shriek.
"What is the matter?"
"Listen. Carefully. Do you hear? It squeaks." Sachiko breathed
deeply to demonstrate the squeak.
"You are right. It squeaks."
"How would the one with the leaf pattern be?"
"Would you see if you can find it, Koi-san?" Taeko, the only
door ^jne. 23

one of the three in Western clothes, picked her way lightly
through the collection of obis on the floor. Again she helped with
the tying. Sachiko stood up and took two or three deep breaths.
"This one seems to be all right." But when the last cord was in
place, the obi began squeaking.
The three of them were quite helpless with laughter. Each new
squeak set them off again.
"It is because of the double obi," said Yukiko, pulling herself together. "Try a single one."
"No, the trouble is with the cloth."
"But the double ones are all of the same cloth. Folding it double
only doubles the squeak."
"You are both wrong." Taeko picked up another obi. "This one
will never squeak."
"But that one is double too."
"Do as I tell you. I have discovered the cause."
"But look at the time. You and your obis will have us missing
everything. There never is much music at these concerts, you
know."
"Who was it that first objected to my obi, Yukiko?"
"I want to hear music, not your squeaking."
"You have me exhausted. Tying and untying, tying and untying."

"You are exhausted! Think of me." Taeko braced herself to pull
the obi tight.
"Shall I leave it here?" 0-haru, the maid, brought the medical
equipment in on a tray: a sterilized hypodermic needle, a vitamin
concentrate, alcohol, absorbent cotton, adhesive tape.
"My injection, my injection! Yukiko, give me my injection. Oh,
yes." 0-haru had turned to leave. "Call a cab. Have it come in
ten minutes."
Yukiko was thoroughly familiar with the procedure. She opened
the ampule with a file, filled the needle, and pushed Sachiko's left
sleeve to the shoulder. After touching a bit of alcohol-soaked cotton
to the arm, she jabbed with the needle.
"Ouch!"
"I have no time to be careful."
A strong smell of Vitamin B filled the room. Yukiko patted the
adhesive tape in place.
^4 I HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

"I too am finished," said Taeko.
"Which cord will go with this obi?"
"Take that one. The one you have. And hurry."
"But you know perfectly well how helpless I am when I try to
hurry. I do everything wrong."
"Now then. Take a deep breath for us."
"You were right." Sachiko breathed earnestly. "You were quite
right. Not a squeak. What was the secret?"
"The new ones squeak. You have nothing to worry about with
an old one like this. It is too tired to squeak."
"You must be right."
"One only has to use one's head."
"A telephone call for you, Mrs. Makioka." 0-haru came running
down the hall. "From Mrs. Itani."
"How awful! I forgot all about her."
"And the cab is coming."
"What shall I do? What shall I tell her?" Sachiko fluttered about
the room. Yukiko on the other hand was quite calm, as if to say
that the matter was no concern of hers. "What shall I say, Yukiko?"

"Whatever you like."
"Not just any answer will do."
"I leave it to you."
"Shall I refuse for tomorrow, then?"
Yukiko nodded.
"You want me to, Yukiko?"
Yukiko nodded again.
Sachiko could not see the expression on her sister's face.
Yukiko's eyes were turned to the floor.

^<g.S^5^S.S^^^^^5^S;<5^S^SiS%^^^a^S>S<50^S<^^

6

"I well be back soon, Etsuko." Yukiko looked into the parlor,
where Etsuko was playing house with one of the maids. "You
promise to watch everything for us?"

Book One 25

"And you are bringing me a present, remember."
"I remember. The little gadget we saw the other day, the gadget
to boil rice in."
"And you will be back before dinner?"
"I will be back before dinner."
"Promise?"
"I promise. Koi-san and your mother are having dinner with
your father in Kobe, but I promise to be back. We can have dinner
together. You have homework to do, remember."
"I have to write a composition."
"You are not to play too long, then. Write your composition,
and I can read it when I come back."
"Good-bye, Yukiko. Good-bye, Koi-san." Etsuko called only the
oldest of her mother's sisters "aunt." She spoke to Yukiko and
Taeko as though they were her own sisters.
Etsuko skipped out over the flagstones without bothering to put
on her shoes. "You are to be back for dinner, now. You promised."
"How many times do you think you need to ask?"
"I will be furious with you. Understand?"
"What a child. I understand."
Yukiko was in fact delighted at these signs of affection. For
some reason, Etsuko never clung quite so stubbornly to her
mother, but Yukiko was not allowed to go out unless she accepted
Etsuko's conditions. On the surface, and indeed to Yukiko herself,
her reasons for spending so much time in Ashiya were that she did
not get along well with her brother-in-law, and that Sachiko was
the more sympathetic of her older sisters. Lately, however, Yukiko
had begun to wonder whether a still more important reason might
not be her affection for Etsuko. She had not been able to find an
answer when Tsuruko once complained that though Yukiko doted
on Etsuko, she paid almost no attention to the children at the
main house. The truth of the matter was that Yukiko was especially
fond of little girls Etsuko's age and Etsuko's sort. The main
house was of course full of children, but, except for the baby, they
were all boys who could not hope to compete with Etsuko for
Yukiko's affections. Yukiko, who had lost her father some ten years
before and her mother when she was very young, and who had no
real home of her own, could with no particular regrets have gone
off the next day to be married, but for the thought that she would
20 1 HE MAKIOKA biSTERS

no longer see Sachiko, of whom in all the world she was fondest
and on whom she most depended. No, she could still see Sachiko.
It was the child Etsuko she would not see, for Etsuko would be
changing and growing away from her, forgetting the old affection.
Yukiko felt a little jealous of Sachiko, who would always have the
girl's love. If she married a man who had been married before, she
hoped it would be a man with a pretty little daughter. Even should
the child prove to be prettier than Etsuko, however, she feared she
could never quite match the love she had for the latter. The fact
that she had been so long in finding a husband caused Yukiko
herself less anguish than others might have supposed. She rather
hoped that if she could not make a match worth being really enthusiastic
about, she would be left here in Ashiya helping Sachiko
rear the child. That would somehow make up for the loneliness.

It was not impossible that Sachiko had deliberately brought the
two together. When Taeko began making dolls in the room assigned
to her and Yukiko, Sachiko arranged to move Yukiko into
Etsuko's room, a six-mat Japanese-style room on the second floor.
Etsuko slept in a low wooden baby bed, and a maid had always
slept on the straw-matted floor beside her. When Yukiko took the
maid's place, she spread two kapok mattresses on a folding straw
couch, so that her bed was almost as high as Etsuko's. She gradually
began relieving Sachiko of her duties: nursing Etsuko when
she was ill, hearing her lessons and her piano practice, making her
lunch or her afternoon tea. Yukiko was in many ways better qualified
to care for the child than was Sachiko. Etsuko was plump
and rosy-cheeked, but like her mother she had little resistance to
ailments. She was always running a high fever or going to bed
with a swollen lymph gland or an attack of tonsillitis. At such
times someone had to sit up two and three nights running to
change the poultices and refill the ice bag, and it was Yukiko who
best stood the strain. Yukiko appeared to be the most delicate of
the sisters. Her arms were very little fuller than Etsuko's, and the
fact that she looked as though she might come down with tuberculosis
at almost any time had helped frighten off prospective husbands.
The truth was, however, that she was the strongest of them
all. Sometimes when influenza went through the house, she alone
escaped. She had never been seriously ill. Sachiko, on the other
Book One 27

hand, would have been taken for the healthiest of the sisters, but
her appearance was deceiving. She was in fact quite undependable.
If she tired herself, however slightly, taking care of Etsuko,
she too was presently ill, and the burden on the rest of the family
was doubled. The center of her father's attention when the Ma-
kioka family had been at its most prosperous, she even now had
something of the spoiled child about her. Her defenses were weak,
both mentally and physically. Sometimes, as if they were older
than she, her sisters would find it necessary to reprove her for some
excess. She was therefore highly unqualified both for nursing Etsuko
and for seeing to her everyday needs. Sachiko and Etsuko
sometimes had real quarrels. There were those who said that Sachiko
did not want to lose a good governess, and that when a prospective
bridegroom appeared for Yukiko she stepped in to wreck
the negotiations. Although Tsuruko at the main house was not inclined
to believe the rumors, she did complain that Sachiko found
Yukiko too useful to send home. Sachiko's husband Teinosuke too
was a little uneasy. For Yukiko to live with them was very well,
he said, but it was unfortunate that she had worked her way between
them and the child. Could Sachiko not try to keep her at
more of a distance? To have Etsuko come to love her aunt more
than her mother would not do. But Sachiko answered that he was
inventing problems. Etsuko was clever enough for her age, and,
however much she might seem to favor Yukiko, she really loved
Sachiko herself best. It was not necessary that Etsuko cling to her
mother as she clung to Yukiko. Etsuko knew that Yukiko would
one day leave to be married, that was all. To have Yukiko in the
house was a great help, of course, but that would last only until
they found her a husband. Sachiko knew how fond Yukiko was of
children, and had let her have Etsuko to make her forget the loneliness
of the wait. Koi-san had her dolls and the income they
brought (and as a matter of fact she seemed to be keeping company
with a man), whereas poor Yukiko had nothing. Sachiko felt
sorriest for Yukiko. Yukiko had no place to go, and Sachiko had
given her Etsuko to keep her happy.
To say whether or not Yukiko had guessed all this was impossible.
In any case, her devotion when Etsuko was ill was something
Sachiko or even a professional nurse could never have imitated.
Whenever someone had to watch the house, Yukiko tried to send
28 ____ ___________ the makioka sisters

Teinosuke and Sachiko and Taeko off while she stayed behind
with Etsuko. She would have been expected, then, to stay behind
again today, but the concert was a small private one to hear Leo
Sirota, and she could not bring herself to forgo a piano recital.
Teinosuke having gone hiking near Arima Springs, Taeko and
Sachiko were to meet him in Kobe for dinner. Yukiko decided to
refuse at least the dinner invitation. She would be back for dinner with Etsuko.

tys^s^sOs^s^s^s^s^sy^s^sysOs^'^sy'^s^sOsys^sy^

7

"what could be keeping her?"
Taeko and Yukiko were at the gate. There was no sign of Sachiko.

"It is almost two." Taeko stepped toward the cab. The driver
held the door open.
"They have been talking for hours."
"She might just try hanging up."
"Do you think Itani would let her? I can see her trying to back
away from the telephone." Yukiko's amusement suggested again
that the affair was no concern of hers. "Etsuko, go tell your mother
to hang up."
"Shall we get in?" Taeko motioned to the cab.
"I think we should wait." Yukiko, always very proper, would
not get into the cab ahead of an older sister. There was nothing
for Taeko to do but wait with her.
"I heard Itani's story." Taeko took care that the driver did not
overhear her. Etsuko had run back into the house.
"Oh?"
"And I saw the picture."
"Oh?"
"What do you think, Yukiko?"
"I hardly know, from just a picture."
"You should meet him."
Yukiko did not answer.
Kook Une 29

"Itani has been very kind, and Sachiko will be upset if you refuse
to meet him."
"But do we really need to hurry so?"
"She said she thought it was the hurrying that bothered you."
Someone ran up behind them. "I forgot my handkerchief. My
handkerchief, my handkerchief. Bring me a handkerchief, someone."
Still fussing with the sleeves of her kimono, Sachiko flew
through the gate.
"It was quite a conversation."
"I suppose you think it was easy to think up excuses. I only just
managed to throw her off."
"We can talk about it later."
"Get in, get in." Taeko pushed her way into the cab after
Yukiko.
It was perhaps a half mile to the station. When they had to
hurry they took a cab, but sometimes, half for the exercise, they
walked. People would turn to stare at the three of them, dressed
to go out, as they walked toward the station. Shopkeepers were
fond of talking about them, but probably few had guessed their
ages. Although Sachiko had a six-year-old daughter and could
hardly have hidden her age, she looked no more than twenty-six
or twenty-seven. The unmarried Yukiko would have been taken
for perhaps twenty-two or three, and Taeko was sometimes mistaken
for a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old. Yukiko had reached an
age when it was no longer appropriate to address her as a girl, and
yet no one found it strange that she should be "young Miss
Yukiko." All three, moreover, looked best in clothes a little too
young for them. It was not that the brightness of the clothes hid
their ages; on the contrary, clothes in keeping with their ages were
simply too old for them. When, the year before, Teinosuke had
taken his wife and sisters-in-law and Etsuko to see the cherry blossoms
by the Brocade Bridge, he had written this verse to go with
the souvenir snapshot:

Three young sisters,
Side by side,
Here on the Brocade Bridge.

The three were not monotonously alike, however. Each had her
special beauties, and they set one another off most effectively. Still

_______30_____ 1 HE 1VJLAKIOKA SISTERS

they had an unmistakable something in common--what fine sisters!
one immediately thought. Sachiko was the tallest, with
Yukiko and Taeko shorter by equal steps, and that fact alone was
enough to give a certain charm and balance to the composition as
they walked down the street together. Yukiko was the most Japanese
in appearance and dress, Taeko the most Western, and Sachiko
stood midway between. Taeko had a round face and a firm,
plump body to go with it. Yukiko, by contrast, had a long, thin
face and a very slender figure. Sachiko again stood between, as if
to combine their best features. Taeko usually wore Western
clothes, and Yukiko wore only Japanese clothes. Sachiko wore
Western clothes in the summer and Japanese clothes the rest of
the year. There was something bright and lively about Sachiko and
Taeko, both of whom resembled their father. Yukiko was different.
Her face impressed one as somehow sad, lonely, and yet she
looked best in gay clothes. The sombre kimonos so stylish in Tokyo
were quite wrong for her.
One of course always dressed for a concert. Since this was a
private concert, they had given more attention than usual to their
clothes. There was literally no one who did not turn for another
look at them as they climbed from the cab and ran through the
bright autumn sunlight toward the station. Since it was a Sunday
afternoon, the train was nearly empty. Yukiko noticed that the
middle-school boy directly opposite her blushed and looked at the
floor as they sat down.

5;^,^^s^s^s^^^s,s^s^Ģsas^w^^

8

etsuko was tired of playing house. Sending 0-hana upstairs for
a notebook, she sat down in the parlor to work on her compostion.
The house was for the most part Japanese, the only Western-
style rooms being this parlor and the dining room that opened
from it. The family received guests in the parlor and spent the better
part of the day there. The piano, the radio, and the phonograph
were all in the parlor, and during the winter, since only the
Book One 31

parlor was heated, it was more than ever the center of the house.
This liveliest of rooms attracted Etsuko. Unless she was ill or
turned out by guests, she virtually lived there. Her room upstairs,
though matted in the Japanese fashion, had Western furnishings
and was meant to be her study; but she preferred to study and
play in the parlor, which was always a clutter of toys and books
and pencils. Everyone dashed about picking things up when there
was an unexpected caller.
Etsuko ran to the front door when she heard the bell, and
skipped back into the parlor after Yukiko. The promised gift was
under Yukiko's arm.
"You are not to look at my composition." Etsuko turned the
notebook face down on the table. "You brought what I asked for?
Let me see." She pulled the package from Yukiko's arm and lined
up the contents on the couch. "Thank you very much."
"This was what you wanted?"
"Yes. Thank you very much."
"And did you finish your composition?"
"Stop. You are not to look at it." Etsuko snatched up the notebook
and ran toward the door. "There is a reason."
"And what is that?"
Etsuko laughed. "Because I wrote about you."
"You think you ought not to write about me? Let me see it."
"Later. You can see it later. Not now."
She had written about the rabbit's ear, said Etsuko, and Yukiko
figured slightly in the narrative. She would be embarrassed to
have Yukiko look at it now. Yukiko should go over it carefully
that night after Etsuko herself was in bed. She would get up
early to make a clean copy before she started for school. Sure that
Sachiko and the others would go to a movie after dinner and be
late coming home, Yukiko had a bath with Etsuko and at about
eight thirty took her upstairs. Etsuko, a very bad sleeper, always
talked excitedly for twenty minutes or a half hour after she was in
bed. Putting her to sleep was something of a chore, and Yukiko
always had to lie down and listen to the chatter. Sometimes she
would go off to sleep herself and not wake up until morning,
and sometimes, getting up quietly and throwing a robe over her
shoulders, she would go downstairs to have a cup of tea with Sachiko,
or the cheese and white wine Teinosuke occasionally
32 the makioka sisters

brought out. Tonight a stiffness in the shoulders--she often suffered
from it--kept her awake. Sachiko and the rest would not be
home for some time, and it seemed a good chance to look at the
composition. Making very sure that Etsuko was asleep, Yukiko
opened the notebook under the night lamp.

THE BABBIT'S EAR
I have a rabbit. Someone brought him and said, "This is
for Miss Etsuko."
We have a dog and cat in our house, and we keep the rabbit
by itself in the hall. I always pet it in the morning before I go
to school.
Last Thursday I went out into the hall before I went to
school. One ear stood up straight but the other was floped over.
"What a funny rabbit. Why not make the other ear stand up?" I
said, but the rabbit did not listen. "Let me stand it up for you,"
I said. I stood the ear up with my hand, but as soon as I let go
it floped over again. I said to Yukiko, "Yukiko, look at the rabbit's
ear." Yukiko pushed the ear up with her foot, but when she let go
it ftoped over again. Yukiko laughed and said, "What a funny ear."

Yukiko hastily drew a line under the words "with her foot."
Etsuko was good at composition, and this too seemed well
enough written. Looking in the dictionary to see whether "floped"
might just possibly be an acceptable spelling, Yukiko corrected
only that. There did not seem to be any mistakes in grammar.
The problem was what to do about that foot, however. She finally
decided only to strike out the three unfortunate words. It would
have been simplest to say "with her hand," but Yukiko had in fact
used her foot, and she did not think it right to have the child telling
a lie. If the sentence became a little vague, there was nothing
to be done about it. But what if the composition had been taken
off to school without Yukiko's having seen it? Etsuko had caught
her in an unseemly pose.
Here is the story of that "with her foot":
The house next door to, or rather behind, the Ashiya house had
for the last six months been occupied by a German family named
Stolz. Since only a coarse wire-net fence stood between the two
back yards, Etsuko immediately came to know the Stolz children.
Book One ___ 33

At first they would glare through the fence and Etsuko would
glare back, like animals warily testing each other, but before long
they were moving freely back and forth. The oldest was named
Peter, and after him came Rosemarie and Fritz. Peter appeared to
be nine or ten, and Rosemarie, exactly Etsuko's height, was probably
a year or two younger than Etsuko. Foreign children tend to
be large. Etsuko and the Stolzes were soon great friends. Rosemarie
in particular came over after school each evening, and Etsuko
used the affectionate "Rumi" by which the German girl was
known in her own family.
The Stolzes had, besides a German pointer and a coal-black cat,
an Angora rabbit which they kept penned in the back yard. Etsuko,
who had a cat and dog of her own, was not interested in
the cat and dog next door, but the rabbit fascinated her. She was
fond of helping Rosemarie feed it and of picking it up by the ears,
and presently she was coaxing her mother to buy a rabbit for her.
Although Sachiko had no particular objection to keeping animals,
it would be sad, she thought, to have an animal die for want of
good care. And of course they already had Johnny, the dog and
Bell, the cat, and it would be a nuisance to have to feed a rabbit
too. And there was nowhere in the house to keep it, since it would
have to be penned apart from Johnny and Bell. Sachiko was still
deliberating the problem when the man who cleaned the chimney
came around with a rabbit. The rabbit was not an Angora, indeed,
but it was very white and very pretty. Etsuko, upon consultation
with her mother, decided that it would best be kept in the hall,
out of reach of Johnny and Bell. The creature was a puzzle to
Sachiko and the rest. Unlike a cat or a dog, it was completely unresponsive.
It only sat with wide, staring, pink eyes, a strange,
twitching creature in a world quite apart.
This was the rabbit of which Etsuko had written. Yukiko was
in the habit of waking the girl, helping with her breakfast, seeing
that she had everything she needed for school, and then going
back to bed herself. It had been a chilly autumn morning. Yukiko,
a kimono thrown over her nightgown, had gone to the door to
see Etsuko off and found the girl earnestly trying to make the rabbit's
ear stand up. "See what you can do with it," Etsuko had ordered.
Yukiko, hoping to solve the problem and see Etsuko off in
34 the makioka sisters

time for school, and yet unwilling to touch the puffy animal, had
tried lifting the ear between her toes. As soon as she took her
foot away, the ear "floped over" again.
"What was wrong with what I had?" Etsuko looked at the correction
the next morning.
"Did you really have to say I used my foot?"
"But you did."
"Because I did not want to touch the thing."
"Oh?" Etsuko did not seem satisfied. "Maybe I should say so,
then."
"And what will your teacher think of my manners?"
"Oh?" Etsuko still did not seem entirely satisfied.

"if tomorrow is bad, how would the sixteenth be? The sixteenth
is a very lucky day."
So Itani had said when Sachiko was caught by that telephone
call. Sachiko was forced to agree. Two days passed, however, before
Yukiko too agreed. Yukiko set as a condition that Itani keep
her promise and only introduce the two, avoiding any suggestion
of a formal miai. Dinner, then, was to be at six at the Oriental
Hotel in Kobe. With Itani would be her brother, Murakami
Fusajiro, who worked for an Osaka iron dealer (it was because he
was an old friend of the man Segoshi that Itani had first come
with her proposal, and he was of course a man without whom the
party would not be complete), and his wife. Segoshi would be a
sad figure all by himself, and yet it was hardly an occasion to justify
calling his family in from the country; but fortunately there
was a middle-aged gentleman named Igarashi who was a director
of the same iron company and who came from Segoshi's home
town, and Murakami invited him to come along as a sort of substitute
for the relatives expected at a miai. Including Sachiko,
Teinosuke and Yukiko there would be a total of eight at the dint5ook Une 35

The day before, Sachiko and Yukiko went to Itani's beauty
parlor. Sachiko, who meant only to have her hair set and had sent
Yukiko in first, was awaiting her turn when Itani took advantage
of a free moment to confer with her.
"May I ask a favor?" Itani sat down and, bringing her mouth
to Sachiko's ear, lowered her voice almost to whisper. She always
spoke in the brisk Tokyo manner. "I'm sure I don't need to tell
you, but could you try to make yourself as old as possible tomorrow?"

"Of course . . ."
But Itani had begun again. "I don't mean that you should
dress just a little more modestly than usual. You have to dress very
modestly--make up your mind to it. Miss Yukiko is very attractive,
of course, but she's so slender. There is something a little sad about
her face, and she loses a good twenty per cent of her charm when
she sits beside you. You have such a bright, modem face--and
you would attract attention anyway. So could you try at least tomorrow
to set Miss Yukiko off? Make yourself look say ten or fifteen
years older? If not, you might be just enough to ruin everything."

Sachiko had received similar instructions before. She had been
with Yukiko at a number of miai, and had been the subject of
some discussion: "The older sister seems so lively and modern,
and the younger one a little moody," or, "The older sister completely
blotted out the younger." There had even been occasions
when she had been asked not to come at all, and only Tsuruko at the main house had attended Yukiko. Sachiko's answer was always
that people simply did not see Yukiko's beauty. It was true
that she herself had a somewhat livelier face, a face that might be
called "modern." But there was nothing remarkable about a modern
face. Modern faces were to be found everywhere. She knew
it was odd of her to be praising her own sister so extravagantly,
but the beauty, fragile and elegant, of the sheltered maiden of
old, the maiden who had never known the winds of the world
--might one not say that Yukiko had it? Sachiko would not want
Yukiko to marry a man who could not appreciate her beauty, indeed
a man who did not demand someone exactly like her. But
ardently though she defended Yukiko, Sachiko could not suppress
a certain feeling of superiority. Before Teinosuke, at least, she was
30 1 HE MAKIOKA listers

boastful: "They say I overshadow poor Yukiko when I go along."
Teinosuke himself would sometimes suggest that Sachiko stay
home or, ordering her to retouch her face or put on a more
modest kimono, would say: "No, you are still not old enough.
You will only lower Yukiko's stock again." It was clear to Sachiko
that he was pleased at having so impressive a wife. Sachiko had
stayed away from one or two of Yukiko's mini, but for the most
part she went in Tsuruko's place. Yukiko occasionally said that
she would not go herself if Sachiko was not with her. The difficulty
was, however, that no matter how sombre Sachiko tried to
make herself, her wardrobe was simply too bright, and after a
mini she would be told that she still had not looked old enough.
"That is what everyone says. I understand completely. I would
have tried to look old even if you had not mentioned it."
Sachiko was the only customer in the waiting room. The curtain
that marked off the next room was drawn back, and Yukiko's
figure, under the dryer, was reHected in the mirror directly before
them. Itani no doubt relied on the noise of the dryer to drown
out her words, but it seemed to Sachiko that Yukiko's eyes were
fixed on them as if to ask what they were talking about. She was
in a panic lest their lips give them away.
On the appointed day, Yukiko, attended by her sisters, started
dressing at about three. Teinosuke, who had left work early, was
there to lend his support. A connoisseur of women's dress, he
was fond of watching such preparations; but more than that, he
knew that the sisters were completely oblivious of time. He was
present chiefly to see that they were ready by six.
Etsuko, back from school, threw her books down in the parlor
and ran upstairs.
"So Yukiko is going to meet her husband."
Sachiko started. She saw in the mirror that the expression on
Yukiko's face had changed.
"And where did you hear that?" she asked with what unconcern
she could muster.
"0-haru told me this morning. Is it true, Yukiko?"
"It is not," said Sachiko. "Yukiko and I have been invited to
dinner at the Oriental Hotel by Mrs. Itani."
"But Father is going along."
"And why should she not invite your father too?"
Boofe One __ 37

"Etsuko, would you go downstairs, please?" Yukiko was looking
straight ahead into the mirror. "And tell 0-haru to come up. You
will not need to come back yourself."
Etsuko was generally not quick to obey, but she sensed something
out of the ordinary in Yukiko's tone.
"All right."
A moment later 0-haru was kneeling timidly at the door. "You
called?" It was clear that Etsuko had said something. Teinosuke
and Taeko, sensing danger, had disappeared.
"0-haru, what did you tell the child today?" Sachiko could not
remember having spoken to the maids about today's meeting, but
it must have been through her carelessness that they guessed the
secret. She owed it to Yukiko to discover how. "What did you
say?"
0-haru did not answer. Her eyes were on the floor, and her
whole manner was a confession of misconduct.
"When did you tell her?"
"This morning."
"And just what did you have in mind?"
0-haru, who was seventeen, had come to the house at fourteen.
Now that she had become almost a member of the family,
they found it natural to address her more affectionately than the
other maids. Someone always had to see Etsuko across the national
highway on her way to and from school, and the task was
usually 0-haru's. Under Sachiko's questioning, she let it be known
that she had told the whole story to Etsuko on the way to school
that morning. 0-haru was a wonderfully good-natured girl, and
when she was scolded she wilted so dismally that it was almost
amusing.
"I was wrong to let you overhear that telephone conversation,
but you did overhear it, and you should have known well enough
that it was secret. You should know that there are some things
you talk about and some things you do not. Do you tell a child
about something that is completely undecided? When did you
come to work here, 0-haru? Not just yesterday, you know."
"And not only this time." Yukiko took over. "You have always
talked too much. You are always saying things you should have
left unsaid."
Scolded by the two in turns, 0-haru stared motionless at the
38 the makioka sisters

floor. "Very well, you may leave." But 0-haru still knelt before
them as if she were dead. Only when she had been told three or
four times to leave did she apologize in a barely audible voice
and turn to go.
"She will go on talking, no matter what you say to her."
Sachiko studied the face in the mirror. Yukiko was obviously upset.
"But it was careless of me. I should have tried to talk over
the telephone so that they could not understand. I never dreamed
they would tell Etsuko."
"It is not only the telephone. For ever so long I have noticed
how you talk with 0-haru there listening."
"And when have we done that?"
"Any number of times. You stop talking when she comes into
the room, but when she goes out you begin again in the loudest
voices, and there she is just outside the door. She must have
heard any number of times."
Sachiko, Yukiko, Teinosuke, and sometimes Taeko had these
last few nights had a number of conferences after Etsuko was in
bed. Occasionally 0-haru would come in from the dining room
with something to drink, and, since the dining room was separated
from the parlor by three sliding doors with openings large
enough to admit a Enger between them, a conversation in the
parlor could be heard quite distinctly in the dining room. Late
at night, when the house was quiet, it was necessary to talk in
particularly low voices to avoid being overheard, and there was
no doubt that they had not been as careful as they might have
been. Yukiko was perhaps right. But if she had been so upset,
and if the point seemed worth mentioning now, why had she
not warned them at the time? She had such a low voice that,
unless she especially called their attention to it, they were not
likely to notice that she was being more subdued than usual. It
was of course a nuisance to have a gossip like 0-haru about, but
it could be just as trying to have someone who never said enough,
Sachiko could not help thinking. It appeared from Yukiko's use
of the plural "voices," however, that Teinosuke was the principal
object of her criticism, and one could perhaps forgive her for
having kept quiet out of deference to him. Teinosuke, it was true,
had a very penetrating voice.
"You really should have told us at the time."
Uook Une _____39_____

"We are not to talk about it in front of them. It is not that I
dislike these meetings--you know that--but there they are, watching
and telling each other I have failed again." Yukiko's voice
was choked, and a tear drew a line over the face in the mirror.
"You know perfectly well, Yukiko, that we have always been
the ones who do the refusing. You know that. The other side
has always been ready and waiting, and we have not been quite
satisfied ourselves."
"Do you suppose the maids think so? They will only think I
have failed again, and even if they know the truth, they will
say. . . ."
"I think we should talk about something else. We were wrong,
and it will never happen again. See what you are doing to your
face." Sachiko wanted to retouch the face, but she was afraid she
would only invite more tears.

ŧy<?s9s^s^<N^^?sy^9s9sys^sy<N^<?sJ^7s^s^^7s3^

10

teinosuke had fled to the garden cottage that served as his study.
He was beginning to worry about the time. It was after four, and
there was no sign that the sisters were ready. Something struck
the dry foliage in the garden outside. Leaning across his desk, he
slid open the paper-panelled window. An autumn shower had suddenly
clouded a blue sky. Here and there a raindrop traced its
line over the greenery and fell rustling on a leaf.
"It is raining!" He ran into the main house and called up the
stairs.
"It is raining." Sachiko looked out the window. "Only a shower,
though. It will be over in no time. You can still see the blue sky."
But the tiled roofs were already wet and glistening, and the
pounding suggested more than a shower.
"You ought to reserve a cab. Have it here at five-fifteen. And I
will not wear a kimono in the rain. How would blue serge be?"
There was hardly a cab to be had in Ashiya when it rained.
They telephoned immediately, as Teinosuke suggested; but five40 1 HE MAKIOKA listers

fifteen came, and five-twenty, and no cab. The rain only became
more violent. Every garage in the city gave the same answer: it
being a lucky day, there were scores of weddings, all of which
needed cabs; and the cabs left over had unfortunately been taken
when the rain began. As soon as a cab came in, however, it would
be sent around. Leaving at five-thirty and going straight to Kobe,
they could be at the Oriental Hotel by six. The half-hour too
passed. Teinosuke telephoned the hotel and was told that the
party was present in force and waiting for them. At five minutes
to six a cab finally arrived. Safely inside after the driver had come
with an umbrella to escort them one by one through the downpour,
Sachiko felt a cold drop run down her neck. She remembered
that it had rained at Yukiko's last miai too, and at the one
before that.
"Here we are a half hour late." Teinosuke apologized to Itani
almost before he said hello. She came out as they were checking
their coats. "There are weddings everywhere, and then it began
to rain. We just couldn't find a taxi."
"I saw bride after bride on my way here," said Itani. While
Sachiko and Yukiko were checking their coats, she signalled that
she wanted to talk to Teinosuke alone.
"I'll introduce you to Mr. Segoshi in a minute. First I wanted
to ask whether you had finished investigating him."
"As a matter of fact, the people in Osaka have investigated Mr.
Segoshi and are very happy with what they've found out. At the
moment they're looking into the matter of his family. There is
just one more report due. Might we have another week?"
"I see . . ."
"We should try to be quicker, I know, with you going to all
this trouble. But they're so old-fashioned, and they will take their
time. We're grateful for all you've done, though, and I must say
that I approve completely myself. I told them as strongly as I
could that it would do no good to go following all the old forms
--that it would only mean putting Yukiko's marriage off still
longer. I said that if there was no objection to the man himself
they shouldn't worry too much about the family. As a matter of
fact, I think everything will go off very well if they like each
other this evening."
Teinosuke and Sachiko had agreed upon the excuses they would
ffooft une 41

make, but Teinosuke was quite sincere on at least this last point.
They exchanged only the simplest greetings in the lobby and
hurried to the elevator for the second floor, where Itani had reserved
a private dining room. Itani and Igarashi were at the head
and foot of the table, and Segoshi and the Murakamis on one
side. Yukiko, Sachiko, and Teinosuke sat in that order on the
other side, with Yukiko opposite Segoshi. Itani had suggested the
day before that Segoshi and Yukiko sit in the middle, the one between
the Murakamis and the other between her sister and
brother-in-law. Sachiko had objected, however, that that would be
too reminiscent of a formal miai.
"I can't help thinking I don't belong here." The soup had
come, and Igarashi chose a suitable moment to open the conversation.
"I come from the same town as Segoshi, it's true, but you
can see how much older I am. He really ought to have a schoolmate
here to help him. All we have in common, you might say,
is that our families happen to live near each other. Not that I'm
not glad to be here--don't misunderstand me--as a matter of
fact it's too fine a party for me. But I argued all the way, and
this man Murakami told me I had to come. Mrs. Itani is a good
talker, I'm told, but I don't imagine her brother here has ever
lost an argument even with her. Do you mean to refuse this important
invitation? he said. Think what that would mean, he
said--the whole affair would be ruined. We need one old man
there, he said, and we can't let that bald head get away. So here
I am."
Murakami laughed. "But the director doesn't seem to mind
being here, now that we've made it."
"The director--no more of that. I'm here to enjoy myself, and
I don't want to hear a word that reminds me of business."
Sachiko remembered that there had been just such a bald,
clowning chief-clerk in the Makioka shop. Today, with the larger
of the old shops for the most part reorganized as joint-stock
companies, "chief clerk" had become "director." The old cloak
and apron had been changed for the business suit, and the Semba
dialect for standard Japanese, but the "director" himself was even
now less an executive than an old apprentice, a man who had
come as a boy to learn the business. Every Osaka shop had one
or two of them, the bowing, bald-headed, talkative clerks who
42 ______1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

knew how to keep the master happy and how to make people
laugh. It seemed likely that Itani had decided to invite Igarashi
lest the conversation lag.
Segoshi sat smiling through this exchange. He was very much
as Sachiko and the rest had imagined him, though younger than
in the picture--they would have taken him for no more than
thirty-six or thirty-seven. The features were regular, but quite lacking
in charm and distinction. It was, as Taeko had said, a most
ordinary face. Indeed there was something very ordinary about
the man in general--the height, the frame, the clothes, down to
the choice of necktie. One searched in vain for the Parisian influence.
Still he looked like a good, honest office worker, likable
enough in his way.
He could be worse, thought Teinosuke. "And how long were
you in Paris, Mr. Segoshi?"
"Two years exactly. It was a long time ago, though."
"When was it?"
"Fifteen or sixteen years ago. Just after I finished school."
"You were sent to the main office when you graduated, then?"
"No, the trip had nothing to do with the company. I didn't
go to work until I was back in Japan. My father had just
died. The estate didn't come to very much, but I did have a little
money to spend, and off I went. If I had any aim in mind, I
suppose it was to improve my French. And then I had a vague
idea that I might find work. It turned out to be nothing more
than a pleasure trip, though. I accomplished nothing--my French
was no better afterwards, and of course I didn't find work."
"Segoshi is a very unusual person," Murakami put in. "Most
people hate the idea of coming home once they're in Paris, but
Segoshi was so homesick he had to come back."
"Really? And why was that?"
"I hardly know. I suppose I expected too much."
"You went to Paris to find how good Japan was--there's nothing wrong with that. And is that why you want a Japanese-style
wife?" Igarashi's manner was joking, but he shot a glance at
Yukiko, who was looking at her plate.
"I suppose your French has improved a great deal since you've
been back," said Teinosuke.
"I'm afraid not. It's a French company, but the staff is almost
Book One ___ 43

entirely Japanese. Only two or three executives at the top are
French."
"And you have no chance to speak French?"
"When an M.M. ship comes in I have a little conversation
practice, and that is the sum of it. Except of course for writing
letters."
"Miss Yukiko is studying French too," put in Itani.
"Only to keep my sister company."
"And who is your teacher?" asked Itani. "Japanese? French?"
"A French lady . . ."
". . . who is married to a Japanese," Sachiko took up. Yukiko
was never very talkative when she was out of the house, and she
was especially helpless when the occasion demanded not the Osaka
dialect, but standard Japanese. Her sentences had a way of never
quite ending unless Sachiko rescued her. Sachiko herself had a
little trouble bringing out exactly the right words, but she was
able to disguise the more obvious features of her Osaka accent
and talk with a certain fluency on almost any subject.
"And can the lady speak Japanese?"
"She couldn't at first, but lately she has been learning, and
now . . ."
". . . and now," said Sachiko, "she is really too good. We're
forbidden to use Japanese when we're having French lessons, but
somehow we slip into it."
"I've listened to them from the next room and heard hardly a
word of French," said Teinosuke.
"That is not true." Sachiko slipped into the Osaka dialect in
spite of herself. "We speak a great deal of French, and you cannot
hear it."
"That's so. Now and then you would say something in the
tiniest whisper, and I suppose it was French. I doubt if you'll
improve at that rate. But I suppose that is always the way when
ladies take up languages."
"It is very kind of you to say so. ... But I do not spend all
my time on French, you will remember. I learn any number of
things from her when she uses Japanese--cooking and knitting
and how to make French pastries and so on. You liked the cuttlefish
the other day so well that you ordered me to go back to
learn more. Have you forgotten?"
44 the makioka sisters

Everyone was amused at this little tiff. Mrs. Murakami took
the cuttlefish seriously, however, and Sachiko had to describe it
in detail: a French way of cooking cuttlefish, she explained, with
tomatoes and a touch of garlic.

SSw3>S;<;S2><;S;yS?S?SS2^,3<.^^

I I

sachiko noticed that Segoshi drank down whatever was poured
for him. He was clearly a good drinker. Murakami seemed to be
a teetotaler, and Igarashi, a flaming red from what little he had
already drunk, waved the boy away each time he came around
with a bottle. Teinosuke and Segoshi, on the other hand, were
able to keep each other company. Neither showed the slightest
sign of drunkenness. Itani had already told Sachiko that, while
Segoshi of course did not drink every night, he liked his liquor,
and, when the opportunity came, was always ready to drink his
share. Sachiko was far from disapproving. She had lost her mother
when she was very young, and she and her sisters had kept their
father company when he had a drink with his dinner. All of them,
beginning with Tsuruko, knew how to drink. Tatsuo and Teinosuke,
the husbands of the two older sisters, were moreover in the
habit of having a drink now and then, and it seemed to them all
that a teetotaler would be a most unsatisfying husband. No one
of course wanted to marry a drunkard, but a man who enjoyed
an occasional drink seemed best. Although Yukiko had, it was
true, never insisted that a prospective husband be a drinker,
Sachiko suspected that her sister felt much as she did. Yukiko was
not the sort to make her views known, and unless she had a
husband who would drink with her she might well take to brooding.
The husband for his part would be likely to find the silence
depressing. In any case, the picture of Yukiko married to a teetotaler
seemed unbearably dreary.
"Suppose you have something to drink," she whispered, hoping
to bring Yukiko into the conversation. She motioned with her
eyes to the glass of white wine, and now and then, by way of
Book One ________________45_____

encouragement, had a sip of her own. "Would you pour her a
little more, please?" she said to the boy.
Yukiko too had noted what a good drinker Segoshi was. Thinking
she should be a little more lively herself, she now and then
took an unobtrusive sip of wine. Her feet were wet and cold
from the rain, however, and the wine only made her dizzy.
"You like white wine?" Segoshi asked.
Yukiko laughed and looked at her plate.
"One small glass or two," said Sachiko. "But I've been very
impressed, watching you. Do you know how much you could
drink if you had to?"
"A quart or two, I suppose, with no trouble."
"And do you do tricks when you're drunk?" asked Igarashi.
"I'm afraid I have no talents. I just talk more than usual."
"Miss Yukiko plays the piano," said Itani. "They tell me the
whole family likes foreign music."
"But not only foreign music," Sachiko was quick to explain.
"We had koto lessons when we were children, and lately I've
been thinking I would like to learn again. Sometimes I take the
koto out to see what I still remember. My youngest sister has
started taking dancing lessons, you know, and I have any number
of chances to hear the koto."
"Miss Taeko is taking dancing lessons, is she?"
"Yes. Yamamura school. She seems so fond of foreign things,
but lately she's begun to go back to what she knew when she
was a girl. She really handles herself very well--but then it's only
a matter of relearning, I suppose."
"I don't know much about it," said Igarashi, "but I think this
Yamamura school is a fine thing. What we need to do is keep
our Osaka arts, not imitate everything that comes in from Tokyo."
"The director--I'm sorry, Mr. Igarashi--Mr. Igarashi is very
good at Utazawa singing. He's been practicing for years."
"But the trouble with Utazawa," interposed Teinosuke, "--of
course it's different when you are as good as Mr. Igarashi--is that
when you first begin, you want an audience, and before long
you're spending your time at geisha houses where they'll always
listen to you."
"You're quite right. That's the trouble with Japanese music in
general," said Igarashi. "It isn't for home consumption. But with
46 the makioka sisters

me it's different. On that point I'm as stiff and proper as the
best of them. Isn't that so, Murakami?"
"As stiff as iron. The business is in your blood."
Igarashi laughed. "But there's something I have to ask the
ladies. That thing you all carry--a compact is it called. What is inside it? Just powder?"
"Just powder," said Itani. "Why?"
"On a train about a week ago, the lady up wind from me--she
was straight out of a fashion magazine--took out a compact and
began patting away at her nose, and just then I had a 5t of sneezing.
Does powder do that sort of thing to you?"
"There must have been something wrong with your nose. I'm
not at all sure it was the powder."
"I would agree with you if it were only the one time, but I've
had the same experience twice now."
"You must be right, now that I think of it," put in Sachiko.
"I've been sneezed at myself two or three times. The more elegant
the powder the more it seems to make people sneeze."
"I've never had that experience," said Mrs. Murakami. "I'll
have to try using more expensive powder."
"But it's no laughing matter. We mustn't let this go too far.
Possibly we should have a law against powdering the nose when
someone is sitting down wind. Mrs. Makioka has been kind enough
to apologize, but the woman the other day ignored my sneezing."

"Speaking of trains," said Sachiko. "My youngest sister says
she always wants to go around yanking loose threads out of strange
men's coat lapels when she is on a crowded train."
Itani had felt much the same urge. "And I can remember how
I used to want to pull the stuffing out of quilts when I was a
girl."
"There's something of that in all of us," said Igarashi. "When
I have a little to drink, I always want to ring someone's doorbell.
Or I'm waiting for a train, and I want to press the button that
says 'Do not touch,' and have to fight to keep myself away."
Itani sighed happily. "I have had fun this evening." It seemed
that even when the fruit was brought she had not yet talked
enough. "Mrs. Makioka--not to change the subject, but have you
noticed how young wives--of course you're young yourself, but
Kook Une 47

I mean younger wives, women in their early twenties who have only been married two or three years--have you noticed how
clever and scientific young wives are these days--in managing
their houses, and bringing up their children, and whatever they
do? It makes me think how fast times are changing."
"That's very true. The schools seem to teach them entirely different
things from what I learned. I feel ages older when I talk
to one of them."
"My niece, for instance, came in from the country, and I was
told to watch over her while she was in school in Kobe. She got
married not long ago, to a man who works in Osaka. He makes
ninety yen a month, and with bonus and with thirty yen a month
his family sends for the rent, I suppose he has, in all, a hundred
fifty or sixty a month. I went to see how they were managing,
and I found that as soon as they had the ninety yen they took
out all sorts of envelopes marked 'gas' and 'light' and 'clothes'
and 'miscellaneous' and so on, and set everything in order for the
following month by dividing the money up in the envelopes. You
can imagine how little they have to spare, but she was very clever
about putting together a meal the night I was there. And the
house is nicely furnished too, not nearly as shabby as you would
expect. Of course there's a certain amount of cheating involved.
When I started home I gave her money to buy my ticket, but
instead she bought a strip of tickets and kept the rest herself. I
couldn't help thinking what nonsense it was to say that I should
be watching over her."
"Parents need more watching than children these days," said
Sachiko. "There's a young wife near me. The other day when I
stopped by to ask her something she made me come in. She had
no maid, but everything was beautifully in order. I wonder if
young wives all prefer Western clothes and have foreign furniture
--anyway, this lady always wears foreign clothes. There was a
perambulator in the middle of the room, and the baby tight inside.
The mother asked me to take care of it for just a minute,
and stepped out of the room. Not a minute later she was back
with tea for me and warm bread and milk for the baby. And how
would you like a cup of tea, she said, and no sooner had she sat
down than she looked at her watch. It was time for Chopin. Did
I like Chopin? She switched on the radio, and began feeding the
_____4§_____________the makioka sisters

baby. Entertaining the guest, listening to Chopin, getting the
baby fed--she managed everything at once. It really seemed very
clever of her."
"And the way they bring up children these days. That's changed
too," said Itani.
"The lady complained about exactly that. She said it was very
nice of her mother to come to see the baby, but that just when
she herself had finished teaching it not to want to be picked up,
along would come the old lady to pick it up and hug it unmercifully,
and the training would have to begin all over again."
"It does seem to be true, now that you mention it, that children
cry less than they used to. I understand that once a child is old
enough to get up by itself, the mother pays no attention when
it falls. She walks on as though nothing had happened, and soon
the child comes after her without a whimper."
In the lobby after dinner, Itani told Sachiko and Teinosuke
that, if Yukiko did not mind, Segoshi would like to see her alone
for perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes. Yukiko agreed, and the
others talked of nothing in particular while the two sat a little
apart.
"What did Mr. Segoshi have to say?" Sachiko asked as they
were on their way home in a cab.
"All sorts of things," said Yukiko almost inaudibly. "And not
really anything."
"I suppose he was testing you. He asked questions?"
Yukiko did not answer. The rain had settled into a slow drizzle,
as though the long spring rains were coming out of season. The
wine seemed finally to be having its effect. She looked at the
blurred confusion of headlights reflecting from the national highway.

12

"itani stopped by my office today," Teinosuke said to Sachiko
the following evening.

Booh Une 49

"And why did she do that?"
"She said she knew she should have gone to see you instead,
but she had business in Osaka, and then she thought I might not
be as slow as you."
"What did she have to say?"
"It was good news for the most part. But we ought to go out
where no one will hear us." He led the way to his study.
The others, it appeared, had stayed to talk for twenty or thirty
minutes after the Makiokas left. Segoshi was extremely enthusiastic.
He thought Yukiko's appearance and manner quite as elegant
as one could desire, but he also thought she looked rather
delicate and he wondered if she might be ill. And when Itani's
brother had investigated Yukiko's school record he had noticed
that she was absent more often than normal. He too wondered
whether Yukiko might not have been sickly in her school days.
Teinosuke answered that he knew nothing about Yukiko's bad
school attendance, and that he would have to ask his wife and
Yukiko herself, but he could assure Itani that in the years he had
known her Yukiko had not been ill even once. It was true that
she seemed delicate, that she was almost too slender, and that
she could hardly be called robust. When it came to catching
colds, however, he could say most positively that Yukiko had more
resistance than any of her sisters. She was better able to stand a
physical strain than anyone except the sister in Osaka. They were
quite right, nevertheless, to suspect that her delicate appearance
might be a sign of weak lungs, and indeed more than one person
had had the same misgivings before. Teinosuke would therefore
talk to his wife, to Yukiko, and to the main house in Osaka, and
urge them to put these doubts at rest by having a physical examination,
and perhaps even an X-ray. Itani replied that his assurances
were quite enough, that they need not go to such trouble. But
Teinosuke insisted: it was better to have matters entirely in the
open. They had not had a doctor's report recently, and this would
be a good occasion for one. They would feel better themselves,
and so would the people in the main house, and Segoshi's delight
would no doubt be boundless when he had before him a photograph
to show that there was not the faintest cloud on Yukiko's
lungs. Even if nothing were to come of the present negotiations,
said Teinosuke to his wife, the X-ray would not be a waste of
50 the makioka sisters

money. It would be evidence to present if similar doubts should
arise in the future. He was sure the Osaka house would have no
objection, and he suggested that Sachiko take Yukiko to the
Osaka University Hospital the very next day.
"But why was she absent from school so often?"
"Schools in those days were not as fussy as they are now, and
Father was always taking us to the theater when we should have
been in school. I used to go too, and if you were to investigate I
think you would find that I was absent even oftener than Yukiko."

"Will Yukiko mind being X-rayed?"
"But why go all the way to Osaka?-Dr. Kushida can do it."
"There was the question of that spot too." Teinosuke pointed
at his left eye. "She spoke of that. She said that she had not
noticed herself, but that men seemed to be good at catching
small details. Someone said after we left last night that he thought
he saw just a trace of a dark spot over Yukiko's left eye, and
someone else agreed with him, and someone said that they were
wrong, that it was just the way the light struck. Itani wants to
know whether there really is a spot."
"I noticed last night that it was showing. What wretched luck
--it has finally attracted attention."
"But she was not especially worried."
The spot over Yukiko's left eye--just above the eyelid--a faint
shadow that had recently begun to come and go in cycles. Teinosuke
had first noticed it perhaps three to six months before. How long had Yukiko had that spot on her face, he asked Sachiko.
Sachiko herself had but recently noticed it, and indeed it was not
always there to be noticed. Sometimes it would fade away so that
it was barely visible even when one was looking for it, and sometimes
it would quite disappear. Then, for a period of perhaps a
week, it would suddenly be darker again. Sachiko, who had begun
to notice that the spot was most in evidence at about the time
of Yukiko's periods, was much concerned about what Yukiko herself
might be thinking. Yukiko would have noticed earlier than
anyone. And might it not be having an unfortunate psychological
effect on her? Yukiko's personality, it was clear, had not so far
been twisted by her difficulties in finding a husband, and that
was perhaps because she had quiet confidence in her beauty. But
Book One $1

what effect would this new blemish have? Unable to approach
Yukiko directly, Sachiko could only watch for some change in
her sister's manner. Whether Yukiko had not yet noticed, or
whether she was not particularly worried, however, she showed
nothing. One day Taeko came in with a women's magazine some
two or three months old. "Have you read this?" she asked Sachiko.
In the advice column was a letter from a twenty-eightyear-old
woman, unmarried, who had exactly Yukiko's trouble. She had
recently discovered a mark on her face and noted how it faded,
disappeared, and came back again in a monthly cycle. The disturbance
was fairly common among women who married late,
the answer said, and was nothing to worry about. The mark generally
disappeared when the woman married, and in any case it
could usually be cured by moderate hormone injections. Sachiko
was greatly relieved. As a matter of fact, she herself had had a
similar experience. Some years before, shortly after her marriage,
she had had a dark spot over her eye, rather like a candy smear
over a child's mouth. Her addiction to aspirin was responsible,
said the doctor, and the spot would disappear of its own accord.
In about a year it did indeed disappear. Perhaps, then, the sisters
were particularly susceptible to such spots. Remembering how that
spot of hers--it had been a far darker spot than Yukiko's--had
left her so painlessly, Sachiko was not as upset as another might
have been in her place. The magazine piece put her fears completely
at rest. Taeko apparently hoped that Sachiko would find
some way to show it to Yukiko. Despite her apparent unconcern,
Yukiko did no doubt feel a certain uneasiness. Show her this,
said Taeko. Tell her there is nothing to worry about. It will clear
up in no time once she is married, but it would be better to do
something now. Suppose she were to have injections. Of course
it is Yukiko, and she is not likely to welcome the idea, but possibly
if we were to choose the right time . . .
Sachiko had mentioned the spot to no one, and this was the
first time she and Taeko had talked of it. So Taeko too was worried.
Sachiko saw that something more than sisterly affection was
behind Taeko's uneasiness: the longer Yukiko's marriage was put
off, the longer she herself would have to wait. Who then should
show the magazine to Yukiko? They concluded that Taeko
would be the better choice. If Sachiko were to do it, the whole
52 the makioka sisters

incident would be somehow inflated, and Yukiko would have
grounds for suspecting that even Teinosuke had been brought
into the discussions. Taeko would do better, and she should take
the matter up lightly, as though it were really of little consequence.
One day when Yukiko was seated at her dresser, Taeko,
contriving to make it seem that she had come in quite by accident,
said in a low voice:
"That spot over your eye is nothing to worry about, Yukiko."
The spot was darker again.
"Oh?" said Yukiko.
To avoid her sister's eyes, Taeko looked at the floor. "There
was an article about it in a magazine. Did you see it? I can show
it to you."
"I may have seen it."
"Oh? The spot will go away when you are married, it said, or
if you have injections."
Yukiko nodded.
"You know about it then?"
Yukiko nodded again.
The nod was so ambiguous that Taeko could have taken it as
a sign that Yukiko simply did not want to talk about the matter.
Still it seemed to have in it a note of affirmation. Possibly
Yukiko was embarrassed to have her sister know that she had read
the article.
Taeko, very timid before, was much relieved. "Suppose you
have a few injections," she suggested. But Yukiko did not seem
happy at the idea, and put her off with vague answers. For one
thing, Yukiko was not the sort to go off to a strange skin doctor
unless someone led her by the hand. For another, she seemed
less worried about the spot than were those around her.
Some days later Etsuko noticed the spot. She stared curiously
at Yukiko. "What is that thing over your eye?" she demanded.
Sachiko and the maids, who were unfortunately in the room, fell
silent. But Yukiko herself was strangely unconcerned. She muttered
an unintelligible answer, and the expression on her face did
not change by so much as a shade.
What worried Sachiko most was going out with Yukiko when
the spot showed. Yukiko was their marketable article, and it was
not only at mini that they had to consider who might be looking
DUUK ^JTlfS 53

at her. They wished she would stay at home for the week or so
when the spot was expected to be darkest; or, if she must go out,
that she would try to hide it.
Yukiko herself was quite indifferent. Sachiko and Taeko agreed
that Yukiko's face lent itself well to heavy make-up. A heavy coating
of powder, however, had the perverse effect, when the mark
was clearest, of making it stand out under a slanting light like a
leaden cloud. But although Yukiko might better have used rouge
at such times, she disliked rouge (her preference for powder was
indeed one reason why she was suspected of having weak lungs;
Taeko for her part wore rouge even when she went without powder).
She would wear the usual heavy white powder, nothing else.
She occasionally had the misfortune to meet an acquaintance.
Once Taeko offered her a compact--they were on a train together,
and the spot was darker than usual.
"Suppose you put a little rouge on."
But Yukiko, as always, seemed quite unworried.

2)i.gi^a<a<,3<ya<a;!,;js;^^

^

"and what did you say to her?" Sachiko asked her husband.
"I told her the truth. I said that the spot was not always so
clear, and that there was nothing to worry about--so I had read
in magazines, I said. And I thought since we would be having an
X-ray taken, we might as well have her go to the University to
be examined by a skin specialist. Now that the question has come
up, we will have to do at least that much. I said I would see if I
could persuade you to agree."
Yukiko being in the habit of spending her time in Ashiya, the
people at the main house knew nothing of the spot over her eye,
and Teinosuke was afraid he might have been irresponsible in
leaving it so long untended. The difficulty had developed but
recently, however, and had not complicated earlier miai; and then
Teinosuke, remembering the surprising speed with which Sachiko's
mark had disappeared, was not as disturbed as he might other54 1 HE MAKIOKA ^ISTEKS

wise have been. Since the comings and goings of the spot were
moreover predictable, Sachiko could tell in general when it would
be unwise to have a miai. But Itam had been so insistent, and Sachiko
herself had been a little sanguine, not to say careless. Even
if the mark has not entirely disappeared by the day named, she had
thought, it will hardly be noticeable.
That morning, after Teinosuke left for work, Sachiko had asked
Yukiko's impressions of the dinner party. It appeared that Yukiko
would leave everything to her sisters and brothers-in-law. Afraid
that if she approached the subject tactlessly she might upset the
negotiations, Sachiko waited until that night, when Etsuko was
in bed and Teinosuke had withdrawn, to mention the possibility
of a skin examination. Yukiko was surprisingly quick to
agree. With the mark growing fainter by the day, Sachiko thought
they might best wait until it appeared again the following month.
But Itani had been wise to go to Teinosuke: he insisted on an
examination the very earliest day possible. Sachiko called the next
day at the Osaka house to report on the negotiations and to urge
haste, and in the process to tell her sister that Yukiko would be
going to the Osaka University Hospital. The day after that Sachiko
and Yukiko started for Osaka, telling the maids in an offhand
way that they were going shopping.
Both the internal examination and the skin examination came
out quite as expected. The X-ray, which was developed while they
waited, revealed not a mark on the lungs. The report on the
blood test came some days later: precipitation thirteen milimeters,
reactions negative. Sachiko was called aside after the skin examination.
The point was to get the young lady married as soon as possible--the
doctor did not bother with preliminaries. But she had
heard that the ailment could be cured by injections, replied
Sachiko. It could, of course; but the mark was so slight that one
hardly noticed it, and far the best thing would be for the young
lady to marry. It appeared that the magazine article had been correct.

"Will you report to Itani, then?" asked Teinosuke.
Although Sachiko had no particular objection to doing so, she
suggested that inasmuch as Itani thought Teinosuke the more
responsible of the two, he might well do the reporting himself.
Sachiko was not annoyed at being left out, but she did dislike
UUUK }JIW 55

being rushed. Very well, said Teinosuke; he would conduct the
negotiations in as businesslike a manner as Itani. The next day
he telephoned from his office, told Itani of the examination, and
sent off the report and X-ray by registered special-delivery mail.
A day later, at four o'clock, he had a return telephone call. Itani
announced that she would visit him in an hour, and at precisely
five o'clock she appeared. She thanked him for the speed with
which he had acted. She had immediately passed the information
on to Segoshi, who was most grateful for so detailed a report,
and especially for their pains with the X-ray. He was now quite
without misgivings, and he hoped they would forgive him for
having raised the issue at all. These preliminaries out of the way,
Itani proceeded to her main business: hesitant though he was to
ask such a favor, Segoshi would like to see Yukiko alone for a
little longer than last time--for say an hour. Might they hope that
Yukiko would agree? Although Segoshi was no longer young, said
Itani, there was something a little shy and naive about him, possibly
because he had never been married. That earlier evening
he had been so flustered that he could not for the life of him
remember what he had said. And then the young lady herself
was so quiet--not that there was anything wrong with her being
quiet, of course. What with its being their first meeting, however,
she had been extremely reserved, and Segoshi wondered if they
might meet again, and this time really learn to know each other.
They would be likely to attract notice in a hotel or restaurant,
and Itani thought they might better come to her house, dirty
little place though it was. Segoshi would be free the following
Sunday.
"Do you think Yukiko will agree?" Teinosuke asked his wife.
"I think the question is whether the family in Osaka will
agree. Nothing has really been decided yet, and they will say we
are going too far too soon."
"I suspect Segoshi wants to see how bad the spot is."
"You are probably right."
"Might it not be best to have him see her now? It hardly
shows."
"I quite agree. And if we refuse, he will think we are trying to
keep her hidden."
The next day, thinking there might be trouble if she used the
56
1 HE WIAKIUKA aiSll!.KS

telephone at home, Sachiko went out to call Osaka from a public
telephone. As she had expected, Tsumko wanted to know why
it was necessary to have them meet so often. Sachiko explained
in the most elaborate detail her reasons and Teinosuke's for
wanting to permit a second meeting. Possibly they were right,
replied Tsuruko, but she could not make the decision alone. She
would talk the matter over with Tatsuo and give their answer in
a day or so. Sachiko went out to the public telephone again the
next day, to catch Tsuruko before the latter called her at home.
Tatsuo had agreed, said Tsuruko, but with careful specifications
on the time, the place, and the degree of supervision.
A bouquet for Itani in her hand, Sachiko went with Yukiko
on the day appointed. For a time the four of them talked together
over tea, and presently Yukiko withdrew with Segoshi to
the second floor. They came down some thirty or forty minutes
later than the arrangements had called for. Leaving before Segoshi, the two sisters went to the Oriental Hotel--Sachiko remembered
that it was Sunday and Etsuko would be waiting at home.
While they were having tea in the lobby, Yukiko gave her report.
"He certainly talked today," she said.
And Yukiko too had talked, on any number of subjects. Segoshi
had asked first about the four sisters: why Yukiko and Taeko
spent more time in Ashiya than at the main house in Osaka,
what might have been the truth about the newspaper incident,
what had happened since. He had gone rather far, but Yukiko
had answered freely where it seemed proper, though she had
carefully refrained from saying anything that might show Tatsuo
in a not very favorable light. It was unfair of him to be asking
all the questions, said Segoshi. How would it be if Yukiko were
to ask some? But Yukiko was not so disposed, and he went ahead
to talk about himself. He preferred what might be called "classical"
graces to "modern," and that was why he had never married.
If he were to take Yukiko for his bride, however, he would have
a better bride than he deserved--the expression "difference in
station" came up repeatedly in the course of the conversation. Although
he had had no very intimate relations with women, he
said, there was one confession he had to make: he had been
friendly with a Paris shop girl. Apparently she had deceived him
(on this point the details were not clear), and thereby made him
t5ook Une 57

homesick and turned him back to pure Japanese tastes. Only his
friend Murakami knew of the affair, added Segoshi. This was the
first mention he had made of it to anyone else. He hoped Yukiko
would believe him when he said that his relations with the girl had
been of the purest.
Such in general were the matters Yukiko reported to her sister.
It was not hard to guess the feelings of a man who chose to reveal
himself so completely.
Itani followed up her advantage. She telephoned Teinosuke
the next day to say that Segoshi's misgivings were now quite at
rest. He knew that the spot over Yukiko's eye was, as they had
said, nothing to worry about. All he could do was wait to see
whether he himself had passed the test. Itani wondered when
the people at the main house might finish their investigations.
Teinosuke had to admit that it was not unreasonable of her to
feel a little impatient. She had first approached Sachiko more
than a month before, and twice, once at the Ashiya house and
again at the Oriental Hotel on the night of the miai, she had
been put off with the same answer: "May we have another week?"
Sachiko had first gone to discuss the matter at the main house
only ten days or two weeks before, and there would have been
little reason to expect an answer yet even had she been speedier.
The main house was extremely slow and deliberate. It had been
cowardly of her, pressed by Itani, to ask for only a week and to
have Teinosuke do the same. The family record which the main
house had requested had as a matter of fact arrived only two or
three days before, and, if the home town too was to be investigated,
the detective agency would require time. And just to make
absolutely sure, the main house meant to send someone for a
last check when it seemed likely that the proposal would be
accepted. There was nothing to do but ask for four or five
days more, and then four or five days more, and in the meantime
Itani made a trip to Ashiya and a trip to Teinosuke's office to
urge haste. They could not act too quickly, she would say; the
negotiations could so easily be upset. And she would point out
that the wedding ought to take place before the end of the year.
Finally she telephoned Tsuruko, whom she had never met. The
startled Tsuruko immediately called Sachiko, who could imagine
the consternation on the face of this phlegmatic sister. Tsuruko,
____ g 8 ____________________1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

so much slower than Sachiko even, would sometimes take as
much as five minutes to answer a question. Itani's volleys left
her quite helpless. Among other things, Itani again warned that
marriage negotiations were delicate in proportion as they were
promising,

^s^s^s^Os^^s^sys^ys^^sysy^^tJsysys^**^*^^

t4

thus the month passed. One day in December Sachiko was
called to the telephone--the call was from "the lady at the house
in Osaka." They had been slow, said Tsuruko, but now they
knew fairly well what they needed to know. She would come
that day to tell everything. "And what I have to say is not pleasant,"
she added as she hung up.
The warning was quite unnecessary. "We have failed again,"
Sachiko had said to herself the moment she heard her sister's
voice. Back in the parlor, she heaved a sigh and sank into the
armchair. She did not know how often Yukiko's marriage negotiations
had progressed almost to the point of a formal engagement
and then come to nothing--so often that the process had become
routine. Try though she might to tell herself that the
match this time was not a particularly desirable one, she knew
that she was deeply disappointed, far more disappointed than
at earlier failures. For one thing, she had always until now agreed
with the main house that the proposal in question should be
refused; but this time she had somehow believed that all would
go well. No doubt because they had had this Itani woman
pushing them, the part she and Teinosuke had played was unusual.
Teinosuke generally stood outside the negotiations, allowing himself
to be pulled in only when his services were quite necessary,
but this time he had, so to speak, flexed his muscles and gone
to work. And Yukiko's attitude too had been different. She had
agreed to the hasty mica., and had twice been alone with the
man. She had not objected even to the X-ray and the skin examination--never
before had she been so docile. Was she changing,
Book One 59

then? Deep in her heart was she beginning to worry about
having gone so long unmarried? And, though she showed nothing,
was she disturbed at the shadow over her eye? Everything considered,
Sachiko had wanted the negotiations to succeed this
time, and had really believed that they would.
She did not entirely give up hope until she had heard what
Tsuruko had to say. The details were enough to convince her
that nothing could be done. Tsuruko had taken advantage of an
hour or two in the afternoon when her older children were
still at school, and when Yukiko, who from two o'clock had a
lesson in the tea ceremony, was out of the Ashiya house. After
about an hour and a half they heard Etsuko come in the front
door. Tsuruko stood up to go. She would let Sachiko consult
with Teinosuke on how best to convey their refusal, she said.
This was Tsuruko's story: Segoshi's mother, a widow for more
than ten years, lived in seclusion in the old family house. She
was said to be ill. Her son rarely called, and her sister, also a
widow, cared for her. Ostensibly the illness was palsy, but tradesmen
who knew the house said that there was evidence of mental
disorder. The woman seemed unable to recognize her own son.
There had been a hint of this in the report from the detective
agency, and the main house in Osaka, vaguely uneasy, had sent
someone off to approach certain reliable informants. It grieved
her to have it thought, Tsuruko added, that they at the main
house deliberately ruined every prospect of which people were
kind enough to tell them. That was not their intention at all. They
no longer worried a great deal about family or money, and it
was indeed because they thought this match so desirable that
they had sent their own agent out into the country. They had
hoped somehow to overcome this last difficulty. But, after all, the
fact that there was a strain of insanity in the family was rather
a special difficulty. What could they do? It was strange that
whenever talk came up of a husband for Yukiko, some really
insurmountable difficulty always presented itself. Yukiko seemed
to be unmarriageable, and Tsuruko found it hard to shrug off
as only a superstition the belief that women born in the Year
of the Ram had trouble finding husbands.
Tsuruko had barely left when Yukiko came in. A corner of
the little damask tea-ceremony napkin showed at the neck of her
____60_____________the makioka sisters

kimono. Etsuko had gone off to play with the Stolz children.
"Tsuruko has just been here." She waited for a response, but
Yukiko was as silent as ever. "Tsuruko says we must refuse."
"Oh."
"We have heard that his mother has palsy, but the trouble
really seems to be mental."
"Oh."
"There is nothing to be done, Yukiko."
"I see."
"Rumi, come on over." They heard Etsuko's voice in the distance,
and soon the little girls were running toward them across
the lawn.
Sachiko lowered her voice. "I can tell you the details later.
I wanted you to know at least that much."
"Yukiko is back." Etsuko pressed her face to the glass door,
and four little legs were lined up side by side in cream-colored
woolen socks.
"Play inside today, Etsuko. The wind is cold." Yukiko opened
the door. "You come in too, Rumi." Her voice was quite as usual.
So the matter ended for Yukiko, but for Teinosuke it was
not so simple. When he heard the news that evening, he did
not try to hide his annoyance. So they had broken up another
perfectly good match. Once singled out by Itani to lead the
negotiations, he had become enthusiastic, and he had told
himself that if the main house again appeared with out-of-date
arguments about form and prestige, he would plead as strongly as
he could the reasons for accepting the proposal: Segoshi was marrying
for the first time, and since he looked younger than he really
was, he and Yukiko would not seem at all badly matched. Because
of these two points alone it would be a great shame to
decline the proposal in the vague hope that someone who
filled certain other qualifications might appear. Even when Sachiko
had finished her story, he found it hard to give up hope. But
clearly the main house had made its decision. And supposing
Teinosuke were to be asked whether he could take responsibility,
whether he could guarantee that if Yukiko married a man in
whose veins flowed such blood there would, in the future,
be nothing wrong with the man himself or with children who
might be born? He had to admit that the thought made him
door une 61

uneasy. The spring of the year before--had it been?--they had
had a similar proposal. That man was also in his forties, it was also
a first marriage, and the family had money. Everyone was most
excited. The day had been set for exchanging betrothal gifts
when suddenly the Makiokas learned that the man was deeply
involved with a woman and was taking a wife to screen the
affair. They had of course immediately ended the negotiations.
Yukiko's miai, when one explored them thoroughly, almost always
had their dark sides; and so it was that the people in the
main house were cautious. The desire for a match out of all
proportion to what they could reasonably expect had the perverse
effect of dazzling them and throwing them off guard. Wealthy
bachelors past forty generally had something wrong with them.
Possibly Segoshi's insane mother had in fact been responsible
for his not having married earlier, but it did not seem likely
that he had meant to deceive them. No doubt he thought that,
since the investigation was taking so long, Teinosuke and the
rest had learned of the mother, and that even so they were
interested in the proposal. His modesty--his insistence on his
low status and his general unworthiness--perhaps carried a strong
mixture of gratitude. He had not denied the rumor spreading
among his fellows at M.B. Chemical Industries that he was
about to take a fine bride, and Teinosuke, hearing reports
that the reliable and industrious Segoshi had become too restless
to work, could not help feeling that they were needlessly hurting
a most admirable gentleman. Had the investigation and the
refusal been prompt, no one would have been hurt; but Sachiko
had delayed, and the main Osaka house had hardly acted with
dispatch. And worst of all, they had tried to cover the delay
by suggesting that the investigation was almost over, and by
giving the most hopeful of reports--by indicating that the approval
of the main house was virtually assured. That had not
been simply mischievous of them. They had really felt that this
time they would be successful. Still the end result was a wrong
that could have been avoided, and Teinosuke felt that he had
himself to reprove before he reproved Sachiko or the people
at the main house.
Teinosuke, who had been adopted into the Makioka family,
had made it a principle not to become too deeply involved in
62 the makioka sisters

Yukiko's marital problems; and now, at the thought that discussions
in which he had played so central a part were a failure (an
unavoidable failure, of course), and at the further thought that
his own rashness had caused pain and had possibly made
Yukiko's future yet unhappier, he felt first of all that he must
apologize, if but silently, to Yukiko. One worried little, moreover,
when a marriage proposal was refused by a man, but
when the refusal came from a woman, it was most embarrassing
and degrading for the man, no matter how deviously it was
phrased. There could be no doubt, then, that the Makioka family
had invited the hostility of a great many families. Sachiko and
her sister at the main house, quite ignorant of the world, had
a way of blithely luring a prospective husband to the point of a
formal betrothal before rejecting him. What Teinosuke feared
most of all was that the accumulated resentment might lead
to tragedy for poor Yukiko.
But the problem of the moment was how to refuse Segoshi.
Sachiko meant to run away, that much was clear, and Temosuke
concluded that, to pay in part for his mistakes, he must take
up the bad hand he had been dealt and try to make Itani understand.
How should he proceed? There was little more to be done
about Segoshi, but it would be unwise to make Itani unhappy;
she might be of service later. She had put a great deal of time
and effort into the negotiations--the trips to the house in Ashiya
and the office in Osaka were in themselves no small matter.
Itani's beauty shop was prosperous enough to keep her and her
several assistants busy, and yet she had taken time to run about
on those errands. Even if, as rumor would have it, she was fond
of arranging marriages, what she had done was not to be dismissed
as ordinary courtesy. She had spent a good deal of money on
cab fares, to mention but one detail, and there had been that
night at the Oriental Hotel. Teinosuke had assumed that, although
Itani was formally the hostess, the expenses would be
shared by him and Segoshi, but when he tried to pay her on
the way out she refused his money. She had invited them, she
said, and the party was hers. Teinosuke let the matter pass,
thinking that she would be called on to do much more before
the marriage was finally arranged, and that they could see later
Book One 63

about paying for all her services. But now something had to be
done.
"She will refuse money," said Sachiko. "Let me take her a
present. I am not sure I can think of anything just at the
moment. . . . Suppose you talk to her, and I will see what Tsuruko
has to say about a present."
"You always manage to take the pleasant jobs." Teinosuke
looked annoyed, but there was little he could do.

S3<S7Đt^,3<5<ySS<5sSS%SS^^
1^

itani's visits stopped around the first of December. Perhaps
she had sensed that the negotiations were not going well. If she
had, Teinosuke's task would be easier. He did not want to be
overheard, he said when he telephoned for an appointment,
and he would prefer to visit her at home. Leaving the office a
little later than usual, he stopped to see her on his way back to
Ashiya.
She sat before him in an armchair, half hidden in the shadow
cast by the deep green lamp shade. Teinosuke had about him
a boyishness surprising for a man in his profession--one might
have taken him for a young man of letters--and the fact that he
could not see Itani's face very clearly made it easier for him to
break the unpleasant news.
"I would rather not have to tell you this--but we have finally
investigated the gentleman's family. Everything seems to be all
right, except that his mother is ill."
"What?" Itani cocked her head in surprise.
"She is generally thought to have palsy, we've been told, but
we have a report that the trouble is mental."
"Not really!" Itani's usual poise quite left her. "Not really!"
she said again, and then again, emphasizing the words each time
with a shake of the head.
Teinosuke wondered whether she had known of the woman's
____64___ ________the makioka sisters

illness. Her earlier haste, and now this confusion, made him
suspect that she had indeed.
"I hope you won't misunderstand, Mrs. Itani. I don't mean
to blame you in any way. It would be the proper thing to
put together a pleasant excuse, I suppose, and we thought of
doing just that. But you have gone to so much trouble that we
could never be satisfied with an excuse you wouldn't accept."
"I quite understand, and I'm not in the least angry. On the
contrary, I must apologize to you. I've really been too careless."
"You mustn't say that. The truth is that we are very unhappy
with ourselves. People begin to think that the Makiokas are so
worried about form that they go on refusing perfectly good proposals,
and I want you, at least, to know that this time we have a
good reason. And I hope most sincerely that we haven't made you
angry. May we ask you to speak to Mr. Segoshi?"
"You are being very kind. I don't know what you may be
thinking, but this is the first I have heard of the illness. We are
very lucky that you investigated so carefully. And you are quite
right to refuse. It is sad for Mr. Segoshi, but I'll try not to
upset him too much."
Greatly relieved, Teinosuke took his leave shortly after he
had finished his business. Itani repeated time after time that she
was not in the least angry. Indeed she felt most apologetic, and
she would somehow redeem herself by bringing Miss Yukiko a
really good proposal. He need have no misgivings--she would
take care of Miss Yukiko, and she hoped he would pass this
assurance on to his wife. Since Itani was not given to sugary words,
Teinosuke concluded that she was indeed less put out than he
had feared.
Some days later Sachiko bought a kimono and accessories in
Osaka and left them at Itani's house with a message. Itani herself
was out. The next day Sachiko received a most friendly
letter of thanks. Itani had been of no use to them, and her
rashness had caused needless pain. There was no reason whatsoever
to reward her. But she would redeem herself somehow,
she again insisted.
One evening ten days or so later, as the year was drawing to
an end, a cab pulled up at the gate. She had very little time,
said Itani. She had only come to say hello, and she could
t5ook Une 65

stay no more than a moment. Sachiko was in bed with a cold,
but Teinosuke, back from work, persuaded Itani to come into
the parlor. What had happened to Mr. Segoshi, he asked after
they had talked for a time. It was sad. He had seemed such an
admirable gentleman. It was truly sad, Itani agreed. Mr. Segoshi
probably thought they already knew about his mother, Teinosuke
continued. Again Itani agreed. He had seemed strangely cool
and reticent at first, perhaps because of his mother, and it was
only gradually that he had warmed to the prospect. That being
the case, said Teinosuke, they had been grievously wrong to
take so much time with the investigation. But he hoped that
Itani would not be frightened off, and that they would count
on her help again. Itani suddenly lowered her voice. "If you
don't mind his having a good many children," she said, as if
probing very tentatively, "I do as a matter of fact have another
prospect." Teinosuke thought he saw the real reason for the visit.
The details were these: the man was manager of a branch
bank south of Nara. He had five children, but the oldest, a boy,
was a student in Osaka, and the second, a girl, could be expected
to marry soon. There would only be three at home. The Makiokas
need have no concern about Miss Yukiko's livelihood, since the
family was one of the wealthiest in the region. As soon as Teinosuke
heard that the man had five children and lived in a country
town, however, he knew that there was no hope. Apparently
noting a certain lack of enthusiasm, Itani retreated. She knew,
she said, that they would not find the proposal an attractive
one.
But why, then, had she come? Perhaps deep in her heart
she was unhappy with them, and wanted to hint that this was
the sort of match they must expect.
Teinosuke went upstairs when he had seen her to the door.
Sachiko lay sniffing at an inhaler, a towel over her face. "I
hear Itani has another proposal," she said presently, wiping her
face.
"Who told you?"
"Etsuko arrived long ago with the news."
"True to form." Etsuko had come quietly into the parlor
and was listening most intently to his conversation with Itani
until he chased her from the room. It was, he said, no conversation
66 the makioka sisters

for a child. She had taken everything in from the dining room.
"Even when they are young they enjoy talk about husbands."
"The man has five children."
"You even heard that?"
"Of course. The oldest boy is in school in Osaka, and the
oldest girl is to marry soon."
Teinosuke was more and more astonished.
"And he lives in Shimoichi, and he is the manager of some
bank."
"Remarkable. You can never be too careful with children."
"We really must watch ourselves. And think what would have
happened if Yukiko had been here."
Both Yukiko and Taeko went each year to spend the first
days of the New Year at the Osaka house. Yukiko, a little ahead of
Taeko this year, had left the day before. The thought of the
difficulty they might have had on. their hands had she still been
in Ashiya was frightening.
Sachiko was susceptible to attacks of bronchitis. Since she
had been warned by the doctor that bronchitis could easily
turn into penumonia, she was extremely careful with even the
slightest cold, and would spend as much as a month in bed
each winter. This time, happily, the cold seemed to have gone
no farther than the throat. Her temperature was returning to
normal.
The end of the year approached. Sachiko, who meant to
stay in her room a day or two more, was reading a New Year
magazine on the twenty-fifth when Taeko came to announce
her departure for Osaka.
"But we have a whole week still. Last year you waited until
New Year's Eve."
"I did, I suppose."
Taeko was to give her third doll exhibition in January, and
had been hard at work in her studio for the better part of the
last month. Afraid she might forget her dancing, moreover,
she had been going once a week for a lesson in Osaka. It seemed
to Sachiko a very long while since she had really talked to this
youngest sister. Knowing how the people at the main house
wanted Yukiko and Taeko to be with them, she had no thought
of keeping either sister in Ashiya. Still it was odd that Taeko,
Boofe One ______________________67_____

who hated being in the main house even more than Yukiko
did, should be leaving so early. Sachiko did not go so far as
to suspect connivance with young Okubata. It made her a little
sad, however, to see how Taeko, always precocious, was each
year growing farther away from her.
"I have no more to do on the dolls. In Osaka I can go for a
lesson every day." It was not exactly an apology, although Taeko
did seem to be admitting that her sudden departure called for
an explanation.
"And what are you practicing now?"
"A New Year dance called 'Manzai,'" answered Taeko. "Can
you still play the accompaniment?"
"I remember most of it, I think. 'May this year too be
happy . . .'"
Taeko went through the hand motions as Sachiko hummed
the accompaniment. "Wait just a minute. These clothes will
never do." She ran off to her room, and almost immediately
was back dressed in kimono, a dancing fan in her hand.

"Says the lovely maid, the lovely maid, the lovely maid
of Miyako,
'Mussels and clams, won't you buy my clams,
Large fish, and small fish,1 and mussels, and clams,'
And on the shelf beside her, scarlet and gold,
Brocades and damasks, and chirimen silks.
Tonton chirimen, ton chirimen."

They had, as little girls, been especially delighted with the
way in which the samisen refrain echoed in solfeggio the word
chirimen, "crepe." "The Lovely Maid of Miyako, Ton Chirimen"
had become almost a nursery song, and Sachiko remembered
it alone of the jiuta, the old Osaka songs. The picture of the
Semba house twenty years before floated up in her memory,
and the faces of her father and mother. Taeko used to dance
this same "Manzai" on New Year's Day, accompanied on the
samisen by her mother or sister. The figure of the little dancer,
a hand lifted artlessly, was as clear in Sachiko's mind as if she
had seen it yesterday. And this was the same sister? (The other

1 The song refers to congratulatory fish associated with the New Year.

68 the makioka sisters

sister too, and both of them still unmarried--what would her
mother and father be thinking in their graves?) Sachiko did
not try to hide her tears.
"When will you be back, Koisan?"
"On the fourth."
"We will have you dance for us, then. Practice every day,
and I will try to learn the samisen part well."
They had fewer guests here in Ashiya than when they had
lived in Osaka, and, with the younger sisters away, the first
days of the New Year were always a little too quiet. It was good
for Sachiko and her husband to be alone now and then, but
Etsuko, intensely lonely, could hardly wait for Yukiko and Koisan
to come back. On the afternoon of New Year's day, Sachiko
took out her samisen and began practicing "Manzai." For three
days she practiced, and by the third day Etusko too had learned
to take up the tonton chirimen, ton chirimen.

3iS<3iSs5iS}5>S'W5SaS<5ŪQs5<S<ŧSS<S>Ģii3'S<

16

taeko's exhibition ran for three days, this time in a Kobe gallery.
Through the efforts of Sachiko, who knew everyone, most of the
dolls were sold on the opening day. Sachiko brought Yukiko
and Etsuko on the third day to help clean up.
"Etsuko, suppose we have Koi-san take us to dinner tonight,"
suggested Sachiko when they had finished. "She has lots of money."
"A splendid idea," Yukiko joined in. "Where will it be, Etsuko?
A Western restaurant? A Chinese restaurant?"
"Go ahead and make your plans. You might remember, though,
that I have not yet collected." Taeko did not feign poverty
well, however. She was smiling in spite of herself.
"Quite all right, quite all right. I can pay for it, and you can
pay me later." Knowing that Taeko could count on considerable
profits even after she had paid the bills, Sachiko was determined
to coax forth a dinner invitation. As Itani would have noted,
Book One 69

Taeko, unlike Sachiko, was blessed with sound business sense.
She was not quick to open her purse.
"We will go to the Togaro," said Taeko. "The Togaro is the
cheapest place I know."
"Really, Koi-san. You could at least take us to the Oriental
Grill."
The Togaro was half butcher shop and half Cantonese restaurant.

"Good evening." A young foreign woman was paying her
bill as they went in.
"How nice to see you, Katharina," said Taeko. "This is the
Russian lady I spoke to you of. My sisters."
"How do you do. I am Katharina Kyrilenko. I went to the
exhibition today. You sold all. Congratulations." Her Japanese
was far from perfect.
"Who was that foreigner, Koi-san?" asked Etsuko afterwards.
"A pupil of Koi-san's," said Sachiko. "I often see her on the
train."
"A very pretty girl, I have always thought."
"Does that foreigner like Chinese cooking?" asked Etsuko.
"She grew up in Shanghai, and knows everything about Chinese
cooking. She says the dirtiest restaurants--restaurants most foreigners
refuse to go to--are the best, and this is the best in all
Kobe."
"Is she Russian?" asked Yukiko. "Somehow she looks less
Russian than--I hardly know what."
"She went to an English school in Shanghai, and was a nurse
in an English hospital, and was once married to an Englishman.
You would hardly think she was old enough, but she even
has a child."
"Really? And how old is she, then?"
"I wonder. About my age? Or a little younger?"
According to Taeko, the White Russian Kyrilenko family had
a small two-storey house, four rooms in all, not far from her
studio. There Katharina lived with her old mother and a
brother. Taeko had for some time had a nodding acquaintance
with Katharina, and then one day, a month or two before,
the latter had appeared at the studio and announced that she
70 the makioka sisters

wanted to learn to make dolls, especially Japanese dolls. Taeko
immediately found herself being called "the professor." In some
confusion she suggested that "Taeko" might be more appropriate,
and the two quickly became close friends. Taeko occasionally
stopped by the Kyrilenko house on her way to and from the
studio.
"She said not long ago she often saw you on the train. She
said she thought you very attractive, and wanted to meet you."
"What do they live on?"
"The brother has a business, importing wool, I believe. But
to judge from the house they are far from well off. Katharina
was given a settlement when she divorced her husband, and
says she has enough to live on. She manages to keep herself fairly
trim, you can see."
They talked of the Kyrilenko family over the metal bowls of
Chinese food, the prawns and the pigeon-egg soup that Etsuko
liked, and the glazed duck skin that Sachiko liked, and so on.
Katharina's child, a little girl three or four years old to judge
from her picture, had been taken to England by her father.
Taeko had no idea whether dolls were only a hobby for Katharina,
or whether she meant one day to turn her new skill to profit.
For a foreigner she was clever with her hands and quick to
learn, and in very little time she had mastered all the problems
of pattern and color combination.
The family had been broken up at the time of the Revolution.
Katharina grew up in Shanghai, where she was taken by her
grandmother. The brother went to Japan with his mother, and
was said to have studied in a Japanese middle school and to
have some knowledge of Japanese writing. In contrast to Katharina,
an Anglophile, the brother and mother were extraordinarily pro- Japanese. In one of the two downstairs rooms of their house
hung pictures of the Emperor and Empress, and in the other
pictures of the last Czar and his consort. The brother was of
course very good in Japanese, and Katharina had learned a surprising
amount in the short time she had been in the country.
The most entertaining Japanese was that of the old mother.
Taeko had been rather puzzled at first.
"The Japanese the old one talks! She speaks at a fearful
rate and misses the important words. She looked a little surprised
Book One 71

the other day when I told her my home was in Osaka, and it
only came to me later that she was telling me to make myself
at home."
Taeko was an excellent mimic. She liked to entertain them
by burlesquing the little mannerisms she was so quick to notice.
Her imitations of "the old one" were almost too good. There
before them would be the old Russian woman they had never
met.
"She seems to have been very remarkable. She was a doctor
of law in Russia. 'I no good Japanese,' she says. 'French,
German, I speak.'"
"She must once have had money. How old is she?"
"Past sixty, I would say. But you would never guess it. She is as
lively as a young girl."
Three or four days later Taeko came home with another
story about "the old one." Taeko had been shopping in Kobe,
and she was having a cup of tea at Juccheim's when the old
woman came in with Katharina. They were going skating, they
said. If she was free, would she like to join them? Though she
had never skated, Taeko had confidence in her athletic abilities.
She decided to have a try when they assured her that they could
teach her in no time. After an hour or so she was skating well,
and the old woman was lavish in her praise.
"You, very good. I think this no first time."
But the astonishing one was "the old one" herself. The moment
they were on the rink she sailed off with complete aplomb,
straight and confident, treating them now and then to a truly
breathtaking display of virtuosity. All the other skaters stopped to
watch.
"I had dinner at Katharina's," said Taeko, coming home late
one evening.
The Russians, she had found, were a race of remarkably heavy
eaters. First came cold appetizers, and then all sorts of bread,
and hot dish after hot dish, meats and vegetables heaped to the
brim. Taeko had had enough with the appetizers alone. No
more thank you; I really could not possibly--but the Kyrilenkos
ate on. What was the matter with her? Wouldn't she have more
of this, or perhaps this? And as they ate they gulped down beer
and Japanese sake and vodka. Taeko was not surprised at the
72 the makioka sisters

brother, but Katharina kept him company, and "the old one"
ate and drank with both of them. It was nine o'clock, and Taeko
got up to leave. No, she couldn't go yet--they brought out cards
and played for an hour or so. At past ten they started on another
dinner. Taeko could barely bring herself to look at the food,
but the others ate and drank--it might be more accurate to
say that they tossed liquor down--as happily as before. A most
astonishing set of stomachs, thought Taeko. The Russians explained
that Japanese sake, and even a strong liquor like vodka,
had to be drunk fast if it was to be enjoyed. The food was
not especially remarkable, Taeko thought, although she was interested
in the soup, a sort of ravioli soup to judge from her
description.
"She says I am to bring my sisters and brother-in-law next
time. Would you like to go for a look?"
Katharina was busy on a Japanese doll with long, flowing
sleeves, an old-style coiffure, and, in one hand, a New Year
battledore. Since Taeko was the model, Katharina sometimes
came to the Ashiya house to work, and in the course of time she
became acquainted with the rest of the family. Teinosuke had
remarked, it was true, that she should have a try at Hollywood,
but there was in fact not a suggestion of Yankee coarseness
about her. Indeed something gentle and ladylike in her manner
made it easy for her to be friendly with Japanese women.
On February 11, the anniversary of the founding of the Empire,
Katharina appeared at the door with her brother, who had on
plus fours. They were hiking to Koza Falls, she said, and had only
stopped by to say hello. Walking through the garden to the
terrace, they had a cocktail or two and talked to Teinosuke for
perhaps a half hour.
"Now we must meet the old one," said Teinosuke.
Sachiko agreed. "But after listening to Koi-san, I feel as if I
already knew her."
^s^s?s9sy<?^>t3s^?s3<>^sy^s>ŧys^ys^^^^

n

taeko had aroused their curiosity, and they found it hard to
go on refusing. Finally in the spring--actually on a chilly March
evening--they went to the Kyrilenko house. The whole family
had been invited, but, knowing they would be late getting
home, they left Etsuko behind, and Yukiko to keep her company.
Sachiko and Teinosuke set out with Taeko. Perhaps a quarter of
a mile from the station the bourgeois mansions gave way to
rice paddies, and beyond the paddies was a pine-covered hill.
The Kyrilenko house stood in a cluster of little houses, the
smallest of all, and yet very clean and pretty, like something
out of a fairy tale. Katharina led them to the farther of the
downstairs rooms. There was a cast-iron stove in the center, and
when the four of them were seated--on the sofa, in the one
easy chair, and on a hard wooden chair--they were in great
danger of brushing the stove or the chimney, or knocking something
off the table. The bedrooms were apparently upstairs.
They gathered that, besides these two rooms downstairs, there
was only a kitchen somewhere in back. The next room, through
an open door, seemed no larger than this one. Teinosuke wondered
how six of them could possibly sit down for dinner. What was
even stranger, however, was the fact that only Katharina was
with them. The brother and "the old one" of the stories were
nowhere to be seen. Though the Makiokas knew that foreigners
generally dined later than Japanese, they had neglected to ask
the exact time. Perhaps they had come early. But even when it
was dark outside, the house was quite still, and nothing was
being done about dinner.
"Here. My first doll." Katharina took up a dancing doll from
the bottom shelf of a triangular cupboard.
"You really made this?"
"Yes. But it had many bad things. Taeko repaired them."
"Look at the obi," said Taeko. The dark cloth of the obi,
which was tied so that the ends trailed down, was decorated
with Japanese chess pieces. No doubt Katharina had drawn on
74 the makioka sisters

her brother's knowledge of things Japanese. "This is not something
I taught her. Katharina designed it by herself, and even painted
the pieces."
"Look at this." Katharina took out an album of photographs
from her Shanghai years. "Here. My husband. Here, my daughter."
"How pretty. She looks exactly like her mother."
"You think so?"
"I do indeed. Do you never feel lonesome for her?"
"She is in England. I cannot see her. That is all."
"Do you know where in England she is? Could you see her
if you were to go there?"
"I do not know. But I want to see her. Maybe I will go to
see her." There was nothing sentimental in Katharina's tone.
She seemed quite philosophical.
Sachiko and Teinosuke had for some time been feeling hungry.
They glanced uncertainly at their watches and at each other.
"And your brother? Is he out this evening?" Teinosuke took
advantage of a lull in the conversation.
"My brother, he is always late, every night."
"And your mother?"
"My mother went shopping in Kobe."
"I see."
It was possible, of course, that the old woman had gone off
to buy provisions for dinner, but when the clock on the wall
struck seven they began to feel as though the signals had gone
wrong. Taeko, responsible for having brought them, was soon
looking quite openly at the dining room. Whether Katharina
noticed or not, she said nothing. Now and then she got up to
put more coal in the stove, which was so small that it needed refueling
almost immediately. They really had to think of something
to talk about, since silence only made them hungrier, but
when they ran out of subjects, they could only listen to the fire.
A mongrel dog, largely pointer they would have said, pushed open
the door and, picking a warm spot among the feet, lay down happily
with its jowls on its forepaws.
"Boris," said Katharina. The dog rolled its eyes at her.
"Boris," said Teinosuke, for want of anyone else to talk to.
He stroked the dog's arched back, and presently another half
hour went by.
Hook Une______________________75_____

"Katharina," he said suddenly. "Have we made a mistake?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Koi-san, have we come on the wrong day?" He spoke in the
Osaka dialect, which Katharina could not understand. "If so,
she must be terribly embarrassed. Maybe we should say goodbye."
"But how could I have been wrong? Katharina."
"Yes?"
"You ask her, Sachiko. I have no idea how to."
"Maybe your French would be useful at a time like this,"
said Teinosuke.
"Does Katharina speak French, Koisan?"
"I think not. She knows English, though."
"Katharina, I ... I am ..." Teinosuke began in faltering
English. "I am afraid . . . you were not expecting us tonight."
"Why not?" Katharina looked at him in astonishment. "We
invited you for tonight, and we were waiting for you." Her English
was fluent, though she spoke with a certain tenseness.
As the clock struck eight, Katharina left the room. They heard
a clattering in the kitchen, and a moment later she had the
table in the next room lined with dishes and platters, and was
inviting them to take their places. Their first reaction when they
saw the appetizers (when might she have prepared them?)--
smoked salmon and salted anchovies and sardines in oil, and
ham and cheese and crackers, and meat pie and all sorts of
bread--was one of relief. All three were hungry, and they ate
as rapidly as good form allowed. Presently, however, as Katharina
urged them to take more, they were passing bits of food under
the table to Boris. Katharina meanwhile busied herself making
tea and refilling cups.
The front door slammed, and Boris bounded into the hall.
"The old one seems to be back," whispered Taeko.
"The old one" disappeared from the hall into the kitchen
with five or six little bundles under her arm. Katharina's brother
came into the room, followed by a gentleman perhaps in his
fifties.
"We began our feast without you," said Teinosuke.
"Please, please." Kyrilenko rubbed his hands together. He
was rather small and delicate for a foreigner, and the cheeks of
his long, thin face, which reminded one of a Kabuki actor,
76 the makioka sisters

were red from the chill of the early-spring wind. He spoke a few
words to Katharina in Russian. Teinosuke and the rest caught
only "Mamochka, Mamochka," which they took to be an affectionate
diminutive for "Mother."
"I met my mother in Kobe and we came home together.
And this is my friend Vronsky." He patted the other gentleman
on the shoulder. "Taeko already knows him, I believe."
"We have met. My brother-in-law, my sister."
"Vronsky," mused Teinosuke. "There is someone by that name
in Anna Karenina."
"You are very well informed. You read Tolstoy, do you?"
"All Japanese read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky," said Kyrilenko.
"How do you happen to know Mr. Vronsky?" asked Sachiko.
"He lives in a rooming house not far from my studio. He is
terribly fond of children." Taeko spoke in the Osaka dialect.
"Everyone in the neighborhood knows about 'the Russian
who likes children.' They call him 'the Russian who likes children'
more often than they call him Mr. Vronsky."
"Is he married?"
"No ... as a matter of fact, there seems to have been an
unhappy affair."
There was something gentle, a little weak, about Vronsky.
They could see that he might be partial to children. The corners
of his rather sad eyes were wrinkled in a smile as he listened to
this discussion of himself. He was larger than Kyrilenko, but he
seemed somehow more like a Japanese, with his close-knit frame,
his swarthy skin as of one who has long been exposed to the
sun, his thick hair now necked with gray, his black eyes. They
wondered if he might not once have been a sailor.
"You didn't bring Etsuko?" asked Kyrilenko.
"She has her homework to do."
"What a shame. I told Vronsky here I would show him a very
pretty little girl this evening."
"I wish we had known."
"The old one" came in to greet them.
"How nice you come. Taeko's other sister, little girl, why
they not come?"
The accent was exactly as Taeko had reproduced it. Taeko
was looking away with studied composure, and that only made
Book One 77

it harder for the others to keep from laughing. "The old one,"
they called her; but she had none of the portliness foreign women
fall into as they grow old. The figure, trim and straight, especially
as seen from the rear, the slender, well-shaped legs above high-
heeled shoes, the firm step as the hells clicked across the floor,
swift and deer-like, untamed one might have said--seeing these,
they had no trouble imagining the old woman as she swept blithely
off across that skating rink. When she smiled, they noted that
several teeth were missing. The flesh sagged at the jaws and
throat, and the face was covered with small wrinkles, like a piece
of crepe silk; but the skin itself was a pure, clear white, and
from a distance, with the wrinkles obscured one might well take
her for twenty years younger.
"The old one" cleared the table, and covered it afresh with the
food she had brought: oysters, caviar, sour pickles, pork and
chicken and liver sausages, and again all sorts of bread. The
drinking began: vodka and beer were brought out, and heated
sake, in drinking glasses rather than the tiny cups more commonly
used. Of the Russians, "the old one" and Katharina seemed
fond of sake. There was, as Teinosuke had feared, not room
for all of them to sit down. Katharina leaned against the mantle,
and "the old one" helped herself from behind the rest when
she was not busy bringing out new dishes. Since there were
not enough knives and forks, Katharina sometimes picked something
up in her hand. She turned scarlet when one of the guests
caught her. They had to pretend not to notice.
"Stay away from the oysters," Sachiko whispered to Teinosuke. The oysters showed every sign of being not deep-sea oysters, but
quite ordinary oysters picked up at a near-by fish market. The
Russians, who ate them with great gusto, were on that point,
at least, not as discriminating as their Japanese guests.
Careful not to attract attention, the Japanese were passing
on to Boris what was left of the too-generous helpings.
Teinosuke had been mixing his drinks, and his voice was
growing louder. "And what is that?" He pointed to a framed
picture beside that of the Czar.
"That is the palace at Tsarskoe Selo, near Petrograd," said
Kyrilenko. They refused to call the city "Leningrad."
"That is the famous Tsarskoe Selo palace, is it."
78 the makioka sisters

"Our house, very near palace at Tsarskoe Selo. Czar, horse,
ride out of palace. You see? I watch him every day. I think I
hear voice, talking."
"Mamochka," said Kyrilenko. After an explanation in Russian,
he interpreted for her. "What she wants to say is that she could
not actually hear his voice, but the carriage passed so near that
she thought she could. Our house was almost next door to the
palace. Of course I can barely remember it myself."
"And Katharina?"
"I hadn't started to school. I remember nothing."
"And why the pictures of the Japanese Emperor and Empress
in the other room?"
The old lady's expression was suddenly very serious. "Of
course. We, White Russians, live here. Because of them."
"All White Russians feel that way. Japan will fight longest
against the Communists." After a pause, Kyrilenko added: "What
do you think will happen in China? Do you think the Communists
will win?"
"I really know very little about politics. It would be nice,
though, if Japan and China could be friends."
"What do you think of Chiang Kai-shek?" Vronsky had been
sitting in silence, an empty glass in his hand. "And of what
happened last December in Hsian? Chiang Kai-shek was kidnapped
by Chang Hsiieh-liang. And then rescued. Why?"
"There must be more to it than we read in the newspapers."
Teinosuke had considerable interest in international affairs,
and was well enough informed on at least what appeared in the
papers. He had never been more than a passive onlooker, however,
and, the times being what they were, it seemed better
not to let reckless talk invite trouble. In particular before
foreigners, whose motives and ways of thinking were so mysterious,
he had resolved to offer no opinions. But for these people, driven
from their homeland and forced to wander, the international
question was one they could not forget for a single moment.
It was their very life. For a time they debated among themselves.
Vronsky seemed to be the best informed, and the other Russians
would listen while he developed some point at length. They used
Japanese as much as possible, but Vronsky, when the discussion
became complicated, tended to lapse into Russian. Occasionally
Hook One 79

Kyrilenko would interpret for Teinosuke and the rest. "The old
one" was an accomplished debater, and not one to listen quietly
while the men argued. She had no trouble holding her own,
except for the fact that when she became excited her Japanese
collapsed, and neither the Russians nor the Japanese had any
idea what she was talking about. "Say it in Russian, Mamochka,"
Kyrilenko would now and then put in.
Presently, for some reason that the Japanese did not understand,
the discussion became a quarrel between Katharina and "the
old one." The latter quite indiscriminately assailed the English--
English character, English policies--and Katharina fought back.
She had been born in Russia, she said, but when she was driven
to Shanghai she lived on the generosity of the English. She was
educated by the English and she paid not a cent in return,
and it was the English who had helped her make her way as a
nurse. What could be wrong with such a country? But "the old
one" answered that Katharina was still too young to understand.
Soon the two were glaring at each other, and Kyrilenko and
Vronsky interceded to prevent a real fight.
"Mamochka and Katharina are a great problem. They are
always fighting about England," said Kyrilenko.
When they had spent some time at cards in the other room,
they were summoned again to the dining room. The Japanese
were not up to another feast, whatever it might be, and the result
as far as they were concerned was only stuffing Boris fuller.
Still Teinosuke managed to drink with Vronsky and Kyrilenko
to the end.
"Be careful," said Sachiko when, after eleven, they started
back through the rice paddies. "You are staggering."
"The wind feels good."
"Really, I wondered what could have happened. Katharina
all by herself, and not a thing to eat or drink, and there I was
getting hungrier and hungrier."
"Then when she finally brought it out I began to eat with
both hands. But how do you suppose Russians manage to eat
so much? I can drink with them well enough, but I am no
match when it comes to eating."
"The old one seemed delighted to have all of us. They enjoy
guests even in that tiny house."
8o the makioka sisters

"They must be lonely. They must want to make friends with
Japanese."
"That Mr. Vronsky," called Taeko from the darkness one or
two steps behind them. "It is really very sad. It seems that
he was in love when he was young, but he and the girl were
separated at the time of the Revolution. He learned some years
later that she was in Australia, and went to Australia himself. He
did find her, but almost immediately afterwards she died. And
with that he decided he would never marry."
"There was something very sad about him."
"He had a dreadful time in Australia. He was even a miner
for a while. Afterwards he went into business and made some
money, and now they say he has five hundred thousand yen.
Katharina's brother has borrowed from him, I suspect."
"What a nice smell," said Sachiko. They were walking down
a hedge-lined street. "The cloves are in bloom somewhere."
"Only one more month to the cherry blossoms. I can hardly
wait."
"Me, hardly wait too," said Teinosuke, after the manner of
"the old one."

^S^S^JS^STS^S&S^SOS^S^'^S^S^S^^'t^'^S^OSO'tOS^

18

nomuka minokichi, born September, 1893.
permanent residence: 20 Tatemachi, Himeji, Hyogo Prefecture
present residence: 559 4-chome, Aodani, Nada Ward, Kobe
education: Graduated from the School of Agriculture, Tokyo
Imperial University, 1016
occupation: Fisheries technician. Agriculture and Forestry Office,
Hyogo Prefecture
family: Married in 1922 to Tanako Noriko. One son and one
daughter. Daughter died at the age of two. Wife died of
influenza in 1935. Son died in 1936 at the age of thirteen.
Both parents died early. Only sister, whose married name
is Ota, lives in Tokyo.
Boofe One ______________________81_____

The small photograph, on the back of which Mr. Nomura
himself had written this information (he used a pen rather than
the formal writing brush such occasions really called for), had
come late in March from Mrs. Jimba, a classmate of Sachiko's.
Sachiko had almost forgotten how, late in November the year
before, as the Makiokas were marking time in the Segoshi negotiations,
she had met Mrs. Jimba in Osaka. They talked for twenty
or thirty minutes, and in the course of the conversation Yukiko's
name was mentioned. She is not married yet, then, said Mrs.
Jimba, and Sachiko asked her friend to let them know of any
likely prospects. At the time, the negotiations with Segoshi seemed
promising, and Sachiko meant only to be pleasant; but Mrs.
Jimba evidently took the matter to heart.
This was the substance of her letter:
She wondered how matters were with Yukiko. She had
carelessly not thought to mention the fact earlier, but a cousin
of Mr. Hamada Jokichi, to whom Mr. Jimba was much obligated,
had not long before lost his wife, and an urgent request, complete
with photograph, had come from Mr. Hamada that they help
find a suitable second wife. Mrs. Jimba had thought of Yukiko.
Her husband did not know the man personally, but, since he
had Mr. Hamada for a guarantor, there could be no question
about his worth. She would send the photograph under separate
cover, and they might perhaps conduct an investigation based
on the material they would find on the back. If they then
decided that the man seemed a promising candidate, Mrs. Jimba
would be glad to arrange an introduction at any time. Such a
matter should really be discussed face to face, of course, but, since
she did not want to seem to be pressing them, she thought
she might first try writing.
The photograph arrived the next day.
Sachiko immediately sent off a note of thanks. With the
Itani affair of the year before still fresh in her memory, she was
careful not to make easy promises. She was most deeply grateful
for Mrs. Jimba's thoughtfulness, she wrote, but she hoped Mrs.
Jimba would not mind waiting a month or two for an answer.
Yukiko had just been through the ordeal of unsuccessful marriage
negotiations, and it might be best to wait a while before beginning
again. Sachiko wanted this time to be very deliberate, and if,
82 the makioka sisters

after a thorough investigation, it seemed that they would want
to ask Mrs. Jimba's good offices, they hoped they might be able
to do so. As Mrs. Jimba knew, Yukiko was well past the age
when most girls marry, and it would be too sad--Sachiko herself
could hardly bear it--if failures were to pile one on another
too rapidly. So she wrote, making no attempt to hide the facts.
She and Teinosuke had decided that this time they would
conduct their own investigation at their own pace. If it seemed
advisable, they would consult the main house, and in the course
of time broach the matter to Yukiko herself. The truth was
that Sachiko was far from enthusiastic. They could of course know
little until they had investigated, and they had no information
about the man's resources. Even so, Sachiko knew immediately
that the conditions were far worse than with Segoshi. In the
first place, the man was two years older than Teinosuke. In the
second place, it was not his first marriage, though of course the
children were dead and would be no trouble. But what made
Sachiko quite sure that Yukiko would never accept was the
face in the photograph, the face of an old man. Photographs
could be misleading, but it seemed likely that, although the
man might look older than the photograph, he would not look younger. They did not ask that he be especially handsome, or
that he be younger than Teinosuke. It would be sad to see
Yukiko exchanging marriage cups with an old man, however,
and the older sisters, even now that they had found her a husband,
would not be able to lift their heads before the assembled relatives.
If it was unreasonable to ask for a young bridegroom, Sachiko
hoped that they might at least find someone healthy, vigorous,
buoyant. Everything considered, she could work up little excitement
over the photograph. She did nothing for a week or so.
Then it occurred to her that Yukiko might have seen an
envelope marked "Photograph" in the mail. If so, might she not
think something was being hidden from her? Yukiko as always
showed nothing, and yet she had quite possibly been hurt by
the Segoshi affair. Sachiko had thought it better to refrain from
bringing up another proposal so soon, but it would only look
like a conspiracy if indeed Yukiko was wondering why Sachiko
did not have the honesty to tell her of the new photograph.
koor une 33

Indeed, in view of Sachiko's own lack of enthusiasm, an easy
solution might be to consult Yukiko at the outset, and hear
the views of the person most concerned.
One day, when Sachiko was dressing to go shopping in Kobe,
Yukiko came into the room.
"I have another photograph, Yukiko." Without waiting for an
answer, Sachiko took the photograph from a drawer. "Read what
is on the back."
Yukiko glanced at the photograph in silence, and turned it over.
"Who sent it to you?"
"You remember Mrs. Jimba? Her name was Imai when we
were in school."
"Yes."
"We happened to speak of you one day in Osaka, and I asked
her to let me know if she heard of any good prospects. She
seems to have taken it seriously."
Yukiko did not answer.
"There is no need to decide immediately. As a matter of fact,
I thought of investigating the man before I spoke to you, but
I decided it would not do to have you think I was hiding
something." Yukiko had laid the photograph on a shelf, and
was looking absently down at the garden from the veranda.
"If you would rather not think about it yet, you can wait.
And if the man does not interest you, you can pretend you
never heard of him. I think, though, that I ought at least to go
ahead with the investigation. After all, Mrs. Jimba was kind
enough to send the picture."
"Sachiko." Forcing herself to smile, Yukiko turned to her
sister. "I want you to tell me when something like this comes
up. I feel much better when I know something is being done.
It is hearing nothing at all that upsets me."
"I see."
"But the miai. I would like you always to put it off until
you have finished investigating. There is nothing else you need
worry about."
"I see. That makes things easier."
Sachiko finished dressing and went out, with a promise to be
back for dinner. Yukiko hung the discarded kimono on the
84 the makioka sisters

clothes rack and folded the obi and accessories into a neat pile.
For a time she leaned on the railing and looked down at the
garden.
This section of Ashiya had been farms and fields until the
mid-twenties, when the suburbs of Osaka began to encroach
on it. For all its being rather small, the garden had in it two
or three old native pines, and beyond the hedge it gave way
to the hills of the Rokko chain, off to the north and west.
Yukiko always felt that she had come to life again when she
was back in Ashiya after four or five days in the Osaka house.
She looked to the south. Just below her were the lawn and
flower beds, and beyond them was an artificial hillock, from
between the boulders of which a shrub trailed branches of tiny
white flowers down into a dry lake. On the right shore of the
lake, a lilac and a cherry were in bloom. The cherry had
been planted two or three years before--Sachiko, extremely fond
of cherry blossoms, wanted to go cherry viewing at home. Each
spring, when the proper season came, she dutifully spread a carpet
under the tree, but for some reason there were never more than
a few sickly blossoms. The lilac, on the other hand, was always
a rich mass of blossoms. To the west of the lilac were a plane
tree and a sandalwood not yet in bud, and to the south of the
sandalwood was a syringa. Mme Tsukamoto, the French lady
from whom Sachiko took lessons, felt most nostalgic when she
saw the garden. This was the first syringa she had come upon
in Japan, she said, although it was very common in France.
The syringa, which bloomed with the yellow yamabukil by
Teinosuke's study after the lilac had fallen, had only begun to
send out buds. Farther on was the net-wire fence that separated
the garden from the Stolz yard, and under the plane trees by the
fence, on grass warm in the afternoon sun, Etsuko and Rosemarie
were playing house. From the second-floor railing Yukiko could
see all the properties: the dolls' beds, cabinets, chairs, and table,
and the Western dolls themselves. The two little girls, quite lost
in play, did not know they were being overheard.
"This is the father," said Rosemarie, taking up a doll in her
left hand. "And this is the mother." She pressed the faces together,

1 A shrub related to the rose.

jdook }jne 05

and there was a resounding smack. Rosemarie seemed to be
providing the sound effects. "The baby came." She took a baby
doll from the skirts of the "mother." "Baby came, baby came,"
she repeated happily.
Foreign children believed that babies were brought by storks
and fastened to trees, Yukiko had always heard, but at least
Rosemarie knew the truth. Yukiko smiled on and on as she
watched the play.

S.S!^,S,S^S^^S,.^^S^:>^S>3iS^^^S!^>^5<^Ū!^^5i.y.^<

I?

teinosuke had laughed when, on their honeymoon in the Hakone
mountains south of Tokyo, he asked Sachiko what her favorite
fish was and learned that it was the sea bream. The sea bream
was far too ordinary a fish to have for a favorite. Sachiko
said, however, that the sea bream, both in appearance and in
taste, was the most Japanese of all fish, and that a Japanese who
did not like sea bream was simply not a Japanese. Teinosuke
suspected that his wife was secretly boasting of her native Osaka.
The Osaka region produced the best sea bream, and, it would
seem to follow, was most truly Japanese. And when Sachiko
was asked what flower she liked best, there was no hesitation
in her answer: the cherry blossom.
All these hundreds of years, from the days of the oldest
poetry collections, there have been poems about cherry blossoms.
The ancients waited for cherry blossoms, grieved when they
were gone, and lamented their passing in countless poems. How
very ordinary the poems had seemed to Sachiko when she read
them as a girl, but now she knew, as well as one could know,
that grieving over fallen cherry blossoms was more than a fad
or a convention. The family--Sachiko, her husband and daughter,
her two younger sisters--had for some years now been going
to Kyoto in the spring to see the cherry blossoms. The excursion
had become a fixed annual observance. Sometimes Teinosuke
or Etsuko would be missing because of work or school, but at
OU 1 til". 1V1A1S.1UJS.A L31S11LK&

least the three sisters were always together. For Sachiko there
was, besides pleasant sorrow for the cherry blossoms, sorrow for her
sisters and the passing of their youth. She wondered whether each
excursion might not be her last with Yukiko, at least. And her
sisters seemed to feel much the same emotions. Not as fond
of cherry blossoms as Sachiko, they still took great pleasure in the
outing. Long before--at the time of the Spring Festival in Nara,
early in March--they began waiting for it, and planning what
they would wear.
As the season approached, there would be reports on when the
cherries were likely to be in full bloom. They had to pick a
week-end, for the convenience of Etsuko and Teinosuke, and
they all had the anxiety of the ancients over the weather, anxiety
which had once seemed to Sachiko merely conventional. With
each breeze and each shower their concern for the cherries would
grow. There were cherries enough around the Ashiya house, and
cherries to be seen from the window of the train into Osaka,
and there was no need to go all the way to Kyoto; but Sachiko
had firm views on what was best. When it came to sea bream,
only Akashi bream seemed worth eating, and she felt that she
had not seen the cherry blossoms at all unless she went to Kyoto.
Teinosuke had rebelled the year before and taken them instead
to the Brocade Bridge; but Sachiko had been restless afterwards,
as though she had forgotten something. She complained that
spring did not feel like spring, and finally took Teinosuke off
to Kyoto in time for the late cherries at Omuro. The annual
procedure was fixed: they arrived in Kyoto on Saturday afternoon,
had an early dinner at the Gourd Restaurant, and, after the
spring dances, which they never missed, saw the Gion cherries
by lantern light. On Sunday morning they went to the western
suburbs. After lunch by the river at Storm Hill, they returned
to the city in time to see the weeping cherries in the Heian
Shrine; and with that, whether or not Teinosuke and Sachiko
stayed on another night by themselves, the outing proper was
finished.
The cherries in the Heian Shrine were left to the last because
they, of all the cherries in Kyoto, were the most beautiful. Now
that the great weeping cherry in Gion was dying and its blossoms
were growing paler each year, what was left to stand for the Kyoto
uoor Une 87

spring if not the cherries in the Heian Shrine? And so, coming
back from the western suburbs on the afternoon of the second day,
and picking that moment of regret when the spring sun was
about to set, they would pause, a little tired, under the trailing
branches, and look fondly at each tree--on around the lake, by
the approach to a bridge, by a bend in the path, under the eaves
of the gallery. And, until the cherries came the following year, they
could close their eyes and see again the color and line of a trailing
branch.
Choosing a week-end in mid-April, they set out. Etsuko, who
put on a kimono scarcely ten times a year, and would have been
uncomfortable in any case, was wearing a kimono a little too small
for her. An intent expression on her holiday face (it was touched
up very slightly with cosmetics), she concentrated on keeping her
sandals from slipping off and her kimono from coming open. At
dinner, a bare knee finally slipped through. She was clearly more
at home in Western clothes. She still had her own childish way of
holding chopsticks, moreover, and the kimono sleeve seemed to
get in her way. When a particularly slippery vegetable shot from
the chopsticks, slithered across the veranda, and came to rest in
the moss outside, she was as pleased as the rest. The year's expedition
was off to a good start.
The next morning they strolled first of all along the banks of
Hirosawa Pond. Teinosuke took a picture with his Leica of the
four of them--Sachiko, Etsuko, Yukiko, and Taeko--lined up in
that order under a cherry tree whose branches trailed off into the
water. They had a happy memory of the spot: one spring, as they
had been walking along the pond, a gentleman had asked them
most politely if he might take their picture. Writing down their
address, he promised to send prints if the snapshots turned out
well; and among the prints that arrived some ten days later was a
truly remarkable one. Sachiko and Etsuko, turned away from the
camera, were looking out over the rippled surface of the lake from
under this same cherry tree, and the two rapt figures, mother and
daughter, with cherry petals falling on the gay kimono of the little
girl, seemed the very ipcarnation of regret for the passing of spring.
Ever since, they had made it a point to stand under the same tree
and look out over the pond, and have their picture taken. Sachiko
knew too that in the hedge that lined the path there would
0& I HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

be a camellia loaded with crimson blossoms. She never forgot to
look for it.
They climbed the embankment of Osawa Pond for a brief look
at the cherries there, and went on past the temple gates--the Temple
of the Great Awakening, the Temple of Clean Coolness, the
Temple of the Heavenly Dragon--to arrive at the Bridge of the
Passing Moon, beyond which, rising from the river, was Storm Hill
with its cherry blossoms. At Storm Hill there were always throngs
of Korean women in the plain yet richly dyed clothes of their peninsula,
bringing a touch of the exotic and cosmopolitan to spring
in the old capital. This year too, under the cherry trees along the
river, they were gathered in twos and threes and fives, some of
them stirred by the cherry-blossom sake to a rather unladylike
ebullience.
The year before, the Makiokas had had lunch at the Pavilion of
the All-Merciful, and the year before that at one of the tea houses
by the bridge. This year they chose the precincts of the Temple
of the All-Conquering Law--that temple to which, in April each
year, the twelve-year-olds of Kyoto are brought to pray for a happy
adolescence.
"Remember the tongue-cut sparrow,1 Etsuko? This is where he
lived." They had crossed the bridge back toward the city, and
were starting through the bamboo groves near the Temple of the
Heavenly Dragon.
A chilly wind had come up by the time they passed the Nonomiya,
the Shrine in the Fields, where in ancient times court maidens
retired for purification before leaving to become Shrine Virgins
at Ise. At the Enrian Hermitage a shower of cherry petals was
falling, to decorate their kimono sleeves. Again they walked
through the Temple of Clean Coolness, and, taking a train, arrived
back at the Bridge of the Passing Moon yet a third time.
After a rest they hailed a cab and drove to the Heian Shrine.
Those weeping cherries just beyond the gallery to the left as
one steps inside the gate and faces the main hall--those cherries
said to be famous even abroad--how would they be this year? Was
it perhaps already too late? Always they stepped through the gallery
with a strange rising of the heart, but the five of them cried

1 Of a well-known Japanese fairy tale.

Book One _________________§9_____

out as one when they saw that cloud of pink spread across the late-
afternoon sky.
It was the climax of the pilgrimage, the moment treasured
through a whole year. All was well, they had come again to the
cherries in full bloom. There was a feeling of relief, and a hope
that next year they might be as fortunate, and for Sachiko, at least,
the thought that even if she herself stood here next year, Yukiko
might be married and far away. The flowers would come again,
but Yukiko would not. It was a saddening thought, and yet it contained
almost a prayer that, for Yukiko's sake, she might indeed
no longer be with them. Sachiko had stood under these same trees
with these same emotions the year before and the year before
that, and each time she had found it hard to understand why they
should still be together. She could not bear to look at Yukiko.
The willows and oaks beyond the cherry grove were sending out
new buds. The oleanders had been clipped into round balls. Sending
the four ahead, Teinosuke photographed them at all the usual
spots: White Tiger Pond, with its iris-lined shore; the stepping
stones called the Bridge of the Reclining Tiger, reflected from the
water with the four figures. He had them line up under the truly
glorious branches that trail down over the path from the pine-
topped hillock to the west of the Pond of the Nesting Phoenix.
All sorts of strangers took pictures of the Makioka procession. The polite would carefully ask permission, the rude would simply snap.
There the family had had tea, here they had fed the red carp--
they remembered the smallest details of earlier pilgrimages.
"Look, Mother. A bride."
A wedding party was just leaving the Purification Hall. The curious
had gathered to see the bride into her automobile, and the
Makiokas caught only a glimpse of the white headdress and the
brilliant bridal cloak. This was not the first time they had seen
a bride at the Heian Shrine. Sachiko always felt a stabbing at the
heart and walked on, but Yukiko and Taeko seemed strangely undisturbed.
Sometimes they would join the crowd and wait for the
bride to appear, and afterwards they would tell Sachiko how she
had looked and how she had been dressed.
Sachiko and Teinosuke stayed another night in Kyoto. On
Monday they visited a nunnery which Sachiko's father, then at the
height of his prosperity, had built on Mt. Takao, to the west of
90 the makioka sisters

the city, and spent a quiet half day exchanging reminiscences with
the old abbess. The maples carried but a touch of new green, and
over the bamboo drain a single bud of Indian quince was opening.
In the stillness, one seemed to know the very heart of the nunnery.
Delighted with the mountain water, Sachiko and her husband
drank glass after glass. They walked the mile or so back down
the mountain while it was still daylight. Although she knew that
the cherries at Omuro would not yet be in bloom, Sachiko wanted
to rest there a moment and taste the herb-scented spring cakes
for which the temple is famous. But if they dallied too long they
would want to stay another night--this had happened before--
and shortly after five they left Kyoto Station, with regrets for the
mountains and valleys to the north and east and west that they
had had to leave unvisited.
One morning some days later, when Teinosuke had left for
work and Sachiko was cleaning his study, she noticed a sheet of
paper on the desk. In the margin, beside several lines written in
the cursive style, was this poem:

Near Kyoto, on a day in April:
"The beauties gather in festive dress.
For the cherries are in bloom,
At Saga in old Miyako."

Sachiko had been fond of poetry when she was in school, and
recently, under the inHuence of her husband, she had taken to
jotting down poems as they came to her. Teinosuke's poem
aroused her interest. A verse that she had not been able to finish
at the Heian Shrine presently finished itself in her mind:

Under the falling flowers, at the Heian Shrine:
"The cherry blossoms that fall
And leave us to mourn the spring--
I shall hide them here in my sleeve."

She wrote it beside Teinosuke's verse, and left the paper as she
had found it. Teinosuke said nothing when he came home that
evening, and Sachiko herself quite forgot her poem. The next
morning as she started to clean the study, she found a new verse
penned in after hers. Possibly it was a suggested revision.

Book One 91

"Let me hide at least a petal
In the sleeve of my flower-viewing robe,
That I may remember the spring."

2j<5iS<S<SiSWS!S<S<S<3<ySs5<S>S>S<S%?S?a^^

20

"I think you ought to stop," said Sachiko. "You will only wear
yourself out, trying to do it all at once."
"But I can never stop once I begin."
It was Sunday. Although they had been there for the cherry
blossoms but a month before, Teinosuke thought he would like to
go to Kyoto again, this time for the new spring greenery. Sachiko
had been feeling sluggish all day, however, and Teinosuke decided
he might better stay home and cut the grass.
Although the previous owner of the house had assured them
that grass would not grow in the garden, Teinosuke was determined
to have a try. He did indeed succeed in producing a lawn,
but it was a very sickly lawn, always late to turn green in the
spring. He worked twice as hard over it as most men would have.
Discovering that the feebleness of the grass was owing at least in
part to the fact that sparrows ate the early shoots, he worked almost
full time each spring stoning sparrows. The rest of the family must
help him, he insisted, and as the season approached they would
say: "The time for the throwing of stones has come." In a sun hat,
kimono, and loose trousers, Teinosuke would go out on sunny
days to dig weeds and cut the grass.
"A bee, a bee! An enormous bee!"
"Where?"
"Over there. See?"
On the terrace, under a reed awning, Sachiko was sitting in a
chair of untrimmed birch logs. The bee skimmed her shoulder,
circled a potted peony three or four times, and droned on to a
bed of red and white Hirado lilies. Quite absorbed in trimming
the grass, Teinosuke was advancing on the dark tangle of shrub92 the makioka sisters

bery and bamboo by the fence. Sachiko could see only the wide
brim of his hat beyond a cluster of lilies.
"The mosquitoes are more of a problem than any bee. They
manage to bite their way through the gloves."
"I did tell you to stop, did I not?"
"But a more important question is why you are not in bed."
"I only feel worse in bed. I thought I might be more comfortable
here."
"How exactly do you 'feel worse'?"
"My head is heavy, my feet are draggy, I feel like vomiting. I
wonder if it might not be the start of something really serious."
"Come, now. You have a case of nerves. And that," he announced
in a loud voice, "is all I mean to do." The bamboo leaves
rustled as he stood up. He threw down the knife he had been using
to dig out plantain roots, took off his gloves, wiped the sweat
from his forehead with a mosquito-bitten hand, and, rubbing at
the small of his back, went over to rinse his hands under the faucet
beside the Bower bed.
"Have we any Mosquiton?" He was scratching a wrist as he
came up to the terrace.
"0-haru, bring the Mosquiton, please."
Teinosuke went down into the garden again and began picking
lilies. At their best four or five days before, the lilies were beginning
to look faded and dirty. In particular, he objected to the
white ones, yellowed like bits of old scrap paper. He earnestly
pulled off the petals, and then the stamens that had been left behind
like whiskers.
"Here is the Mosquiton."
"Thank you." He went on working for a time. "Have them clean
all this up. Wait a minute--what have we here?" He looked into
Sachiko's eyes as he took the Mosquiton from her. "Come out in
the light."
The terrace, under the reed awning, was already dusky. Teinosuke
led his wife out into the direct light of the evening sun.
"Your eyes are yellow."
"Yellow?"
"The whites."
"What does that mean? Jaundice?"
"I suppose so. Did you eat anything greasy?"
Boofe One 93 _____ ||

"You know perfectly well that I had steak yesterday." .1'
"That explains it."
"That does explain it. That explains why I have felt so strange
all day." Sachiko had taken alarm at the tone of Teinosuke's voice.
But if it was only jaundice, there was nothing to worry about. She
looked strangely happy.
"Let me see, let me see." Teinosuke pressed his forehead to
hers. "Not much fever. But it will not do for you to get excited.
Go to bed, and we can have Dr. Kushida come look at you."
Dr. Kushida, an excellent diagnostician, was always much in
demand. He was out on calls until eleven every night, not even
going home for dinner. Since it was not easy to catch him, Teinosuke
himself always went to the telephone and talked to the elderly
nurse when they thought they really needed a doctor, but
unless the illness seemed serious, they could not be sure that he
would come promptly, or indeed that he would come at all. Teinosuke
generally had to make the symptoms more impressive than
they actually were. Now it was past ten, and still they were waiting.
"It looks as though Dr. Kushida has deserted us."
But just before eleven an automobile stopped at the gate.
"Jaundice. There's no doubt about it."
"I had a very large steak yesterday."
"That's the reason. Over-eating." Dr. Kushida had a hearty way
with his patients. "Have clam broth every day, and you'll be well
in no time." He always swept in like a gale, conducted a brisk examination,
and swept out again.
Sachiko stayed in bed the following day. She did not feel really
ill, and yet she did not feel well. For one thing, the weather was
of the heavy, muggy sort, neither stormy nor clear, that comes before
the beginning of the June rains; and for another, she had
been unable to take a bath for several days. Feeling damp and
sticky, she changed nightgowns repeatedly, and had 0-haru
sponge her back with alcohol.
Etsuko came into the room.
"What is that flower, Mother?" She pointed at the flower in the
alcove.
"A poppy."
"I think you should take it away."
"Why?"
94 the makioka sisters

"Look at it--it sucks you up inside it."
"I see what you mean." The child had a point. Sachiko herself
had been feeling strangely oppressed by something in this sick
room, and, without being able to say what it was, she could not
help thinking that the cause was right before her eyes. Etsuko had
put her finger on it. In the fields, the poppy was a pretty enough
flower, but the single poppy in the alcove was somehow repulsive.
You felt as though you were being "sucked up inside it."
"I see exactly what she means. It takes a child to see what is
wrong," said Yukiko admiringly. She took away the poppy and put
flags and lilies in its place. But Sachiko still felt oppressed. It would
be better to have no flowers at all, she concluded, and she asked
Teinosuke to hang a poem in the alcove, a fresh, clean sort of
poem. Although it referred to the quick evening showers that
come in late summer and early autumn and was therefore a little
unseasonal, Teinosuke decided upon this poem by Kagawa
Kageki:1

A far-off evening shower, on the Peak of Atago.
Soon it will be roiling our Clear Cascade.

Perhaps the change made a difference. Sachiko began to feel
better the next morning. At about three in the afternoon the
doorbell rang.
"Mrs. Niu is at the door. A lady named Mrs. Shimozuma and
a lady named Mrs. Sagara are with her."
Sachiko wondered what to do. Had Mrs. Niu been alone, Sachiko
would have invited her upstairs. She had not seen Mrs. Niu
for some time, and the lady had twice called while she was out.
But she did not know Mrs. Shimozuma well, and she could not
remember having met Mrs. Sagara at all. It would help if Yukiko
would go down to receive them, but that was too much to expect.
Yukiko was quite unable to talk to strangers. Sachiko could not
turn Mrs. Niu away after all those fruitless calls--and besides, she
was bored. Sending down word that she was unwell, in and out
of bed, and that her appearance would therefore be nothing to do
them honor, she had 0-haru see the guests into the parlor. She

^oet and scholar, 17681843.

Book One 95

mshed to the mirror, but it was a half hour before she had finished
powdering her neglected face and making herself fairly presentable
in a fresh kimono.
"This is Mrs. Sagara." Mrs. Niu nodded toward a lady dressed
in the American manner. One knew at a glance that she had just
come back from abroad. "We were friends in school. Her husband's
with N.Y.K. They were in Los Angeles."
"How do you do," said Sachiko. She regretted immediately that
she had come down. Haggard as she was, she had had doubts
about meeting any stranger, and she had not dreamed that the
stranger would be so fearfully stylish.
"You've been ill? What's the trouble?"
"I have had jaundice. If you look you can see the yellow in my
eyes."
"You're right. They're very yellow."
"You're still not feeling well?" asked Mrs. Shimozuma.
"Today I am much better."
"We shouldn't have bothered you. It's your fault, Mrs. Niu. We
should've left our names at the door."
"That's not fair. The truth of the matter, Sachiko, is that Mrs.
Sagara here came very suddenly. I'm to show her around. I asked
her what she wanted to see, and she said she'd like to see a typical
Osaka lady."
"And what do you mean by typical?" asked Sachiko.
"I don't really know--typical in all sorts of ways. I thought and
I thought, and finally I chose you."
"Very foolish of you."
"But now that you've been chosen, you really must talk to us
even if you don't feel well. Oh, yes." Mrs. Niu undid a bundle she
had laid on the piano stool. Inside were two boxes of wonderfully
large tomatoes. "From Mrs. Sagara."
"How beautiful. Where did you find such large ones?"
"They're from Mrs. Sagara's. Tomatoes like these aren't for
sale."
"I should think not. And where do you live, Mrs. Sagara?"
"North Kamakura. But I came back from abroad only last year,
and I've been there only a month or two."
There are many strange ways of pronouncing "been," but Mrs.
96 the makioka sisters

Sagara had an affectation all her own. Sachiko could not possibly
have imitated it. She wanted to laugh when she thought what
Taeko might have done.
"You have been traveling since you came back?"
"I was in the hospital for some time."
"Oh?"
"A nervous breakdown."
"Mrs. Sagara's trouble is luxury," said Mrs. Shimozuma. "But
it must almost be fun to be in St. Luke's."
"It's near the harbor, and very cool--it'll be pleasant from now
on into the summer. But the fish market is so near, and you sometimes
get a very smelly breeze. And then there are those noisy
temple bells."
"They still ring bells in the Honganji, do they, even now that
they have put up that odd building?"
"Oh, they do indeed." Mrs. Sagara managed to give even that
phrase her own elegant accent.
"It would be more appropriate if they were to blow a siren."
"And you can hear the church bells too."
Mrs. Shimozuma heaved a sigh. "Maybe I should become a
nurse. Do you think that'd be a good idea?"
"It might be just what you're looking for," said Mrs. Niu lightly.
Sachiko had heard rumors that Mrs. Shimozuma's marriage was not happy, and she sensed a deep meaning in the words.
"I've just remembered," Mrs. Niu continued. "It's supposed to
be good for jaundice to keep a rice ball under each arm."
"Really!" Mrs. Sagara, flicking open a cigarette lighter, looked
at Mrs. Niu in astonishment. "You do have interesting bits of information."

"They say if you keep the rice balls under your arms they turn
yellow."
"What a filthy idea," said Mrs. Shimozuma. "You've been keeping
rice balls under your arms, Mrs. Makioka?"
"This is the first time that treatment has been suggested. I have
been told to take clam broth."
"Whichever treatment," said Mrs. Sagara, "it's a very inexpensive
ailment."
Sachiko knew, from the presents they had brought, that they
hoped to be invited for dinner, but the two hours to dinner promBook One 97

ised to be very long indeed. She always felt uncomfortable with
bright, stylish Tokyo matrons like Mrs. Sagara. One of the more
expert of Osaka ladies at standard Tokyo speech, Sachiko still
found that Mrs. Sagara put her on her guard--or rather, made
Tokyo speech seem repulsive. Sachiko avoided it purposely. And
then Mrs. Niu, who always used the Osaka dialect with Sachiko,
was today keeping Mrs. Sagara company. Tokyo speech had made
her an entirely different person, Sachiko thought, a person with
whom she could not possibly feel at home. Although there was
nothing strange in the fact that Mrs. Niu, who, though born in
Osaka, had gone to school in Tokyo and had long associated with
Tokyo people, should have a good Tokyo accent, Sachiko had
never before realized how far into the Tokyo recesses her friend
had penetrated. There was nothing here of the usual sedate Mrs.
Niu. The way she rolled her eyes, the way she curled her lips, the
way she held her forefinger as she lifted a cigarette to her lips--
perhaps Tokyo speech was not authentic unless it brought its own
gestures and facial expressions. The woman was suddenly cheapened
in Sachiko's eyes.
Normally Sachiko would have stood a little discomfort rather
than turn guests away. Today, however, she only became more irritable
as she listened to the three of them. Presently her unhappiness
showed on her face.
"Mrs. Niu--I really think we should go." Mrs. Shimozuma at
length saw the point and stood up. Sachiko made no effort to
detain them.

21

it was not a particularly serious attack of jaundice, and yet Sachiko
was a very long time recovering. The June rains had begun
before she was quite well again.
One day Tsuruko telephoned to ask how she was, and incidentally
to pass on a bit of news: Tatsuo was to manage a branch
bank in Tokyo, and very shortly the family would leave Osaka.
98 the makioka sisters

"And when will that be?"
"Tatsuo says next month. He means to go on ahead, though,
and the rest of us will follow when he has a house. But then we
have school to think about, and we will have to leave before the
end of August."
Sachiko could tell even over the telephone that her sister was
almost in tears.
"How long have you known about it?"
"It was very sudden. Not even Tatsuo knew."
"But next month--that is really too soon. What will you do
about the house?"
"We have hardly given it a thought. No one dreamed we would
ever have to move."
Tsuruko was fond of long telephone conversations. On the
point of hanging up, she would begin all over again. For a half
hour she told Sachiko how distressing it was to reach the age of
thirty-six and suddenly be asked to leave a city from which one
had not ventured in one's whole life.
Relatives and acquaintances came around with congratulations,
said Tsuruko, and no one took the trouble to imagine how she
felt. When, occasionally, she let fall a hint, they only laughed and
told her not to be so old-fashioned. It was indeed as they said,
Tsuruko tried to tell herself: she was not going off to a foreign
country, or even out to some inaccessible spot in the provinces.
She was going to the capital, she would be at the very feet of His
Imperial Majesty. What was there then to be sad about? But Osaka
was her home, and she wept sometimes at even the thought of
having to leave. The children were all laughing at her.
Sachiko herself could not help being a little amused. Still she
thought she knew how her sister felt. Tsuruko had lost her mother
earlv, and had had to take care of her father and sisters, and when
the father was dead and the sisters were grown, there were her own
husband and children and she had to work to revive the family
fortunes. She had known more hardship than any of them; and yet
she had also had a more conservative education, and there remained
in her something of the sheltered maiden of old. It was
very strange for a lady of the Osaka middle classes to reach the
age of thirty-six without once having seen Tokyo. Osaka women,
it was true, did not travel as much as Tokyo women, and Sachiko
Book One 99

and the younger sisters had rarely been east of Kyoto. Still they
had each had occasion--a school outing, perhaps--to visit Tokyo
once or twice. Tsuruko, early burdened with housework, had
never had time for travel, but beyond that she was convinced that
no city compared with Osaka. As for the Kabuki, she was quite satisfied
with the Osaka actor Ganjiro; and as for restaurants she
wanted nothing better than the Harihan or the Tsuruya. Since she
had no desire to go off looking at strange places, then, she always
sent her sisters instead, and happily stayed behind to watch the
Osaka house.
The house was built in the old Osaka fashion. Inside the high
garden walls, one came upon the latticed front of the house. An
earthen passage led from the entrance through to the rear. In the
rooms, lighted even at noon by but a dim light from the courtyard,
hemlock pillars, rubbed to a fine polish, gave off a soft glow.
Sachiko did not know how old the house was--possibly a generation
or two. At first it must have been used as a villa to which
elderly Makiokas might retire, or in which junior branches of the
family might live. Not long before his death, Sachiko's father had
moved his family there from Semba; it had become the fashion
for merchant families to have residences away from their shops.
The younger sisters had therefore not lived in the house long.
They had often visited relatives there even when they were young,
however, and it was there that their father had died. They were
deeply attached to the old place. Sachiko sensed that much of her
sister's love for Osaka was in fact love for the house, and, for all
her amusement at these old-fashioned ways, she felt a twinge of
pain herself--she would no longer be able to go back to the old
family house. She had often enough joined Yukiko and Taeko in
complaining about it--surely there was no darker and more unhygienic
house in the world, and they could not understand what
made their sister live there, and they felt thoroughly depressed
after no more than three days there, and so on--and yet a deep,
indefinable sorrow came over Sachiko at the news. To lose the
Osaka house would be to lose her very roots.
It had been inevitable that Tsuruko would leave Osaka. Tatsuo,
having given up the family business and gone back to his bank,
could be transferred at any time. But Tsuruko, and Sachiko herself,
had chosen to overlook the inevitable. Some eight or nine
100 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

years before, it was true, Tatsuo had almost been sent off to
Fukuoka. He had pleaded family reasons for staying in Osaka,
even at his old salary, and, although there had been no clear understanding
on the point, it had seemed afterwards that the bank
would respect his status as the head of an old family. Tsuruko had
somehow taken it for granted that they would be allowed to live
forever in Osaka, but the bank had had a change in management
and policy, and then Tatsuo himself wanted to get ahead in the
world, even if it meant leaving Osaka. He was most dissatisfied to
see his colleagues move ahead while only he stayed behind. He
had many children, and while his expenses were growing, economic
developments were making it more difficult for him to rely
on the property he had inherited from his foster father.
Tsuruko might well feel that she was being evicted. Deeply attached
herself to the old house, Sachiko thought of going immediately
both to console her sister and to see the house again. There
were delays and delays, however, and two or three days later she
had another telephone call. Tsuruko did not know when they
would be able to return to Osaka, but they had decided in any
case to let "Otoyan" and his family have the house for the time
being at a low rent--in fact he would be half renter and half caretaker.
Since August was so very near, Tsuruko had to begin getting
ready; but, spend her days though she would in the storehouse,
she could only stare absent-mindedly at the disordered heaps. The
utensils and furnishings and art objects had been left untouched
since her father's death. She was sure that among the things she
herself did not need there would be something Sachiko might
want. Would Sachiko come for a look?
"Otoyan" was their affectionate name for Kanei Otokichi, an
old man who had long before worked in their father's Hamadera
villa, and who now had a grown son. With the son working in a
large department store, Otoyan no longer had any particular responsibilities.
He frequently visited the Osaka house.
Sachiko went to Osaka the next afternoon. The doors of the
storehouse, beyond the court, were open, and Tsuruko was on the
second floor. Even out of doors the air was heavy and sticky, as
it so often is in the rainy season. In the storehouse the smell of
mildew was strong. Tsuruko, a scarf tied around her head, was
quite lost in the task of sorting out household goods. Before her
Book One 101

was an open chest full of small boxes, and beside it were five or
six ancient-looking boxes with such labels as "Twenty Trays,
Shunkei Lacquer." Tsuruko was busily untying cords and opening
boxes. After making sure that the contents were indeed "One
Shino Candy Dish" or "One Kutani Decanter," she would decide
whether the boxes were to be taken along or left behind or otherwise
disposed of.
"Do you need this?" asked Sachiko. Her sister gave a vaguely
negative snort, and went on with her work. Sachiko had come
upon a Chinese inkstone. She remembered the day her father had
bought it. He really was a very bad judge of art, and, since he
tended to think that the expensive must be good, he had occasionally
made a foolish buy. Sachiko was with him when, quite without
protest, he paid the several hundred ven a favored antique
dealer asked for this stone. Astonished that inkstones could come
so high, the child Sachiko wondered what her father, who was neither
a calligrapher nor an artist, meant to do with the thing, but
even more puzzling were the two pieces of red-Becked alabaster
which, Sachiko remembered, had come with the inkstone. Later,
choosing suitable congratulatory mottoes, her father took them to
be carved into seals for a physician friend who composed Chinese
verses and who had reached his sixtieth birthday. The engraver returned
them with apologies: they contained impurities, and he
could do nothing with them. Sachiko had come upon them a
number of times afterwards, pushed out of sight somewhere.
"Do you remember those two pieces of--alabaster, I think it
was?"
"Yes."
"What ever happened to them?"
Tsuruko did not answer.
"What ever happened to them?"
Tsuruko was meditating upon a "Book Box, Decorated Kodaiji
Lacquer." She was having trouble with the cleated lid.
So it always was with Tsuruko. People who did not know her
well would be overcome with admiration--what a thorough, industrious
housewife--when they saw her so hard at work that she
did not hear what was said to her; but she was as a matter of fact
by no means as self-contained as she appeared. When a crisis
came, she would stand looking vacantly into space for a time.
102 the makioka sisters

Then she would go to work as though possessed. Utterly selfless,
one would have thought, and intent only on serving others. The
truth was that she was too excited to know what she was doing.
"She was very funny," Sachiko said to her sisters that evening.
"She sobbed into the telephone yesterday, and she wanted me to
come talk to her because no one else would. And then when I
went today she hardly spoke to me."
"But wait and see," said Yukiko. "Before long we will have her
weeping for us again."
Two days later, Tsuruko telephoned to ask if Yukiko would not
help her. We will see which mood she is in now, said Yukiko.
About a week later she was back.
"The packing is nearly finished, but she is still bewitched."
She had been asked to go to Osaka, Yukiko reported, to watch
the house while Tsuruko went with Tatsuo to take formal leave of
his family in Nagoya. The two of them left on Saturday afternoon,
the day after Yukiko arrived, and returned late Sunday night. And
what, then, had Tsuruko been doing in the five or six days since?
She had been at her desk practicing calligraphy. And why was she
practicing calligraphy? She now had to write notes of thanks to
all the relatives on whom they had called, and this for Tsuruko
was a heavy task. She was determined in particular not to be outdone
by her sister-in-law, the wife of Tatsuo's elder brother--a
lady who was an expert calligrapher. Always when she wrote to
this sister-in-law she sat down with a dictionary on her left and a
copybook on her right. Looking up each character to make sure
that she had it in the proper cursive style, and deliberating over
the choice of each word, she would write draft after draft, until
in the end the letter had taken the better part of a day. And this
time she had not one but five or six letters to write. Even to prepare
the drafts was no easy matter. All day she sat at her desk, and
she showed the drafts to Yukiko. Was this all right? Had she left
anything out? Only one letter had been finished by the time
Yukiko returned to Ashiya.
"How like her. When she has to go calling on a bank executive,
she starts three days ahead of time memorizing what she will say,
and she goes around mumbling it to herself."
"It was too sudden, she said, and all she could do was sit around
in tears, but now she has made up her mind, and everyone will be
Kook Une 103

surprised at how fast she is off for Tokyo. She says she will surprise
us all."
"She lives for that sort of thing. We must all act surprised--
that will delight her."
So the three of them dissected Tsuruko.

SŪSSSSSiSŪSSS^g!SŪ3!S<SŪS!SŪSSŦ

22

tatsuo, who was to begin work in Tokyo on July i, left Osaka
late in June. He planned to stay with relatives while he looked and
had other people look for a house to be rented cheaply. Presently
a letter came saying that he had chosen the house. It was decided
that he would return to Osaka on the twenty-eighth, a Saturday,
that they would all leave for Tokyo on the twenty-ninth, and that
relatives and friends would gather at the station for one last farewell.

From the beginning of August, Tsuruko went about making a
call or two a day on relatives and bank officials. When she had finished
the last of the calls, she came to spend two or three days with
Sachiko. This was no formal leave-taking like the other calls.
Tsuruko had been left reeling by all the preparations, she had
worked as though "bewitched"; and now, partly to rest, partly to
be with her three sisters for the first time in a very great while, she
meant to forget everything, she said. Leaving Otoyan's wife to
look after the house, she brought along only her youngest child,
who was two, and a maid to take care of her. When had the four
of them last gathered under one roof, able to talk quite at their
leisure? Tsuruko could count the number of times she had visited
Ashiya, and the visits had been no more than an hour or two
stolen from household chores, and when Sachiko visited Osaka
the children were always so noisy that it was quite impossible to
talk. For two of the sisters, then, it was the first time since before
they were married that they could really have a good, long conversation.
There were any number of things they wanted to say,
and any number of things they wanted to hear. Subjects had piled
104 I HE makioka listers

up through more than ten years. But when at length the time
came, the exhaustion of her recent labors, or perhaps the exhaustion
of more than ten years' work, caught up with Tsuruko. What
she wanted was simply to call in a masseuse and lounge about the
house. Since Tsuruko knew little of Kobe, Sachiko thought of taking
her to the Oriental Hotel and to a Chinese restaurant on Nanking
Street, but Tsuruko said that she wanted only to lie down
with no one to bother her, that all she needed was the simplest
of food, that they need not worry about entertaining her. And so
the three days passed without their really having talked about anything.

Some days before Tsuruko was to leave Osaka, Aunt Tominaga
suddenly came to call on Sachiko. Aunt Tominaga, an elderly sister
of Sachiko's father, had never before visited the Ashiya house.
Only important business could have brought her out from Osaka
on a hot summer day. Sachiko thought she knew what it was. She
was right: it concerned Yukiko and Taeko. Aunt Tominaga was
of the view that, although the younger sisters might well stay with
Sachiko while the main house was in Osaka, it would be better
for them now to go to Tokyo. After all, they belonged in the main
house. Yukiko, with nothing to detain her, should go to Osaka the
next day and on to Tokyo with Tsuruko. Taeko on the other hand
had work to finish. They would have to let her stay behind for a
time; but she too, Aunt Tominaga hoped, would leave for Tokyo
in no more than a month or two. No one, of course, had in mind
making her give up her work. She could continue it perfectly well
in Tokyo, and indeed Tokyo might have advantages over Osaka.
Tatsuo had said that, with Taeko beginning to win recognition,
she might have a studio in Tokyo, provided of course that she
showed herself to be truly sincere. Tsuruko, Aunt Tominaga explained,
knew that she should have discussed the matter herself
when she was in Ashiya, but she had wanted only to rest. Lazy
and irresponsible though it was of her, she hoped the aunt would
forgive her and go speak to Sachiko in her place. Aunt Tominaga
was therefore in a sense Tsuruko's messenger.
The two sisters in question, though they had said nothing to
each other, had both been gloomy in the knowledge that they
would one day have to hear the argument the old aunt now
brought. With their sister frantically busy getting ready to move,
goor une 105

they should have gone to Osaka to help her without being asked,
and the fact that they had stayed away so studiously--and the further
fact that, even when Yukiko was called to Osaka, Taeko had
found it convenient to be busy, had shut herself up in her studio,
spending only her nights in the Ashiya house, while Tsuruko was
there, and had been careful not to go to Osaka at all--these facts
suggested a scheme to forestall the attack and to make it known
that they. would prefer to stay where they were.
It was a matter of which she would speak to no one else, Aunt
Tominaga continued, but why did Yukiko and Taeko so dislike being in the main house? She had heard that they did not get on
well with their brother-in-law. Tatsuo, however, was not at all the
sort of man they seemed to think him. He was quite without malice.
The only difficulty was that he was the son of an old Nagoya
family, and he tended to be overly proper. If the two sisters were
to leave the main house and stay in Osaka, it might lead to talk
and reflect on Tatsuo's name as head of the family. And Tsuruko
would be in a difficult position, caught between her husband and
her sisters. The aunt had come to Sachiko because she thought the
latter might be clever at making the two see the light. Not, of
course, that anyone would hold it against Sachiko if they refused
to go even after she tried to reason with them. They were both
grown women, old enough indeed to have married long ago; and
if they said they would not go, one could not lead them off like
children. Aunt Tominaga had discussed the problem with Tsuruko,
however, and had concluded that Sachiko's arguments would
be the most effective. She hoped Sachiko would do what was to be
done.
"Yukiko and Koi-san are both away?" The aunt used pure
Semba speech.
"Koi-san is so busy that she rarely comes home." Sachiko too was
led into the old dialect. "Yukiko is here, though. Shall I call her?"
Sachiko suspected that Yukiko had fled upstairs when she heard
the aunt's voice, and that she would be timidly awaiting the verdict.
From the head of the stairs, Sachiko could see through the
reed blind a huddled, forlorn figure on Etsuko's bed.
"Aunt Tominaga has finally come."
Yukiko did not answer.
"What will you do, Yukiko?"
106 the makioka sisters

Although it was autumn by the calendar, these last two or three
davs had been as hot as the worst of the summer. And the room
was badly ventilated. Surprisingly for her, Yukiko had on a one-
piece georgette dress. She knew that she was too thin to wear
Western clothes, and even in summer she preferred the strictest
Japanese dress, down to the wide, binding obi. Perhaps ten days
each summer were quite unbearable in kimono, but even then
Yukiko wore Western dress only in the daytime and showed herself
only to the family--and not to Teinosuke if she could avoid
it. When he did catch a glimpse of that slight figure in Western
dress, he knew that the day had been an unusually warm one. At
the sight of the almost startlingly white skin on the fragile arms
and shoulders, and of the shoulder bones pathetically clear
through the dark-blue dress, he felt as though a cooling draft had
swept over him.
"She says she wants you to go back to Osaka tomorrow, and on
to Tokyo with Tsuruko."
Yukiko said nothing. Her head was bowed, and her arms were
limp as the arms of a cloth doll. Her bare foot rested on a large
rubber ball, which she now and then rolled a little in search of a
cooler spot.
"And Koisan?"
"She says that Koi-san can stay behind to finish her work, but
that she will have to go later. That is what Tatsuo wants."
Again Yukiko was silent.
"I imagine she thinks I am holding you back. She has really
come to argue with me. I hope you see how difficult this makes
things for me, Yukiko."
Sorry though she was for Yukiko, Sachiko resented the implication
that she was keeping her sister as a sort of governess. Perhaps
people were saying that by contrast with the sister in the main
house, able to take care of all those children, the sister in Ashiya
had to have help with even the one daughter. Perhaps Yukiko too
felt that Sachiko was under obligation to her. If so, Sachiko's
pride was damaged--after all, she was a mother. It was of course
true that Yukiko helped; but Sachiko would not be entirely lost
without her. Yukiko would in any case some day leave to be married.
Since Etsuko was a child one could reason with, she would
Hook Une 107

no doubt come through the first loneliness, and she would not
wail as forlornly as Yukiko possibly hoped. Sachiko had meant
only to console this unmarried sister. She did not mean to resist
Tatsuo. It seemed reasonable, then, to send Yukiko back now that
the main house had summoned her; and it would be good to
show Yukiko and the world in general that she was something less
than indispensable.
"Suppose you go back for a while. Make Aunt Tominaga look
successful."
Yukiko said nothing. She knew that with Sachiko's position so
clear, she had no choice.
"But of course we can have you come again. Remember the picture
Mrs. Jimba sent? I have done nothing about it, but you might
have to come back for a miai--we can always find some excuse."
"Yes."
"I can say you promise to go back to Osaka tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Suppose you brighten up, then, and come downstairs."
Sachiko talked to Aunt Tominaga while Yukiko was changing
into a cotton summer kimono.
"Yukiko will be down in just a minute. She says she understands,
and she promises to go back. It might be a good idea not
to say anything more."
"Good, good. I have been a success, then." The old lady was in
high spirits.
She must stay for dinner, said Sachiko. Teinosuke would be
home very shortly. But Aunt Tominaga thought it more important
to tell Tsuruko the good news. While it was a great pity that she
had not seen Koi-san, she hoped Sachiko would pass on her message.
She started back to Osaka after the worst of the afternoon
heat had passed.
Yukiko left the next day, with the most routine of farewells, as
if she would be back in no more than a week. The three sisters
being in the habit of using one another's kimonos, Yukiko had
brought only a thin summer kimono and a few changes of underwear
to Ashiya with her. She had a novel in her hand, and there
was but one small bundle for 0-haru to carry to the station.
Etsuko, who had been playing in the Stolz yard at the time of
10ŧ 1 HE MAKIOKA LISTERS

Aunt Tominaga's visit, was told that Yukiko was going to Osaka
to help Tsuruko and would be back very soon. She did not cling
to the departing Yukiko quite as stubbornly as usual.
There were eleven in the party that left from Osaka station:
Tatsuo, Tsuruko, their six children (the oldest was thirteen), Yukido,
a maid, and a nurse. Sachiko of course should have been
them off, but she knew that Tsuruko would disgrace them by bursting
into tears. Teinosuke went by himself. A guide was posted
in the waiting room from early in the evening, and among the
hundred well-wishers were old geishas and musicians who had
been patronized by Sachiko's father. Though perhaps not as impressive
a gathering as it might once have been, still it was enough
to honor an old family leaving the family seat. Taeko, who had
kept her distance to the end, ran up to the platform just before
the train pulled out, and, taking advantage of the crowd and the
excitement, escaped after only a word or two of farewell. Someone
called to her as she walked toward the gate.
"Excuse me, but I believe you are one of the Makioka girls."
Taeko turned around. It was 0-ei, an old geisha famous for her
dancing.
"Yes, I am Taeko."
"Taeko--which was Taeko, I wonder."
"The youngest."
"Oh, Koi-san. How you have grown. You must be out of school
by now."
Taeko laughed. People were always mistaking her for a girl graduate
of perhaps twenty, and she had learned not to correct them.
But it amused her that 0-ei should have made the mistake. Back
in their Semba days 0-ei, already well along in years, had visited
them so often that the Makioka daughters all called her by her
first name. Since Taeko had been perhaps ten at the time, some
sixteen or seventeen years before, 0-ei should have known that
she was no school girl. Still it was true that the dress and hat she
had chosen that evening made her look especially young.
"And how old are you, Koisan?"
"Far from as young as you think."
"Do you remember me?"
"I do indeed, 0-ei. You look exactly the same."
Book One 109

"You flatter me. I am an old, old woman. And why are you
staying in Osaka?"
"I persuaded them to leave me with my sister in Ashiya for a
while."
"It will be lonely with the main house gone."
Taeko said good-bye to 0-ei and started for the gate. She had
not gone three steps when someone called to her again.
"Taeko?" This time it was a gentleman. "Remember me? Sekihara.
It has been a long time. We're all very pleased that Makioka
got himself promoted."
Sekihara, a college friend of Tatsuo's, worked for a Mitsubishi-
owned company. Unmarried at the time Tatsuo was adopted into
the Makioka family, he had often called on them. Later he married
and served for some years in London, and he had returned
to the main Osaka office several months before. Taeko knew that
he was back, but it was eight or nine years since she had last seen
him.
"I noticed you a few minutes ago, Koi-san." Sekihara immediately
slipped from "Taeko" back to the familiar "Koi-san." "It's
been a long time."
"How many years has it been, I wonder. It is good to have you
back, in any case."
"Thank you. I was sure it was you on the platform, but you
looked too young."
Again Taeko laughed her practiced laugh.
"Was that Yukiko on the train with Makioka?"
"Yes."
"I wish I'd had a chance to speak to her. You're so young, both
of you. Pardon me for saying so--but when I was abroad I'd
think of the old Semba days, and I was sure both of you--Yukiko,
and you too--would be married by the time I got back. I was very
much surprised when I heard from Makioka that you were still
single. It was the strangest feeling--as though the last five or six
years hadn't happened. I know it's rude of me, but I did have the
strangest feeling. And then this evening I had another surprise.
There you were, both as young as the last time I say you. I could
hardly believe my eyes."
Taeko laughed.
110 the makioka sisters

"I mean it. You're still girls, and we shouldn't be surprised to
find you single." Sekihara's eye wandered admiringly from the hat
down to the shoes. "And where was Sachiko tonight?"
"She stayed away on purpose. She thought it would embarrass
everyone to have them weeping over each other."
"I did notice that Tsuruko had tears in her eyes. It was very
charming."
"Everyone laughed and asked why anyone should weep at going
to Tokyo."
"Not I. It was good to see after all these years how a real Japanese
lady behaves. You're staying here?"
"I have a little work to finish."
"I hear you've become an artist. I always knew you had talent."
"The English have made you over, I see."
Taeko remembered that Sekihara liked his liquor, and she suspected
that he had had a little already this evening. She made her
excuses when he suggested a cup of tea.

SŪSŪSSSSS5ŪS^5SS!3SS<5t3ŪS^!SSS!Si

23

September 18
dear sachiko,
Forgive me for not writing. I have been much too busy
these last few days.
Tsuruko managed to keep back the tears while we were in
the station, but once we started the dam broke, and she hid herself
in her berth. Then Hideo began to run a fever. He said his
stomach ached, and he went off to the toilet every few minutes.
Tsuruko and 1 hardly slept the whole night. To make things worse,
the lease to the house was canceled at the last minute by the landlord.
We heard of it the day before we left, but we could not
change our plans, and have had to move in with the Tanedas.
You can imagine how it is for them, having eleven of us pour in
on them at once. We called a doctor for Hideo and found that he
Book One 111

had intestinal catarrh. Yesterday he began to feel a little better.
Everyone has been looking, for a house, and we have finally found
one in Shibuya, three rooms upstairs, four rooms down, no garden,
fifty-five yen a month. It was built to rent, and I can imagine
the sort of place it is. I do not see how we can all live in such a
tiny house, but we are a nuisance to the Tanedas and have decided
to take it, even if we have to move again soon. We move
on Sunday. The address is Owada, Shibuya Ward. We are to have
a telephone next month. It is a healthy location, I hear, and it is
convenient for Tatsuo, and for Teruo, who has been put in a middle
school.
I wanted you to know at least how we are. My best to
Teinosuke, Etsuko, and Koisan.
As ever,
yukiko
p.s. It feels like autumn this morning. How is the weather there?

In Ashiya too the coolness of autumn had come overnight. Sa-
chiko and Teinosuke were facing each other across the breakfast
table, Etsuko having left for school, and it came to Sachiko, who
was reading of Japanese carrier-based raids on Swatow and Chao- chow, that the coffee in the kitchen smelled better than usual.
"It is autumn," she remarked, glancing up from the paper.
"Does it seem to you that the coffee smells stronger this morning?"

Teinosuke muttered something. He was lost in the newspaper.
0-haru brought in Yukiko's letter on a tray when she came with
the coffee.
Sachiko had just been thinking of Yukiko, in Tokyo some ten
days now. She quickly tore open the envelope. Even the handwriting--the
letter had obviously been scribbled off in a spare moment
--suggested how busy her two sisters were. The Tanedas were the
family of an older brother of Tatsuo's, a man who Sachiko knew
worked in the Ministry of Commerce and Industry. Sachiko had
met him only once, at her sister's wedding more than ten years before,
and could hardly remember his face. She was sure that Tsuruko
knew him little better. Tatsuo, who had been living with the
Tanedas for a month, was with his own family, but how difficult
112 the makioka sisters

it must be for Tsuruko and Yukiko, forced in a strange city to impose
themselves on a senior branch of the Taneda family. And as
if that were not enough, one of the children was ill.
"From Yukiko?" Teinosuke looked up from the paper and
reached for his coffee.
"I can see now why she has not written. They have been having
a dreadful time."
"What is the matter?"
"Read it." Sachiko handed the three sheets of paper to him.
Five or six days later they received a formal printed note announcing
the change of address and thanking them for coming to
the station. After that there was silence. Otoyan's son Shokichi,
who went to Tokyo to help with the moving, visited Sachiko immediately
after his return to Osaka on Monday. He reported
that the moving had proceeded smoothly; that houses for rent in
Tokyo were far less elegant than in Osaka, the sliding doors in particular
being shabby and cheap; that downstairs in the Shibuya
house there were a two-mat room,1 two four-and-a-half-mat rooms,
and a six-mat room, and upstairs only a four-and-a-half-mat room
and an eight-mat room; that, since the mats were the smaller Tokyo
measure, the eight-mat room was no better than a six-mat
room in Osaka or Kyoto; that it was thus a cramped little house
indeed; that it was fresh, bright, and new, however, and, with a
good southern exposure, far healthier than the dark old Osaka
house; that, though there was no garden, the neighborhood was
full of parks and mansions, and in general seemed quiet and dignified;
that in a busy shopping district but a few minutes away there
were several movie theaters, which fascinated the children and
made them actually glad they had left Osaka; and that Hideo had
recovered and was starting to a near-by primary school this week.
"And how is Yukiko?"
"Very well. Mrs. Makioka says that when the boy was ill Miss
Yukiko was better than a nurse would have been."
"She has always been good. I was sure she would be a great
help."
"The sad thing, though, is that with such a small house Miss
Yukiko has no room of her own. They use a room upstairs both

lThe Tokyo mat (about two yards by one) is slightly smaller than the
Osaka-Kyoto mat.

Book One 113

for the boys' study and for Miss Yukiko's bedroom. Mr. Makioka
says they will move into a larger house as soon as they can. He
says this is unfair to Miss Yukiko," Shokichi liked to talk. He lowered
his voice and continued: "Mr. Makioka is very happy that
Miss Yukiko is back, and wants to see that she stays. He is doing
his best to please her, that much is easy to see."
Sachiko thus knew what was happening in Tokyo. From Yukiko
there was no word, however. Although Yukiko did not make letter-
writing quite the chore Tsuruko did, still it was not easy for her.
She was letting herself be as bad a correspondent as ever. With
no room of her own, she probably found it difficult to collect herself
for the effort of writing.
"How would it be if you were to write to Yukiko?" Sachiko suggested
to Etsuko one day.
Etsuko chose a picture postcard, a photograph of one of Taeko's
dolls. Still there was no answer.
"Suppose we each write something," said Teinosuke. It was some
twenty days later, on the night of the autumn full moon. Everyone
thought this an excellent idea, and after dinner Teinosuke,
Sachiko, Taeko, and Etsuko gathered near the veranda of a Japanese-style
room downstairs. The traditional moon-viewing flowers
and fruit had been set out. When 0-haru had ground the ink,
Teinosuke, Sachiko, and Etsuko each composed a poem. Taeko,
who was not good at poetry, did a quick ink wash of the moon
coming through pine branches.

The clouds are passing.
The pines reach out for the moon.

--TEINOSUKE

The night of the full moon.
Here, one shadow is missing.

--SACHIKO

The moon tonight--
Yukiko sees it in Tokyo.

----ETSUKO

After these three came Taeko's ink wash. Teinosuke suggested
changes in Sachiko's poem, which in the first draft had read "there

ii4 the makioka sisters

is one shadow too few," and in Etsuko's, which had read "a moonlight
night" instead of "the moon tonight."
"Now we will have 0-haru write something."
0-haru took the brush and wrote with surprising readiness,
though in a tiny, awkward hand.

The autumn moon shows itself
There among the clouds.

--HARU

Sachiko took a plume of autumn grass from a vase and folded
it into the letter.

24

shortly afterwards a rather sentimental answer came from Yukiko.
Quite overcome with delight, Yukiko had read the poems
over and over again. She herself had sat alone looking at the full
moon from an upstairs window, and the letter brought memories,
as though it had happened the evening before, of her last moon-
viewing in Ashiya.
There followed the usual silence.
0-haru slept with Etsuko after Yukiko left. Not half a month
later, however, Etsuko took a dislike to her and drove her out in
favor of 0-hana, and in another half month 0-hana was driven
out in favor of 0-aki, the scullery maid. Etsuko was a bad sleeper
for a child. As always, she talked excitedly for a half hour or so
after she went to bed. Unlike Yukiko, the maids would not listen
to her, and it annoyed her to have them go to sleep first. The more
annoyed she became, the harder it was to sleep. Presently, in the
middle of the night, she would storm down the hall and slam open
the door to her parents' room.
"I have not slept a wink," she complained loudly, bursting into
tears. "That 0-haru. There she is, snoring away. I hate her. I detest
her. I am going back in there and kill her."
"You are not to get excited, Etsuko. When you are excited you
Book One 11$

have trouble sleeping. Try telling yourself it makes no difference
whether you can sleep or not."
"But I might sleep late in the morning and be late for school
again."
"Must you shout so?" Sachiko's voice too would rise. Climbing
in bed with the child, Sachiko tried to soothe her. Nothing seemed
to help, however. She could not sleep, she could not sleep. Soon
Sachiko would lose her temper and start scolding, and Etsuko
would be screaming louder. The maid meanwhile slept happily on,
quite oblivious of the commotion. So it was every night.
Though they knew of course that the "B-shortage" season had
come, they had neglected their vitamin injections in the excitement
of seeing the main house off for Tokyo. The whole family
was to some extent suffering from beri-beri. Perhaps, thought Sachiko,
that was the trouble with Etsuko. Putting her hand over
the child's heart, she noted a slight palpitation. The next day, under
protest, Etsuko was given a vitamin injection. After four or five
more injections, which Sachiko administered on alternate days, the
palpitation stopped, Etsuko's complexion seemed to improve, and
she no longer complained of fatigue. But the insomnia was worse.
Since the ailment did not seem serious enough to require a visit
from Dr. Kushida, Sachiko talked to him over the telephone, and
was told to give the child an adalin tablet each night. Unfortunately
one tablet was not enough, and two tablets made her oversleep.
Sometimes they let her sleep in the morning, and when she
awoke she looked at the clock by her pillow and began wailing.
She would be late for school again. It embarrassed her to be late,
she would not go to school at all.
If, on the other hand, they awoke her in time for school, she
pulled the quilt over her head and protested that she had not slept
a wink. When she awoke again, she would be in tears because she
was late. Her likes and dislikes among the maids fluctuated violently,
and she frequently used strong words: "I'll kill you," or
"I'll murder you." Her appetite, never good for a growing girl,
was worse than ever. She would eat no more than a bowl of rice,
and with it only the sort of food old people like--salted seaweed,
bean curds--and she would wash the rice down with tea. Very
fond of Bell, the cat, she liked to pass food under the table. If the
food was even a little greasy. Bell got the better part of it.
116 the makioka sisters

She was extremely fastidious, on the other hand. She would
complain that Bell had touched her while she was eating, or that
a fly had lighted somewhere, or that the maid's sleeve was dirty.
Her chopsticks had to be washed two and three times in boiling
water. Presently, to save time, the maids were bringing her a pot
of tea with which to wash the chopsticks at the beginning of every
meal. Flies were a particular problem. She had a great horror of
flies--when they lighted on her food, of course, and even when
they flew near. That fly definitely touched something, she would
say, and quite refuse to eat; or she would nag the others for assurances
that it had not. When something slipped from her chopsticks,
even upon a clean tablecloth, she refused to eat it.
One day, walking with Sachiko, she saw a dead rat, crawling
with maggots. A hundred yards or so beyond, she called to her
mother: "Did I step on it? Do you think I stepped on it?" She
clung to Sachiko and spoke in a frightened little voice. "Are there
any maggots on me?"
Startled, Sachiko looked into the child's face. They had made a
detour of at least eight or ten yards to avoid the rat.
Could a child only in the second grade have a nervous breakdown?
Sachiko had thought little of Etsuko's difficulties and had
been quick to scold, but the rat incident aroused her. She had Dr.
Kushida come the next day. Nervous prostration was not uncommon
in children, said Dr. Kushida, and very probably that was
Etsuko's trouble. Though he was sure it was not the serious ailment
they seemed to think it, still, to make very sure, he would
introduce them to a specialist. Dr. Kushida himself could take care
of the beri-beri, and he would call a specialist--Dr. Tsuji in
Nishinomiya would do--that very day. Dr. Tsuji appeared in the
evening. After questioning Etsuko, he concluded that she was indeed
suffering from nervous prostration. He gave detailed instructions
on how she was to be treated: it would be necessary first of
all to cure the beri-beri; they might have to give her medicine to
stimulate her appetite and modify her strange eating habits; although
she should be allowed to go to school late and to leave
early as the spirit moved her, it would not do to have her quit
school or try' a change of air--with something to occupy her, she
would have less time for brooding; they should take care not to
door (jne 117

excite her and they should not scold her when she was unreasonable,
but should try patiently to make her understand.
It did not follow, of course, and Sachiko preferred not to think,
that Etsuko had become ill because Yukiko had left her; yet Sachiko,
at the end of her wits, could not help feeling that Yukiko
would manage to be more patient with the child. In the circumstances,
there was no doubt that Tatsuo would let Yukiko return
to Ashiya--and that Yukiko, if Sachiko wrote to her of Etsuko's
condition, would return even without his permission. But Sachiko,
reluctant though she was to make an issue of the matter, did not
want it said that she had surrendered after a scant two months.
She passed her days, then, telling herself that she must wait just
a little longer, that she must struggle on alone while she could.
As for Teinosuke, he was opposed to calling Yukiko back. This
fussiness, this way of washing chopsticks in hot water or tea, and
of refusing to eat something that had fallen on the tablecloth--
it was quite in the style of Sachiko and Yukiko, he argued, from
long before Etsuko's illness. It was unwise and should be stopped
immediately; it was the cause of the child's nervous troubles. They
should be a little more adventurous, they should steel themselves
to eating even the food a fly had crawled over, and demonstrate
that one virtually never became ill as a result. They were wrong
to be so noisy about antiseptics and sanitation and to pay no attention
to order and discipline. They must begin immediately to
order the child's life.
So Teinosuke argued, but his recommendations had little effect.
To Sachiko it seemed that one as strong and healthy as Teinosuke
would never understand the feelings of one like herself, so quick
to catch each passing ailment. To Teinosuke, it seemed that the
chances of catching a disease from chopsticks were one in ten thousand,
and that this constant disinfecting only lowered one's resistance.
When Sachiko said that grace and elegance were more important
for a girl than his "order," Teinosuke answered that she
was being old-fashioned, that the child's eating habits and play
hours should follow a strict pattern. Teinosuke was a barbarian
who knew nothing about modern sanitation, said Sachiko; Sachiko's
methods of disinfecting were ineffective in any case, answered
Teinosuke. What good did it do to pour hot water or tea
HO 1 ą11'. 1V1AK1UKA L31;>lli.K!ŧ

over chopsticks? That would kill no germs, and besides Sachiko
could not know what had happened to the food before it was
brought to her. Sachiko and Yukiko misunderstood Occidental
ideas of sanitation and cleanliness. Remember the Russians? How
they had eaten raw oysters without a second thought?
Teinosuke preferred not to be too deeply involved in domestic
problems, and particularly with regard to Etsuko's upbringing he
was of the view that matters might best be left to his wife. Lately,
however, with the outbreak of the China Incident, he had become
conscious of the need to train strong, reliant women, women able
to support the man behind the gun. One day he saw Etsuko at
play with 0-hana. Taking a worn-out hypodermic needle, Etsuko
gave her straw-stuffed Occidental doll a shot in the arm. What a
morbid little game, Teinosuke thought. That too was the result of
a dangerous preoccupation with hygiene. Something must be
done.
But Etsuko trusted Yukiko more than anyone else in the house,
and, with Sachiko backing Yukiko, a clumsy effort to intervene
could only lead to quarreling. He therefore awaited his chance,
and Yukiko's departure seemed to provide it. The truth was that
he pitied Yukiko deeply, and, important though the rearing of his
daughter was, he feared the emotional effect it might have on Yukiko
were he to drive a wedge between her and the child. He
might make her feel that she was unwanted, a nuisance. Now the
problem had resolved itself, and he was sure that Sachiko without
Yukiko would be more easily managed. Although he was extremely
sorry for Yukiko, then, and although he would not have refused
to let her come back had she asked, he could not agree to calling
her back for Etsuko's sake. Yukiko knew how to control Etsuko,
and she would be a great help, but it seemed to him that at least
one reason, even if a remote one, for Etsuko's nervousness was
the way Yukiko and Sachiko had trained her, and that he and Sachiko
should bear the trials of the moment and take this opportunity
to lessen Yukiko's influence. Would it not be well to change
their training methods, gradually, of course, so as not to stir up
rebellion? For the present they should not ask Yukiko back.
In November Teinosuke had two or three days' business in Tokyo. He
visited the Shibuya house for the first time. The children
were thoroughly used to Tokyo life, he found, and had learned
door une 119

to use standard Tokyo speech at school and the Osaka dialect at
home. Tatsuo and his wife and Yukiko were to all appearances
well and happy. Cramped place though it was, they said, they
hoped he would stay with them. But it was a cramped place indeed,
and he took a room at an inn after doing his duty and
staying with them one night. The next day, when Tatsuo and the
older children had gone out and Yukiko was upstairs cleaning
house, Teinosuke had a chance to talk to Tsuruko.
"Yukiko seems to have settled down nicely."
"Well, you may not have noticed, but . . ."
So the story began. When they first arrived, Yukiko had cheerfully
helped with the house and with the children, but--not that
she refused to help even now, of course--but sometimes she would
shut herself up in the little room upstairs. When Tsuruko began
to wonder what might have happened and went up to investigate,
she would find Yukiko at Teruo's desk, lost in thought, sometimes
even weeping. This was happening more and more often--at first
it had been only once every ten days or so. Sometimes even after
Yukiko came downstairs she would pass a half day without saying
a word, and occasionally she would be unable to hide her tears
from the others. Tsuruko and Tatsuo had been very careful. They
could think of no reason why she should be so unhappy. Possibly,
then, it was that she longed for Osaka--in a word, they could only
conclude that she was homesick. They thought to distract her by
having her take lessons in tea ceremony and calligraphy, but she
showed not the slightest interest. They had been truly delighted,
Tsuruko continued, at Aunt Tominaga's success and Yukiko's
quiet return, and they had not dreamed that to be with them
would be so unpleasant. If indeed they drove her to tears, perhaps
they should try to change. But why should they be so disliked?
Tsuruko herself began to weep. Still, she continued, hurt though
they were, they could not but be moved at the depth of this
forlornness, and they sometimes felt that, if her longing for Osaka
was so great, they might better let her do as she wanted. Tatsuo
would never consent to having her live permanently in Ashiya, but
they might say they were leaving her there until they moved
into a larger house, and they might see whether a week or ten
days in Ashiya would revive her spirits. They would have to find
an appropriate excuse, of course, but it was sad to see Yukiko
120 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

grieving, sadder indeed for those who had to watch than for
Yukiko herself.
It was a very short conversation, and Teinosuke offered only
vague condolences. They must be very upset indeed, he said, and
part of the responsibility unquestionably lay with Sachiko. He
did not mention Etsuko's illness.
Back in Ashiya, he told Sachiko everything he had heard.
"I never thought she would dislike Tokyo so," he concluded.
"Do you suppose she dislikes being with Tatsuo?"
"Possibly."
"Or she wants to see Etsuko?"
"There must be all sorts of reasons. Yukiko is just not the kind
to live in Tokyo."
Sachiko thought how even as a child Yukiko had endured in
silence, only sobbing quietly to herself. She could see, as though
before her eyes, that figure bent weeping over the desk.

SSSSSaSKSSSSSSS'sSsSsSSSsSSSSSSSSSSŪŪ

2^-

etsuko was given sedatives and put on a diet. They discovered
that she would eat Chinese food even if it was a little greasy; and
the beri-beri left with the cold weather, and her teacher agreed
not to worry too much about homework. In due time, and with
less discomfort than they had expected, the child began to recover.
The need for rescue had disappeared, but when she heard Teinosuke's
story Sachiko thought she could not rest until she had seen
Yukiko again.
She wondered if she had been cruel to Yukiko the day of Aunt
Tominaga's visit. She should not have done what she did--she had
almost ordered Yukiko from the house. She should have interceded
to ask for more time. Taeko after all had been allowed two or
three months. The determination to show that she could get along
by herself must have been especially strong that day. And Yukiko
had been so docile and unresisting--Sachiko could hardly bear to
think of her. Yukiko had gone off in fairly high spirits, taking
Book One 121 ___

almost nothing with her; and that, when one thought about the
matter, was obviously because she had faith in Sachiko's assurances
that they would find a pretext to call her back. Yukiko was quite
justified in thinking that she had been deceived and made a fool
of. After sending her off in the secure knowledge that she need
stay only long enough to soothe the feelings of the main family,
they had shown no sign of plotting for her return. And no one
said a word about Taeko, who was still in Ashiya.
Sachiko wondered what her husband would think. In view of
Tsuruko's tone, they need expect little resistance from the main
house. Would he say even so that it would be best to wait? Or
would he agree that there could be no objection to asking Yukiko
down for ten days or two weeks, now that four months had gone
by and Etsuko was quieter?
On January 10, as Sachiko was coming to the conclusion that
she might best wait until spring before raising the question, a
letter came from Mrs. Jimba, who had been silent since sending
the photograph. Had they thought about the proposal, she asked.
Sachiko had told her not to expect an immediate answer, but was
Yukiko favorably disposed? If it seemed that a marriage could not
be arranged, Mrs. Jimba wondered whether she might trouble
Sachiko to return the photograph. If, on the other hand, Yukiko
was inclined, however slightly, to accept, it was still not too late.
Mrs. Jimba did not know whether or not they had investigated
the gentleman, but there was only one thing she thought they
should know in addition to what he himself had written on the
back of the photograph: that he was quite without property, and
depended entirely on his salary. Perhaps Yukiko would be displeased
at this news. The gentleman had investigated the Makiokas
thoroughly, however, and, having somewhere had a chance to
see for himself how attractive Yukiko was, had sent through Mr.
Hamada the warmest assurances that Yukiko was the bride he
wanted, no matter how long he had to wait. Mrs. Jimba added that
she herself would gain favor with Mr. Hamada if they would agree
to meet the prospective bridegroom.
For Sachiko, Mrs. Jimba's letter was a godsend. She wrote to
Tokyo immediately, enclosing the letter and the photograph. They
had this proposal, she said, and Mrs. Jimba seemed in a hurry to
arrange a miai--although, in view of the unfortunate experience
122 the makioka sisters

they had had with Segoshi, Yukiko would no doubt be unwilling
to have a mini before they had finished investigating the man.
If there was no objection, therefore, she would hurry with the
investigation; but she wanted to know first what Tatsuo and
Tsuruko thought. Five or six days later came an answer, a surprisingly
long one for Tsuruko.

January 18
dear sachiko,
Late though it is, I want to wish you a Happy New Year.
I am delighted to hear that you had a pleasant holiday season.
We ourselves, being in a new city, hardly felt that the New Year
had come at all, and our celebrations were most confused. I have
always heard that the cold in Tokyo is particularly hard to bear,
and in fact I have never seen anything like it. Not a day passes
without that cold, dry north wind. This morning the towels were
frozen like boards and crackled when you picked them up. I do
not remember that this ever happened in Osaka. They say it is
warmer in toward the city, but here we are high up and far out.
Nearly all of us, even the maids, have been in bed with colds, and
only Yukiko and I have managed to escape with no more than
colds in the head. It does seem to be true, though, that the air
is cleaner than in Osaka. A kimono I have been wearing for ten
days is still fairly clean. Tatsuo's shirts were always dirty after
three days in Osaka, but here he can wear them four days.
On the matter of Yukiko, we are most grateful for all the
trouble you have gone to. I showed the picture and letter to
Tatsuo, who seems to have had a change of heart. He no longer
raises the objections he once did, and he says he is willing to leave
everything to you. He only points out that a fisheries technician
in his forties cannot expect to go much farther, and that since
the man has no property it will not be easy to live on his income;
but if Yukiko has no objections he will raise none. He says too
that if Yukiko is willing you can arrange a miai whenever it is
convenient. We should of course wait until we have finished
investigating the man, but if he is as eager as you say, possibly
we should put off the detailed investigation and have the miai
first. Teinosuke has no doubt told you of the trouble we have
had with Yukiko, and I have, as a matter of fact, been trying
Book One 123

to think of a way to send her back to you for a while. I mentioned
the matter to her yesterday, and found her disgustingly eager.
She agreed immediately to the miai, seeing that it meant a chance
to go back to Osaka. She has been all smiles this morning. I
really am quite put out with her.
If you will arrange a schedule, we can send her off to
you whenever you suggest. We will say for the record that she is
to come back four or five days after the miai, but it will not
matter if she stays a little longer. I can manage Tatsuo.
I have not written since I came here, and now that I have
begun 1 see that I have trouble stopping. I feel as though someone
had poured cold water down my back, though, and my fingers arc- nearly frozen. I am sure it is warm in Ashiya, but take care all
the same that you do not catch cold.
My best regards to Teinosuke.
As ever,

tsuruko

Sachiko, who knew little of Tokyo and to whom names like
Shibuya meant nothing, could only imagine something like the
distant views she had had of the Tokyo suburbs from the Loop
Line, of well-wooded hills and valleys and intermittent clusters of
houses, and overhead a sky whose very color made one shiver--of
a wholly different world, in short, from Osaka. As she read of
Tsuruko's "frozen" fingers, she remembered how the main house
in Osaka, true to the old fashion, had been almost without heating.
There was of course the electric stove in the guest parlor, but that
was rarely used except for special guests on the coldest days.
The main family for the most part was satisfied with a charcoal
brazier, and Sachiko herself felt as though someone "had poured
cold water" on her when she made her New-Year call and sat
talking with her sister. Too often she came home with a cold.
According to Tsuruko, stoves had at length become common in
Osaka in the twenties. Even her father, with his taste for the
latest luxuries, had put in gas heaters only a year or so before he
died. He then found that the gas made him dizzy, and the daughters
had thus grown up knowing only the old-fashioned brazier.
Sachiko herself had done without heating for some years after she
was married, indeed until she moved into this Ashiya house; but

124 the makioka sisters

now that she was used to stoves and fireplaces, it was hard to imagine
going through a winter without them. She could not believe
that she had really passed her childhood with only the primitive
brazier. In Osaka, Tsuruko had persisted in the old fashion. Yukiko,
with that strong core of hers, could stand the cold, but Sa-
chiko was sure that she herself would very soon have come down
with pneumonia.
With Mr. Hamada acting as go-between, it took a very long
time to choose a date, but presently they learned that Mr. Nomura
had consulted the horoscope and preferred to have the miai before
the day in early February that signifies the beginning of spring.
On January 29 Sachiko sent for Yukiko. Remembering their telephone
trouble of the year before, she had had Teinosuke install
a desk telephone in his study, out in the garden cottage. On
January 30 she received a postcard that had evidently crossed her
letter. The Tokyo house was in a turmoil. The two youngest
children had influenza, and the youngest, three-year-old Umeko,
was in danger of developing pneumonia. They thought of calling
a nurse, but, since the house was so small and there would be
nowhere for her to sleep, and since they knew from their experience
with Hideo that Yukiko was better than a nurse, they
had finally decided against it. Selfish though they knew it was of
them, they wondered if Mrs. Jimba could be asked to wait a little
longer. Sachiko, seeing that Yukiko was not likely to be free for
some time, passed the request for postponement on to Mrs. Jimba.
The latter replied that Nomura was willing to wait as long as
necessary. Even so, Sachiko could not help feeling sad for Yukiko,
always the nursemaid, always the loser.
While they were waiting, the investigation progressed. The
detective agency reported that Mr. Nomura was a senior civil
servant third grade, with a yearly salary of 3600 yen, and that, with
bonuses, he had a monthly income of about 350 yen. Although
he was the son of a Himeji innkeeper, he no longer had property
in that city. His sister was married to one Ota, a pharmacist in
Tokyo, and two uncles, one an antique dealer who gave lessons in
tea ceremony, the other a clerk in the records office, still lived in
Himeji. The only relative of whom he could be proud, a man
whose ward he had been, so to speak, was a cousin, Mr. Hamada
Jokichi, president of the Kansai Electric Company. (It was this
Book One 125

Mr. Hamada to whom Mrs. Jimba's husband was indebted, Mr.
Jimba having worked his way through school as gatekeeper for the
Hamadas.) The report from the agency said little more, except
that Mr. Nomura's wife had died in 1935 of influenza, and that
the deaths of the two children had not been from hereditary
ailments.
Teinosuke meanwhile asked acquaintances what they knew of
Mr. Nomura's character and behavior. He found that, although
the man apparently had no real vices, he did seem to have one
strange quirk: occasionally and quite without warning, one of his
fellow workers said, he would begin talking to himself. He talked
to himself only when he thought he was alone, but sometimes
he was overheard. By now there was no one in the office who
did not know of the odd habit. His dead wife and son had known
of it too, and had often laughed, Teinosuke was told, "at the
funny things Father says."
To give an example: one of his fellow workers was in the
toilet one day when someone came into the compartment next
door. "Excuse me, but are you Mr. Nomura?" a voice asked twice.
On the verge of answering, the fellow worker suddenly realized
that the voice was that of Mr. Nomura himself. Since Mr. Nomura
obviously thought he was alone, the man held his breath and did
his best not to be noticed. Finally he grew tired of waiting and
slipped out. There could be no doubt that Mr. Nomura knew he
had been overheard. Unable to guess who the man next door
might have been, however, he presently came out and took up
his work quite as if nothing had happened. The things he said
were harmless--and indeed made the listener want to burst out
laughing. Although the urge to talk to himself seemed to come
upon him in unguarded moments, it was clear from the way
in which he waited until he thought no one was around that he
was able to control himself. Sometimes when he was sure there
was no danger of being overheard, he would break forth in such
a loud voice that the startled listener thought he had lost his
mind.
It was not a really serious defect, but they need hardly be so
eager to find a husband for Yukiko that they had to accept such
a man. A greater defect, Sachiko thought, was the fact that he
looked so old in his pictures, a good fifty or more, well beyond
_______ 126 __________________the makioka sisters

the forty-five reported. She was sure that Yukiko would not like
him and that he was doomed to fail in the first miai--this was
hardly a proposal to be enthusiastic about. Still, since it would
give them a pretext for calling Yukiko back, Sachiko and Teinosuke
felt that they must at least go ahead with the miai. The proposal
being one that was not likely to be accepted in any case, they
concluded that there was no need to tell Yukiko the unpleasant
details, and they decided to keep the secret of the man's strange
habit to themselves.

"leave today on Seagull Express--Yukiko."
Etsuko was back from school. The long-awaited telegram was
brought in as her mother and 0-haru were helping arrange her
festival dolls.
It was the practice in Osaka to celebrate the Doll Festival in
April, a month later than in Tokyo, but this year they were bringing
the dolls out a month ahead of time. They had heard some four
or five days earlier that Yukiko would be coming. A dancing doll
Taeko had made for Etsuko--it was of the actor Kikugoro--had
suddenly reminded Sachiko of the festival.
"Etsuko, how would it be if we were to put out your festival
dolls? They will want to say hello to Yukiko too."
"But do we bring them out in March, Mother?"
"We have no peach blossoms yet," said Taeko. The doll stands
are traditionally decorated with peach blossoms. "And they say
that a girl who brings her dolls out at the wrong time of the year
has trouble finding a husband."
"Mother did say that, I remember. She was always in such a
hurry to put away the dolls after the festival. But it makes no
difference if you bring them out early. Only if you leave them out
too long."
"Really? I had not heard that part."
Book One 127

"Be sure to remember it. Is it like our Koi-san not to know these
things?"
The dolls, ordered in Kyoto for Etsuko's first Doll Festival,
had been put out each year in the parlor. Although the parlor was
in the foreign style and therefore not entirely appropriate for an
old festival, the dolls seemed to fit best in the room where the
family gathered.
Sachiko suggested, some days later, that they begin the festival
immediately, in early March, and leave the dolls out through the
April festival customary in Osaka. It would please Yukiko, back
after six months in Tokyo, she said, and Yukiko might even be
able to stay with them through the whole month. Everyone
thought that a fine idea. Today, March 3, they were busy arranging
the dolls.
"See, Etsuko. Just as I said," boasted Sachiko.
"You were right. She is coming for the festival."
"She is coming with the dolls."
"It must mean good luck," said 0-haru.
"Will she get married this time?"
"Etsuko, you are not to speak of that in front of Yukiko."
"Oh, I know that much."
"And you too, 0-haru. Remember the trouble we had last year."
"Yes."
"But you do know about it, and I suppose you may talk when
Yukiko is not around."
"I understand."
"Shall we telephone Koi-san?" asked Etsuko excitedly.
"Shall I telephone her?"
"You do it, Etsuko."
Etsuko ran off to telephone Taeko's studio.
"Yes, today. She comes today. Get home early. The Seagull,
not the Swallow--0-haru is going to Osaka to meet her."
Arranging the diadem on the head of the Empress doll, Sachiko
listened to the shrill voice.
"Etsuko, tell Koi-san to meet the train herself if she has time."
"Listen, Koi-san. Mother says if you have time you should meet
Yukiko yourself. Yes. Yes. It gets to Osaka at about nine. You
are going, then? And 0-haru can stay home?"
______128 ___ the makioka sisters

No doubt Taeko knew what Sachiko meant. Although Aunt
Tominaga had taken Yukiko back to the main house the year before
on the understanding that Taeko was to follow in two or three
months, the main house was in such confusion that there had been
no thought of summoning her, and, freer than ever, Taeko might
well think she had cleverly let Yukiko draw the booby prize. It
was her duty at least to meet the train.
"And shall I call Father too?"
"Why call Father? Father will be home any minute now."
Teinosuke, back at seven, thought how good it would be to
see Yukiko. Reproving himself for having felt, if only for a time,
that he did not want her in Ashiya again, he fussed over details--
she would want a bath as soon as she arrived, he said, and, though
she had perhaps had dinner on the train, she might want something
more before she went to bed. Sending for two or three bottles
of the white wine Yukiko was so fond of, he made sure as he wiped
away the dust that he had good vintages. Etsuko was told that
she would have time the next day to talk to Yukiko, but she quite
refused to be sent off to bed. At about nine-thirty, 0-haru led
her away by the hand. Soon afterwards they heard the bell at
the gate. The dog Johnny ran out.
"Yukiko!" Etsuko bounded downstairs.
"Welcome back, welcome back."
Yukiko stood in the doorway pushing off Johnny. Possibly from
the strain of the trip, she was astonishingly pale beside Taeko, who
followed with her suitcase. Taeko was looking healthier than ever.
"And where are my presents? What have you brought me?"
Etsuko promptly opened the suitcase. She had no trouble finding
a package of colored cutting paper and several handkerchiefs.
"I am told you collect handkerchiefs."
"I do. Thank you very much."
"Look farther down, now."
"Here it is, here it is." Etsuko came on a package that carried
the mark of a well-known Ginza shop. Inside was a pair of red-
enameled sandals.
"How beautiful," said Sachiko. "Tokyo is so much better for
this sort of thing. Take very good care of them, Etsuko, and you
can wear them next month when we go to see the cherry blossoms."
"Yes. Thank you very much."
Book Une 129

"You were waiting just for the presents, then?"
"We have had enough of you, Etsuko. Suppose you take all
this upstairs."
"Yukiko is to sleep with me tonight."
"Yes, yes. But Yukiko has to have a bath first. You go ahead
with 0-haru."
"You are to hurry, Yukiko."
It was in fact nearly twelve when Yukiko came from the bath.
Afterwards the three sisters and Teinosuke had their cheese and
white wine. A wood fire was crackling in the stove.
"How warm it is in this part of the country. I noticed the
difference as soon as I got off the train."
"The Spring Festival has already begun in Nara."
"Is the climate really so different from Tokyo?"
"As different as you can imagine. The air in Tokyo never feels
soft against your skin. And those dry winds. The other day I was in
the city shopping and a gust of wind blew the packages right out
of my hands. They rolled and rolled, and there I was chasing
them and at the same time trying to hold down my skirts. People
are right about those dry winds."
"It is amazing how quickly children take to the language of a place. I noticed even when I was in Tokyo last November. They
had been there no more than two or three months, and they all
had the most beautiful Tokyo accents. The younger they were
the better the accents."
"I suppose Tsuruko is too old to learn," said Sachiko.
"Much too old. And besides, she has no intention of learning.
All the passengers on the bus turn and stare when she breaks out
with her Osaka accent, but she never seems to mind. She lets
them stare. And sometimes someone says, That Osaka accent
isn't bad at all.'" For this last remark, Yukiko herself took on a
Tokyo accent.
"Women that age are all the same," said Teinosuke. "They care
less than nothing what people think. I know an old geisha--she
must be in her forties--who always uses an Osaka accent on a Tokyo conductor when she wants to get off a streetcar. She says
she can make them stop wherever she wants."
"Teruo is ashamed to go out with his mother because of that
accent."
130 1 HE MAKIOKA LISTERS

"I imagine most children would be."
"Does Tsuruko feel that she has really moved?" asked Taeko.
"Or is she still just off on a trip?"
"She finds it easier than Osaka, she says. She likes being able
to do what she wants with no one watching her. And she says
that Tokyo women pay less attention to fashions. They make a
great thing of being individuals, and they wear exactly what they
think suits them."
Perhaps the wine was responsible--Yukiko was in high spirits,
quite delirious at being back in Ashiya after half a year, at being
able to talk late into the night with Sachiko and Taeko.
"I suppose we ought to go to bed," said Teinosuke.
But the talk went on, and he had to get up again--how many
times did this make?--to put wood on the fire.
"I will be joining you in Tokyo before long," said Taeko. "But
I understand the house is very small. When do they mean to
move?"
"I wonder. There is no sign that they are looking for a new
place."
"They might not move at all, then?"
"I suspect not. Last year they said it would be impossible to
live in such a tiny house, and they talked and talked of moving,
but this year I have heard little about it. They seem both of them
to have changed their minds."
Yukiko then told them something surprising. These were her
own inferences, she said. She had heard nothing directly from
Tsuruko or Tatsuo. It was a desire to advance in the world that
had made them resolve to move, however, much though they
disliked the prospect; and since one might say, with but a little
exaggeration, that this desire to advance had been brought on by
certain difficulties in the supporting of a family of eight on the
property left by the sisters' father, might it not be that, though
they complained at first of the tiny house, they had learned that it
was not at all impossible for them to endure even such cramped
quarters? The low rent, only fifty-five yen, they found most
alluring. They spoke a little apologetically of how low it was even
for so unpretentious a house, and they had in a sense been made
captives of the low rent. It was not at all odd that they should
t5ook Une 131

be moved by such considerations. Whereas in Osaka they did have
to maintain certain forms for the sake of the family name, in
Tokyo no one had ever heard of the Makiokas, and they could
dispense with ostentation and accumulate a little property.
Tatsuo's salary was higher now that he had become a branch
manager, Yukiko pointed out, and yet he was far thriftier than he
had been in Osaka. Both Tatsuo and Tsuruko had become
remarkably clever at economizing. With six children to feed, it
made a difference if one planned in advance the buying of even a
single vegetable, but what astonished Yukiko most was how the
menu had changed from the Osaka days. Tsuruko planned meals
with stew or meat chowder or rice curry, so that the whole family
could have their fill on but one simple dish. They almost never
had meat except a bit floating here and there in a stew. Sometimes
the two sisters had dinner with Tatsuo after the children
had finished, and as a special treat they would have tuna, say--
tuna was edible even in Tokyo, though sea bream was out of the
question. It seemed that these special dinners were less to please
Tatsuo than to please Yukiko. Tatsuo and Tsuruko worried about
her: they thought she might find it trying to be surrounded by
children.
"Or so it would seem from watching them. But wait and see.
They will decide not to move."
"Can they really have changed so just from moving to Tokyo?"
"I suspect Yukiko is right," said Teinosuke. "And why should
anyone object? Tatsuo has his opportunity to stop worrying about
appearances and to concentrate instead on building up a little
capital. The house may be cramped, but they can stand it if they
decide to."
"They should come out in the open, then. Why do they go on
apologizing because I have no room of my own?"
"That is how people are. You should not expect them to change
overnight. They still have to keep up a few forms."
"And will I have to move into that little house too?" Taeko
finally asked the question that was most important to her.
"I have no idea where you would sleep."
"You think I am safe for the time being, then?"
"They seem to have forgotten all about you."
132 ____ 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA LISTERS

"We have to get some sleep." Teinosuke looked up in astonishment
as the clock on the mantle struck half past two. "I imagine
Yukiko will be tired."
"We ought to talk about the miai, but that I suppose can wait
until tomorrow."
Yukiko did not answer. She went upstairs ahead of the others.
Etsuko was asleep with all the presents, even the box the sandals
had come in, carefully lined up by her pillow. Looking down at
the quiet face in the soft light of the night lamp, Yukiko felt
again the pleasure of being back in Ashiya. 0-haru lay sprawled on
the floor between Etsuko's bed and Yukiko's.
Yukiko shook the maid two or three times and sent her downstairs.

!?S!SSSŪS!S<3ŪSŪSŪS!SSŪS;St3ŪS^3

27

the occasion for calling Yukiko back from Tokyo had been a
letter from Mrs. Jimba informing them that, although the hour an
place could be determined later, she would like to have the miai
on the eighth, a lucky day; but they had to postpone it again
because of a quite unexpected development on the night of the
fifth. Sachiko had that morning crossed the Rokko mountains by
bus--she could as well have taken a train--with two or three
friends to visit a woman convalescing at Arima Springs. They took
a train back, but that night after she went to bed she was taken
with pain and hemorrhage, and Dr. Kushida gave them the
startling news that it seemed to be the beginning of a miscarriage.
They immediately called a specialist, who confirmed Dr. Kushida's
diagnosis. The next morning Sachiko had her miscarriage.
Teinosuke sat up all night, and in the morning, though he
left for a time to see to the disposition of the foetus, he was with
Sachiko as the pain receded. He decided not to go to work. All
day he sat looking into the charcoal brazier, his hands resting on
the poker, and sometimes, as he felt Sachiko's tear-filled eyes turn
toward him, he would look up.
Book Une 133

"It makes no difference. And there is nothing to be done now."
"You forgive me?"
"For what?"
"For being careless."
"Oh, that. No, as a matter of fact this makes me more hopeful."
A tear spilled down over Sachiko's cheek. "But it is such a
shame."
"Say no more about it. We will have another chance."
Time after time during the day the conversation was repeated.
Teinosuke, looking into his wife's blanched face, found it hard
to hide his own disappointment.
It had occurred to Sachiko that she might just possibly be
pregnant. But nearly ten years had passed since Etsuko's birth,
and doctors had even told her that surgery might be necessary
before she could have another child. And so she had been careless.
She knew that her husband wanted a son. She herself, even
though she did not hope to be as prolific as her sister, found it
too lonely with but one daughter. To be very sure, and indeed as
a sort of petition to the gods, she had meant to see a doctor if this
menstrual irregularity continued a third month. The thought had
crossed her mind the day before that she would do well to take
care of herself. But what foolishness--this second thought was
strong enough to cancel out the caution. She could not bring herself
to object to an outing that seemed to give her friend such
pleasure. She had had her reasons, then, and she need not apologize.
But as Dr. Kushida chided her for the blunder, she could not
keep back tears of regret. Why had she made that promise in the
first place? And why, having made it, had she been so careless as to
take a bus? Teinosuke tried to console her. He had become resigned
to the fact that she would have no more children, he said,
and, far from being saddened, he found that this unexpected
pregnancy filled him with new hope. Sachiko could see nonetheless
that he was deeply disappointed. His gentleness only made
her reprove herself the more for what had been a serious blunder,
not just a trifling misstep.
By the second day Teinosuke's spirits had recovered. He set
out for work at the usual hour. Sachiko, alone in her bedroom,
could only turn the tragedy over and over in her mind. Since,
with the miai, it should have been a time for rejoicing, she wanted
____ 134 _________ the makioka sisters

to hide her sorrow from Yukiko and the rest. But when she was
alone the tears would come, however much she tried to hold them
back. Had she not been so careless, the child would have been born
in November. By this time next year it would have been old enough
to laugh when you tickled it. And she was sure it would have been
a boy, a great delight to Teinosuke, and to Etsuko too. Sachiko
could perhaps have consoled herself had she really suspected
nothing, but in her heart she had known that she was pregnant.
And why, then, had she not refused to take that bus ride? It was
true that she had not been able on the spur of the moment to
think of a polite way to refuse. But if she had tried, she could have
hit upon an acceptable excuse for following by train.
She could never have regrets enough. Possibly, as Teinosuke
hoped, she would have another child; but if she did not, the
regret would be with her the rest of her life. No matter how many
years passed, she would be telling herself that the child would now
be this age, and now this age. She felt tears coming to her eyes
again.
In view of the repeated delays, someone should have gone in
person to apologize to Mrs. Jimba; but Teinosuke had never met
her, and Mr. Jimba had not yet put in an appearance. Teinosuke
finally wrote a note for Sachiko on the evening of the sixth. It
was difficult to ask yet another postponement, he said, but Sachiko
had taken cold, and was running a fever. Selfish though it was of
them, might they have the miai put off beyond the eighth? He
wanted to make it quite clear that Sachiko's illness was absolutely
their only reason for asking more time. The cold was not particularly
serious, and he was sure she would be over it in a week.
He sent the letter special delivery.
Whatever meaning she might have read into it, Mrs. Jimba
appeared on the afternoon of the seventh, and asked if she might
see Sachiko, only for a moment, to inquire how she was. Thinking
it might be well to demonstrate that she really was ill, Sachiko had
Mrs. Jimba shown upstairs. At the sight of the face she knew so
well, she felt a wave of affection. She must tell everything. A
midi being so happy an occasion, she said, she had not wanted to
write of her illness, but she knew that she could hide the truth
no longer. Telling briefly what had happened on the night of
the fifth and adding a remark or two about her sorrow, she emBook One 135

phasized that, although what she said was meant only for Mrs.
Jimba, and that the latter should make whatever excuses seemed
appropriate, she was telling the whole truth. She was sure Mrs.
Jimba would not be annoyed, and she hoped Mrs. Jimba would
again choose an auspicious date--she herself would be up and
around in another week, the doctor had assured her.
What a pity, said Mrs. Jimba. Teinosuke must be terribly disappointed.
Seeing the tears in Sachiko's eyes, she hastily changed
the subject. If Sachiko would be well in a week, how would the
fifteenth do? When she received the special-delivery letter that
morning, she had immediately discussed the matter with Mr.
Hamada and had been told that, the week of the vernal equinox
being of course taboo, the only appropriate day was the fifteenth,
unless they meant to wait until the following month. The fifteenth
was exactly a week off. Might Mrs. Jimba set the miai for that
day? She had as a matter of fact been asked by Mr. Hamada to
see if the fifteenth would be satisfactory. Sachiko felt that she
could plead ill health no longer. The doctor having given her
assurances, it was not impossible, if she made the effort, that she
could go out in a week. Without consulting Teinosuke, she agreed
in a general way to Mrs. Jimba's proposal.
But though her progress seemed satisfactory, she was still in
and out of bed on the fourteenth, and still troubled by light
hemorrhages.
"Do you think you should have made that promise?"
Teinosuke had had misgivings from the start. It was a very
important occasion, and, since Mrs. Jimba knew the true story,
they might arrange to have Teinosuke alone go with Yukiko, rather
than risk having Sachiko ruin the party. The only difficulty was
that without Sachiko there would be no one to introduce them.
Yukiko said that she did not want Sachiko to strain herself. They
should ask for another postponement, she said, and if that meant
the end of the negotiations, it meant the end of the negotiations.
Probably they would not be successful anyway--the fact that such
difficulty should have arisen at such a time augured ill. Sachiko
felt the old sympathy for Yukiko, forgotten in her own sorrows,
come surging back. It would be foolish perhaps to say that past
experience had led them to expect the worse when Yukiko was
having a miai. Still, just as they were praying that all would go
130 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA bISTERS

well, there had come first the illness of the niece in the main house,
and then a miscarriage, surely a bad omen; and Sachiko could not
help feeling a little frightened at the way in which they all seemed
pulled into a conspiracy to ruin Yukiko's future. Yukiko, on the
other hand, was strangely undisturbed. Even to look at her touched
Sachiko deeply.
When he left for work on the fourteenth, Teinosuke tended to
feel that Sachiko should stay at home. Sachiko for her part was
determined to appear at the miai. With matters thus undecided,
a telephone call came at about three from Mrs. Jimba. She wanted
to know how Sachiko was. Very well for the most part, said Sachiko,
quite involuntarily. Mrs. Jimba followed her advantage. The
fifteenth would be acceptable, then. Mr. Nomura had decided that
they should meet at five in the lobby of the Oriental Hotel, and
she hoped the Makiokas had no objection. The Oriental Hotel
was only a convenient place to meet. After a cup of tea, they
would go on to a restaurant somewhere--what restaurant had not
yet been decided. Though the meeting was of course a miai, it
was to be no more than an informal little dinner party, and they
could discuss the matter of the restaurant when they met in the hotel. There would be six in the party: Mr. and Mrs. Jimba,
representing Mr. Hamada, would be with Mr. Nomura, and she
supposed there would be three Makiokas. Sachiko had fairly well
made up her mind to go, but as Mrs. Jimba pressed her to agree
to all the arrangements, she made one special request: since she
was still having light hemorrhages and since this would be her
first day out, she would be most grateful, much though it pained
her to have to ask the favor, if Mrs. Jimba would arrange the
miai with as little moving about as possible. She hoped they
might take cabs, even to go a very short distance. That being
understood, she said, she saw no reason why she should not go out.
Yukiko was at Itani's having her hair dressed when Mrs. Jimba
called, and on her return she objected to only one detail: that they
were to meet in the Oriental Hotel. She did not consider it a bad
omen, she said, that they had met Segoshi for the last miai at the
same place, but she hated to have the maids and the waiters
recognize her, and look knowingly at each other as if to say that
the old maid was already back for another try. Sachiko had not
been entirely unprepared for this objection. Sure that once Yukiko
door une 137

had spoken she would not be easy to move, Sachiko went out
to the study and telephoned Mrs. Jimba to ask if they might
consider meeting elsewhere. Two hours later Mrs. Jimba called
back. She had discussed the matter with Mr. Nomura, and they
could not at the moment think of a better place than the
Oriental Hotel. They could of course go directly to the restaurant,
but she had been afraid that if she and Mr. Nomura arbitrarily
decided on a restaurant that too might upset the Makiokas. She
wondered if Sachiko had anything to suggest. The truth was that,
though they hated to seem selfish, they hoped Sachiko might try
to change Yukiko's mind. The Oriental Hotel would be so convenient
for all of them, and it was after all only a place to meet--
and there was no cause at all for these misgivings of Yukiko's.
Sachiko talked the matter over with Teinosuke, who was just
back from work. They concluded that it would be best to respect
Yukiko's wishes. Much though she hated to force the issue, said
Sachiko, might she not hope that Mrs. Jimba would concede that
one point? Mrs. Jimba said that she would ponder the problem
and call back the next morning. On the morning of the fifteenth
she called back to ask whether the Tor Hotel would be more
suitable. So the question was settled.

lS!S<SŪS!S<?!S^ŪSSt5^S!S!ŪSŪS<5ŪSŪ;

28

the spring festival in Nara was over, and yet the day appointed
for the miai was chilly. The air was still, but the sky was a dull
gray, as though they might have snow. The first thing Teinosuke
asked when he got up was whether the hemorrhages had stopped.
Home from work early in the afternoon, he asked again. If Sachiko
was not feeling well, they could still refuse for her. Sachiko
answered that she was losing less and less blood. As a result of
those trips to the telephone the afternoon before, however, the
bleeding had in fact increased. She sponged her face and neck
(she had not been able to take a bath for some days) and sat
down before the mirror. The loss of blood had clearly had its

138 I HE MAKIOKA LISTERS

effect. But then she had once been ordered by Itani to make
herself as old and unobtrusive as possible, and she thought perhaps
she had wasted away to just the proper point.
Mrs. Jimba, who was waiting at the hotel entrance, hurried up
to them.
"Introduce me to your husband, Sachiko." She beckoned to
a gentleman who waited deferentially a step or two behind her.
"This is mine."
"I am very glad to meet you. My wife seems to have caused you
a great deal of trouble."
"On the contrary, we've been very selfish about the arrangements
for this evening."
"Sachiko." Mrs. Jimba turned to Sachiko and lowered her
voice once the formalities were over. "I shall introduce you to
Mr. Nomura--that is he over there--but as a matter of fact we
have only met two or three times at Mr. Hamada's, and are not
especially friendly. I really know very little about him, and possibly
you should ask directly if you want to know anything."
Mr. Jimba waited in silence through this hushed conference.
Then, with a bow, he motioned them toward Mr. Nomura.
Sachiko and Teinosuke had noticed, sitting in the lobby, a
gentleman they recognized. He nervously put out his half-smoked
cigarette and stood up to meet them. Though he was better built
than they had expected, he did indeed look older than the
photograph. His face was covered with small wrinkles, and his
hair--they had not been able to tell from the photograph--was
gray and thin, and yet somehow bushy, shaggy, and generally
untidy. One would have said at first sight that he was in his mid-
fifties. Two years older than Teinosuke, he looked at least ten
years older. Since Yukiko, on the other hand, looked seven or
eight years younger than she really was, they could have been
taken for father and daughter. Sachiko felt apologetic for even
having brought her sister.
After the introductions they gathered around a tea table. The
conversation did not go well. There was something unapproachable
about the man Nomura, and Mr. and Mrs. Jimba, who should
have been helping fill in the pauses, were stiff and hesitant before
him. Even granting that Jimba ought to behave with respect
toward the cousin of an old benefactor, to Teinosuke this defercook une 139

ence seemed to approach obseqiousness. He and Sachiko would
ordinarily have had the tact to keep a conversation going, but
tonight Sachiko quite lacked spirit, and only succeeded in passing
something of her apathy on to her husband.
"And what sort of work do you do, Mr. Nomura?"
There followed a brief exchange in which they learned that
Nomura was in charge of restocking trout streams, that his principal
work was supervising and inspecting, and that the trout at
Tatsuno and Takino were especially good.
Meanwhile Mrs. Jimba bustled about. She called Sachiko aside
and talked to her for a time. She then talked to Nomura, went
out to a telephone booth, and called Sachiko for another conference.
Finally she was back at her seat, and it was Sachiko's turn:
Sachiko called Teinosuke aside for a conference.
"The question is where we are to have dinner. Do you know a
Chinese restaurant called the Peking, up in the hills?"
"I have never heard of it."
"Mr. Nomura goes there often, and says he would like to have
dinner there. I told Mrs. Jimba I had no objection to Chinese
food, but I simply could not sit in a foreign chair this evening.
Most of the customers are Chinese, she says, but there are one or
two Japanese rooms. She called to reserve one. Is it all right?"
"If it is all right with you. But try not to move around quite
so much."
"She keeps calling me."
Sachiko went off to the women's room and was gone for
twenty minutes. When at length she came back, paler than ever,
Mrs. Jimba called her again.
"Let me take it," said Teinosuke. "My wife is not feeling at all
well, and perhaps you could talk to me instead."
"I see. As a matter of fact, it's about the taxi. I've called two,
and I wondered if we might not put Yukiko and Mr. Nomura
and myself in one, and my husband in the other with you two."
"Is that what Mr. Nomura would like?"
"He hasn't said. I only thought it might be a good arrangement."
"Oh."
Teinosuke had trouble hiding his annoyance. Mr. and Mrs.
Jimba had been told yesterday that Sachiko was braving considerable
physical discomfort and even endangering her health, and
_______140 _______ 1 HE MAKIOKA LISTERS

the Makiokas had given hints enough this evening that she was
not well; and yet neither Jimba nor his wife had bothered to ask
after her or give her a word of comfort. Perhaps they thought it
bad luck to refer to her illness at such a time. Still they could have
tried unobtrusively to see that she was made comfortable. Or
perhaps he was being unfair. Was it not possible that Mr. and
Mrs. Jimba, for their part, felt that after they had undertaken all
the arrangements and been put off time after time, Sachiko could
be expected to make some sacrifice? Did they not think that, inasmuch
as the meeting was to help no one if not Yukiko, Sachiko
could bear a little physical discomfort, and that she was quite
mistaken if she expected them to feel obligated? Perhaps he was
being too sensitive, but it occurred to him that they might agree
with Itani: Yukiko, having passed the marriageable age, was in
serious trouble, and they were only trying to help--and Sachiko
and her family should feel in debt to them. On the whole, however,
it seemed most reasonable to conclude that they were too intent
on pleasing Nomura to think of the others. Jimba worked for the
Kansai Electric Company, of which Nomura's cousin Hamada
Jokichi was president.
Whether Mrs. Jimba was determined to do her duty by Mr.
Hamada, or whether she was only echoing Nomura's wishes,
it simply was not good sense to suggest that Yukiko ride with
Nomura. Teinosuke wondered if she might not be trying to make
a fool of him.
"Will it be all right, then? If Yukiko has no objection . . ."
"Yukiko is Yukiko, and she'll have no objection, I'm sure. But
if everything goes well, there should be plenty of opportunities
later."
"I see." Mrs. Jimba studied the expression on his face for a
time, her nose wrinkled in a sardonic little smile.
"And then I think it would only make Yukiko stiffer than ever.
It would not have at all the effect we want."
"I see. It was only a thought."
But Teinosuke found more to annoy him. When he heard that
the Peking was in the hills, he was careful to ask whether the
cab could go to the gate. He was assured that there would be no
difficulty. Although the cab did indeed stop at the gate, however,
there was a long, steep flight of stairs to climb before they arrived
Book One _____ ____ __ 141

at the restaurant itself, and once inside they were shown to the
second floor. Sachiko, leaning on Teinosuke's arm, fell behind
the others. In fine spirits and quite indifferent to her distress,
Nomura was praising the view when they reached the second
flood.
"How do you like it, Mr. Makioka? One of my favorites."
"What a fine spot you've found." Jimba nodded his agreement
vigorously.
"And when you look down on the harbor from here, there is
something exotic about it. A little like Nagasaki."
"Very true. It does feel like Nagasaki."
"I often go to Chinese restaurants on Nanking Street, but I had
no idea there was a place like this in Kobe."
"It's near the office, you know, and we often come here. And
the food is rather good."
"Speaking of exotic things, look at this building. Very unusual,
like something you might see in a harbor in China. Restaurants
run by Chinese are generally ugly, but this one has a quality all
it own--the railings and the carvings and the decorations and
everything."
"See the warship." There was nothing for Sachiko to do but
muster her strength and try to be polite. "What flag is it flying?"
Mrs. Jimba came upstairs looking perplexed.
"Really, I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Sachiko, but the
Japanese rooms are all full. They want to put us in a Chinese
room. Over the telephone they assured me they would have a
Japanese room for us. But the boys here are Chinese of course. No
matter how often you tell them, they will not understand."
It had struck Teinosuke as odd that a Chinese room seemed to
be ready for them. If the boy had misunderstood Mrs. Jimba,
Teinosuke could hardly hold her responsible; but even so, he
had to conclude that, since there surely should have been a way
to make the point clear even to an unreliable Chinese boy,
Mrs. Jimba was showing a certain lack of consideration. And
Nomura and Jimba, far from apologizing, were still busy praising
the view.
"You will try to bear it, then?" Mrs. Jimba took Sachiko's
hand in both of her own, and left no room for refusal.
"Oh, but this is a wonderful room. And such an interesting
_____ 142 _____________the makioka sisters

place." Sachiko was more worried about her husband's irritability
than about her own discomfort. "We should bring Etsuko and
Koi-san some time."
"The child might enjoy looking down at the ships, I suppose."
Teinosuke still looked far from happy.
The hors d'oeuvres were served with Japanese sake and Chinese
shao-hsin wine. Sachiko sat across the table from Nomura. Jimba
spoke of the Anschluss, about which the newspapers had been
excited that morning, and for a time the conversation turned to
the resignation of Schuschnigg and Hitler's entry into Vienna.
It tended to be a dialogue between Jimba and Nomura, with
the Makiokas only putting in a word now and then. Although
she struggled to make it seem that nothing was amiss, Sachiko
had inspected herself once at the Tor Hotel and once before
they sat down in the restaurant, and found that the bleeding
was worse. The hard, straight chair helped little, and soon she
was left quite inarticulate by physical discomfort coupled with a
fear lest she spoil the party. Teinosuke, who only grew angrier,
knew that his wife was hard at work and that her task would
only be heavier if he did not try to be pleasant. He undertook
with the support of the sake to see that there were no gaping
holes in the conversation.
"Here, Sachiko. You should like this." Mrs. Jimba, who had
been pouring for the men, turned to Sachiko with a decanter.
"None for me this evening, thank you. But you ought to
have a little, Yukiko."
"Yes, please do."
"I think I might try this." Yukiko took a sip of the shaohsin,
in which sugar crystals were floating. She was acutely embarrassed
at the glumness of her sister and brother-in-law and at the way
Nomura persisted in staring at her. Finally she was huddled so
low over the table that her slender shoulders seemed quite to
disappear. Nomura, excited at having a prospective bride before
him, became livelier as he drank. Clearly proud of having Hamada
Jokichi for a cousin, he was careful to keep that gentleman's
name in the conversation, and Jimba too talked incessantly of
"the President," no doubt to suggest how great an interest Hamada
took in looking after this cousin. What surprised Teinosuke
most was the thoroughness with which Nomura had investigated
Hook Une _________________ 143 ___

the Makioka family--Yukiko herself, of course, and her sisters,
and their dead father, and the people at the main house, and the
misstep that had put Taeko in the newspapers. They invited him
to ask questions about any doubtful points, and the detailed
interrogation that followed made it clear that his investigation
had taken him everywhere. Perhaps Hamada himself had mobilized
the investigating forces--in any case, someone had been sent to
interview Itani, Dr. Kushida, Mme Tsukamoto, and a piano
teacher from whom Yukiko had once taken lessons. Nomura
even knew--they could only assume that he had heard from
Itani--the reasons for the rupture in the negotiations with
Segoshi and for the visit to the Osaka University Hospital. (Itani
had told Sachiko that someone had come inquiring after Miss
Yukiko, and that, to the extent that there seemed no reason not
to answer, she had answered all the questions. Sachiko started
at the thought of that spot over Yukiko's eye. She had not been
worried this evening about the spot, which had disappeared since
Yukiko's return from Tokyo. Surely Itani had not mentioned
it!)
Teinosuke, on whom fell the duty of answering Nomura's
questions, soon noted that Nomura was an extremely nervous
man. It seemed not at all surprising that the fellow should talk
to himself. Nomura's manner suggested that he went into all the
Ene points because he was confident his proposal would be
accepted. In increasingly good spirits, he had become a different
man from the rather dour person they met at the Tor Hotel.
Teinosuke wanted to cut the conversation off and go home
as soon as possible, but as they left another difficulty arose.
Mr. and Mrs. Jimba, who were returning to Osaka, were to see
the Makiokas to Ashiya in a cab and ride on to Ashiya Station.
Teinosuke was startled, therefore, to see that but one cab had
been called. Nomura lived in the same general direction--a little
out of the way perhaps--and could just as well come with
them, someone suggested. Teinosuke knew how far out of the
way a trip to Nomura's would take them. Worse, the roads
were rough and the slopes steep in that part of the city. He
wanted to look back in alarm each time they hit a new bump
or rounded another curve, but he was wedged too tightly into
the front seat to turn around.
_____ 144 the makioka sisters

Nomura suddenly announced that he would like to have them
all in for a cup of coffee. It was a miserable little house, he
said, but the view down over the harbor was even better than that
from the Peking, and besides, they would want to see how he lived.
Their refusals had no effect, and when Mrs. Jimba joined in
to support him--they really must, since he had been so kind as
to invite them, and there was, she had heard, no one in the
house before whom they need feel the slightest constraint; there
were only a girl and an old lady who worked for him, and it
would surely be helpful to know how he lived--Teinosuke began
to give way. Without consulting Yukiko, he could hardly
refuse now that the cup of coffee had been tied to the marriage
negotiations themselves. It seemed necessary moreover to defer
to Mr. and Mrs. Jimba, who might be of help in the future.
And after all, Nomura was only being kind. Presently Sachiko
suggested that they should at least step inside.
To reach Nomura's house, they had to climb some forty or
fifty yards up a narrow, steep, slippery path. Nomura was lively
as a child. He hurried to have someone open the shutters and
he proceeded to show off the view of which he was so proud,
and invited them to see his study, and afterwards every room
in the house, including the kitchen. It was, they found, a cheaply
built two-storey six-room house. Nomura even dragged them to
the Buddhist altar, over which hung pictures of his dead wife
and children. In the living room, Jimba was praising the view,
which he found quite as Nomura had described it, far better
than that from the Peking, but Teinosuke and the rest felt that
they could never feel safe in such a place: the veranda gave way to
a cliff, and it was as though they were being sucked over.
They hurried off into the waiting cab as soon as they had
finished their coffee.
"Mr. Nomura was in a fine mood tonight," said Jimba.
His wife agreed. "He was indeed. I have never seen him talk
so much. It was because he had a young and beautiful audience.
Sachiko, you can see how Mr. Nomura feels, and everything
is up to you now. He has no property, of course, but he has
Mr. Hamada behind him. He will never have to worry about a
living, that much is sure. And possibly we can get guarantees
from Mr. Hamada."
Book One 145

"Thank you very much." Teinosuke did not want to continue
the discussion. "We will ask the people in the main house."
But as he got from the cab, he began to wonder if he had
not been too abrupt. By way of apology he thanked the Jimbas
for the evening not once, but three times.

<S^S^5!S!SŪSŪ3ŧ3ŧS^3Ū5SiSŪS<SS

29

mrs. jimba appeared in Ashiya two days later, on the morning
of the seventeenth. She was most apologetic when she heard
that the miai had sent Sachiko back to bed, and she left after but a
half hour at Sachiko's bedside. Mr. Nomura had insisted, she
said, that she come to plead his case. Having seen his house,
they knew well enough how he lived. He was in such quarters
only because he was a bachelor, and he had assured her that
he would move into a house worthy of the name once he found
a wife. He meant to do everything for his new wife, most
especially if he should succeed in winning Yukiko. He was not
wealthy, he admitted, but he knew at least that Yukiko would
not be left wanting. Mrs. Jimba had also called on Mr. Hamada,
and, seeing that Nomura was so enthusiastic, Mr. Hamada had
urged her to do whatever was to be done to advance the negotiations.
The fact that Nomura had no property would of course make
the new bride's position a little uncertain, but Hamada would think
of something--they should leave money matters to him. Hamada
would be rather at a loss if they asked him what concrete guarantees
he was prepared to make, but he could say that while he lived,
Nomura would not be left destitute. And since a man of such
stature was prepared to say so much, added Mrs. Jimba, ought
they not to have confidence? Mr. Nomura, it was true, had a
somewhat frightening face, but he also had a human warmth
all his own. He was so good to his first wife, people said,
that his ministrations in her last illness had brought tears to
their eyes.' And had he not had her picture out the night they
visited him? The Makiokas could go on and on once they set

146 the makioka sisters

out looking for defects, but inasmuch as the most important
thing for a woman was that her husband love her and be good
to her, Mrs. Jimba hoped most sincerely that they would look
upon the proposal generously and give her their answer as soon
as possible.
Sachiko, preparing the way for a later refusal, tried to answer
so that the responsibility would seem to rest with the main
house: there would be no trouble learning whether or not
Yukiko herself approved--but as for the main house, which
after all was most directly concerned--Sachiko and her husband
were only acting as agents, so to speak, and the investigation
was being conducted by the main house.
Sachiko's recovery was slow and Dr. Kushida had ordered absolute
quiet. She did not have a chance to speak to Yukiko, then,
until perhaps the fifth morning after the miai, when the two
of them chanced to be alone in the sick room.
"What did you think of Mr. Nomura, Yukiko?"
Yukiko only nodded. Sachiko went on to report the substance
of the conversation with Mrs. Jimba.
"And that is what she said. But you are so young, Yukiko,
and he looks so old beside you. It seems wrong, somehow." She
watched carefully for a change in Yukiko's expression.
"I do think he would do exactly as I wanted. I could live
as I pleased." Yukiko had nothing more revealing to say.
Sachiko thought she knew what her sister meant: that she
would be allowed to visit Sachiko whenever she liked. In most
houses it would not be easy, but she would have this small
consolation if she were to marry "the old gentleman." The average
man would find it intolerable that his bride had accepted him
only because she thought she could control him, but probably
the old gentleman would want to marry Yukiko even knowing
her reasons. Once she was married, of course, she might not
find it as easy to go out as she had thought. Yukiko being the
woman she was, the old gentleman's affections might bind her
more tightly than she would care to say. Perhaps she would soon
forget Sachiko's house--certainly she would forget it once she had
children.
One could, if one chose, be grateful that the man wanted so
earnestly to marry this too-long-unmarried sister. It was a little
Book One 147

hasty, Sachiko concluded, the great antipathy she had taken.
"If that is how you feel, Yukiko, perhaps you are right."
But Yukiko would come forth with nothing definite, however
Sachiko pressed her. "I am not sure I would want to be made
too much of," she said, smiling.
The next morning Sachiko, still in bed, sent off a note to
Tokyo reporting that the miai had taken place. There was no
answer. She was in and out of bed through the week of the
equinox. One day, lured by the spring sky, she went out to sun
herself on the veranda of her bedroom. Yukiko had gone down
into the garden from the terrace below. On the point of calling
out, Sachiko saw that her sister was enjoying the quiet moment
after Etsuko had left for school. Yukiko circled the flower bed,
inspected the budding branches of the lilac by the pond, picked
up the cat Bell, and knelt for a moment under a round-clipped
gardenia bush. Sachiko, who could only see her head bob as
Yukiko rubbed her cheek against Bell, knew well enough without
seeing her face what Yukiko was thinking: that she would soon
be called back to Tokyo, and that she hated to leave spring in
this garden behind. And she was perhaps praying that she might
still be here to see the lilac in bloom. Although no word had
come from Tsuruko in Tokyo, it was clear to the rest of the family
that Yukiko was waiting in dread and asking to be left here
even one day longer.
The reserved, quiet Yukiko was fonder of going out than one
would have guessed. Sachiko, had she been well, would have made
it a point to go each day to see a movie or do some shopping.
Unable to wait for Sachiko's recovery, Yukiko was restless each
sunny day if she could not call Taeko to wander about Kobe
with her. She would set out happily after the two of them had
arranged to meet, and it seemed that the marriage negotiations
had completely left her mind.
Taeko, thus summoned time after time to keep Yukiko company,
occasionally complained to Sachiko. Just now she was
busiest, and it was too much to be called out during the busiest
part of each afternoon.
"Yesterday something funny happened," she said one day.
The evening before, when they were buying candy in a Kobe
shop, Yukiko had suddenly turned to Taeko in consternation.
148 the makioka sisters

"What shall I do, Koi-san? There he is, there he is." Who
was, Taeko asked. Yukiko only fluttered about. "There he is,
there he is." An old gentleman Taeko did not know hurried
out from the back of the shop, where he had been drinking
coffee. "If you have nothing else to do, why not have a cup
of coffee with me? I won't take more than fifteen minutes
of your time." Yukiko, more and more confused, flushed scarlet
and murmured something unintelligible. "You really must have
a cup of coffee," the gentleman said two or three times. Finally,
seeing that Yukiko would only go on muttering to herself, he
gave up, apologized politely for having bothered them, and
went back to his table. "Hurry, Koi-san, hurry." Yukiko pressed
the shop girl to wrap the candy faster, and flew out the door.
Who was it, Taeko asked. "That man. The man I met the
other day." Taeko at length guessed that it was Nomura.
"There is no one quite like Yukiko. She could just as well
have refused, but there she stood muttering and gurgling."
"She is really quite hopeless. No better than a sixteen-year-
old."
Sachiko asked whether Yukiko had said anything about the
man. Taeko had, in fact, been entrusted with a message for
Sachiko. Although Yukiko was leaving the question of her husband
to Sachiko and Tsuruko and would marry the man they told
her to, Nomura was out of the question. Willful though it was
of her, she hoped Taeko would ask Sachiko to break off the
negotiations. Taeko, astonished at how much older the man
looked than he was said to be, thought it but natural that Yukiko
should dislike him, and was sure that his appearance was at
least one point against him, but Yukiko had had nothing in
particular to say of that. Rather she complained that she had
been distressed at having to see the pictures of his dead wife and
children after the miai. True, it was a second marriage, said
Yukiko; but had she not a right to feel uncomfortable at having
the pictures set right out in front of her? She quite understood
that the man, still alone, would want to pray for the repose of
his wife's soul; but he hardly needed to take guests into the
room where the pictures were on display. He might have hurried
to put them away--what could he have had in mind, leading them
straight to the altar and the row of pictures over it? That more than
koor Une 149

anything else had destroyed Yukiko's hopes of ever learning to
like him. He understood nothing of a woman's finer feelings.
Sachiko had finally recovered. One afternoon two or three
days later she started dressing to go out.
"I am going to Mrs. Jimba's to refuse for you, Yukiko."
"Oh."
"Koi-san told me."
"Oh."
Sachiko, as she had planned earlier, left Mrs. Jimba to infer
that the refusal had come from the main house. Upon her return
she told Yukiko only that things had been settled amicably, and
Yukiko asked for no details. Some days later, as the Doll Festival
approached, a note came from Jimba enclosing the bill from
the Peking and asking that they pay half of it. They sent a
money order by return mail, and thus the negotiations with
Nomura came to an end.
There was still no word from the main house. Now that Yukiko
had been with them a month, Sachiko began urging her to go
back to Tokyo--she could come again, said Sachiko, and, rather
than cause trouble, it might be better to go back for a time.
Because it was the custom for Etsuko to give a tea party for her
school friends each year on April 3, the Doll Festival, and because
it was also the custom for Yukiko to make cakes and sandwiches
for the occasion, Yukiko said that she would leave when the
festival was over; but in no more than three or four days, she
added, the Kyoto cherries would be in full bloom.
"You can go back after you see the cherries," said Etsuko.
"You are not to go back any earlier. You understand?"
The most eager of all to keep Yukiko a little longer was
Teinosuke. She had stayed this long, he said, and she would
only regret missing the Kyoto cherry blossoms; and besides it
would not do to have an important member missing from an
annual observance. His real motive was this: since her miscarriage,
Sachiko had become extremely emotional, and sometimes, when
the two of them were alone, she would choke up with tears;
he thought it might distract her to go cherry-viewing with her
sisters.
The outing was set for the week-end of the ninth and tenth.
Yukiko left it undecided whether she would stay long enough
150 1 HE 1VIAKIOKA 5ISTERS

to be with them; but on Saturday morning she went upstairs
and started to dress. When she had finished her face, she opened
her suitcase, and, taking out the package at the very bottom,
undid the cord. It was a kimono especially chosen for viewing
cherry blossoms.
"Did you see what she brought with her?" laughed Taeko,
who was helping Sachiko with her obi. Yukiko had left the room
for a moment.
"She keeps quiet and has everything her way," said Sachiko.
"Wait and see how she manages her husband."
Even among the cherry-viewing crowds, Sachiko wept a little
each time she passed someone with a baby. Rather upset, Teinosuke
took her home with the others on Sunday night. Three or
four days later, in mid-April, Yukiko returned to Tokyo.
BOOK TWO

SŪSŪSŪ3!SŪS!3ŪSŪS!3!3S;SŪS<3Ū

sachiko had been careful, since the attack of jaundice, to
watch the color of her eyes. A year had passed. Again
the Hirado lilies were beginning to look dirty and ragged.
The reed awning was up for the summer, and the birch chairs
had been set out on the terrace. It came to Sachiko, looking
out over the garden one afternoon, that exactly a year before,
Teinosuke had noticed the tinge of yellow in her eyes. As he had
done then, she went down into the garden and began picking
off the faded blossoms. She knew how he hated them, and she
meant to have the garden clean and neat for him--he would
be home in an hour or so. When she had been at work for
perhaps a half hour, she heard someone come up behind her.
"This gentleman says he would like to see you." 0-haru, a
strangely solemn expression on her face, handed Sachiko a calling
card.
It was Okubata's. When he called that once--was it two years
before?--he had not been encouraged to call again, and they
had avoided mentioning his name before the maids, and yet
Sachiko was sure, from her studied composure, that 0-haru knew
of the newspaper incident, and had been adroit enough to associate
Okubata with Taeko.
"Show him into the parlor. I will be just a minute."
Sachiko washed her hands, sticky from the flowers, and, after
152 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

a trip upstairs to see that she was presentable, went to receive
her caller.
"I have kept you waiting."
Okubata had on a light-colored jacket one recognized immediately
as English tweed, and gray Hannel trousers. He leaped
up with an almost affected briskness and brought himself to
attentien like a soldier. Three or four years older than Taeko,
he would now be thirty or thirty-one. When Sachiko had last
seen him, there had been something boyish about him, but in
two years he had filled out--he was on his way to becoming a
solid gentleman, one might have said. Still, as he looked at her
with an ingratiating smile, and, his head thrust slightly forward,
began talking in his high, nasal voice, she could see that very
much of the wheedling, pampered Semba boy remained.
"I have often thought of calling, but I have never been sure
you would want to see me. As a matter of fact, I have been
at the gate two or three times without being able to come in."
"How sad. And what was the trouble?"
"I lost my nerve." He laughed lightly, quite at his ease.
Whatever Okubata may have thought, Sachiko's attitude toward
him had changed since their last meeting. She had been told
a number of times by Teinosuke, whose business frequently
took him to the geisha quarters and who heard all the rumors,
that Okubata was no longer the clean youth they had once known.
He was seen about the Soemon geisha district. Worse, it seemed
that he was keeping company with a certain lady there. Did
Koi-san know the sort of person he had become, Teinosuke
wondered. If not, and if, only waiting for Yukiko to be married,
she still considered herself engaged to him, might it not be
better to tell her? There was, Teinosuke could not deny, something
to be said in the fellow's favor. Possibly he had fallen
into a fit of despondency over the difficulties in marrying Taeko,
but there was a suggestion of cynicism in his avowals of "pure
love." Since this was moreover hardly the way to behave in a
time of national crisis, even Teinosuke and his wife, who had
secretly been on Okubata's side, would find it difficult, unless
he reformed, to work in his behalf when the time came for
marriage negotiations--so said Teinosuke.
Guessing that he was more disturbed than his manner indi-
t500R I WE 1 53

cated, Sachiko decided to ask Taeko about her relation with
Okubata. She tried not to let it seem that she was forcing the
issue. Taeko replied that a fondness for geishas had run in the
Okubata family from at least the time of young Okubata's father,
and that even now his uncles and brothers frequented the teahouses.
It was wrong, then, to blame only "Kei-boy," as she
called him. And Teinosuke was quite right--Kei-boy behaved
as he did because he could not marry her. He was young, after
all, and a little dissipation was only to be expected. True, she
had not heard before of his keeping company with a geisha,
but that was probably a malicious rumor. Barring real evidence,
she would refuse to believe it. Because there was no denying,
however, that his behavior might invite criticism with the China
Incident in progress, she would tell Kei-boy to stay away from
the teahouses. He did whatever she said, and a word from her
would make him reform. Her composure seemed to proclaim
that she was not one to find fault with Kei-boy, that she already
knew everything, and that there was nothing to be surprised at.
Sachiko almost felt that she herself had lost face from the encounter.

But Teinosuke continued to worry and to make inquiries in
the pleasure quarters, even though he saw, and told Sachiko,
that Taeko's confidence left no room for them to interfere. Then,
just as he was happily noting that the rumors had died down
(perhaps Taeko's warning had had its effect), a small incident
made it seem likely that Kei-boy's dissipation had only gone
underground. At about ten one night, some two weeks before,
when Teinosuke was seeing a client home, the headlights of the
cab for an instant picked up Kei-boy staggering down the sidewalk
with the help of a lady one would take for a barmaid.
Telling the story to Sachiko that night, Teinosuke asked that
nothing be said to Taeko. There the matter had ended; but now,
with the young man before her, Sachiko felt something sly and
insincere in him. She wanted to agree with Teinosuke: "I find
it very hard to be friendly toward him any more."
"Yukiko? Oh, yes, people have been very kind, and we keep
having proposals."
Guessing that these inquiries about Yukiko were an indirect
way of saying that he wanted his own marriage to Taeko somehow
154 l HE iVIAKIOKA SISTERS

speeded up, Sachiko thought she saw the reason for the visit.
It would presently be stated openly, and what would she answer?
On his earlier visit, she had only said that she would see, and
she was confident that she had made no commitments. This
time, Teinosuke's feelings having changed so, she would have
to be even more careful. They had no intention of blocking the
marriage, of course, and yet, inasmuch as it would not do to
have Kei-boy take them for active allies, she would have to give
carefully vague answers.
Kei-boy suddenly pulled himself up and flicked an ash into
the ashtray. "As a matter of fact, I came to ask a favor about
Koi-san." Something about his tone and choice of words suggested
that he already considered Sachiko his sister-in-law.
"Oh? And what might that be?"
"You know, of course, that Koi-san has been going to Mrs.
Tamaki's sewing school these last few weeks. I have no objection
to that in itself, but she seems to have lost interest in her dolls.
She is doing no work on them worth mentioning. When I asked
her what she had in mind, she said she was finished with dolls.
She said she wanted to learn all there was to learn about sewing,
and some day to specialize in it. She has orders coming in, and
she has her pupils, and she has to go on with the dolls for a
while at least. But when the right time comes she wants to leave
everything to the pupils and give her time to sewing. And she
says that with your permission she wants to go to France for
six months or a year. She wants to be able to tell people she
has studied designing in France."
"No! Did she really say that?" Sachiko knew that Taeko had
taken up sewing in the spare time her dolls left, but this was
another matter.
"She did. I have no right to interfere in her affairs, I know,
but she has come this far by herself, and she has built up a
name because she has her own original style. Why should she
want to give it all up? No--I might understand that, but why
should she want to take up sewing? She says that for one thing,
no matter how good you are at doll-making, you are never more
than a fad, and people soon tire of you and stop buying. She
says that sewing is something necessary and practical, and the
demand for it never falls off. But why should a girl from a good
Kook Two 155___

family want to earn money by taking in sewing? She is going
to be married soon, and a girl who is going to be married ought
to stop worrying about how to support herself. I may not be very
dependable, but I have no intention of letting her starve. I
would rather she stopped pretending to be a working woman.
She is clever with her hands, and I can understand that she
has to have something to do; but think how much better it
would look if she were to take something up as a hobby, not to
make money. Something we might call artistic. No one needs to
be ashamed when a woman from a good family takes up doll-
making in her spare time. But I wish she would stop that dressmaking.
I told her I was sure the people in the main house
would agree with me, and I told her to ask them and find out
for herself."
Okubata usually had an unpleasantly lazy drawl, as if to show
how unhurried one could be when one had money; but today
he was aroused. His words seemed to run into one another.
"You have been very good to tell me all this. Of course I
will have to hear what Koi-san herself has to say."
"Do, by all means. I may be going too far, but if she really
has made up her mind, might I ask you to put in a word to
stop her? And as for the trip abroad, I certainly do not say it
would be wrong. I think it would be a fine thing for her to go
to France, if only she had something better to study. You must
forgive me for saying so, but I would even like to pay the expenses
myself. And I might go with her. But I cannot approve of this
going abroad to learn sewing. I feel very sure you would never
give your permission, and I hope you will ask her to give up the
idea. If she has to go abroad, it will not be too late after we
are married. And that will be much more convenient for me."
There were many points on which Sachiko would have trouble
coming to a conclusion without talking to Taeko, but she noted
with a mixture of hostility and amusement that Okubata talked
as though he were already publicly recognized as Taeko's future
husband. It appeared that he had expected her to greet him
with the warmest sympathy and to welcome him into a frank
and open discussion, and that he had purposely chosen an hour
when, if all went well, he might even be allowed to see Teinosuke.
After he had presented his "petition," he continued to
150 I HE IVIAKIOKA 3ISTEHS

probe for Sachiko's views. Sachiko did her best to keep the
conversation away from the main point. Thanking him for all
the kind advice about Taeko, she treated him with the most
impersonal politeness. She hastily left the room when she heard
footsteps outside.
"Kei-boy is here."
"What does he want?"
Teinosuke waited in the doorway while Sachiko gave him a
whispered summary of Okubata's business.
"In that case, there seems to be no need for me to see him."
"I think it would be better if you did not."
"Try to send him off, then."
But Okubata lingered on for another half hour. Finally, when
it became clear that he was not to see Teinosuke, he said a
cheerful goodbye and left. Sachiko offered only routine apologies
for not having entertained him better. She avoided mentioning
Teinosuke.

SiSiS^SSSi^SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS^SSSSS^!;

2

if okubata was telling the truth, then there were a number of
points Taeko must explain, but Taeko, who said she was very
busy, left each morning at about the same time as Teinosuke
and Etsuko, came back latest of all, and perhaps one evening
in three had dinner out. There was no opportunity to speak to
her that night. The next morning Sachiko stopped her as she
was about to follow Etsuko and Teinosuke out.
"There is something I must ask you, Koi-san." Sachiko led
the way into the parlor.
Taeko denied none of what Okubata had said--that she meant
to turn from doll-making to sewing, and that she wanted to study
in France, no matter for how short a time. Sachiko, as she
questioned her sister, began to see that Taeko had very good
reasons for the change in her plans, and that she had come to
it only after considerable thought.
Book Two 157

Taeko had wearied of dolls, she said, because she did not want
to go on forever wasting her time on girlish frivolities. She hoped
rather to work at something more useful. Western-style sewing
most fitted her talents, tastes, and skills, and since she would not
be starting from scratch, her progress should be rapid. (Long
interested in Western clothes, she knew how to use a sewing
machine. She made her own clothes, and clothes for Sachiko and
Etsuko too, from models in such foreign magazines as Jardin
des Modes and Vogue.) She was quite confident that she would
soon be able to stand alone. Scoffing at Okubata's view that
doll-making was artistic and dressmaking vulgar, she said that
she had no desire for an empty title like "artist." If dressmaking
was vulgar, let it be vulgar. Okubata was not as alive as he
should be to the national emergency: this was hardly a time
for dolls and children's make-believe. Was it not disgraceful for
even a woman's work to be so far from every-day life?
Sachiko could find no reason to object and was soon completely
convinced. But she saw in Taeko's new plans evidence that her
sister's affection for young Okubata had finally died. Because her
elopement had been noised in the newspapers, pride made it
difficult for Taeko to admit her mistake and discard Okubata
at once, but had she not in effect already discarded him, and
was she not merely waiting for a good opportunity to make a
formal break? This determination to learn sewing--had it not
come because she felt that, once she had left Okubata, she would
have no choice but to make her way alone? Sachiko suspected
that the young man only revealed his inability to understand
Taeko's deeper motives when he asked what could made "a girl
from a good family" want to earn money. If Sachiko was right,
then it was not hard to see why Taeko was determined to go
to France: no doubt she did mean to study dressmaking, but
was not her main purpose rather to part company with Okubata?
Taeko could be expected to think up a pretext for going alone.
As the conversation progressed, Sachiko saw that she had been
half right and half wrong. Thinking that it would be best for
Taeko to renounce Okubata with no pressure from outside, and
that Taeko had the sagacity to do at least that, Sachiko proceeded
with her questioning most circumspectly, but it became apparent,
from bits of information Taeko dropped with outward unconcern,
158 I HE makioka biSTERS

that, whether from the old pride or from deeper motives, she
had no intention at the moment of giving Okubata up. She
meant to marry him shortly, it would seem. She knew better
than anyone, Taeko said, that Kei-boy was a classic example of
the pampered Semba child. He had literally no redeeming features.
Neither Sachiko nor Teinosuke could tell her anything she
did not already know. Eight or nine years before, when she had
first fallen in love with him, she had been a carefree girl, and
she had not seen how hopeless a specimen he was; but love
was not something that. came and went depending on whether
the man in question showed promise. She could not find it in
her to reject her first love for reasons of expediency. She had
no regrets, and she was resigned to the fact that she was meant
to love the unpromising youth. It did worry her, however, to
think how they would live after they were married. Okubata was
an executive in the family corporation and could expect his
brother to give him a share of the family property when he
married. He therefore took the sanguine view that there was
nothing to worry about. Taeko for her part could not help feeling
that he would only eat up his capital. Even now he was by no
means staying within his income, and she had heard that every
month, with bills from teahouses and tailors and haberdashers
to pay, he would go crying to his mother for money from her
personal savings. That could last only while she lived, of course.
Taeko was sure that if anything were to happen to the mother,
Kei-boy's brothers would very shortly put a stop to the extravagance.
However wealthy the Okubata family might be, Kei-boy
was the third son, and, with his oldest brother already head of
the family, he could not expect a large settlement, especially
if the brother disapproved of his marrying Taeko. And since,
even if the settlement should be a fairly large one, Okubata
would very probably indulge in speculation and become an easy
target for swindlers, the day might well come when he would
be turned out penniless by his family. Taeko could not shake off
these forebodings. Because she did not want people to point at
her with superior wisdom when the unhappy day came, she
meant from the start to have her own independent livelihood--
better, to have a means of supporting her husband. That, said
Taeko, was one reason for her decision to learn dressmaking.

Book Two 159

Sachiko could see too that Taeko was determined not to join
the main family in Tokyo. Yukiko had said that they were much
too crowded to be summoning new additions, but it seemed clear
that even if the summons were to come, Taeko would now
ignore it. Taeko said that with her brother-in-law so bent on
economy, she would not mind if he reduced her allowance. She
had her savings and the income from her dolls. The expenses at
the main house being heavy--there were six growing children
to look after, and there was Yukiko--Taeko wanted somehow
to lessen the burden, she said. She hoped that one day she might
get along with no allowance at all. But there were favors she
wanted in return. She wanted her brother-in-law's permission to
go to France, perhaps the following year, and she wanted him
to let her have part, or all, of the money her father had left
for her wedding expenses. She did not know how large a sum
Tatsuo was holding, but she thought it would probably be at
least enough to pay for six months or a year in Paris and for
passage both ways. If she used up the whole of it and there
was nothing left to pay for her wedding, she could not complain.
Taeko then asked Sachiko to choose a good time--it did not
have to be immediately--for approaching the main house. Taeko
would not mind going herself to state her case. The idea of
having Okubata pay for the trip was out of the question. He
was fond of making such offers, but what in fact could he do?
Taeko knew the answer better than Okubata himself. Possibly
he meant to go crying to his mother again, but Taeko disliked
the thought of taking money from him before they were married.
Even after they were married, she had no intention of touching
his property, and indeed she meant to keep him from touching
it himself. She wanted to make her way alone, she would see to
it that he did not come bothering Sachiko again, and she hoped
that Sachiko would worry herself no more.
Teinosuke, upon hearing all this from his wife, said he thought
it best not to interfere. They should see how serious Taeko
was, and if it appeared that her decision was final, they could
take up the task of winning over the main house. So the matter
ended.
Taeko was as busy as ever. She denied that she was no longer
interested in dolls. It was true that she would as soon stop work,
160 the makioka sisters

but for many reasons she had to work harder than ever: orders
were coming in, and she wanted to save a little more money,
and it was costing her a great deal to live, and so on. And, she
added, the knowledge that sooner or later she would give up
doll-making only made her the more eager. She wanted to leave
behind as many masterpieces as she possibly could. She also went
for an hour or two every day to Mrs. Tamaki's sewing school,
and she still kept up her dancing.
It appeared that the dancing was more than a hobby. She
hoped to become a teacher. She went once a week to practice
under Yamamura Saku, the second dance mistress to carry that
name. Saku, a granddaughter of the Kabuki actor Ichikawa
Sagijuro, was popularly known as Sagi-saku. Of the two or three
schools that called themselves Yamamura, Sagi-saku's was said
to be truest to the old tradition. Her studio was in second Hoor
rooms up a narrow alley in one of the pleasure quarters, and
most of her pupils were professional ladies. Only a few were
amateurs, and among them still fewer could really be called chaste
young women. Taeko always brought her dancing kimono and
fan with her and changed in a corner of the studio. As she
waited among the professionals for her turn, she would watch
the dancing and now and then nod to a geisha acquaintance.
Her behavior was not at all improper when one considered her
age, but she was uncomfortably aware that the others, even Saku,
took her to be no more than twenty, and thought her a pert
and knowing young lady indeed. Saku's pupils, amateurs and
professionals alike, were much grieved to see the Osaka dance
lose to the Tokyo dance. In their devotion to the Yamamura
school and their desire to show the Osaka dance to the world,
some of the more enthusiastic among them had formed a club
called the Daughters of Osaka, which presented a dance recital
once a month at the home of Mrs. Kamisugi, widow of an
Osaka lawyer. Taeko occasionally danced in the recitals--such
was her devotion to the art.
Teinosuke and Sachiko always took Etsuko and Yukiko to the
recitals in which Taeko was to appear. Presently they came to
know the other Daughters of Osaka. Toward the end of April,
Taeko brought a request from one of the officers that they be
allowed to use the Ashiya house for the June recital. The Daugh-
Boofe Two _____________________161____

ters had been inactive since July of the preceding year because
of the China Incident. But since theirs was such an unpretentious
organization, no one could object to its having an occasional
recital even in time of crisis, said one of the members, provided
it took care to purge itself of frivolity, and they might well
change the meeting place occasionally, lest the burden on Mrs.
Kamisugi be too heavy. Sachiko, very fond of the dance, replied
that the group would be most welcome, though she could not
offer the facilities Mrs. Kamisugi could. Because it would be a
nuisance to bring Mrs. Kamisugi's portable stage from Osaka,
they decided to move the furniture from the two Western-style
rooms on the first floor of the Ashiya house, to have the dances
before a gold screen in the dining room, and to seat the guests
on the parlor carpet as on the matted floor of an old-style
theater. The dressing room was to be upstairs, the recital was
to be from one to four on the afternoon of the first Sunday in
June, and Taeko was to dance "Snow."
From the beginning of May, Taeko went to Osaka two or
three times a week to practice, and for a week from about the
twentieth Saku herself came out to Ashiya every day. Saku, who
was fifty-seven and naturally delicate, and who to make matters
worse had in recent years been suffering from a kidney ailment,
almost never went out. For her to go all the way from the south
end of Osaka to Ashiya in the summer heat was quite unprecedented.
No doubt she wanted to show her gratitude to Taeko,
so devoted to the Osaka dance that she did not hesitate to
mingle with professional ladies, but in addition she may have
seen that she could not continue to live in retirement if she
meant to revive the fortunes of the Yamamura school. Etsuko,
who had been resigned to the fact that Saku's studio was not
the place for her, announced that she too would like to take
up dancing. Saku replied that she would not at all mind visiting
Ashiya ten days or so a month.
Saku generally told them when they might expect her the
following day, but she never arrived on time. She would be an
hour or two late, and when the weather was bad she would not
come at all. Taeko, busy with her dolls, soon found the answer:
she had someone telephone when Saku arrived, and while she
was hurrying home, Etsuko had a lesson.
162 the makioka sisters

After Saku had talked twenty minutes or a half hour with
Sachiko, they would slowly begin to clear away the furniture.
Humming the accompaniment and demonstrating the steps and
gestures, Saku would soon be gasping for breath. Sometimes
she would arrive with blanched face and report that she had
had a kidney attack the evening before. Fond of telling people
that she had to stay healthy for her dancing, however, she appeared
not to let the illness worry her. She was also fond of saying that
she was no talker, but as a matter of fact she was an excellent
conversationalist and mimic, and she had no trouble leaving
Sachiko helpless with laughter. Perhaps it was a talent she had
inherited from her actor grandfather. Her face, when one thought
about it, was rather long and bold for her frail body, and suggested
theater breeding. One could not help thinking how it would
have become her, had she been born long ago, to shave her
eyebrows and blacken her teeth, and wear long, trailing skirts
in the old manner. A thousand expressions moved over her face
as she went through one of her imitations. She could take on
another's mannerisms as she would put on a mask.
Back from school, Etsuko would change to the unfamiliar
kimono--she almost never wore Japanese clothes except to go
viewing cherry blossoms--and Japanese socks that happened to
be a little too large for her, take up the Yamamura fan with
its Hower-and-wave pattern, and dance the opening lines of "Ebisu
Fair":

The April cherries bloom at Omuro.
To the sound of samisen and drum,
One face turns to the other.

In the long summer afternoon, the last of the Hirado lilies
glowed as if aflame. It was still daylight when Etsuko finished
and Taeko began her "Snow." The two younger Stolz children,
who played in the parlor with Etsuko almost every evening after
school, stared curiously in from the terrace, resigned to having
lost their playmate and playground. Sometimes the older boy,
Peter, would join them. One day Fritz came inside.
"Miss Saku." He imitated Sachiko.
i ee-es.^
"Miss Saku." Rosemarie joined in.
"Yeees?"
"Miss Saku."
"Ye-e-es?" With the utmost seriousness, Saku kept up her part
of the game with the little blue-eyed foreigners.

!S<S<S^S!^s?^<S<SS^S^S^^^<5^5<5si^^

3

"koi-san, the photographer wants to know is it all right for him
to come in."
Opening the recital with a special attraction, Saku had had
Etsuko dance first. Etsuko was still in her dance kimono when
she came upstairs.
"Please."
Taeko, dressed for her dance, was leaning against a pillar
while 0-haru helped her into her socks. Only her eyes turned
toward Etsuko--the heavy Japanese coiffure did not move. Etsuko
of course knew that this young aunt, to be ready for the recital,
had for some ten days been wearing kimono rather than foreign
dress and tying her hair up in the Japanese manner, and yet
the change seemed to come as a fresh surprise. Taeko's kimono
was the undermost of Tsuruko's three wedding kimonos. Because
the gathering was to be such a small one, and because the times
did not permit extravagance, Taeko had decided not to have
a new kimono made. Discussing the problem with Sachiko, she
remembered that the wedding kimonos were still at the main
Osaka house. Sachiko's father, in his most prosperous period, had
commissioned three famous artists to paint the designs, representations
of the "three scenic spots of Japan": the shrine at
Itsukushima on a black ground, the pine-covered islands of Matsushima
Bay on a red ground, and the strand at Amanohashidate
on a white ground. The kimono was almost new, having been
worn only at the wedding some sixteen or seventeen years before.
164 the makioka sisters

In the white kimono and a black damask obi, Taeko seemed
larger and more mature than usual and somehow more like
Sachiko. Her full, rather round face had taken on a weight and
dignity lacking when she wore foreign clothes.
"Photographer." Etsuko called to a young man, twenty-six or
twenty-seven, who stood looking in at Taeko. Only his head
showed over the stairs. "She says for you to come in."
"Please, Etsuko. It is rude to call the gentleman 'Photographer.'
Say 'Mr. Itakura.'"
Itakura was already in the room. "Stand exactly as you are,
Koi-san." He knelt down in the door and aimed his Leica at
her. He took five or six pictures in quick succession, from the
front, the back, the left, and the right.
Etsuko's dance had been followed by "Dark Hair," "The Maiden
at the Well," and "Great Buddha." After the fifth dance, "Gift
from Edo," by one of Saku's leading disciples, there was an
intermission for refreshments. The audience in the parlor, limited
to the families of the dancers, came to no more than twenty or
thirty people. In the very front row, Fritz and Rosemarie Stolz
had been watching solemnly from the very beginning, a little
uncomfortable on Japanese-style cushions. Their mother sat outside
on the terrace. She had said when she heard of the recital
that she must see it, and she came in through the garden at a signal
from Fritz that Etsuko was about to begin. No, the terrace
would do nicely--she watched from a rattan chair someone
brought her.
"You are being very good today, Fritz." Saku came from behind
the gold screen, where she had been helping the dancers. She
wore a formal black kimono embroidered with her family crest.
"They are behaving beautifully," said Mrs. Kamisugi. "What
nationality are they?"
"They are friends of the little girl here, German children.
We have become great friends ourselves. They call me 'Miss
Saku.'"
"Really? They seem most interested."
"And see how properly they sit."
"Little German girl--I am sure someone told me your name."
Saku had trouble remembering Rosemarie's name. "Are you and
Fritz comfortable on the floor? Stretch your legs if you like."
JBoofe 'I we 165

Fritz and Rosemarie sat in stem silence. They hardly seemed
the Stolz children with whom Etsuko played every day.
"Can you eat this food, Mrs. Stolz?" Teinosuke noticed that
Mrs. Stolz was using the chopsticks most inexpertly as she attacked
the dish on her knee--and that it was a Japanese delicacy of a
sort foreigners were thought not to eat. "You must End it impossible.
Bring Mrs. Stolz something she can eat, someone." He
saw 0-hana pouring tea. "Bring a piece of cake for Mrs. Stolz.
Take that other away."
"No, really. I am doing very well."
"You mean you can eat it?"
"I like it ... very much," said Mrs. Stolz in hesitant Japanese.
"Really? You really like it? Bring the lady a spoon."
It appeared that she was telling the truth, and she left not a
grain of rice on the plate when 0-hana had brought her a
spoon.
Taeko's dance was to come after the intermission. Teinosuke,
very much on edge, had been up and down the stairs any number
of times. Just when they thought he had finally settled down
among the guests, he would be off up the stairs again.
"It is almost time."
"I am quite ready, as you can see."
Sachiko, Etsuko, and the photographer Itakura sat at Taeko's
feet. Refreshments had been brought to them too. Taeko, a
napkin spread over her lap, took the food in tiny bites, so as
not to disturb her make-up. Her full lips, opened into a round
"O," seemed fuller than ever, and after each bite she took a
sip from the teacup 0-haru held for her.
"You are not eating?" Sachiko asked her husband.
"I ate downstairs. Is it all right for Koi-san to eat so much? I
know they say an army never fights on an empty stomach, but
do you dance when you are stuffed?"
"She had almost no lunch. She says she is so weak from
hunger that she might collapse right in the middle of her dance."
"But the singers in the puppet theater go without food until
they have finished a performance. I know dancing and singing
are different, but ought you to be eating so much?"
"I am really eating very little. It looks like more because I
have to take such tiny bites."
166 the makioka listers

"I have been admiring her," said Itakura.
"Why?"
"She struggles away at it like a goldfish eating bread, and yet
she does manage to put it down."
"I thought you were staring harder than you needed to."
"You do look like a goldfish, Koi-san." Etsuko laughed happily.
"I have had lessons in how to eat."
"From whom?"
"From geishas who come to Miss Saku's. Once they have on
their make-up, they have to keep their lips dry. The trick is to
put food deep in the mouth without touching the lips. They
practice when they are very young, on the drippiest things they
can find."
"You have a most remarkable store of knowledge."
"And did you come to see the dancing, Mr. Itakura?" asked
Teinosuke.
"Yes. But more to take pictures."
"You mean to use the pictures on postcards?"
"Not this time. It is not often you see Koi-san with her hair
up. These pictures are to remember the occasion by."
"He is taking them for nothing," said Taeko.
Itakura had opened a small studio where he specialized in
"art photography." Once an apprentice in the Okubata shop, he
had gone to American before being graduated from middle school,
and had studied photography in Hollywood for five or six years--
it was said that he had hoped to become a movie photographer,
but had not found his chance. When, upon his return, he opened
a studio, his employer, the brother of Taeko's "Kei-boy," lent
him money and introduced him to prospective customers, and
Kei-boy recommended him to Taeko, just then looking for someone
to take advertising pictures. He now did all the photographs
for her pamphlets and postcards, and was himself able to advertise
through her. Knowing of her affair with young Okubata, he was
most respectful toward her, sometimes behaving almost as if he
were a servant. A certain American-style forwardness helped him
work his way into any opening offered, and--they hardly knew
how--he had somehow become very close to the Makioka family,
on the best of terms with the maids. He liked to tell 0-haru
that he would have Sachiko talk her into marrying him.
tSOOR 1WO 107

"It is free?" said Teinosuke. "Maybe we should all have our
pictures taken."
"Let me take a picture of the whole family. Suppose you line
up with Koi-san in the middle."
"What order do you suggest?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Makioka behind the chair. And now Miss
Etsuko on Koi-san's right."
"We must put 0-ham in too."
"0-haru will fit in to the left."
"If only Yukiko were here," said Etsuko.
"That would be nice," Sachiko agreed. "She will be very sorry
when she hears what she missed."
"You should have invited her down. Mother. You had a whole
month."
"I did think about it. But after all, she only went back in
April."
Itakura looked up startled. He was sure that as he turned his
range-finder toward them he had seen tears in Sachiko's eyes.
Teinosuke noticed at almost the same time. What could be the
reason? He was often caught off guard by her tears when something
would remind her of the child she had lost, but today
there must be another reason. Seeing Taeko in that white kimono,
had Sachiko thought of the day long before when her other
sister had worn the same kimono? Did she wonder when Taeko
would put on a wedding kimono in earnest? And had it made
her sad to think that they must first find a solution to the problem
of Yukiko? He felt an answering wave of emotion as it occurred
to him that someone besides Yukiko would be sorry to have
missed the recital. But possibly Okubata had arranged for Itakura
to be here in his place--very probably he had.
"Satoyu." The pictures finished, Taeko called to a girl perhaps
twenty-two or three, evidently a geisha, who was kneeling before
a mirror in a corner of the room. Her dance was to follow Taeko's.
"May I ask you a favor?"
"And what might it be?"
"Would you step across the hall with me for a minute?"
There were a number of professionals among the dancers today,
two geishas and several teachers. This Satoyu, a geisha
from the Soemon quarter, was a favorite pupil of Saku's.
_____ 108 1 HE MAKIOKA LISTERS

"I have never danced in long skirts before. I am not at all
sure I can manage. Would you give me a little coaching on how
not to trip?"
"But I am not sure myself that I can keep from tripping."
"Oh, come now." Taeko led the young geisha across the hall.
They could hear samisen and kokyu1 being tuned below.
"Koi-san, Mr. Makioka says to hurry." Itakura went to call
her when she had been shut up with Satoyu twenty or thirty
minutes.
The door opened and Taeko came out, satisfied with what
she had learned.
"Would you mind holding up the train please?" She had
Itakura help her downstairs.
Teinosuke, Sachiko, and Etsuko followed. Teinosuke quietly
took his place in the audience.
"You know who that is, Fritz?" He tapped the German boy
on the shoulder.
Fritz nodded curtly and turned to watch the dancing.

SSSSSt5ŪSŪSŪSŪS!SŪSS!SŪSSSŪSŪSi

4

it was the morning of July 5, just a month after the dance
recital.
Even for the rainy season, there had been more rain than
usual. It rained all through June and on into July, when the
rainy season should have been over. From the third through the
fourth it rained, and on the morning of the fifth the slow rain
turned into a downpour. Even so, no one foresaw that but two
hours would bring the most disastrous flood in the history of
the Kobe-Osaka district. At about seven, Etsuko, bundled against
the rain, but not especially worried, started out as usual with
0-haru. Her school was some three or four hundred yards south
of the National Highway, not far from the west bank of the

1 A sort of bowed samisen.

Book Two 109

Ashiya River. 0-haru, who usually came back after seeing the
child across the highway, felt that in such a storm she must go
as far as the school. She was not back at the house until
eight-thirty. Her interest aroused by the flood warnings the youths
of the Home Defense Corps were spreading, she made a detour
along the embankment, and she reported that the water was
frightening around Narihira Bridge, almost as high as the bridge
already. Still no one suspected the danger. "Do you think you
should go out in this rain?" said Sachiko when some ten or
twenty minutes after 0-haru's return Taeko put on a green
oiled-silk raincoat and overshoes and started to go out, but Taeko,
off this morning not to her studio but to the sewing school, only
laughed and said that a small flood might be interesting. Sachiko
did not try to stop her. Only Teinosuke decided to wait until
the rain had let up a little. He was killing time over some
papers in his study when he heard the siren.
The rain was at its very worst. He looked out and saw that,
although the lowest part of the garden, under the plums by the
study--water was likely to collect there after even a trifling
shower--had become a pond two yards square, there was nothing
to suggest a crisis. Since the house was a half mile or so from
the west bank of the Ashiya River, he felt no particular alarm.
But then he thought of Etsuko's school, much nearer the river.
If the embankment had given way, might it not have been by
the school? Would the school be safe? Not wanting to frighten
Sachiko, he tried to calm himself. After some minutes he ran
into the main house. (He was soaking wet even after the five
or six steps that separated his study from the house.) The siren
was probably nothing serious, he said to Sachiko. As he put on
a raincoat over his kimono and started out for a look around the
neighborhood, 0-haru came from the kitchen, her face pale and
her clothes sodden from the hips down. A terrible thing, she
said; she had been worried about the school after seeing the
flood waters in the river, and she had run out in alarm when she
heard that siren. The water, she said, had come as far as the
next street east, and was running in a torrent from the mountains
to the sea, north to south. She had made a try at crossing, but
after two or three steps the water was up to her knees. Just when
she was beginning to fear that she would be swept away, someone
170 "I HE makioka sisters

shouted at her from a roof nearby. She was sternly reprimanded--
what the devil did a woman mean trying to cross a torrent like
that? The fellow was in what seemed to be a Home-Defense
uniform--but she saw that it was the young green grocer. "Yaotsune,
what are you doing here?" At that, he recognized her too.
"Where do you think you are going, 0-haru? Have you lost
your mind?" Not even a man could go farther, he said, and
near the river the destruction was fearful--houses were falling
people were dying. There had apparently been landslides in the
upper reaches of both the Ashiya River and the Koza River,
0-haru learned; houses and mud and boulders and trees had
dammed up against the north side of the railroad bridge, and
the embankments had given way on both sides. The streets
below the breaks were seething maelstroms, in some places as
much as ten feet deep. People were calling for help from second-
storey windows. How was the school? she asked. He did not
really know, but since the destruction was worst to the north of
the National Highway, possibly the lower areas had escaped. He
had heard too that the danger was far greater on the east bank
than on the west. She could not rest until she had seen for
herself, said 0-haru. Might there not be a roundabout way she
could take? But the man replied that you could go nowhere
without running into water, and that it only got deeper the
farther east you went. The deep water was bad enough, but
the current was so strong that you were in danger of being
swept away to sea; and it was the end if a boulder or a tree
came down on you. The men of the Home Defense Corps were
crossing on ropes at the risk of their lives, but that was nothing
for a woman to try. 0-haru gave up and came home.
Teinosuke tried to telephone the school, but the line was already
out. "Very well, I shall go see for myself," he said. He did
not remember what Sachiko answered. He remembered only that
she gazed at him with tear-filled eyes and clung to him for a
moment. He changed his kimono for his oldest foreign-style clothes
and put on a macintosh, a rain hat, and rubber boots. Before he
had gone fifty yards he saw that 0-haru was following him. Instead
of the loose summer dress she had worn on her earlier
venture, she had on a cotton kimono with the sleeves tied up and
Book Two 171

the skirt hitched up into the obi to show the red under-kimono.
There was no need for her to come along, he shouted; she was to
go home immediately. But she answered that she would go with
him only a little of the way. It might be better to go south, she
said, and led him south, parallel to the river, until they came to
the national highway. Following a circuitous route as much to the
south as possible, he came to within a hundred yards of the
Kobe-Osaka electric line without getting especially wet, but to
reach the school he had to cross a torrent. The water was fortunately
only about as high as the tops of his boots. As he approached
the old National Highway, he was surprised to note that it was
even shallower. From there he could see the school, and the faces
of the children in the second-storey windows. "Fine, fine, the
school is safe," he heard a happy voice behind him, speaking to
no one in particular. 0-haru was still with him. He had been following
her, and he could not remember when he had passed her.
The current was fairly swift. With his boots full of water, he had
to brace himself at each step to keep from being swept away.
0-haru, much shorter than he, was already wet to the waist. Having
given up protecting herself from the rain, she was using her
umbrella as a staff and clutching at fences and telephone poles as
she followed some distance behind him. 0-haru was famous for
talking to herself. "How nice," or, "Whatever will he do now?"
she would say in the movies, the delight or the suspense too much
for her. The other maids all complained that it embarrassed them
beyond measure to go to the movies with her, and Teinosuke
could not help feeling a little amused as he saw how the old
quirk had come out in this crisis too.
Sachiko moved restlessly about the house after Teinosuke left.
When the rain seemed to let up a little, she went outside. Stopping
a cab from the garage in front of the Ashiya River Station,
she asked about the school. He had not been in that section of
town himself, the driver said, but it appeared to be as safe as any.
Though cut off by flood waters, the school itself, on high ground,
had no doubt escaped. Sachiko was much relieved. If the Ashiya
River was bad, added the driver, the Sumiyoshi River was far
worse. The Government line, the electric line, and the National
Highway all being cut, he had no exact information; but people
172 the makioka sisters

walking from the west reported that, although there was little
water as far as Motoyama and by following the tracks one could
reach that station without getting wet, everything farther west was
under a sea of muddy water; that waves were thundering from the
mountains, piling one on another and breaking over in a violent
backwash; that all manner of debris was coming down with them;
that nothing could be done to help the people clinging to bits
of matting and wood in the torrent.
Sachiko had to worry about Taeko, then, instead of Etsuko.
Taeko's sewing school was no more than two or three hundred
yards from the Sumiyoshi River, and, from the driver's story,
must certainly be in the middle of the flood. Taeko generally
walked to the National Highway and took a bus from there. The
driver remembered having passed her on the way down--she had
had on a green raincoat, he said; and if she was starting out then,
she must have reached the school very shortly before the flood
came down. Sachiko should be much more worried about the sewing
school than about Etsuko's school. For no reason at all,
Sachiko ran back into the house and called out in the loudest
voice she could muster:
"0-haru!"
0-haru had gone out with Mr. Makioka and had not yet come
back, she was told. With that she screwed up her face and wailed
like a little child.
0-aki and 0-hana stared at her in mute surprise. Embarrassed,
Sachiko fled from the parlor to the terrace, and, still sniffling,
down to the lawn. She saw Mrs. Stoiz's pale face over the net-
wire fence between the two gardens.
"Mrs. Makioka. Your husband? Etsuko's school?"
"My husband has gone after Etsuko. But the school seems to be
all right. And your husband?"
"To Kobe. Peter and Rumi. I am very worried."
Of the three Stolz children, Fritz was still too young for school,
but Rosemarie and Peter went to the school run by the German
Club, high in the Kobe hills. It had once been the usual thing for
the father and the two children to start out together in the morning,
Mr. Stoiz's office being in Kobe; but with the China incident,
business had fallen off, and, as his trips to Kobe had become
Book I we 173

less frequent, the two children would often start out by themselves.
This morning too the father had stayed home. Later, worried
about the children, he had determined to go to Kobe. At
the time, of course, they had not known how serious a flood it
was, and it had not occurred to them that the railway lines would
be out, and Mrs. Stolz only hoped he had gotten through safely.
It was not easy to talk to Mrs. Stolz, who was less adept at Japanese
than her children, but somehow, mixing in her own almost
nonexistent English, Sachiko managed to convey her meaning.
"I am very sure he will be back safe. And the flood is only in
Ashiya and Sumiyoshi, and the children in Kobe will be quite all
right. I really think so--you have nothing to worry about."
After repeating her assurances several times, Sachiko went back
into the house. Very shortly Teinosuke and 0-haru brought Etsuko
in through the front gate, which Sachiko had left open.
Etsuko's school had not been damaged. Because much of the
surrounding land was flooded, however, and there was a possibility
that the water would rise higher, classes had been dismissed
and the children had been gathered on the second floor, where
they waited for fathers and brothers to call for them. Etsuko had
therefore not felt in danger herself, and had only been wondering
about the house. Teinosuke was among the earliest parents to arrive.
After thanking the principal and Etsuko's teacher, he started
back with Etsuko and 0-haru over more or less the same route.
It was then that Teinosuke was glad 0-haru was with him. She
had astonished everyone when, mud and all, she fell upon Etsuko
in her delight at seeing that the child was safe; and on the way
back she walked upcurrent to shield Teinosuke. The water was
two or three inches higher and the current much swifter than
when they had crossed but a short time before. Teinosuke had to
carry Etsuko on his back. He found that it was extremely difficult
to walk, and if 0-haru had not been there to divide the current
for him he would have been in danger venturing even one step
into it. The task was not an easy one for 0-haru, who was sometimes
in water to her waist. They followed a street to the west,
cross current, and at the intersections they were sometimes in real
danger. At one intersection there was a rope for them to cling to,
at another they were pulled out by a Home Defense patrol; but
174 the makioka sisters

at a third there was no such help, and they barely managed to
get across by clinging to each other and leaning on 0-haru's umbrella.

Sachiko had no time to be happy or to thank them. She could
hardly wait for the end of the story.
"Yes, but what about Koi-san?" She was in tears again.

!SSi@t5sS>S>Ss3<S?S?3s;S3<aSS7.Ģ^2^27^^

5

it usually took no more than a half hour for Teinosuke to go
to and from the school. Today it had taken upwards of an hour.
By the time he returned, information about the Sumiyoshi flood
was fairly detailed, if somewhat confusing: the district west of
Tanaka had become one great, swirling river; the sewing school
was in the worst of the flood; south of the National Highway, the
Konan Market and the golf course had literally become an arm
of the sea; people and animals were dead and injured by the score,
houses were collapsing. The news Sachiko had gathered, in short,
was all bad.
But Teinosuke, who had been through the TokyoYokohama
earthquake, knew how reports could be exaggerated. Citing the
earthquake, he sought to comfort the already despairing Sachiko.
Since it was said that one could go as far as Motoyama, he would
go see for himself. If the flood was really as bad as reports had
it, he said, he could not hope to go farther, but he doubted very
much that it was. He had seen at the time of the earthquake that
even in the worse calamities surprisingly few people died. Long
after the outsider had concluded that there was absolutely no
hope, people somehow managed to get through. In any case, it
was much too soon to begin weeping. Sachiko was to compose
herself and wait for him. She was not to worry if he was a little
late. He would do nothing rash. He would turn back as soon as it
appeared that he could go no farther. Taking along a light lunch
and shoving a little brandy and some first-aid medicines into his
book I we 175

pocket, he started out in low shoes and plus-fours--he had had
enough of the rubber boots.
The sewing school was a little more than two miles away by
the Government Line. Teinosuke, who was fond of walking, knew
the area well and had passed the school itself a number of times.
He pinned his hopes chiefly on the fact that the Konan Girls'
Academy lay across the street south of the tracks, perhaps a mile
beyond Motoyama Station, and the sewing school a little to the
west of it, a hundred yards or so directly south from the tracks;
and that if he could follow the tracks as far as the academy, he
might be able to go on to the sewing school, or at least to see
whether or not it was damaged. 0-haru was after him again, but
this time he was firm: she was not to come, he said harshly. She
was to stay with Sachiko and Etsuko, whom he did not want to
leave alone. About fifty yards north of the house he came to the
tracks. For the first few hundred yards there was no water at all,
except two or three feet in the open rice paddies. As he left the
wooded section, the water to the south disappeared, but near
Motoyama the south side of the tracks was again under water.
The tracks themselves still being dry, he did not feel endangered.
Each time he met a group of students from one of the Konan
academies, however, and asked what lay beyond, he received the
same answer: this was nothing to what he would find the other
side of Motoyama--he had only to go a little farther and everything
would be one solid sea. He wanted to go on to the west of
the Konan Girls' Academy, he said, and they all answered that
that was the worst flooded section of all. The water had still been
rising when they had left school, and by now probably even the
tracks were under water.
At Motoyama the water was indeed frightening. Teinosuke
went into the station to rest a moment. The street in front of the
station was already under water, and students and station attendants
were taking turns sweeping out the water that seeped through
the barrier of sandbags and matting at the entrance. Teinosuke
feared that if he loitered too long he too might have to man a
broom. Finishing his cigarette, he started along the tracks in a yet
fiercer downpour.
The water was as yellow and muddy as the Yang-tze, and here
_____176 the makioka sisters

and there spotted with something viscous and chocolate-colored.
Soon Teinosuke himself was in water. He noticed with surprise
that he was crossing the bridge over the little Tanaka brook, now
a roaring torrent. Beyond the bridge the water was shallower again;
but though the tracks were dry, the water was fairly high on both
sides. He stopped and looked ahead, and saw what the students
had meant when they said he would find "one solid sea." It would
have been out of place, perhaps, to use words like "grand" or
"majestic," but as a matter of fact Teinosuke looked first at the
flood less with horror than with a sort of reverent awe. This was
a region of fields, pine groves, and brooks, dotted by old farm
houses and the red roofs of foreign-style houses on land sloping
gently from Mt. Rokko to Osaka Bay--Teinosuke was fond of
saying that even for this bright, dry Osaka-Kobe region, it was
bright and dry and good for walking. Now it had become a torrent
that made one think of the Yang-tze or the Yellow River
in flood. Even for a flood it was extraordinary: great waves rolled
from Mt. Rokko one after another, breaking and roaring and
sending up sheets of foam, as if in an enormous caldron. It seemed
less a river than a black, boiling sea, with the mid-summer surf at
its most violent. The railroad stretched ahead like a pier out into
the sea, in some places almost under water, in others a twisted
ladder of rails and ties, the land beneath having been torn away.
He noticed a pair of little crabs scuttling along at his feet. No
doubt they were from one of the brooks, and had fled to the
tracks before the rising water.
If he had been alone, he would probably have turned back, but
he was with another group of students from the Konan Boys'
Academy. The excitement had begun an hour or two after they
reached school. With classes dismissed, they had walked through
the swirling water as far as Okamoto Station only to find that the
electric line was not running. They then walked on to Motoyama
and found that the Government Line too was cut. After resting
for a time in the station (it had been they who were sweeping
back the water), they became uneasy at the rising water, and decided
to divide into two groups, one headed for Osaka, the other
for Kobe, to see how far they could go along the tracks. All healthy,
vigorous boys, they had no sense of danger, and they would
shout with delight when one of their number fell into the water.
koor. iwo 177

Following close after them, Teinosuke stepped uncertainly from
one tie to another where the ground had been cut away and the
torrent roared below. He had not noticed in the roar that someone
was calling them. Fifty yards or so ahead a train was stalled,
and students from the same school were leaning out the windows
and urging them on. And where do you think you are going? the
students on the train wanted to know. It was dangerous to go on,
the Sumiyoshi River was terrible, there was no crossing, why not
get on the train and wait? Teinosuke gave up any thought of
going farther and climbed in with them.
It was a third-class car on an express for Kobe. There were numerous
people aboard besides the students. Several families of
Koreans were huddled together off by themselves, no doubt driven
from their homes by the flood. An old woman who seemed to be
ill had her maid with her, and before long she was praying aloud.
A clothes peddler shivered in a linen half-kimono and drawers,
his wares in a large, muddy cloth bundle beside him, his kimono
and woolen stomach-band spread to dry. Their number having
increased, the students were livelier than ever. One of them took a
box of caramels from his pocket and passed it around to his
friends. Another pulled off his rubber boots, dumped out the
gravel, and sat staring at his white, puffy feet. A third, taking off
his student's uniform, proceeded to dry himself. Others, reluctant
to sit down in their wet clothes, stood in the aisles. They took
turns at the windows. Look, a roof. A mat. Some wood. A bicycle
--look, look, a bicycle!
"A dog. Shall we help it in?"
"It must be dead."
"It is not, it is not. Look, on the tracks."
A muddy, medium-sized cur, part terrier, one would have
guessed, huddled shivering in the shelter of the car. Two or three
of the students climbed down with much shouting to help it into
the train. Once inside, the dog shook itself and lay quietly before
the boys who had helped it, looking up at them with frightened,
bewildered eyes. It only sniffed at the caramel one of them offered.
Teinosuke, too, was wet and cold. He took off his raincoat and
jacket and spread them on the seat, and, after a swallow or two of
brandy, lighted a cigarette. Though his wrist watch said one, he
was still not hungry. Looking to the north, he saw that the train
178 the makioka sisters

was directly opposite the Second Motoyama Primary School, from
the windows of which water was pouring as through a giant sluice.
It would be no more than fifty yards or so to the Konan Girls'
Academy, then. On an ordinary day he could have been there in
two minutes. The students were quieter. As if by agreement, they
had all taken on solemn expressions. Even to the young, there
was no denying that the time for laughter had passed. The tracks
along which Teinosuke had walked from Motoyama Station were
under water, and the short stretch the train stood on was now an
island in the flood. Soon it too might be under water, or the water
would be gnawing away the embankment.
The level of the flood was meanwhile creeping up the embankment,
here six or seven feet high. A muddy wave from the
hills broke with a roar as of the surf upon a beach, throwing a
sheet of spray into the cars. The passengers hastily closed the windows
to the north. Outside, muddy current struck muddy current,
boiling and whirling and foaming. A man in a postman's uniform
came running from the car ahead, and after him fifteen or sixteen
other passengers, and the conductor.
"Would you all move back one more car, please. The water
ahead is over the tracks."
The passengers picked up their baggage and their wet clothes
and boots and hurried into the car behind.
"Can we use the berths?" It was a third-class sleeper.
"Go ahead. This is no time to worry about fares," said the conductor.

Several of the students tried lying down, but most of them were
soon up and looking out the windows again. The roar of the
water was more and more ominous. The old woman was praying
earnestly, and the Korean children were crying.
"It is over the tracks." Everyone got up to look out the windows
to the north. The water was washing near the edge of this embankment,
and had already begun to pour over the north embankment.

"Will we be all right here?" asked a woman thirty or so, probably
a suburban housewife.
"Well--you might try if you think you can make it to a safer
place."
Teinosuke stared absently at a cart tumbling over and over in
tSOOR I WE 179

the stream. He had promised his wife that he would do nothing
rash, that he would turn back as soon as the way began to look
dangerous. Now he faced a crisis, hardly knowing how it had happened.
Even so he did not think of death. He was not a woman
or a child, he could still tell himself, and when the time came he
would escape somehow. He was worried about Taeko: he remembered
that her school was a one-storey building. He had dismissed
his wife's fears as exaggerated and unreasonable, but had not the
knowledge that someone near her was in very great danger come
to her intuitively? The figure of Taeko dressed to dance "Snow"
but a month before came into his mind, the more poignant for
its freshness. And he thought too of how they had lined up for a
family photograph with Taeko in the middle, and how for no
reason tears had come to Sachiko's eyes. Perhaps even now Taeko
was on a rooftop crying for help--was nothing to be done, now
that his goal was before his eyes? Must he sit here inactive? He
felt he could not go back to Sachiko unless he braved a little danger.
He saw her grateful face in alternation with the desperate,
tear-stained face he had left at the door.
The water to the south of the tracks had receded a little. Here
and there sand was showing. To the north, waves were breaking
still higher over the track for Osaka.
"The water is lower on this side," said one of the students.
"It is. We can get through."
"We can go as far as the Girls' Academy."
The students jumped down and were on their way, and most of
the other passengers, Teinosuke among them, followed with briefcases
under their arms and bundles strapped to their backs. As
Teinosuke stepped down from the embankment, a huge wave
broke over him like a waterfall, and a log shot out from one side.
He managed somehow to escape the muddy rush, but when he
came to what he took for dry ground, he sank to his knee in the
sand. He lost a shoe pulling himself free, and immediately the
other leg was in the sand. Five or six paces with first one leg and
then the other in sand to the knee, and he came to a swift current
some six feet wide. The people ahead of him managed to cross
after stumbling several times. The current was strong beyond comparison
with the one he had carried Etsuko across. Two or three
times he thought he was lost, and when at length he reached the
_______ l8o ___________________ the makioka biSTERS

other side, he sank to his hips in the sand. Falling against a telephone
pole, he again pulled himself free. The back gate of the
Konan Girls' Academy was before him, no more than ten or fifteen
yards away; but in the ten or fifteen yards was another current
some ten feet wide, and it was not easy to see how he could cover
even that short distance. Finally the gate opened and someone
pushed a rake toward him. He was pulled safely inside.

6

at about one o'clock the rain began to let up. The water showed
no sign of receding until about three, when the rain had quite
stopped and spots of blue were visible here and there through
the clouds.
As the sun came out, Sachiko went down from the terrace into
the garden. Two white butterflies were dancing over the lawn,
which was greener and fresher for the rain. Among the weeds between
the sandalwood and the lilac a pigeon was fishing for something
in the puddles. The tranquil scene carried not a hint that
there had been a flood. The utilities were cut off, but there was
no shortage of water, since the Makioka house had a well. Expecting
Teinosuke and the rest to come home covered with mud,
Sachiko ordered that the bath be heated. Etsuko had gone out
with 0-haru to look at the river, and the house was quiet. Maids
and house-boys from neighboring houses came one after another
for water, which they had to lift by hand. The well motor was not
running. Sachiko could hear splashing back by the kitchen, and
the voices of 0-hana and 0-aki as they exchanged reports with the
callers.
At about four came the first inquirer after their safety: Shokichi,
the son of the man who was living in the main Osaka house.
Since there had been nothing out of the ordinary in Osaka, no
one had guessed the damage between Osaka and Kobe until, at
about noon, an extra came out. Quitting work, Shokichi had
picked up a few essential supplies and started out immediately.
t500R 1 WE 1 0 1

He had been on the way ever since. He had tried the Government
Line and the electric and he had taken buses. Sometimes he had
had to stop a cab or a truck and demand a ride, and sometimes
he had walked. His knapsack was full of food, he carried his shoes
in one hand, and his muddy trousers were rolled up to the knees.
When he saw the destruction around Narihira Bridge, he had wondered
what might have happened to the Ashiya house, but he had
felt a little foolish when he came to this street and found that
the flood seemed a fabrication. "Well, young lady, it is good you
are safe," he said to Etsuko when she came back. He was a great
talker. Presently he caught himself and asked whether there was
anything he could do. What of Teinosuke and Koi-san? With that
Sachiko told him of her anguish since morning.
Each new report had only increased her concern. She heard, for
instance, that in the upper reaches of the Sumiyoshi River a valley
some hundreds of feet deep had so filled with sand and boulders
that there was no longer a trace of it; that boulders weighing tons
and trees stripped of their bark and turned into bare logs had
piled up on the railway bridge across the Sumiyoshi and made
it quite impassible; that a mound of corpses was heaped against
the Konan Apartments, in low ground south of the tracks and
some two or three hundred yards this side of the Sumiyoshi River;
that with the corpses encrusted in sand identification was quite impossible;
that Kobe too had suffered considerable damage; and
large numbers of passengers had died in the flooded underground
of the Kobe-Osaka Electric. There was no doubt a good
deal of exaggeration in all the reports, but Sachiko was deeply
disturbed by one of them: the story of the corpses at the Konan
Apartments. Taeko's sewing school was across the road and no
more than fifty yards to the north; and if indeed there were mountains
of corpses it could only mean great destruction in the area
north of the apartments. This alarming conclusion was confirmed
by information 0-haru brought back. 0-haru, as worried as Sachiko,
had asked everyone she met for news of the sewing school, and
her informants had agreed that in all the land east of the Sumiyoshi
River the neighborhood of the sewing school was the most
severely hit. Even though the flood had begun to recede everywhere
else, she was told, it was as bad as ever there, in some places
as much as ten feet deep.
l82 1 HE MAKIOKA SISTERS

Teinosuke was not a reckless sort, and he had promised when
he left that he would do nothing rash. Still, as the hours went by,
Sachiko began to add worries about him to worries about Taeko.
If the land around the sewing school had been so badly hit, he
could not possibly have made his way through. He must surely
have turned back--and why was he not yet home? Might he have
gone just a little farther and a little farther until, without his
knowing it, he was in the Hood? But for all his cautiousness, he
was not one to give up easily when he had set out to do something,
and, having found one road blocked, perhaps he was trying
another and yet another, and waiting for the water to recede along
one of them. It would take time for him to make his way back
through the water, assuming he had found and rescued Taeko,
and there would be nothing surprising about his not reaching
home until six or seven. Thus Sachiko turned over all the possibilities
from the best to the worse, until the very worst had come
to seem the most likely. There was not the slightest chance that
she was right, said Shokichi, but, since she was so disturbed, he
would go out and look for himself. Sachiko knew that there was
very little likelihood of his meeting Teinosuke along the way.
Even so, she thought she would feel better if he went. Would he
mind very much?--Shokichi got ready immediately, and at about
five Sachiko saw him off from the back door.
The front door and the back door opened on different streets.
For the exercise, Sachiko walked around to the front. She went
on into the garden from the gate, left open that day because the
bell was not working.
"Mrs. Makioka." Mrs. Stolz was standing at the fence again.
"Etsuko's school. All right. You feel better?"
"Yes, Etsuko came home safely, thank you. But I am terribly
worried about my sister. My husband has gone out to look for
her." In language Mrs. Stolz could understand, Sachiko repeated
the story she had told Shokichi.
"Really?" Mrs. Stolz clucked sympathetically. "I understand
you are worried. I am sorry."
"Thank you. And what about your husband?"
"He is not home. I am very worried."
"Do you suppose he really went all the way to Kobe, then?"
"I think so. Kobe, flood. And Nada, and Rokko, and Oishikawa,
DWK 1WU 103

water, water, water. My husband, Rosemarie, Peter. What has happened
to them? Where are they? I am very worried."
Mr. Stolz was a strongly built man whom one felt at a glance
one could rely on, and he was a most intelligent German type. It
did not seem possible to Sachiko that he could be harmed. As for
Peter and Rosemarie, their school was on high ground even for
Kobe, and no doubt they had only found the way blocked and
were late getting home. But Mrs. Stolz was imagining the worst.
Sachiko's attempts to comfort her had little effect. "I heard about
it, the water in Kobe is terrible, many people are dead," she said.
Looking into that tearful face, Sachiko could not think of the
German woman as a foreigner. At a loss for comforting words, she
found herself only repeating the usual stilted phrases--everything
was all right, she certainly hoped everything was all right.
While she was having her troubles with Mrs. Stolz, she heard
someone at the gate. The dog Johnny ran out to investigate.
Would it be Teinosuke and the others? Sachiko's heart pounded.
But through the shrubbery she saw a dark blue suit and a Panama
hat.
"Who is it?" 0-haru had come down from the terrace.
"Mr. Okubata."
"I see." Sachiko looked just a little confused. Although it had
not occurred to her that Okubata would come calling, it was quite
the most natural thing in the world that he should. But what
could she do with him? She had decided, and she had been told
by Teinosuke, that if Okubata came again she should be as cool
and distant as possible, and turn him away at the door. But today
was different. He had come all this way to inquire after Taeko,
and if he asked permission to wait for her, it would be inhuman
to send him off. And as a matter of fact today, only today, Sachiko
felt that she would like to have him wait for Taeko and share their
happiness when she came back safely.
"He asked after Koi-san, and when I said she was not yet back,
he asked to see you."
Okubata knew well enough that his relations with Taeko were
being kept secret. A lack of self-possession that could bring him
to make such an inquiry of the maid who came to the door
seemed to Sachiko something she could forgive only in a crisis--
but today she found this evidence of confusion rather appealing.
184 l HE 1V1AKIOKA 01STEKS

"Ask him in, please." It was a good opportunity to break free of
Mrs. Stolz, who still waited by the fence. "I am terribly sorry, but
I have a caller."
She went upstairs to retouch her face. Her eyes were swollen
from weeping.
The electric refrigerator was not working. Sachiko had one of the
maids take Okubata a glass of barley-tea cooled at the well. When
she came down herself, he shot up at attention, exactly as on his
earlier visit. The blue-serge trousers were neatly creased and almost
spotless, a striking contrast to Shokichi's. He had heard that the
train was finally running from Osaka to Aoki, he said. He had come
as far as Ashiya station and walked only the mile or so from there.
In places there had been water, but nothing serious--he had only
to take off his shoes, roll up his trousers, and stroll across.
"I should have come earlier, but I heard about the flood only a
little while ago. I knew this was one of the days Koi-san would
be at the sewing school. Was she still at home when it began?"
Sachiko's main reason for deciding to see Okubata had been
that she thought he would best understand her feelings. If she told
him how extremely worried she was about her husband and sister,
at least a part of the terrible uncertainty might leave her. But as
she sat across the table from him, she wondered whether it would
not be better to say very little. No doubt he was worried about
Taeko, but there was something just a little artificial about the
concern written on his face. Sachiko began to suspect that he
thought this a good opportunity to work his way into the Ashiya
house. In answer to his questions, she told him in as businesslike
a fashion as possible what she knew: that the water must have
risen very shortly after Taeko arrived at her sewing school; that
the land around the sewing school was the worst flooded of all;
that, noting her concern for Taeko, Teinosuke had decided to
go as far as he could in the direction of the school, and had left
the house at eleven that morning; that an hour or so before,
Shokichi from the Osaka house had arrived and left again; and
that she was most uneasy because no one had come back.
Okubata fidgeted; then, as she had expected, he asked whether he might wait there for a time. "Please do, as long as you like,"
Sachiko said pleasantly, and went back upstairs.
DOOR 1WO _________ 1ŧ; _______

The guest would wait, she told one of the maids, and should
be given a magazine or two and a cup of tea. She did not go
downstairs again herself. She noted that Etsuko had made several
trips to peek in at Okubata from the hall.
"Etsuko, come here, please," Sachiko called from the head of
the stairs. "That is a bad habit of yours. Must you go looking into
the parlor when there is a guest?"
"I was not."
"You are not to lie to me. I saw you. It is very rude."
Etsuko flushed and hung her head, and rolled timid eyes up at
her mother; but almost immediately she started downstairs again.
"You are not to go downstairs. You are to stay up here."
"Why?"
"You can do your homework. You will probably have school
tomorrow."
Sachiko sat Etsuko down with her books, and, after lighting incense
under the desk to drive off mosquitoes, went back to her
own room and knelt looking out from the veranda at the street
up which she hoped soon to see Teinosuke and Taeko coming.
She heard a deep voice next door--"Hilda, Hilda!"--and turned
to see Mr. Stolz walking around to the back of his house. After
him came Peter and Rosemarie. Mrs. Stolz, who had been doing
something in back, threw herself upon him with a happy shriek.
The garden was still light, and through the leaves of the plane
tree and the sandalwood at the fence, Sachiko looked down upon
the sort of embrace one is treated to in foreign movies. When
Mrs. Stolz had Enished kissing her husband, Peter and Rosemarie
had their turns. Sachiko, who had been leaning against the veranda
railing, quietly pulled back out of sight.
"Mrs. Makioka!" Mrs. Stolz was apparently unaware that she
had been seen. She danced about the garden, and her voice was
quite mad with happiness. "My husband is back. Peter and Rosemarie
are back."
"I am so happy for you." Sachiko stepped out to the veranda
again, and at the same moment Etsuko was at the window of the
next room.
"Peter! Rumi!"
"Banzai!"
180 i Hi. 1V1AK1UK.A 01S11LK.S

"Banzai!"
The three children raised their hands in the cheer, and Mr. and
Mrs. Stolz waved with them.
"Did your husband go to Kobe?" Sachiko asked.
"He found Peter and Rumi. On his way to Kobe. They came
home together."
"How nice, Peter, that you were able to meet your father."
A little impatient with Mrs. Stoiz's Japanese, Sachiko spoke instead
to the boy. "And where did you find your father?"
"Not far from Tokui, on the National Highway."
"Did you really walk all the way to Tokui from Kobe?"
"We took a train from Sannomiya to Nada."
"The trains are going through as far as Nada?"
"Yes. And then I walked on to Tokui with Rumi, and we met
Father."
"You were lucky to find him. And how did you come from
Tokui?"
"We walked along the National Highway. And along the tracks
too, and higher up in the hills. And in some places where there
was no road at all."
"How dreadful. Was there still a good deal of water?"
"Not a great deal. Just a little, here and there."
There were many obscure points in Peter's story when she
pressed him for information. It was not clear how they had come,
and which sections were still flooded, and what they had seen
along the way, but if a little girl like Rosemarie had come through,
and without even getting muddy, they could not have met any
serious obstacles. Sachiko was more and more uneasy. If children
could come all the way from Kobe in so short a time, then Teinosuke
and Taeko should have been home long ago. Had they then
made some tragic mistake? The mistake would have been Taeko's.
And had Teinosuke, with perhaps Shokichi, found himself in
trouble as he tried to bring her out?
"Your husband and your sister. Are they back?"
"Not yet. And here your husband is. What can have happened
to them? I am terribly worried." Sachiko could not control the
tremor in her voice. Mrs. Stolz, her face partly hidden by the trees,
clucked sympathetically.
"Mrs. Makioka." 0-haru knelt in the doorway. "Mr. Okubata
DOOR 1WO 187

asked me to tell you he is going to have a look at the sewing
school."

i^s^s^s^s^ys^^Kys^s^'^^^ysys^s^s^s^s^s^^t^s^'t

7

okubata was standing at the door, in his hand an ash cane with
a gleaming gold head.
"I heard what they said. Those foreign children came through.
What can have happened to Koisan?"
"I wonder too."
"There is no reason for her to be so late. I am going out to see
what I can find. I may stop by later."
"Thank you. But it is almost dark. Possibly you should wait a
little longer."
"I am too nervous. And I can be there and back in the time I
would be waiting."
"Oh?" Sachiko felt she must be grateful to anyone kind enough
to show concern for her sister. In the end she was not able to
keep Okubata from seeing her tears.
"I will see you later, then. There is really no need to be so
upset."
"Thank you. Do be careful." She saw him to the door. "You
have a flashlight?"
"Yes."
Okubata picked up two objects that lay under his Panama hat,
and hastily shoved one into his pocket. He did not try to hide the
Sashlight, but the object tucked out of sight was clearly a Leica
or a Contax--probably it embarrassed him to be caught with his
camera all ready.
For a time after he left, Sachiko stood leaning against the gate
and staring off into the darkness. She finally went back into the
parlor. In an effort to calm her nerves, she lighted a candle and
sat down. When 0-haru came in and announced timidly that dinner
was waiting, she saw that it was indeed well past dinner time,
but she had no appetite. Have Etsuko eat first, she said. 0-haru
188 1 HE 1V1AK1UKA 01SHLKS

came downstairs a minute or so later to report that Etsuko too
would rather wait. It was strange for Etsuko, who hated being
alone upstairs, to be so quiet now that her homework must be
finished. Perhaps she knew that if she hung on her mother as was
her habit she would find herself in trouble. No calmer after twenty
or thirty minutes, Sachiko went upstairs and, without speaking to
Etsuko, on into Taeko's room, where she lighted a candle. She
stood as if bound to the four photographs over the south lintel.
They were photographs of Taeko's "Snow." All through the
dance, Itakura had clicked his shutter industriously, and in the
evening, before Taeko changed clothes, he had had her pose before
the gold screen for several more pictures. Taeko picked these
as the four she liked best, and had them enlarged. All four belonged
to the specially posed group. Itakura had been extremely
particular about the lighting and the effects, and Sachiko was
much impressed to see how carefully he had watched the dance.
He would ask for certain passages--"There was something about
'a freezing bed,' I believe, Koi-san," he would say, or, "How about
the passage where you listen to a hailstorm at night?"--and he
even remembered particular poses well enough to demonstrate
them himself. The photographs were among his masterpieces.
Looking up at them, Sachiko remembered with astonishing clearness,
down to a glance or a gesture, the inconsequential things
Taeko had said and done that day. She had danced surprisingly
well, considering that she was dancing "Snow" in public for the
first time. Sachiko was not alone in thinking so; Saku, the dance
mistress, had also praised Taeko. And even if it was her own
sister, thought Sachiko, and even if much of the credit should
go to the devoted teacher who came all the way to Ashiya each
day, still Taeko's progress must be owing in very large part to her
peculiar qualifications, to the fact that she was naturally graceful
and that she had danced since she was a child. Quick to weep
when anything moved her, Sachiko had not been able to keep
back her tears that day--Koisan had come so far, then, she said
to herself--and now, looking up at the photographs, she felt
the tears come again. Of the four photographs, she especially
liked that of the passage where the dancer, her heart far away, listened
for a midnight temple bell: an open umbrella behind her,
Taeko knelt with her flowing sleeves brought close together, and,
Book Two ______ 189

bending the upper part of her body to the left and throwing her
head a little to one side, listened intently to that bell fading
away in the snowy night air. Watching Taeko practice to a hummed
accompaniment, Sachiko had thought it the pose she liked best,
and perhaps the clothes and the high Japanese coiffure on the
day of the recital made it even more effective. Sachiko was not sure
herself why she was so taken with it, unless she found there more
than anywhere else a certain delicate winsomeness and grace
quite lacking in the usual Taeko, so showy and up-to-date. Taeko
alone of the four sisters was the brisk, enterprising modern girl
who went ahead quite without hesitation--sometimes even to the
point of making herself a little unpleasant--when she had decided
where she was going; and yet one could see from this photograph
that there was in her too something of the old Japanese
maiden, something quietly engaging that pulled at Sachiko as the
usual Taeko did not. And then the Japanese coiffure and the old-
fashioned make-up had erased Taeko's girlishness, and given her
a beauty more in keeping with her years, and this too Sachiko
found pleasing. It was perhaps not by accident--it was perhaps
an unhappy omen--that her sister had exactly a month earlier been
photographed in this particularly beautiful pose and dress, thought
Sachiko. The photograph of herself and Etsuko and Teinosuke
with Taeko in the middle--might it not become a horrid memorial?
Sachiko remembered how moved she had been at the sight
of Taeko in her other sister's wedding clothes, how ashamed she
had been of her tears; and it had been her prayer that she would
soon see this younger sister dressed with similar care for her own
wedding. Was the prayer then to come to nothing, and had that
in fact been the last time Taeko would put on festive dress? Trying
to fight back the thought, Sachiko found the photograph a
little frightening. She looked down ai the shelf beside her. On it
was one of Taeko's most recent dolls, a girl playing at battledore
and shuttlecocks. Two or three years before, Taeko had gone time
after time to the Kabuki Theater in Osaka to watch the sixth
Kikugoro, and she seemed to have studied his dancing well. The
face was not Kikugoro's, but somewhere in the lines of the figure
Taeko had captured his particular traits so successfully that the
great actor himself stood there before one. Koi-san was really very
clever. The youngest sister, she had had the least happy childhood,
1QO 1 HE makioka LISTERS

and she was wisest in the ways of the world. Sachiko herself and
Yukiko sometimes found Taeko treating them as if they were
younger than she. It had been wrong of Sachiko, in an excess of
affection and concern for Yukiko, to neglect Koi-san. From now
on she would give the two of them impartial care. Koi-san could
not die. If she would but come home safely, Sachiko would talk
Teinosuke into agreeing to the trip abroad, and they would let
her marry Okubata if she liked.
It was quite dark, still darker for the fact that the electricity was
out. In the still distance, she could hear the croaking of a frog.
Beyond the foliage in the garden she suddenly saw a light. It was
a candle in the Stolz dining room. Mr. Stolz was talking in a loud
voice, and after him Peter, and then Rosemarie. No doubt they
were gathered around the dinner table, recounting their adventures
to Mrs. Stolz. The nickering candle told of the happiness
next door and emphasized Sachiko's own misery. Just then she
heard Johnny run out across the lawn.
"Hello, hello." It was Shokichi's hearty voice.
"Mother!" Etsuko called excitedly.
"They are back, they are back!" An instant later the two were
running downstairs.
The hall was so dark that Sachiko could not make out the
faces. The first voice was Shokichi's, and he was followed by
Teinosuke.
"Koisan?"
"Koi-san is here," said Teinosuke. But why did Taeko herself
not answer?
"What is the matter, Koi-san? What is the matter?"
As Sachiko peered into the darkness, 0-haru came up behind
her with a candle. The uncertain light fell here and there in the
hallway. Sachiko saw Taeko staring at her with wide eyes. The
kimono was not one Sachiko remembered, and there was no trace
of the foreign clothes in which Taeko had left the house that
morning.
"Sachiko." Taeko's defenses collapsed. With a great, wailing
sob she sank to the floor.
"What has happened, Koi-san? Are you hurt?"
"No," said Teinosuke. "But she had a time of it. She was
finally brought out by Itakura."
Book Two 191

"Itakura?" Sachiko looked into the darkness behind the three,
and saw no sign of Itakura.
"Bring a bucket of water," Teinosuke ordered. He was covered
with mud, and--what had happened to his shoes?--he was wearing
wooden pattens. The pattens, his feet, his legs were one solid
layer of mud.

(ĢSĢ^SĢSĢSg^Ģsa&S^^ĢsaSsĢSSsag5g^S

8

sachiko heard the story of Taeko's escape in turns from Teinosuke
and Taeko herself.
At eight forty-five that morning, shortly after 0-haru came back
from seeing Etsuko to school, Taeko left the house. Although the
rain was heavy, the bus on the National Highway was running as
usual. At about nine she stepped through the gate of the sewing
school, only a few yards from the highway. It was extremely informal
and easy-going for a school. With rumors abroad that the
river might rise, only a few students were present, and with those
few becoming more and more restless, Mrs. Tamaki decided to call
a holiday. She asked Taeko to stay for a cup of coffee, and the
two of them chatted for a while in Mrs. Tamaki's house, next door
to the school. Mrs. Tamaki, seven or eight years older than Taeko,
had a husband who was an engineer and a son who was in primary
school. Besides managing her school she acted as adviser on women's
clothes to a Kobe department store. Just beyond the school
gate was the gate to the neat little one-floor Spanish-style house
--actually, though the gates were separate, the school and the
house shared the same grounds. Taeko was a special favorite of
Mrs. Tamaki's, often invited in for a talk. Today Mrs. Tamaki
was giving her advice on the trip to France. Having herself spent
a number of years in Paris, Mrs. Tamaki strongly approved of
Taeko's plans. Although she did not know how much use they
would be, she would like to write a few letters of introduction,
she said as she put the coffee on the alcohol burner.
The rain was meanwhile worse. What shall I do? Can I pos192 the makioka sisters

sibly go home in this? Wait here until it lets up a little--I will be
going out myself. While they were talking, Mrs. Tamaki's son,
nine-year-old Hiroshi, came in panting. Why was he not in school,
Mrs. Tamaki asked. They had been told after an hour or so that
they could go home, because they would have trouble getting
through after the water rose. "You mean it looks as if the water
might rise?" "What are you talking about--it was coming up behind
me, and I had to run as fast as I could to keep from getting
caught." They heard water while the boy was talking, and looked
out the window to see that a muddy stream running through the
garden promised very soon to be up over the floor. Mrs. Tamaki
and Taeko hastily closed the door. Then, under the veranda on
the other side, they heard a roar as of the tide, and water poured
in through the door young Hiroshi had left open.
The three of them had to lean against the door to keep it from
breaking open again when they had closed it, and the water
pounded angrily outside. They ran to put up a barricade of tables
and chairs. Very shortly Hiroshi, who sat at his ease in an armchair
tight against the door, let out a delighted laugh: the door
had come open, and the chair, with Hiroshi in it, was floating free.
"Terrible, terrible!" said Mrs. Tamaki. "See that the records don't
get wet." They ran to move the records from the cabinet to the
piano, already half under water. The water was waist-deep. Three
small tables, the glass coffee-maker, the sugar bowl, and a vase of
carnations were floating about the room. Taeko, will the doll be
all right? Mrs. Tamaki was worried about the French doll, one of
Taeko's, that stood on the mantel. The water would surely not
rise that high, said Taeko. The three were still rather enjoying
themselves, shouting at each other in the best of spirits. They all
had a good laugh when Hiroshi, reaching to grab the brief case
in which he had brought home his school books, bumped his
head on the bobbing radio. But after perhaps a half hour, there
came a moment when the three fell silent. Almost immediately,
Taeko remembered afterwards, the water was above her waist. As
she clutched at a curtain, a picture fell from over her head; the
curtain had probably brushed against it. It was a picture Mrs.
Tamaki was especially fond of, Kishida Ryusei's portrait of the
girl Reiko. Mrs. Tamaki and Taeko could only look after it regretfully
as it floated off and settled in a corner of the room. "Are
Book Two 193

you all right, Hiroshi?" The tone of Mrs. Tamaki's voice had
changed. Grunting a reply, Hiroshi climbed to the piano. Taeko
thought of a foreign movie she had seen when she was very small,
in which a detective was trapped in an underground room with
water rising around him inch by inch. The three were some distance
apart, Taeko still clinging to her curtain at a window to the
west, Hiroshi on the piano across the room from her, and Mrs.
Tamaki on a table that had been propped against the door, but
had by now floated to the middle of the room. Probing with
her foot for something to stand on as she clung to the curtain,
Taeko came on one of the tables. She kicked it over and stood on
the edge. (They found afterwards that the water, heavy with sand,
had fastened things down. When it receded, the tables and chairs
were quite immobile. Many houses were left after the flood only
because of the sand that held them in place.)
Taeko thought of the possibility of taking refuge outside, and
she might have broken a window (because of the rain, the windows
had been closed except for two or three inches at the top),
but, while the water inside was settling into a stagnant, muddy
pool, beyond that one thin layer of glass, it was surging by in a
torrent. Aside from a wisteria arbor some five or six feet from the
window, the garden offered no trees or buildings to which they
might flee. It was only too clear, moreover, that they would be
swept away if they tried to reach the arbor. Hiroshi, standing on
the piano, rubbed his hand over the ceiling. He was quite right--
if they could break their way out through the ceiling their problem
would be solved, but what could a small boy and two women do?
"Where is Kane, Mother?"--Hiroshi thought of the maid. "I
think she was in her room a little while ago," said Mrs. Tamaki.
"What do you suppose could have happened to her? Can you hear
her voice, Mother?" But this time Mrs. Tamaki was silent. The
three of them stared into the water that lay between them; soon
it was within three or four feet of the ceiling. Taeko stood the
table upright (she found that it was heavy with mud and pulled
at her foot), and clutched the curtain rod. Only her head was
above water. Mrs. Tamaki was in much the same predicament, but
fortunately an aluminum chandelier for indirect lighting hung
from three sturdy chains above her head, and she could reach for
it when she was in danger of losing her balance. "Will we drown,
194 the makioka sisters

Mother? Will we, Mother?" Mrs. Tamaki did not answer. "We
will drown, Mother." "What nonsense!" For the rest, Mrs. Ta-
maki's lips moved ineffectually, and it was clear that she could not
think of a reassuring answer. Taeko glanced at Mrs. Tamaki, up to
the throat in water, and thought she saw the face of one who was
looking at death. She knew that she wore much the same expression
herself. And she knew too that when a person is finally convinced
that nothing can save him, he becomes strangely calm and
relaxed.
She was sure she had been standing there a very long time,
three or four hours at least. As a matter of fact it was less than
an hour. Water was beginning to pour in through the opening at
the top of the window. While she was struggling to close it (indeed
from a little before), one hand still fast to the curtain rod,
she sensed that someone was walking about on the roof. A man
jumped to the wisteria arbor, worked his way to the edge nearest
Taeko's window, and, lowering himself into the water, sank out
of sight for a moment. Then, careful not to release his hold on
the arbor, he turned to face Taeko. One glance at her and he
went to work. At first Taeko could not guess what he was about,
but in a moment she saw that he was trying to hold fast to the
arbor and at the same time reach across to the window. He wore
a leather jacket and a leather aviator's helmet, under which only
the eyes seemed alive. Taeko saw that it was the photographer
Itakura.
She had not recognized him at first: she had never seen him in
that jacket, which he was said to have worn a great deal in America,
and his face was hidden by the helmet; she had not expected
to see anyone here, least of all him; her vision was obscured by the
downpour and the spray; and, most important, she was much too
distraught to recognize him. "Itakura, Itakura," she called out,
less to Itakura himself than to Mrs. Tamaki and Hiroshi. She concentrated
on the window, this time to lower it, and, tight though
it was from the pressure of the water, she managed to lower it
until she could lean out. As she stretched to take Itakura's hand
in her own right hand, the torrent hit her with all its fury. She
was afraid the curtain rod would be torn from her grasp. "Let go
with your other hand." Itakura spoke for the first time. "I have
this one. Let go with the other." Taeko gave herself up and did as
Book Two ____________ 195_____

she was told. Their two arms snapped taut, and a moment later
Itakura had pulled her to him. (Afterwards he said he had not
known himself that he had such strength). "Take hold, like this,"
he said. Taeko clutched at the arbor with both hands; but she was
in far more danger than inside the house. "No, no--I am finished."
"Hold on for just a minute--hold on tight--for just a minute."--as
he spoke, Itakura fought his way to the top of the arbor.
Opening a hole in the vines, he pulled her up after him.
Well, I at least am safe--that was Taeko's first thought. It was
possible that the water would rise above the arbor too, but then
they could flee to the roof--Itakura would think of something.
Shut up in that narrow room, she had not suspected the changes
that had taken place outside. She saw now what the last hour or
two had brought. She saw what Teinosuke had seen from the
railroad bridge in Tanaka. There was this difference, however:
Teinosuke looked out over "the sea" from the eastern shore,
whereas Taeko, in the middle of it, saw those mighty waves all
around her. She had but a moment before thought she was saved.
Now, looking at nature gone mad, she wondered if she and Itakura
could possibly escape. But the immediate problem was what to do
about the others. "Mrs. Tamaki and Hiroshi are still inside--can
you do something?" As she was urging Itakura on, a dull, heavy
blow shook the arbor. A log had come down in the torrent.
"Just what we need," he said. Lowering himself into the water,
he proceeded to lay a bridge across to the window. He pushed one
end of the log inside, and, with Taeko's help, made the other
fast with wisteria vines. When he had crossed over, he disappeared
inside for rather a long time. Taeko heard afterwards that he had
torn up the lace curtains to make a rope. He threw one end to
Mrs. Tamaki, who was fairly near, and she threw it on to young
Hiroshi. After he had brought the two of them to the window,
Itakura helped Hiroshi across the bridge and followed with Mrs.
Tamaki.
It seemed as if Itakura's activities had taken a fairly long time,
and again as if they had taken almost no time. Even afterwards,
no one could really be sure. The self-winding watch Itakura had
brought back from America--that, too, he was very proud of--
was said to be water-proof, but in the course of the morning it had
stopped. The downpour continued, the water rose, and they had
196 the makioka sisters

to flee from the wisteria arbor to the roof, again using the log for
a bridge (two or three very helpful pieces of wood had meanwhile
floated down to reinforce it). On the roof Taeko for the first time
composed herself to wonder what could have brought Itakura
down from the skies in the crisis. He had had a feeling that morning,
he said, that there would be a flood. As early as spring, he
had heard an old man remark that there was a flood in this part
of the country every six or seven years, and that this was a flood
year. He had therefore been greatly disturbed at the succession of
rainy days, and when, that morning, the Home Defense Corps
was out with its flood warnings and there were excited rumors
that the Sumiyoshi embankments would give way, he felt that he
had to go see for himself what was happening. He walked along
the banks for a time and noted that there was considerable danger
of a flood. Near the sewing school he ran into the water.
But it was strange, even with these forebodings, that he should
have gotten himself up especially in that leather jacket, and come
precisely to the sewing school. He knew that this was one of
Taeko's days at the school. Had he then meant from the beginning
to be where he could run to her rescue if by some chance
she should be in danger? That was the question, perhaps too
touchy a question to dwell on for very long. In any case, Taeko
was told that as he fled from the water he had suddenly remembered
where she was, and had plunged in again at the thought
that she might be in danger. Afterwards she heard at great length
of his fight with the water. Like Teinosuke, Itakura approached
along the tracks and through the Konan Girls' Academy. Since
he was some two or three hours earlier than Teinosuke, he still
found it possible to make his way beyond. No doubt he was not
lying when he said that three times he was swept away and barely
escaped drowning, and that he was quite alone in the torrent. It
was after he reached the sewing school that the waves were at
their highest. He finally had to climb to the roof, and while he
was staring absently at the flood he noticed that someone was
waving insistently from the roof of Mrs. Tamaki's house. It was
Kane, the maid. When she knew he had seen her, Kane pointed
in the direction of the parlor window and, raising three fingers,
wrote the name "Taeko" in the air. Itakura plunged into the water
again. Half swimming, half sinking, he fought his way to the
Book Two 197

arbor. It was clear that he had truly risked his life in this last,
most perilous bout with the water.

asBsB.awawa^aa'asaa'asawata.aasaasaa

9

these rescue operations were taking place at about the time
Teinosuke was stranded in the train. After making his way to the
Konan Academy, he rested until about three o'clock in the second-
floor room that had been set aside for flood refugees. When the
rain stopped and the water began to recede, he decided to go
on to the sewing school. The way was of course not as easy as it
would ordinarily have been. The water had left behind mounds
of sand in some places as high as the eaves of houses, so that the
scene resembled nothing so much as a north-country town in the
snowbound winter months. The worst problem was the quicksand.
He had lost one shoe in the earlier quicksand, and he now
threw the other away and went on in his stockings. A walk that would usually have taken no more than two or three minutes now
took twenty or thirty.
The land about the sewing school had been completely transformed.
The school gate was almost buried in sand and mud,
only the tips of the gate posts showing, and the building itself was
buried except for the slate roof. Teinosuke had imagined crowds
of students awaiting rescue on the roof, but for some reason--
had they escaped, had they been swept away in the water, had
they been buried under the sand?--there was not a student in
sight. Almost despairing, he crossed to Mrs. Tamaki's house over
what had once been the lawn and the flower beds south of the
school. The top of the arbor, along which trailed wisteria vines,
was barely above the ground, and beside it rested two or three
logs. And on the red roof were Taeko, Itakura, Mrs. Tamaki,
Hiroshi, and one other, the maid Kane, who had joined them.
When he had finished telling Teinosuke his story, Itakura explained
that although he had been wanting to see Koi-san home,
she was much too exhausted, and Mrs. Tamaki and the boy did
198 the makioka sisters

not know what would happen to them if he left. He was wondering
what to do next.
It is hard for one who has not had a similar experience to
imagine the terror that still gripped Taeko and Mrs. Tamaki and
Hiroshi, so intense a terror that afterwards it seemed almost
funny. Even when the sky had cleared and the water receded,
they could not believe they were safe, and they sat trembling violently.
Itakura tried to rouse Taeko. Mr. and Mrs. Makioka
would be worried, he said, and he would see her home, but Taeko,
though admitting he was right, felt somehow that further perils
awaited her. She could not bring herself to leave the roof for the
mud and sand, now within easy stepping distance from the eaves.
And Mrs. Tamaki worried about what she would do when Itakura
and Taeko were gone. Her husband would no doubt be along
soon, but in the meantime the sun might go down, leaving them
to spend the night on the roof. Hiroshi and the maid Kane joined
their laments with hers. Teinosuke found them pleading with
Itakura to stay just a little longer.
Falling exhausted on the roof, Teinosuke himself had little desire
to move. At perhaps four-thirty (his watch, too, had stopped),
when he had been lying there for upwards of an hour watching
the sky clear and the sun come out, several emissaries arrived from
Mrs. Tamaki's family. Teinosuke and Itakura saw their chance to
leave. In places they had to carry Taeko, still weak and dazed.
Even without her they would have had trouble crossing the Sumiyoshi
River, which had left its old bed and was pouring over the
National Highway between the Konan Academies and Tanaka.
Halfway across, they met Shokichi and became a party of four.
At Tanaka, Itakura suggested that they rest for a time at his house,
which was very near--as a matter of fact he was rather worried
about it. Eager though Teinosuke was to get home, it seemed
best to let Taeko rest a little. They spent about an hour at Ita-
kura's. The downstairs rooms, living quarters for the unmarried
Itakura and his sister, had been considerably damaged, the water
having risen about a foot above the floor. Teinosuke and the rest
were invited to the studio upstairs, where they drank ginger ale
rescued from the water. Taeko took off her voile dress and changed
to a kimono Itakura had his sister bring out for her. Teinosuke,
who had returned barefoot, borrowed a pair of wooden pattens.
Book Two_____________________ 199 ____

Itakura insisted on seeing them part of the way home, even
though Teinosuke pointed out that Shokichi was there to take
his place. In the outskirts of Tanaka, he finally turned back.
Sachiko expected Okubata to come again. He did not appear
that evening, however, and the next day Itakura came to make
inquiries in his place. Okubata had arrived at Itakura's house the
night before, some time after Itakura returned from seeing Teinosuke
and the rest off. Okubata reported that he had been waiting
at the Makioka house for Taeko to come back, but had gone out,
worried that she should be so late, to see what he could see, and
that, walking along the National Highway, he had found himself
in Itakura's neighborhood. Although he had hoped to go on as
far as the sewing school, it was now pitch dark, and the road to
the west had turned into a river. Fearing that it would be impossible
to push his way across, he thought he might be able to learn
something from Itakura. He need not worry, said Itakura, telling
him in a general way what had happened since that morning.
Okubata left immediately for Osaka--he really should stop by
the Makioka house again, he knew, but he wanted Itakura to call
the following morning and tell them he had gone home only
after hearing that Taeko had come through safely. And, added
Itakura, he had also been asked by Okubata to inquire after
Taeko--to make sure that even if she was uninjured she had not
caught cold.
Taeko had quite recovered. She came down with Sachiko to
thank Itakura and to reconstruct the hours of peril. It did seem
strange that, after sitting through a two-hour downpour in only a
summer dress, she had not caught cold. But at such times, remarked
Itakura, extra strength comes from somewhere. Soon he
took his leave.
The fight against the water had been a very great strain after
all. The next morning Taeko was sore in every joint, and especially
worried about a soreness under the arm that might well turn
into pleurisy. Fortunately it passed in a few days. Two or three
days later there was a light shower, and she started up in terror
at the sound of the rain on the roof. She had never before thought
much about rain, but a new fear had taken root in her heart.
When it began raining one night, she lay waiting for the flood
until morning.
sess^ssae^aassaas^^asssss^gssss

10

residents of Kobe and Osaka were astonished when they opened
their newspapers the next morning and read of the flood damage.
For several days a steady procession of callers, coming partly to
inquire after the safety of the family, partly to view the damage,
kept Sachiko busy; but as the utilities returned to normal, the excitement
subsided. There was a shortage of labor and equipment
to clear away the mud and sand. The streets, a cloud of dust in
the hot sun, made Teinosuke think of Tokyo and Yokohama after
the great earthquake. At the Ashiya River station a new platform
was built over the debris that covered the old platform, and trains
crossed the river on a new bridge above the old one. Since the bed
of the river was, in places, almost as high as the banks, there was
danger of floods from even a light shower, and something had to
be done immediately, but the army of workmen, like a swarm of
ants in a mountain of sugar, made little headway. The pines
along the embankment were buried under a solid layer of dust.
Unfortunately the blazing hot weather continued day after day
and the cloud of dust only became more suffocating. There was
little this year to bespeak the elegant suburb Ashiya.
It was on a summer day, in the cloud of dust, that Yukiko returned
after two and a half months in Tokyo.
News of the flood had come out in the Tokyo morning newspapers.
Not knowing the details, the people in the main house
were most uneasy. It was clear that the worst damage had been
along the banks of the Sumiyoshi River and the Ashiya River, and
what most concerned Yukiko, as she read of drowned students in
the Konan Elementary School, was Etsuko's safety. The next day
Teinosuke called from his office in Osaka and answered questions
as Tsuruko and Yukiko came to the telephone in turns. Yukiko--
it was as if she wanted his advice--said she was so worried that
she was thinking of leaving for Osaka the next day, but Teinosuke
answered that although he would be pleased to see her there was
no need for her to make a special trip. The situation was as he
Book Two 201

had described it, and the Government lines were not yet running
west from Osaka. That evening, as he told Sachiko of the conversation,
he said he suspected that they would be seeing Yukiko
soon; this was the pretext she had been waiting for. A letter arrived
for Sachiko some days later. Yukiko yearned to see Taeko
and could not rest until she had inspected the damage to the city
she was so fond of. She might be calling on them without warning
one day very soon.
Purposely neglecting to send a telegram, Yukiko left Tokyo on
the Swallow Express. She changed at Osaka for the electric line
and, lucky enough to catch a taxi in Ashiya, arrived at Sachiko's
just before six in the evening.
0-haru met her at the door, took her suitcase, and saw her into
the parlor. The house was quiet.
"Is Mrs. Makioka out?"
"She has gone over to the Stolzes'." 0-haru turned on the
electric fan.
"And Etsuko?"
"They have all gone over to the Stolzes' for tea--Koi-san too.
They should be back any time now. Maybe I should go call them?"
"No, never mind."
"They said they thought you might come today. Miss Etsuko
has been excited ever since this morning. Shall I go call them?"
"No, no, please. I can wait."
Yukiko stopped 0-haru, who was already on her way to the
Stolz house--they could hear children's voices in the garden--
and went out to sit in a birch chair under the terrace awning.
From the cab window, the damage around Narihira Bridge had
seemed worse than she expected, but here everything was as it
had always been. Not a leaf was disturbed. In the evening calm,
hardly a breath of air touched the garden. The heat was intense,
and the quiet gave the light and dark greens of the foliage a special
limpidity. The green of the lawn seemed to rise up and flow
through her. When she had left in the spring, the lilac had been
in bloom and the yellow yamabuki in bud; and now the Hirado
lilies and the azaleas had fallen, and only a gardenia or two was
left to perfume the air. Thick leaves at the fence half hid the
two-storey foreign-style house next door.
_______ 202 _________________ the makioka sisters

Near the fence, the children were playing train. Though Yukiko
could not actually see them, she gathered that Peter was the conductor.

"Next stop, Mikage. This train does not stop between Mikage
and Ashiya. Passengers for Sumiyoshi, Uozaki, Aoki, and Fukae
will please change to a local." He had all the mannerisms of a
conductor. One would not have dreamed that it was a little foreigner
speaking.
"Rumi, we will go on to Kyoto," said Etsuko.
"Yes, we will go to Tokyo."
"Not Tokyo. Kyoto."
But Rosemarie had apparently never heard of Kyoto, and no
matter how often Etsuko said "Kyoto," the answer came back
"Tokyo." Etsuko found this exasperating.
"No, no. Kyoto, Rumi. Kyoto."
"Yes, we will go to Tokyo."
"No, there are a hundred stops on the way to Tokyo."
"Yes. We will be there the day from tomorrow."
"What did you say, Rumi?"
Rosemarie had stumbled a little over the words; but Etsuko
would have had trouble with "the day from tomorrow" in any
case.
"What did you say? That is not Japanese, Rumi."
"What is the name of this tree?"
The leaves rustled as Peter started up one of the trees. It was
on this side of the fence, but the branches trailed over into the
Stolz yard. The children were always climbing from a foothold
on the fence.
"Aogiri," answered Etsuko.
"Aogirigiri?"
"Not dogirigiri. Aogiri."
"Aogirigiri."
"Aogiri!"
"Aogirigiri."
Yukiko was not sure whether Peter was making fun of Etsuko
or whether he really could not pronounce the word.
saSSSS pounds pounds pounds pounds pounds pounds 2 pounds pounds pounds C>eaĐ5 pounds pounds ĢSS

I I

summer vacation had begun. Every day the Stolz children and
Etsuko played together. In the morning and evening they played
train in the garden or climbed the trees along the fence, but in
the hot part of the day they were indoors, playing house when
the girls were alone, playing war when Peter and Fritz joined
them. The four would move the heavy armchairs and sofas about
to make forts and strong points, which they then attacked with air
guns. Peter was in command, and the others fired at his orders.
The German children, even Fritz, not yet in school, invariably
shouted "Frankreich, Frankreich" at the enemy. Sachiko and the
rest, who at first did not know what "Frankreich" meant, were
more impressed than ever at the thoroughness of German child-
training when Teinosuke translated for them. It was something
of a trial for the Makioka family, however, to have the furniture
in the parlor always ready for war. If an unexpected guest arrived,
the maids had him wait in the hall while the whole family worked
at dismantling forts and strong points. One day Mrs. Stolz looked
in from the terrace. Was this what the boys were in the habit of
doing? she asked. She went away with a wry smile, but whether
or not she scolded her sons, they showed no sign of mending
their violent ways.
In the daytime, Sachiko and her sisters generally turned the parlor
over to the children and took their ease in the small Japanese-
style room next to the dining room. Across the hall from the bath,
and as a result often used for undressing or dumping dirty clothes,
the room was dark and cave-like. Deep eaves sheltered it to the
south, where it looked out over the garden. The sun was thus
kept at a distance, and, with a low western window at floor level,
and with a breeze passing through for the better part of the day,
the room was generally considered the coolest in the house. The
three sisters would fight for the place nearest the window as they
rested there during the hot afternoons. Each year in the hot
weather they lost their appetites, grew thinner, and began to
suffer from "shortage of B." Of the three, Yukiko, always slender,
___ 204 ________the makioka sisters

showed the loss of weight most clearly. She had had a stubborn
case of beri-beri since June. Although one reason for her trip to
Ashiya had been to try a change of air, the beri-beri only got
worse upon her arrival. She was constantly being given injections
by Sachiko or Taeko. The latter two were also suffering in some
measure from beri-beri, and the chain of injections, one to another
and on to the third, became a daily ritual. Sachiko had, early in
the summer, changed to a one-piece Western dress cut low in back.
From around the twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth, Yukiko too surrendered
and, frail as a cord doll, appeared in a georgette dress.
Taeko, usually the most active of the three, had evidently not recovered
from the shock of the flood. This summer she showed
little of her usual energy. The sewing school was of course closed.
Though her studio had escaped damage and she had no reason
not to work on her dolls, she seldom went near the place.
Itakura often called. Customers being few since the flood, he
spent his time taking pictures for an album of flood-damage photographs. He wandered about with his Leica when the weather was
good, and he would appear at the back door in shorts, his face
sunburned and sweaty, and demand water of 0-haru. Draining a
glass of ice water at one gulp, he would carefully wipe his shorts
and shirt, white with dust, and march in through the kitchen to
the little room where the sisters were resting. He had been at
Nunobiki today, he would say, or Mt. Rokko, or Koshigi Crag, or
Arima Springs, or Minoo, and he would tell them in his own
very individual way what he had seen, often illustrating his talk
with photographs.
Sometimes he would want to go swimming. "Mrs. Makioka, we
are going swimming. Get up," he would order as he came into the
room. "You will ruin your health lying around like this."
When Sachiko gave an evasive answer, he virtually pulled her to
her feet. It was no distance at all to Ashiya Beach, he would say;
there was nothing like a swim to cure beri-beri. "0-haru, get out
the swimming suits and call a cab." When Sachiko wanted to take
Etsuko swimming and simply did not have the energy, she would
send the girl off with Itakura. Day by day he became friendlier,
and his speech became freer and even a little rude. He took to
opening cupboards without being invited to, and otherwise making
himself objectionable, but he was redeemed by the fact that
Book Two 205

whatever they asked him to do he did without protest. And he
was a most entertaining talker.
They were enjoying the breeze as usual one afternoon when an
unusually large bee Sew in from the garden. It alighted first on
Sachiko's head, where it marched around in circles.
"A bee, Sachiko, a bee!" screamed Taeko. The bee moved on
to Yukiko's head and then to Taeko's, and back to Sachiko's. The
three of them, as good as naked, scrambled about the small room.
The bee followed them as if it were teasing, and when they ran
screaming into the hall, it was with them.
"It is after us, it is after us!" They ran on into the dining room,
and from there to the parlor, where Etsuko and Rosemarie were
playing house.
"What is it, Mother?" The two girls were startled.
The bee hit a window, and the clamor began again.
Half for the sport, Rosemarie and Etsuko joined in. They
dodged about the room as if they were playing blindman's buff
with the bee; and the bee, whether it was excited, or whether such
is the way with bees, would start out into the garden and fly back
into the room. The five of them fled into the hall again. In the
midst of the confusion Itakura's face appeared under the curtain
at the kitchen door. He was ready to go swimming. He had on a
straw hat, and, over his swimming suit, a cotton kimono, and he
had a towel around his neck.
"What is going on, 0-haru?"
"A bee is after them."
"Is that all?" The five sped past in a tight group, their arms
high and their fists clenched as if they were training for a race.
"Hello. You seem to be having trouble."
"A bee, a bee! Catch it, quick," Sachiko called in a piercing
voice as she raced on down the hall.
The five mouths were open and the eyes shone, and the faces
were strangely contorted.
Itakura took off his hat and calmly chased the bee out into the
garden.
"I was terrified, really terrified. It was a very stubborn bee."
"But the bee was more frightened than you were."
"You are not to laugh. I was really terrified." Yukiko, still panting,
forced her white face into a smile. The beating of her heart,
206 the makioka sisters

already agitated from beri-beri, was clear under the thin summer
dress.

12

early in august Taeko had a letter from one of Yamamura
Saku's pupils saying that the dancing teacher was worse, and had
entered a hospital near her home.
It was usual for dance practice to be discontinued during the
hot months, July and August, but this year Saku had not been
well even at the June recital, and she had decided then to take a
vacation until September. Although Taeko had not been without
concern for Saku's health, she had neglected to call because a trip
to the teacher's house, in the south of Osaka, meant several train
changes. Always before it had served her purpose to go to the
studio, and she had never visited Saku at home. But now Saku
had developed uremic poisoning, and her condition was serious.
"Suppose you go tomorrow, Koi-san. I will go later myself."
Sachiko was afraid those long trips to Ashiya in May and June
might have brought on the new attack. She had thought at the
time, as she noticed the pale, puffed face and the heavy breathing,
and as she reflected on how, whatever Saku herself might say about
keeping strong for her dancing, there was nothing worse for kidney
trouble than over-exertion, that it might be better to put a
stop to the trips. But Taeko and Etsuko were so enthusiastic, and
Sachiko was carried away by the teacher's own enthusiasm. She
had let the matter pass. Now she feared that that had been a mistake.
Planning to call in a very few days herself, she thought she
should send Taeko as soon as possible.
Taeko had meant to go in the cooler morning hours. There was
a conference about a present, however, and there were various
other matters to delay her, and she finally set out in the hottest
part of the afternoon. When she came home panting at about
five in the evening--she could not describe how hot that part of
Osaka was, she said--she peeled off her dress, wet and clinging,
Book Two 207

and disappeared into the bath, naked but for a pair of underpants.
After a time she reappeared in a large towel, a damp cloth around
her head, and took out a gossamer-silk kimono.
"You will just have to excuse me." Throwing the kimono over
her shoulders, she sat down with her back to her sisters and her
naked bosom turned toward the electric fan.
Although Saku always complained of not feeling well, Taeko
reported, there had been nothing particularly out of order through
July. Then, on the thirtieth, she had held ceremonies at her house
to confer a professional name on a certain disciple. Saku was not
generous about conferring names and thus accrediting her disciples
as Yamamura teachers in their own right, but this time she
made an exception. Dressing with the most solemn formality, for
all the heat, she hung out the picture of her predecessor, the old
head of the school, and with great dignity conducted the ceremony
that had been handed down by her grandmother. The next
day, when she went to pay a call at the disciple's house, she
looked more ill than usual; and the day after that, the first of
August, she collapsed.
The south side of Osaka, unlike these suburbs between Osaka
and Kobe, was a jam of little houses, almost without trees. Taeko
was dripping with perspiration by the time she managed to find
the hospital, and there, in a room that faced west into the beating
afternoon sun, the teacher lay with but one woman, a disciple, to
watch over her. Though the face was not as swollen as Taeko had
expected, Saku did not recognize her when she knelt beside the
bed. The woman nursing her said that Saku recovered consciousness
only now and then, that for the most part she was in a coma.
When occasionally she became delirious, it was always the dance
she talked of. The lady stepped into the hall as Taeko started to
leave, about a half hour later, and reported that there was no hope.
Taeko had guessed as much. Making her way home under the
blazing sun, she knew what a strain it had been for the ailing
teacher to make that trip every day--it was a trial for Taeko herself
to go even once.
The next day Sachiko visited the hospital with Taeko, and five
or six days later they had notice of the teacher's death. When
they went with condolences, they had occasion for the first time
to call at her house; and they found it an astonishing house--
208 the makioka sisters

little better than a tenement--for a woman who bore the proud
Yamamura name, and who almost alone handed on the dance tradition
so much a part of old Osaka. There she had wrung out a
miserable existence, a desperate existence, even. And was that not
because she was a woman with little talent for making her way
in the world, a woman whose conscience did not permit her to
do damage to the old forms and make concessions to the fashions
of the day? Her predecessor had been dance mistress to the geishas
in the South Quarter, and had overseen their annual dance
recital; but Saku herself announced upon succeeding to the name
that she wanted no part of geisha recitals and the like. The gaudy
Tokyo styles being in their heyday, she knew that if she became
dance mistress to one of the geisha quarters, certain functionaries
would interfere to make her adopt the new fashions she so disliked.
This rigidness kept her from becoming a worldly success.
She had few pupils, and she was not blessed with a happy personal
life: reared by a grandmother, she never married, although there
was said to have been a man who had paid her geisha debts. She
had no children. No relatives were with her when she died. Only
a very few people attended the funeral, at Abeno, in the late summer
heat. Almost all the funeral guests went to the crematory next
door, where they exchanged memories as they waited for the ashes.
Saku had hated to ride in anything, and had particularly disliked
ships and automobiles. Very religious, she made her visit on the
twenty-sixth of every month to the Kiyoshikojin Shrine, and she
had made the "round of the hundred twenty-eight shrines." In
February each year, on the day that traditionally marks the beginning
of spring, she visited the Jizo chapels in the Uemachi section
of Osaka and offered a rice cake for each year of her age. She
was most patient in explaining to her pupils the key spots in a
dance, but she could also be demanding. She was very particular,
for instance, about this passage from "The Salt Makers":

Come, a box-tree comb in your hair,
And help me take brine from the tide.

And at the verse about the moon and the two reflections, she insisted
that the dancer think of the unreal moon in the brine
buckets. Again, there was a passage from "The Curse":

DWK 1 WE 209

I suppose you too will be sorry now.
Think well on what you have done.

The dancer, half kneeling, went through the motions of driving
a nail, and Saku required that the eyes express intense determination.
Conservative and retiring, she yet felt that she could not sit
idly by and see the Osaka dance overwhelmed by the Tokyo dance,
and she thought the opportunity might come for her to take her
dance to Tokyo. Her pupils planned to celebrate her sixtieth birthday
by hiring a hall in the South Quarter and giving a really
elaborate recital--it had not occurred to them that she might not
live until her sixtieth birthday. Taeko, a relatively new pupil who
had known Saku for but a few years, sat respectfully by with
Sachiko and listened. She had hoped, as a favorite pupil, to receive
a professional name in the Yamamura school, and the hope had
come to nothing.

S!SS!SŪSŪS!S!S(S^ŪSiSS!S!g<3?SŪSŪ3<

^

"mother, the Stolzes are going back to Germany," said Etsuko
one evening after she had been playing next door.
Across the fence the next day, Sachiko asked Mrs. Stolz whether
Etsuko's story was true. It was, said Mrs. Stolz. Her husband
said Japan was at war. The Kobe office, almost no business. No
business since the first of the year. They waited, hoping the war
would end, they did not know when. Her husband thought about
many things, decided to go back to Germany. Mrs. Stolz went on
to describe how her husband had been in business in Manila before
coming to Kobe two or three years before, and how they
hated to go back to Germany now that he had established himself
in the Far East. They had been very lucky to have such good
neighbors, and all of them, and especially the children, were extremely
sad at having to go. Mr. Stolz and the oldest son, Peter,
would leave this month and go home by way of America. Mrs.
210 the makioka listers

Stolz and Rosemarie and Fritz would go to Manila next month
and spend some time with a sister's family, and return to Europe
from there. The sister's family too was returning to Germany; and
since the sister was at the moment ill in Germany, Mrs. Stolz
would see to packing and closing the house for them, and would
take the three children back with her. Mrs. Stolz and the younger
children would not leave for perhaps three weeks, but Mr. Stolz
and Peter already had their reservations. They would leave Yokohama
on the Empress of Canada late in August--so quickly had
they had to make their plans.
Since the end of July, Etsuko had again shown symptoms of
nervousness and beri-beri, though not as severe as the year before,
and had begun to lose her appetite and complain that she could
not sleep. They thought it best to have her see a specialist in
Tokyo while the symptoms were still mild. And then Etsuko, who
had never seen Tokyo, spoke enviously of how this friend and
that friend had bowed to the Imperial Family, and it would be a
great delight for her to be shown Tokyo, and Sachiko herself had
never seen the Shibuya house, and thought that this would be a
good occasion to call on Tsuruko. Everything considered, then,
they had decided that early in August the three of them, Sachiko
and Yukiko and Etsuko, would go to Tokyo. Then came the death
of the dancing teacher to interfere with their plans, and they began
to wonder if they would be able to go in August at all. It
would be good, however, to see Peter and his father off from
Yokohama--but unfortunately the sailing came on the Festival of
the Dead, and it was absolutely essential that Sachiko pay a visit
in her sister's place to the family temple in Osaka, where services
were held each year.
They had to be contented with a little farewell party on the
seventeenth, to which they invited Rosemarie, Peter, and Fritz.
Two days later the Stolzes gave a party at which Etsuko was the
only Japanese among the friends of Rosemarie and Peter. On the
twenty-first Peter came over alone to say good-bye. After shaking
hands with them all, he reported that he and his father were leaving
Sannomiya Station for Yokohama the next day. They expected
to reach Germany from the United States early in September, and
he hoped the Makiokas would find a way to visit Hamburg, where
the family would be living. As he wanted to send Etsuko someDWK 1 ~WO 211

thing from America, he wondered what she would like. Etsuko,
after talking the matter over with her mother, asked for shoes.
Very well, answered Peter, he would borrow one of Etsuko's shoes
for size. Back almost immediately with paper, pencil, and tape
measure, he said that his mother had suggested measuring Etsuko's
foot instead. He put the foot on the paper and carefully took down
the dimensions.
On the morning of the twenty-second Etsuko and Yukiko went
to Sannomiya Station. That evening at dinner they told of the
Stolzes, father and son. It appeared that Peter was extremely sad
to be leaving. When could Etsuko be in Tokyo, he asked. Would
she come to the ship? It sailed the evening of the twenty-fourth.
They could meet that day. He was still repeating the invitation
when the train pulled out, and he seemed very sad. How would
it be, said Sachiko, if Etsuko at least were to go to Yokohama?
Sachiko herself could not leave until after the twenty-fourth, but
how would it be if Etsuko and Yukiko were to take the night train
on the twenty-third, and, getting off in Yokohama, go directly to
the ship? Sachiko would be in Tokyo on about the twenty-sixth.
Etsuko could have someone show her the sights and she could
wait for her mother at the Shibuya house. A fine idea, thought
Etsuko.
"Will you be able to leave tomorrow evening, Yukiko?"
"I have all sorts of shopping to do ..."
"But with all day tomorrow. . . ."
"If we take too late a train, Etsuko will be sleepy. There would
still be time if we left early the following morning."
"Suppose you do that, then," said Sachiko lightly. She was
touched to see that Yukiko wanted to stay even one night longer.
"What a hurry to be off." Taeko's tone was a little mocking.
"It seems as though you just arrived."
"I would just as soon stay longer, of course. But if it will make
Etsuko and Peter happy. . . ."
When she had arrived in July, Yukiko had thought she might
be allowed to stay for about two months, and no doubt she was
sad to think that she had to leave even a little early. Etsuko would
be with her this time, and Sachiko would follow, and it would
not be as if she were returning to Tokyo alone. Sachiko and
Etsuko would not be in Tokyo long, however--they would have
212 1 HE MAKIOKA a I h T E K ;>

to come back in time for school--and Yukiko would have to stay
on. She saw that though she did indeed like to be near Sachiko
and the others, one reason for wanting to live in Ashiya was her
love for this Kobe-Osaka district, and that though one reason for
disliking Tokyo was that she did not get along well with her
brother-in-law, still it was the air of Osaka and Kobe that best
suited her.
Sachiko, sensing all this, said little the following day except that
she left everything to Yukiko and Etsuko. Yukiko spent the morning
about the house. Then, seeing how eager Etsuko was to make
the trip, she dressed hastily and after a vitamin injection set out
in the afternoon with 0-haru--she did not say where she was
going. At about six she came back with several parcels from Kobe
shops.
"I have these," she said, taking from her obi two tickets for
the Fuji Express the following morning. The Fuji left Osaka at
seven and arrived in Yokohama at three, and they could thus be
at the pier a little past three. That would give them two or three
hours before sailing time. So the plans were made; and they Bew
about taking out suitcases and informing Mrs. Stolz and so on.
Etsuko, so excited that she had no thought of sleep, was led
upstairs by Yukiko--they would have to be up early the following
morning. Yukiko took her time with her own packing, and talked
to her sisters until after midnight. Teinosuke was at work in his
study.
"We really ought to go to bed, Yukiko," said Taeko, with an
impolitely wide yawn. Taeko, much the worst-mannered of the
three, stood in sharp contrast to Yukiko, and especially in the hot
months her slovenliness was really too noticeable. This evening,
for instance, she had come from the bath in a cotton kimono and
an undress obi, and as she talked she sometimes pulled the kimono
open at the neck and fanned her bare bosom.
"If you are sleepy, you might go on ahead."
"You are not sleepy?"
"I have been too busy. I doubt if I could sleep anyway."
"Do you need another injection?"
"It might be better to wait until just before I leave in the morning."

"It is a shame you have to go, Yukiko." Sachiko saw that the
UUUK 1 WU 213

spot over the eye, which had not appeared for some time, was
faintly visible again. "I hope we can think of something to bring
you down again before the end of the year. Next year is unlucky,
you know."
The Stolzes, father and son, had left from Sannomiya, in downtown
Kobe. So that they might have even a few more minutes at
the house, Etsuko and Yukiko decided to take the express from
Osaka instead. Even so, they had to be at Ashiya Station by six.
Sachiko had meant to see them only to the door, but when it became
clear that Mrs. Stolz and her children were going as far as
the station, she went along, as did Taeko and 0-haru.
"I sent a telegram last night. I told them what time," said Mrs.
Stolz, while they were waiting for a local train.
"Peter will be on deck, then?"
"I think so. Etsuko, you are very kind. Thank you." Mrs. Stolz
turned to Rosemarie and Fritz. "Tell Etsuko thank you," she
said in German. Sachiko and the others understood only the
danke schon.
"Come as soon as you can. Mother."
"It will be no later than the twenty-sixth or twenty-seventh."
"Promise."
"I promise."
"Hurry back, Etsuko." Rosemarie ran after the train. "Auf
Wiedersehen."
"Auf 'Wiedersehen," said Etsuko, waving from the window.

S!S!3S<3ŪS<S^S<5S3!S<S<3ŪSŪSŪS;SŪSŧ

14

sachiko planned to take the Seagull Express on the twenty-
seventh. With all the presents she would have three suitcases, more
than she could manage by herself. It occurred to her that she might
let 0-haru too see the sights of Tokyo. Taeko could keep house
for Teinosuke, and there were all sorts of reasons why it would
be good to have 0-haru along: for one thing, Sachiko might want
to send Etsuko back in time for school and stay on in Tokyo her214 I HE MAKIOKA 5ISH;.KS>

self. It had been so very long since her last visit, and she did not
want to hurry. She might see a few plays before she came back.
"0-haru is here too!" Etsuko was at the station with Yukiko
and Teruo, Tsuruko's oldest son.
"That is the Marunouchi Building over there, and that is the
palace," she said when they were in the cab. She was by now very
much the old Tokyo hand. Sachiko noted how her color had improved,
and thought that even in so short a time her face had become
fuller.
"Etsuko, we had a beautiful view of Mt. Fuji from the train.
Tell Etsuko about it, 0-haru."
"A really beautiful view, all the way to the top. And not a bit
of snow."
"It was a little cloudy when we saw it," said Etsuko. "The top
was under clouds."
"0-haru was luckier, then." 0-haru always referred to herself
in the third person when she was talking to Etsuko.
"Look, 0-haru--the Double Bridge." Teruo had taken off his
cap, and Etsuko noticed that they were passing the bridge from
which respects were paid to the Imperial Family.
"We all got out of the car and bowed the other day," said
Yukiko.
"We really did, Mother."
"When?"
"The other day--the twenty-fourth. Mr. Stolz and Peter and
Yukiko and I--we all got out and lined up there."
"The Stolzes came to Tokyo?"
"Yukiko brought them."
"You had that much time to spare, then?"
"Only just that much. We could hardly take our eyes off our
watches."
Yukiko and Etsuko had rushed to the pier and found Mr. Stolz
and Peter waiting impatiently on deck. They sailed at seven,
Yukiko was told. That left four hours. After she considered the
possibility of going to the New Grand Hotel for tea and concluded
that it would still be too early, she suggested that they all
go to Tokyo. They would need a half hour each way on the train,
and they would have some three hours to tour the city. Yukiko
knew that Peter, and even Mr. Stolz, had never seen Tokyo. Mr.
UUUK. 1 WU ^^5

Stolz seemed to hesitate a little. He agreed only after asking repeatedly
whether she was quite sure they would have time. Once
in Tokyo, they had tea in the Imperial Hotel, and at about four-
thirty they set out in a cab, first to pay their respects at the Double
Bridge, then to see the sights: the War Ministry, the Diet Building,
the Prime Minister's Residence, the Navy Ministry, the Ministry
of Justice, Hibiya Park, the Imperial Theater, the Marunouchi
Building. Sometimes they only looked out from the cab, sometimes
they walked around for a few minutes, and by five-thirty
they had made the rounds. Yukiko and Etsuko meant to see the
Stolzes back to Yokohama, but Mr. Stolz insisted that that was
unnecessary, and at length, afraid the excitement since early that
morning might be too much for Etsuko, Yukiko decided to say
good-bye at Tokyo Station.
"Was Peter pleased?"
"He was surprised at what a fine city Tokyo is. Remember how
surprised he was, Etsuko?"
"All the big buildings--he looked dizzy."
"Mr. Stolz had seen Europe, but Peter only knew Manila and
Kobe and Osaka."
"And he thought Tokyo was every bit as good as people said."
"How about you, Etsuko?"
"What do you mean? I am Japanese. I knew already."
"I was the only one who had been in Tokyo. I had a terrible
time explaining everything."
"Did you explain in Japanese?" asked Teruo.
"That was the problem. I explained in Japanese to Peter, and
he interpreted to his father. But Peter had trouble with words
like 'Diet Building' and 'Prime Minister's Residence.' I had to use
my English sometimes."
"Lucky you knew the English for Diet Building and Prime
Minister's Residence." Teruo alone spoke with a proper Tokyo
accent.
"I only mixed in a little broken English. I remembered the
Diet Building, but for 'Prime Minister's Residence' I had to say:
'This is where Prince Konoye lives.' "
"And I spoke German," said Etsuko.
"Auf 'Wiedersehen?"
"Yes. I said Auf Wiedersehen several times."
2l6 i HE MAKIOKA SISlliK^

"Mr. Stolz kept thanking us in English."
Yukiko, usually so retiring, hand in hand with Etsuko, the aunt
in summer kimono, the niece in Western clothes, the two of them
showing a foreign gentleman and his son through the Imperial
Hotel and the government buildings and office buildings--what
a remarkable expedition it must have been, thought Sachiko. And
how trying for Mr. Stolz, dragged along by his son, unable to
understand the explanations, keeping a worried eye on his watch.
"Have you ever been in that museum, Mother?"
"Of course. You are not to go treating me as though I just came
in from the country."
Sachiko did not in fact know Tokyo as well as she pretended.
When she had been perhaps sixteen, she had stayed, once or
twice, with her father at a downtown inn, and she had been
shown the city, but that was before the earthquake. Since then
she had spent only two or three nights at the Imperial Hotel on
her way back from her honeymoon. She had not been in Tokyo
even once in the nine years since Etsuko's birth. Though she might
tease the girl, then, she had to admit that she had been a little
excited herself as for the first time in so many years she saw the
grandeur of the capital, the rows of tall buildings at the heart of
the city. In Osaka too, Mido Boulevard had been widened. With
modern buildings all through the old Semba district south of the
river, the view from the Alaska Restaurant on the tenth floor of
the Asahi Building was in its way an impressive one, but in the
final analysis Osaka was no match for Tokyo. The changes from
the Tokyo she had last seen, only beginning to recover from the
earthquake, were quite beyond what she had imagined. Those
great, towering piles, and the pyramid-shaped roof of the Diet
Building down the avenues to the west--she knew how long those
nine years had been. She looked back over changes in the city and
changes in her own life.
Sachiko did not really like Tokyo, however. Radiant clouds
might trail from His Imperial Majesty, but for Sachiko the beauty
of Tokyo was the beauty of the Palace and its pine-covered
grounds, and no more: the beauty of that island in the most
modern part of the city, a medieval castle with mossy walls and
banks along its moat, set off against the finest modern buildings.
Of the Palace grounds, which had no rival in Osaka or Kyoto,
DUUK. 1 WU 217

Sachiko was sure she would never tire. But for the rest there was
little in Tokyo that pleased her. Magnificent though the Ginza
might be, there was something dry and harsh in the air that made her sure she would always be a stranger there. And she especially
disliked the drab streets in the outlying districts. As the cab approached
Shibuya, she felt somehow chilly even in the summer
night. It was as though she had come to a distant, utterly foreign
country. She did not know whether she had ever before been in
this part of Tokyo. In any case, the streets seemed to her quite
unlike those of Kyoto and Osaka and Kobe--they seemed rather
like what one would expect in a frontier city farther to the north,
or even in Manchuria. And this was no end-of-the-line alley; it
was a busy street in the main part of Tokyo. The shops were
imposing and there was considerable evidence of prosperity as they
started up the hill beyond Shibuya. Why then was it so lacking in
warmth; why were the faces so cold and white? Sachiko thought
of her own Ashiya, and of Kyoto. If this were Kyoto, she could
feel at home in a street she was seeing for the first time. She
would even want to stop for a chat with someone. But in Tokyo,
wherever she went and however diligently she searched, she never
felt that she had ties. She was an alien. She could hardly believe
that a true child of Osaka, and her own sister at that, could be
living in this section of this city. It was as if, in a dream, she was
walking through a strange city, suddenly to come upon the house
where her mother or her sister lived, and to say to herself: "So
this is where Mother is living." How strange that Tsuruko could
endure the place. Until they reached the house, Sachiko could
hardly believe she was about to see her sister.
The cab turned left into a quiet residential street, and almost
immediately it was surrounded by children. The oldest was about
nine.
"Aunt Sachiko!"
"Aunt Sachiko!"
"Mother is waiting."
"There is the house, right over there."
"Be careful, be careful! Keep away from the cab," said Yukiko.
The cab was coming to a stop.
"Are those really Tsuruko's children? The big one is Tetsuo,
then?"
210 _______ 1 HE mAKIOKA SISTERS

"Hideo," Teruo corrected her. "Hideo and Yoshio and Masao."
"How they have grown. Except for the Osaka accent, I would
never have guessed who they were."
"They all have good Tokyo accents when they want to," said
Teruo. "They're trying to make you feel at home."

S<SŪSŪS8S<SŪS!3!ŪS<5!S!S!S!3ŪSŪSŪS<

1^

sachiko had heard about the Shibuya house from Yukiko. The
wild disorder, however, the clutter that left hardly a place to
stand, was far worse than she had imagined. Although it was true
that the house was new and could be called bright, the pillars
were thin, the floors were weak, and the whole house shook when
one of the children ran up or down stairs. The paper paneling on
the doors, already full of holes, looked all the shabbier for the
cheap, whitish frames. Sachiko disliked the old Osaka house, so
dark and inconvenient, but she had to admit that it had a certain
repose quite lacking here. And then the Osaka house did have
a garden, albeit a very small garden, and Sachiko had fond memories
of the view from the back tea room through the court to the
earth-walled storehouse. Here in Shibuya, with barely room inside
the fences for a few plotted plants, there was nothing at all that
could be called a garden. The children were too noisy downstairs,
said Tsuruko; she had given Sachiko the room upstairs that passed
for a guest room. Sachiko recognized in the alcove a painting by
Seiho1--it was of trout--that had been brought from Osaka. Her
father had collected Seiho paintings, and this was one of the few
they had kept when they sold his collection. Sachiko recognized
much besides the painting: the red-lacquer table in the alcove,
the motto over the door in the handwriting of Rai Shunsui,2 the
gold-lacquer cupboard by the wall, the clock on it. She could see
the corner of the Osaka house where they had all been kept. No
doubt Tsuruko had brought them out to help her remember the

^akeuchi Seiho (1864-1942), a Kyoto painter.
'Confucian scholar, 1746-1816. Father of the more famous Rai Sanyo.

Kook I we 219

good days and to brighten up what was much too ugly to be
called a guest room. But the treasures had a perverse effect: they
only set off the shabbiness of the room, and for Sachiko it was
strange indeed to find relics of her father in a dreary section of
Tokyo. It seemed to show the depths to which Tsuruko had
fallen.
"How clever of you to find a place for everything."
"When the baggage came, I had no idea what I would do with
it all. Somehow I did manage, though. When you pack a house
full, you can put an amazing amount into it."
Tsuruko sat down for a talk after she showed Sachiko to her
room. The children came storming up after her, and pulled and
tugged at the two sisters. They were to go downstairs--they were
smothering her--see, they were getting their aunt all wrinkled.
"Masao, suppose you go downstairs and tell 0-hisa to hurry
with something cool for your aunt. Do as I tell you, Masao."
Tsuruko held the youngest child, Umeko, on her lap. "Yoshio,
go down and bring us a fan. Hideo, you are the oldest. The oldest
is to go downstairs first. I have not seen your aunt in a very long
time, and we have a great deal to talk about. Do you expect me to
talk with you hanging on me?"
"How old are you, Hideo?"
"Eight."
"You are very big for your age. At the gate I thought it was
Tetsuo."
"And he still has to hang on his mother, just as if he were the
youngest of all. Tetsuo keeps himself busy with his studies. He is
not quite so much of a baby."
"0-hisa is the only maid you have?"
"0-miyo was with us until a little while ago, but she wanted to
go back to Osaka. I decided that with Umeko able to walk I
hardly needed a nurse."
Sachiko, expecting to find Tsuruko faded and worn, looked admiringly
at her sister. She still knew how to take care of herself.
Her hair was neat, her dress was proper and tasteful. With a husband
and six children--fourteen, eleven, eight, six, five, and three
--to look after, and only one maid to help her, she had a right to
look far more wasted and slovenly. She might well have looked
ten years older than she was. But Tsuruko, a proper Makioka,
220 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA 3ISTEKS

would have been taken for a good five or six years younger than
her thirty-seven. Tsuruko and Yukiko resembled their mother, a
Kyoto woman, and Sachiko and Taeko their father. One could see
something of the Kyoto beauty in the first and third sisters. Unlike
Yukiko, however, Tsuruko was amply built. Just as the two
younger sisters were shorter by steps than Sachiko, so Sachiko was
a step shorter than Tsuruko. Her figure well proportioned to her
height, Tsuruko seemed larger than her slight husband when they
went out together. She was far from the delicate, fragile Kyoto
beauty Yukiko was. Sachiko, who had been twenty at the time
of Tsuruko's wedding, could remember how striking her sister had
been that day. Clean featured and rather long of face, Tsuruko
had worn her hair--when loose it trailed to the floor and reminded
one of the long-haired Heian beauty of a thousand years ago--in
a high, sweeping Japanese coiffure. One thought, looking at the
figure, feminine and at the same time grand and imposing, how
the robes of the ancient court lady would have become her. The
most extravagant rumors about the bride Tatsuo was taking were
no more than the truth, said Sachiko and the other sisters. Fifteen
or sixteen years had passed, Tsuruko had six children, life had become
less easy, and yet, though something of the bloom had
passed, she still looked young. No doubt she was saved by her
height and the fullness of her body. Sachiko looked closely at her
sister, rocking Umeko in her arms, and saw that the smooth, white
skin at the throat was as firm as ever.
Teinosuke had suggested that it would be a great imposition for
Sachiko and Etsuko to stay at the Shibuya house. He would telephone
or write to make reservations at an inn, he said, and
Sachiko could move after only a night or two with her sister. But
Sachiko did not like the idea of going to an inn--she might have
been less reluctant if Teinosuke had been with her--and besides,
not having seen her sister for so long, she had all sorts of things
to talk about, and the Shibuya house would be far more convenient
than an inn. And with 0-haru to help in the kitchen, they
would not be such a nuisance. Soon, however, she began to see
that she might better have taken Teinosuke's advice. Tsuruko assured
her that it was not always this noisy. The children were in
the house all day long because of the summer vacation, and in
two or three days it would be quieter. But since the three youngest
Book Two 221

had not yet started to school, it did not seem likely that Tsuruko
would have much time to herself. Finding a spare moment now
and then, she would come up to Sachiko's room. The three children
would immediately be up after her, and sometimes she would
have to spank one of them, and the clamor would only be louder.
Once or twice every day the screams were quite deafening. Sachiko
knew from the Osaka days that her sister tended to be short with
the children--how otherwise could she have managed them? But
even granting that no one was to blame, Sachiko thought it sad to
have so little time for conversation. After the first two or three
days, in the course of which Etsuko was taken by Yukiko to see
the Yasukuni Shrine and the Sengakuji Temple and the other
famous places, they found that it was too warm for sightseeing.
Very soon Etsuko was bored. Another reason for not staying at an
inn had been Sachiko's hope that Etsuko, who had no brothers
and sisters, might find it fun to play with a little girl younger than
she, and might become friendly with her cousins, but Umeko was
so completely her mother's child that she even turned Yukiko
away, and she proved to be too much for Etsuko. School would
begin soon, Etsuko pointed out, and if she did not hurry back
Rumi would be off for Manila. Since she had been treated more
gently herself, she would steal frightened, intimidated glances at
Tsuruko when the latter began to punish one of the children.
Fearing that Etsuko might come to dislike Tsuruko, in many ways
the kindest of the sisters, and that the spankings might have an
unfortunate effect on her nerves, Sachiko concluded that the best
thing would be to send Etsuko on home with 0-haru. However,
Dr. Sugiura of Tokyo University, to whom they had an introduction
from Dr. Kushida, was out of town and would not be back
until early in September. The whole trip would be wasted unless
they saw him.
If they were to stay on, might it not be better to go to an inn?
True, Sachiko herself had never stayed at the Hamaya; but it was
managed by a lady who had been a waitress at the Harihan Restaurant
in Osaka, whom Sachiko's father had known, and whom
Sachiko herself remembered ("the young lady," Sachiko had been
in those days). It was not as if she would be staying at a completely
strange inn. Teinosuke had said moreover that the inn was
a small one, a made-over restaurant, that the guests were for the
222 1 HE MAKIOKA SISTERS

most part congenial people from Osaka, that most of the maids
spoke the Osaka dialect, and that it was a place to make one forget
that one was in Tokyo. Because of all this, might it not be better
to move? But seeing the trouble Tsuruko was taking to entertain
her, Sachiko could not bring the subject up. Tatsuo too was most
solicitous. He said that it was quite impossible to have a comfortable
meal at home, and took them out to a foreign-style restaurant
said to be well known in Tokyo, and gave a little party
at a Chinese restaurant called the Peking, to which the children
were brought lest Etsuko be lonely. For all the tight-fisted ways
he was said to have developed, Tatsuo seemed as fond as ever of
taking people out. Or was it that he still felt the old impulse to
father them all? Sachiko did not know. Perhaps he was unhappy
over reports that he did not get along well with his sisters-in-law.
He pointed out that Sachiko knew only the Harihan and the Tsuruya
and other expensive restaurants. Very near the Shibuya house,
he said, were any number of little restaurants that catered to the
pleasure quarters. The food was better than in large, famous restaurants,
and, since proper wives and daughters were quite willing
to be seen in such places, Sachiko too might find them interesting.
If she liked, he would give her a taste of the real Tokyo. Leaving
Tsuruko to watch the house, he would set out happily with
Sachiko and Yukiko for one of his little restaurants. Sachiko remembered,
a little fondly, how the sisters had had their fits of
perverseness in the days when Tatsuo was new in the family, and
how he had occasionally sent them off in tears; but now, seeing
how good-natured and indeed how weak he was, and how intent
he was on entertaining them--more intent than Tsuruko even--
Sachiko could not bring herself to cross him. She concluded that
there was nothing to do but stay in the Shibuya house. They
would leave as soon as possible after seeing Dr. Sugiura.

SŪSSS!S<5t5tSSStSŪ3ŪSŪSiS^SŪSŪSŪ

16

it was the night of the first of September.
Sachiko and Yukiko had dinner with Tatsuo and Tsuruko, the
children having eaten earlier. The talk turned from the TokyoYokohama
earthquake--September i was the anniversary--to the
recent Ashiya flood, and as the matter of Taeko and the young
photographer Itakura came up, Sachiko told them in some detail
of what had happened. She herself had not been in danger, she
said, and she only knew what Taeko had told her. No doubt it
was not by way of retribution, but that very night the worst typhoon
in over ten years hit Tokyo. For almost the first time in her
life Sachiko knew two or three hours of real terror.
Reared in the Osaka region, where storm damage is lighter,
Sachiko did not know how terrifying a wind could be. It was true
that some four or five years earlier--had it been the autumn of
1934?--the pagoda of the Tennoji Temple had fallen in a typhoon,
the Eastern Hills of Kyoto had been stripped quite bare,
and Sachiko herself had been frightened for perhaps a half hour,
but since the damage was light in Ashiya, they were astonished to
learn from the newspapers that the wind had been enough to
knock over a pagoda. That typhoon was hardly one to compare
to this Tokyo typhoon. Her fears were multiplied at the thought
that if the Tennoji Pagoda had fallen before the wind then, the
Shibuya house would never stand before the wind now. Because
the house was so cheaply built, the typhoon seemed five and ten
times more violent than it really was.
The wind came up before the children were in bed, at eight or
nine o'clock, and by ten o'clock it was fierce. Sachiko as usual
went to bed upstairs with Yukiko and Etsuko. Etsuko clung to her
as the house began to shake. Calling Yukiko over too, the child was
soon lying with an arm tight around each. There was nothing to
worry about--the wind would die down, they said; but they were
clinging to her as desperately as she was clinging to them. The
three lay huddled in a tight cluster, their faces pressed together.
Teruo, who slept with Tetsuo in the small room across the hall,
224 ___ the makioka sisters

looked in and asked if they ought not to go downstairs. Might it
be safer downstairs?--ought they to go downstairs?--he could hear
people running about down there. Sachiko could not see his face,
but his voice was tense and unnatural. Not wanting to frighten
Etsuko, she said nothing. She was beginning to fear that the house
might fall, however. Each time the beams moaned she thought
the time had come, and she was in no mood to argue with Teruo.
"Etsuko, Yukiko, suppose we go downstairs," she said, taking
Etsuko by the hand. The house was just then shaken by a gust of
wind which they thought must surely blow it over. The stairs,
flimsy as shingles, seemed about to crumple under her feet, while
the walls on either side ballooned like sails. Dirt and sand came
in through the yawning cracks between the plaster and the pillars.
Certain that she was about to be crushed to death, Sachiko threw
herself down the stairs, almost knocking Teruo over before her.
Upstairs they had not noticed because of the wind, and the leaves
and branches and tin roofs and sign boards sailing through the
air; but now they could hear the frightened voices: "I'm scared,
Mother; I'm scared." The four youngest children, headed by Hideo,
were clustered about their parents. As Sachiko came in, Yoshio
and Masao ran over to her. Etsuko was left to Yukiko. Tsuruko
held Umeko in both arms, and Hideo cowered at her sleeve (his
behavior was extraordinary: during lulls in the wind, he would
twist at his mother's sleeve and listen intently, and when he heard
the wind coming up again in the distance, he would cover his
ears and, with a low and yet hoarse and penetrating moan, press
his face against the floor). Four adults and seven children, like a
group statue of Terror. Whatever may have been Tatsuo's feelings,
the three sisters at least were resigned to being crushed to death.
Had the wind been a little stronger and had it lasted a little
longer, they might well have been. Sachiko thought that in her
fright she had been imagining things, but here downstairs she
could see that at each fresh gust of wind the pillars and the plastered
walls were indeed separated by cracks two and three inches
wide--she wanted to say six inches or a foot, watching by the one
flashlight. The cracks opened before the wind and closed in the
lulls, and each time they were wider than before. Sachiko remembered
how the Osaka house had shaken in the Hachiyama earthBook Two _____ 225

quake, but an earthquake is over in a moment. This opening and
closing of the walls was quite new to her.
Even Tatsuo, doing his best to remain calm, began to feel uneasy
at the billowing walls. Was this the only house that was rocking
so, he wondered aloud--the other houses in the neighborhood
were more solidly built. The Koizumis' would be standing up well
enough, said Teruo. It was a solid, one-storey house. Suppose they
go to the Koizumis'? They did not want the house to fall on them.
The house would not fall, answered Tatsuo--but then, it might
be better to leave--but they could hardly get the Koizumis out
of bed. This was no time to think about being polite, said Tsuruko;
and the Koizumis would surely not be sleeping through the storm.
Suddenly everyone was in favor of leaving. The Koizumi house
was the neighboring one to the rear, its gate but a step from the
Makioka kitchen. Mr. Koizumi, a retired civil servant with a wife
and one son, had been of some help to Teruo, who went to the
same middle school as the son. Tatsuo and Teruo had called on
him once or twice.
Meanwhile 0-haru and 0-hisa were talking in the maid's room;
and soon 0-haru came in to say that she would go see how things
were with the Koizumis. If it seemed appropriate, she would ask
them to take in the whole Makioka family. 0-haru of course had
no idea who the Koizumis might be, but she had complete confidence
in herself, and she evidently meant to present her petition
once 0-hisa had shown her the house.
"Suppose we get started, 0-hisa."
"Be careful--the wind might blow you away."
Without waiting for permission, 0-haru led 0-hisa off through
the back door. The Koizumis would not mind a bit, she said, back
a few minutes later. Mr. Teruo was right--the Koizumi house was
not even trembling, the storm seemed like a far-off dream. As she
spoke, 0-haru turned to take Etsuko on her back.
"Miss Etsuko could never make it alone. Why I was blown
back twice myself, and finally had to crawl over. And there are all
sorts of things blowing through the air. Put a quilt over your head,
now."
Tatsuo still showed no sign of leaving. He would stay to take
care of the house, he said, as Teruo, Tetsuo, Sachiko, Yukiko, and
226 the makioka sisters

Etsuko went off with 0-haru. Tsuruko could not decide what to
do; but when, after 0-haru had gone off with Masao ("Come on,
young man, we are getting out of here!") and was preparing to
take Yoshio in his turn, she could stand it no longer. Giving Yoshio
to 0-hisa, she left the house with Umeko in her arms. 0-haru had
been most heroic--coming back the second time, she had barely
escaped being crushed by a balcony that sailed down the street.
0-hisa having taken Yoshio, she turned to the terrified Hideo, and,
brushing aside Tsuruko's protests that the boy was quite big
enough to walk by himself, took him on her back.
So all of them, even the maid 0-hisa, had left. Half an hour
later Tatsuo appeared somewhat sheepishly at the Koizumis' back
door. The wind was worse than ever; but the walls and pillars of
the Koizumi house were so solid that no one thought of the danger.
How strange that a better-built house should make such a
difference. The wind subsided at about four in the morning, and
the Makiokas returned trembling to their frail, uninviting little
house.

S<3S3^S^S^^SŪS^SŪSS^S;SŪ^3Ū!

17

although there was a clear autumn sky the next morning, the
memory of the typhoon was still with Sachiko like a nightmare.
Worried about the effect on Etsuko's nerves, she decided that the
time for deliberation had passed. She put in an emergency call to
Osaka and asked Teinosuke to make reservations at the Hamaya
Inn. She would like if possible to move that day, she said, and toward
evening she had a call from the Hamaya. Reservations had
been made from Osaka, and a room was waiting for her. She set
out with Etsuko after a brief farewell to her sister. She would have
dinner at the inn, she said, and if Tsuruko did not mind she would
like to leave 0-haru in Shibuya for three or four more days. She
hoped her sister might find time to visit the inn.
Yukiko and 0-haru went into the city with them. The four had
dinner at a German restaurant recommended by the inn, and after
Book Two 227

they had strolled along the Ginza and looked at the night shops--
it must have been at about nine--Yukiko and 0-haru said
good-bye at the subway station. It was the first night Sachiko had
ever spent at an inn alone with Etsuko. The terror of the night
before came back still more vividly. Even though she had taken
sleeping medicine and a sip or two of the brandy she kept for just
such an occasion, she was still awake when the first streetcar passed
the following morning. Etsuko too had had trouble sleeping. She
was going back to Osaka the next day, she said fretfully. She would
not wait for the doctor. She was likely to get worse at this rate.
She would go back ahead of Sachiko; she wanted to see Rumi. The
next morning, however, she was snoring happily. At about seven
o'clock, reconciled to the fact that she herself was not to sleep,
Sachiko got up quietly so as not to disturb Etsuko. Asking for
newspapers, she went out to sit on the veranda overlooking the
Tsukiji canal.
At home, she was intensely interested in the two problems of
the day, the Japanese advance on Hankow and the Sudeten dispute,
so interested that she could hardly wait for the morning newspapers;
but here, perhaps because of the unfamiliar Tokyo papers,
she found that the news did not seem real. She turned to watch the
people on the banks of the canal. Since the inn she had stayed at
with her father was in an alley behind the Kabuki Theater, the
roof of which she could see, this was not the alien ground she
found Shibuya to be; but new buildings had gone up, and the view
along the canal was very different from the view she remembered.
Then too she had come to Tokyo during spring vacation, and
this was the first time she had seen it in September, and even here
in the middle of the city the air was chilly against the skin. Osaka
would not be chilly so soon. Did autumn come early to Tokyo,
cold city that it was? Or was this only a cold wave after the typhoon,
a short break in the hot weather? Or was one more sensitive
to the cold when one was away from home?
In any case, she had four or five days to wait before she could
take Etsuko to see Dr. Sugiura. How were they to pass the time?
Sachiko had thought that the great actor Kikugoro would be playing
in September, and that Etsuko could go to the Kabuki. Since
Etsuko liked the dance, she would like the dance-drama too; and
it being quite possible that the Kabuki would have collapsed by
228 the makioka sisters

the time she was grown, she really must see Kikugoro now--
Sachiko remembered how her father had taken her to the theater
whenever the Osaka actor Ganjiro was playing. But the really good
Kabuki had not yet opened at any of the theaters. Aside from a
stroll each evening along the Ginza, then, there was very little she
wanted to do. Suddenly, she was homesick. She began to agree
with Etsuko that they should put off the examination and leave
for Osaka immediately. And if she could be so homesick in less
than a week, she understood how Yukiko might sit in the Shibuya
house and weep to be back in Ashiya.
At about ten there was a call from 0-haru. Tsuruko would like
to visit the inn, and 0-haru would show her the way. A letter had
come from Mr. Makioka. Was there anything else Sachiko needed?
Nothing, answered Sachiko. She did want to have Tsuruko for
lunch, however, and she hoped they would hurry. This would be a
good chance to send Etsuko off with 0-haru and to have a quiet,
leisurely meal with her sister for the first time in a very great while.
Where, she wondered, might they go? She remembered that
her sister was fond of eels, and that there was an eel restaurant
called the Daikokuya to which her father had often taken her.
Was it still in business, she wondered. The lady at the desk did
not know. There was a famous place called the Komatsu, but the
Daikokuya--she looked in the telephone book and found that
there was indeed a Daikokuya. After making reservations, Sachiko
sat down to wait for her sister. Etsuko could go to the Mitsukoshi
Department Store with 0-haru, she said as she and Tsuruko set
out together.
Yukiko had finally succeeded in luring Umeko upstairs, and
Tsuruko had dressed in a great rush and slipped out. No doubt
poor Yukiko had a problem on her hands by now--but Tsuruko
had escaped, and she meant to enjoy herself.
"This reminds me so of Osaka. I had no idea there were
such places in Tokyo." Tsuruko looked out over the canal from the
restaurant.
"It really is very much like Osaka. Father used to bring me here
when we came to Tokyo."
"Do you suppose it was once an island?"
"I wonder. This is the place, certainly, but these rooms on the
canal are new."
Book '1'wo 229

In the old days, there had been houses along but one side of the
street. Now, with houses on the canal side too, the waitresses apparently
brought the food across from the main building. The canal
rooms were built on the stone embankment at a bend' in the
canal, and the view was even more like Osaka than Sachiko had
remembered. The cross formed by two branch canals joining the
main canal at the bend made one think of the view from the oyster
boats at Yotsuhashi, "Four Bridges," in Osaka. Although tliere
were, across one arm or another, not the four bridges of Yotsuhashi,
there were at least three bridges here. Unfortunately this old
downtown district, which had once had the dignity and repose one
expects of such districts, had been rebuilt after the earthquake.
The buildings, the bridges, and the paved roads were all new.
With so few people passing by, one was reminded of a rude, un- Emshcd frontier community.
"Shall we have ginger ale?"
"We could." Sachiko looked at her sister. "But what would you
really like?"
"Ginger ale would be good, I suppose. It is only noon."
"Suppose we have some beer."
"If you will drink half of it."
Sachiko knew that Tsuruko was the best drinker in the family.
There were times when she fairly longed for a drink--especially
of Japanese sake. Beer, however, would do as well.
"You must not have much time these days for a good drink."
"As a matter of fact, I keep Tatsuo company at dinner. And
then we do have guests."
"What sort of guests?"
"Tatsuo's brother from Azabu. We always have something to
drink when he comes. He says sake tastes better in a shabby
little house full of children."
"It must be hard for you."
"Not really. We never go out of our way to entertain him. He
eats with the children, and we give him a little to drink, and that
is what it comes to. And then 0-hisa can plan a meal with no
orders from me."
"She really has learned to take care of things very well."
"In the early days we both disliked Tokyo, and we used to have
our cries together. 'Send me back to Osaka, send me back to
2^0 the makioka sisters

Osaka,' she would say. But lately she has stopped. I hope I can
keep her until she gets married."
"Is she older than 0-haru?"
"How old is 0-haru?"
"Nineteen."
"They are the same age, then. You must keep 0-haru too. She
seems like such a good girl."
"I have had her nearly six years now--she was fourteen when
she came. She would never go to work for anyone else, I know,
even if I ordered her to. But she is really not as good as she seems."
"So Yukiko says. But the way she worked night before last--
0-hisa was fussing and holding back, but not 0-haru. Tatsuo was
quite amazed."
"At times like that she is very good. She was a great help in the
Hood too. But . . ."
To go with the beer, Sachiko offered her sister a review of
0-haru's faults.
It was not unpleasant to have one's maid praised, and Sachiko,
not wanting to unmask 0-haru, always listened quietly when she
heard something nattering about the girl; there were few maids
who enjoyed such a good name. 0-haru had a clever way with people.
She was most liberal in giving away her own things and the
Makiokas', and her generosity made her very popular with tradesmen
and craftsmen who were in and out of the house. Sachiko
was often surprised, moreover, at the way in which Etsuko's
teachers and her own friends came out of their way to tell her what
an admirable maid she had.
The woman who best understood the problems Sachiko faced
was 0-haru's stepmother. When she came occasionally to see that
all was going well, she would go over the whole story again: whatever
anyone said, she could never forget Sachiko's kindness in
keeping such an unmanageable girl; she had been reduced to tears
herself any number of times, and she knew well enough the troubles
Sachiko would be having; if Sachiko were to let the girl go,
they could never find another place for her. They hoped Sachiko
would continue to put up with all the embarrassments and inconveniences--she
need not pay 0-haru anything, and she need not
be afraid to scold the girl. Since 0-haru only took advantage of
kindness, it would be quite the best thing to scold her incessantly.
Hook Iwo ______ 231

When the laundryman introduced 0-haru, then fourteen, and
asked Sachiko to hire her, Sachiko was much taken with the girl's
general appearance and manner; but within a month she began to
see what she had hired, and to understand that the stepmother was
not being polite and self-effacing when she called 0-haru "unmanageable."
What struck one most was 0-haru's uncleanliness.
Sachiko soon realized that the dirty hands and fingernails--she
had noticed them the first time she saw the girl--were a sign less
of poverty and hard work than of pure laziness. 0-haru had a
great dislike for laundering and bathing. Sachiko was energetic in
her efforts to correct the shortcoming, but as soon as she looked
away, 0-haru was as bad as ever again. Unlike the other maids,
who had baths every night, 0-haru would loll about the maids'
room and presently go to sleep without even undressing. She had
no objection to wearing the same dirty underwear for days on end.
One simply had to take off her clothes and lead her to the bath, or
pull out all the dirty underwear and stand over her while she
washed it. All in all, she was more trouble than a baby. The other
maids, more directly her victims than Sachiko, were soon complaining.
The closet was full of dirty clothes, they said; and when
in desperation they took out 0-haru's laundry and did it themselves,
they were astonished to find in it a pair of underpants that
belonged to Sachiko. In her reluctance to do her laundry, 0-haru
had apparently even taken to borrowing Sachiko's underwear.
And, they added, 0-haru smelled so bad that they could hardly
go near her. It was not only that she was unwashed--she ate incessantly,
she had chronic dyspepsia, and her breath was really
enough to make one hold one's nose. They suffered most acutely
when they had to sleep with her, and they began to report that
they were acquiring fleas. Any number of times Sachiko persuaded
0-haru to accept the inevitable and go home, but the father and
stepmother came in turn each time and begged her with elaborate
apologies to take the girl back on whatever terms. 0-haru was the
only child of the first wife, and the second wife had two children
of her own, and since 0-haru was not as diligent as she might be
and her grades in school were far worse than those of the other
two, there was constant tension when she was in the house--the
father restraining himself before the second wife, the stepmother
uncomfortable before the father of the first wife's child. The par232 the makioka sisters

ents would plead with Sachiko. They hoped that she would see
her way to keeping 0-haru until she was old enough to be married.
The stepmother stated the case more strongly than the father:
0-haru had a ridiculously good name in the neighborhood, and
even the younger children would take her part, until the poor
woman found herself the very model of the wicked stepmother.
0-haru had this fault and that fault, she would point out, and not
even her husband would listen to her. She could not imagine what
made him protect the girl as he did. Only Sachiko could understand
how she felt. Sachiko, seeing how difficult the woman's position
must be, would in the end find herself sympathizing rather
than being sympathized with.
"You can tell how she is from the way she wears her clothes.
The other maids laugh and tell her she is wide open in front, but
that does not worry her in the least. I suppose scolding never
makes a person over."
"But she is such a pretty girl," said Tsuruko.
"She is very particular about her face, whatever happens to the
rest of her. She is always stealing my cold cream and lipstick . . .
You say 0-hisa can plan a meal without being told. After five years
there is not a single thing 0-haru can do unless I tell her exactly
how it is to be done. I come home hungry at dinner time and
ask her what she has ready, and she says she has not really thought
about dinner."
"And she seems so clever."
"She is far from stupid. But she is too sociable. She likes talking
to people, and she hates chores. She knows perfectly well that the
house has to be cleaned, but if I stop watching her, she lets it go.
She never gets up in the morning unless someone calls her. And
she still goes to bed with her clothes on."
Sachiko thought of incidents and illustrations with which to
entertain her sister: how a chestnut or two would always disappear
between the kitchen and the dining room; how 0-haru's eyes
would dart about in consternation when someone called her unexpectedly,
and she would turn away to gulp down whatever she
happened to be eating; how, as she gave Sachiko a massage in the
evening, she would doze off and fall over, and in the end be
stretched out full length beside Sachiko; how she had several times
Boofe Two ______________ 23 3 ____

gone to bed with the gas on, or, forgetting to turn off the iron,
scorched the clothes and almost set the house on fire; how on
such occasions Sachiko had decided that she had had enough,
and had bundled the girl off home, and then had been persuaded
by the parents to take her back; and how 0-haru, off on an errand,
would find interesting people along the way, and take hours coming
back.
"What do you suppose she will do when she gets married?"
"A husband and family may change her. But do keep her,
Sachiko. She is a very likable girl."
"After five years I almost think of her as my daughter. She may
be a little tricky at times, but she has none of the touchiness you
expect of a stepchild. And she does have her good points. Even
when she seems more trouble than she is worth, I can never be
really angry with her."

^S^^S^S^N^sJS^^S^S^S^JSOsys^TS^S^S^S^S^S^S^

18

after lunch they went back to the inn, where they talked until
evening. Tsuruko suggested that they send 0-haru with 0-hisa to
see the sights at Nikko--she had been such a help with the children.
To keep 0-hisa from returning to Osaka, Tsuruko had
promised her a trip to Nikko, but for want of a suitable companion
it had been put off and put off; and was this not the opportunity
she had been waiting for? Although Tsuruko knew little about
Nikko, she had heard that one could see the shrines and Kegon
Falls and Lake Chuzenji and be back in Tokyo the same day.
Tatsuo too was enthusiastic, and of course would pay the expenses.
Sachiko could not help thinking that 0-haru had played her
cards cleverly. Still 0-hisa would not be allowed to go alone, and,
since 0-haru seemed already to know, it would be a crime to spoil
the fun. Tsuruko telephoned two mornings later: she had broken
the news the evening before; they had been too happy to sleep,
and had set out early that morning; she had sent them off prepared
234 the makioka sisters

to spend the night if they had to, but she expected them back by
seven or eight in the evening; and Yukiko would very shortly visit
the inn.
As Sachiko put down the receiver, thinking that when Yukiko
arrived the three of them might go to the Art Academy, the maid
came in and handed a special-delivery letter to Etsuko, who turned
it over with a strange expression on her face and laid it on the
table before her mother. The letter, in a foreign-style envelope,
was addressed to Sachiko in care of the Hamaya. The handwriting
was not Teinosuke's--but only Teinosuke knew where she was
staying.
She turned it over. It was from Okubata.
Trying to hide the return address from Etsuko, she hastily tore
open the envelope. The three pieces of stiff Western stationery,
crammed with writing on both sides and folded lengthwise and
crosswise, crackled like a movie sound-effect as she spread them
open.
The contents were shocking.

September 13
dear sachiko:
Forgive me for writing so suddenly. You will be upset to
hear from me, I know, but I cannot let the opportunity pass.
I have as a matter of fact been wanting for some time to
write, and I have been afraid Koi-san might stop the letter. Today
I saw her, at the studio, for the first time in several days, and
learned that you and Etsuko are staying at the Hamaya. I happen
to know the address, since friends of mine stay there when they
are in Tokyo, and I am sure that this time my letter will reach you.
I must ask you to forgive me.
I will be as brief as possible. I suppose I should begin with
the suspicions that have been bothering me. They are entirely my
own, but I wonder if something is not happening between Koisan
and Itakura. Much though I would like to think, for Koi-san's
sake, that their relations are clean, I suspect that we have at least
the beginnings of a love affair.
I first began to notice it at the time of the flood. It seemed
very strange that Itakura should run off to rescue her, and it was
more than just kindness that made him leave his own house and
Book Two 235

sister and risk his life for her. In the first place, how did he know
she was at the sewing school, and why was he so friendly with Mrs.
Tamaki? He must have been in and out of the school for some
time, and he may have been meeting Koi-san there and leaving
messages for her. I have investigated and found evidence to make
me very suspicious, but I need not go into it now. I would rather
you investigated for yourself. I am sure you would find much to
surprise you.
I have presented my evidence to both Koi-san and Itakura,
and they have denied everything. It is strange, though, that Koisan
should now be avoiding me. She rarely comes to the studio,
and when I telephone the Ashiya house 0-haru generally tells me,
whether it is true or not, that she is out. Itakura says what you
would expect him to: that he has seen Koi-san no more than two
or three times since the flood, and that nothing else will happen
to upset me. But I have my ways of checking on him. Is it not true
that he has been visiting your house almost every day since the
flood? And is it not a fact that he has gone swimming alone with
Koi-san several times? I have my ways of investigating, and there
is no use in his trying to hide the facts. Maybe he tells you that I
have ordered him to bring messages to Koi-san, but I have given
no such orders. The only possible business he could have with her
would be to take pictures, and since I have forbidden him to do
any more work for her he no longer has even that excuse. And yet
he goes to your house oftener than before, and Koi-san has stopped
going to her studio. It is all right when you are around to watch
her, I suppose; but I hate to think what might be happening now,
with Teinosuke out of the house in the daytime and you and
Etsuko and even 0-haru in Tokyo. (You of course would not
know that he seems to be visiting your house every day even
now.) Koi-san is trustworthy and not likely to make mistakes, but
Itakura is thoroughly untrustworthy. He has wandered around
America and tried his hand at many things, and as you know he is
remarkably good at meeting the right people and working his way
into whatever house he chooses. And when it comes to borrowing
money and deceiving women he is only too accomplished. I have
known him since he was a boy in our shop, and I can tell you anything
you need to know about him.
There are many favors I want to ask for myself, but they
236 the makioka sisters

can wait; the problem of separating the two comes first. Even assuming
that Koi-san means to break her engagement to me (she
says she does not), she will have no future if there are rumors
about her and a man like Itakura. I cannot believe that a Makioka
could be serious about him; but it was I who introduced them,
and it is my duty to tell everything to the person who is supposed
to be watching over her.
I do not doubt that you will have ideas of your own. If there
is anything you think 1 can do, I will of course call on you whenever
you say.
I must ask you not to tell Koi-san I have written. It could
do no good, and might possibly do harm, if she were to know.
I am writing in a very great hurry, to be sure that my letter
will reach you at the Hamaya. I suppose you have had trouble
reading it, but I hope you will understand the haste. Writing
everything as it has come to me, I have said much that is foolish
and rude. You must forgive me.
Sincerely,
okubata keisaburo

Leaning on her elbows and shielding the letter between her
hands, Sachiko reread several key passages. Then, to avoid Etsuko's
prying eyes, she put it back in to the envelope, folded it double,
slipped it into her obi, and went out to sit in a rattan chair on the
veranda.
It had been too sudden. She could think of nothing until the
beating of her heart subsided. How much would be true? Now
that she had Okubata's accusations before her, she had to admit
that she had been too lenient with Koi-san. She had let Itakura
become too familiar. She had been careless in letting him come
and go as he would, whether or not he had business, and in not
thinking it strange that he should come so often. But in the role
that so concerned Okubata--as a candidate for Koi-san's hand--
they had not even thought about the young man. They knew
nothing of his antecedents. All they knew was that he had worked
as a boy in the Okubata shop. The truth was that from the outset
they had considered him on a level below them. He had suggested
playfully, had he not, that they might let him take 0-haru for his
Book Two 237

bride? Who then would have thought that he might have designs
on Koi-san herself? Had the playfulness been only a trick?
But Sachiko could not believe that, even if Itakura had such ambitions,
Koi-san could think of taking them seriously. She could
not believe the accusations as they concerned Koi-san. Whatever
mistakes Koi-san had made in the past, had she no pride? However
faded and fallen, was she not always a Makioka? Tears came
into Sachiko's eyes. Okubata was worthless, but one could imagine,
and even approve of, his marrying Koi-san. But could Koi-san even
consider a liaison with the other young man? Had not her whole
manner toward him, her way of speaking to him, been as to one
beneath her? And had he not seemed to accept it, almost to enjoy
it?
Was there then no basis for Okuba-ta's suspicions? He spoke of
evidence, but the fact that he had not even hinted at what the evidence
was might mean that he had only vague misgivings. To
keep Koi-san from making a mistake, he had perhaps stated his
warnings in the most exaggerated terms. Sachiko did not know
what his "ways of investigating" might be, but it certainly was not
a "fact," for instance, that Koi-san and Itakura had gone swimming
alone together. Lenient though Sachiko might be, she would not
allow such complete indifference to the proprieties. It was Etsuko
who had gone alone with Itakura. Whenever Koi-san went swimming,
Etsuko and Yukiko and Sachiko were with her; Koi-san and
Itakura had really been left alone very little. The other sisters had
not meant especially to chaperon her, but since Itakura was such
an entertaining talker, they always came in to listen. Sachiko had
not once noted anything strange in his behavior or Koi-san's. Had
Okubata then built a fantasy on irresponsible rumors?
Sachiko wanted very much to think so, but something, she could
hardly say what, came to her as she read the letter. She had thought
Itakura a member of a class with which they had nothing in common;
and yet she could not say that she had on no occasion had
suspicions of the sort Okubata described. She had vaguely sensed
that there was something behind the devotion to Koi-san and
those constant visits to the Ashiya house. And she could imagine
how deep would be the gratitude of a girl who had been rescued
at such peril. Consciousness of class always intervened, however,
___ 238 the makioka sisters

to make her dismiss the matter as not really worth thinking about.
If the truth must be told, she had avoided thinking about it. Her
consternation came from the fact that what she had not wanted
to see, what she had feared to see, was with no preliminaries and
no hesitations hauled out before her by Okubata.
Already homesick, she felt, after reading the letter, that she
could not waste even another day in Tokyo. She must hurry home
and learn the truth as soon as possible. But how ought she to proceed?
How could she keep from angering Koi-san and Itakura?
Should she talk to her husband? Or should she take full responsibility
upon herself, and discover the truth in the strictest secrecy,
telling neither Teinosuke nor Yukiko? Would it not be best, if
Okubata's allegations should prove true, to separate the two
without wounding them and without letting anyone else know?
Sachiko turned the possibilities over one after another in her mind.
Tlie really urgent need was to keep Itakura from the Ashiya house.
"He seems to be visiting your house every day even now"--that
was the sentence that most disturbed her. If indeed the seeds of
an affair were sprouting, then this was their chance to grow and
flourish. "I hate to think what might be happening now, with
Teinosuke out of the house in the daytime and you and Etsuko
and even 0-haru in Tokyo."
How careless she had been! Who if not Sachiko herself had hit
upon the idea of taking Yukiko and Etsuko and 0-haru to Tokyo,
and leaving only Taeko behind? It was as though she had built a
nursery especially for those sprouting seeds--or for seeds that
would send out sprouts if there had been none before. Should
she blame her sister and Itakura, or should she blame herself? In
any case, there was no time to be wasted. Even as she sat there,
time was passing. She was seized with an intolerable restlessness.
If she had to wait a day or two before she could go back to Osaka
with Etsuko, what defense measures should she take in the meantime?
The quickest solution of course would be to telephone
Teinosuke and have him prevent Taeko's seeing Itakura. But that
would not do. She wanted to keep Teinosuke from learning of
the affair. Another possibility was to tell Yukiko everything, send
lier back to Osaka that night, and have her watch unobtrusively
over Taeko. Yukiko would be easier to talk to than Teinosuke.
But even assuming that Yukiko would agree, Sachiko would have
tiOOK. 1 WE 239

no excuse for bundling her off to Osaka when she had only just
returned to the main family. The step least likely to arouse suspicion,
then, would be to send 0-haru back immediately. She
need tell the girl nothing. 0-haru's presence in the Ashiya house
would impose certain restrictions on Koi-san even if it did not
entirely keep her from meeting Itakura.
But Sachiko hesitated again. 0-haru was such a talker. There
was no telling what rumors she would start if she became suspicious.
A clever girl, she might guess why she was being sent back
early. And, on the other hand, she might allow herself to be bribed.
For all her cleverness, she yielded easily to such temptations. She
would be no problem at all for a talker as persuasive as Itakura.
Sachiko concluded that she could entrust the mission to no one.
She must go back to Osaka. After the examination, today or tomorrow,
she must take a night train back, however late it might
be.
Seeing Yukiko's parasol on the bridge by the Kabuki Theater,
she went quietly back into the room, sat down at the dresser, and
powdered her face. Then, as if she had remembered something,
she opened her cosmetics case--she tried not to let Etsuko see--
and poured the cap of the pocket flask a third full of brandy.

19

sachiko was no longer interested in art exhibits--and yet a little
art might take her mind off her troubles. In the afternoon the three
of them set out for Ueno Park. After two exhibits, Sachiko was
exhausted, but not Etsuko, who still had to see the zoo. It was
six before they finally dragged themselves back to the inn. As for
dinner, Sachiko could not bear the thought of going out to a restaurant.
She invited Yukiko to have something with them at the
inn. They had finished their baths and were sitting down for dinner
when 0-haru came in flushed and sweating, her summer dress
quite wilted. She and 0-hisa had taken the subway from Asakusa,
and she had come alone from the Ginza to thank Sachiko. And

240 I HE MAKIOKA SISTERS

this is for Miss Etsuko--she took out some candy and several
postcards.
"Thank you. But you should take this to Shibuya instead."
"I have much more. I sent it on with 0-hisa."
"Really, you should not have bought so much, 0-haru."
"Did you see the falls?" Etsuko was looking at the postcards.
"Yes, thank you, I saw everything. The shrines, the falls, the
lake."
For a time, the talk was of Nikko. 0-haru was challenged when
she said that she had seen Mt. Fuji too.
"Not Mt. Fuji!"
"Definitely Mt. Fuji."
"From where?"
"From the train."
"You can see Mt. Fuji from the Tobu Line?"
"You just saw a mountain that reminded you of Mt. Fuji."
"No, it was definitely Mt. Fuji. Everyone on the train was pointing
at it."
"Can you really see Mt. Fuji? I wonder. From where on the
Tobu Line would it be?"
Sachiko, who had been thinking about Dr. Sugiura since that
morning, had 0-haru call his office from the inn. He had just returned
to the city, and he could see them the following morning,
the sixth. Reconciled to the possibility that, even though he was
due back on the fifth, the doctor might be delayed two or three
days, Sachiko was much relieved. She asked the inn to reserve three
berths for the following night, if possible berths in a series. "You
are going back tomorrow?"--Yukiko was startled. With the examination
in the morning, answered Sachiko, she might be a little
pressed, but if she did her shopping in the afternoon it would not
be impossible to take a night train. Although Sachiko herself had
no special reason to rush home, Etsuko was already late for school.
They might go shopping together if Yukiko and 0-haru would
come to the inn at about noon. Sachiko knew she should go once
more to the Shibuya house, she said as she saw Yukiko and 0-haru
off after dinner, but she simply could not find the time. She
hoped Yukiko would apologize for her.
She was indeed "pressed" the next day. After the examination
at Dr. Sugiura's office and a trip to a pharmacy for the medicine
isoor i -we 241

he prescribed, she and Etsuko took a cab from Tokyo University
and arrived at the inn to find Yukiko and 0-haru waiting. Yukiko
wanted first to know the results of the examination. Dr. Sugiura's
diagnosis had in general agreed with Dr. Tsuji's. Dr. Sugiura added
that the illness was particularly common with children who had
outstanding artistic abilities. There was nothing to worry about.
Depending on how she was trained, the girl might excel in one
field or another. The important thing was to discover where her
talents lay. He advised dieting and wrote out a prescription, and
only the prescription departed from what Dr. Tsuji had advised.
In the afternoon, the four went shopping. The hot weather had
returned, and though there was a breeze, it was a stifling day. They
had to make frequent stops to refresh themselves, at the German
Bakery, at the Colombin, on the seventh floor of the Mitsukoshi
Department Store. 0-haru, who followed after them with only
her head showing over the packages, was sweating as freely as the
day before. Each of the others also had two or three packages. It
was time for dinner when they returned to the Ginza to pick up
odds and ends. Deciding not to go again to the German restaurant
(they needed a change, she said), Sachiko suggested the New
Grand instead. Dinner would take less time there than at the inn,
and it would be good to spend these last moments with Yukiko--
who knew when they would see her again?--over a glass of beer
and the foreign cooking of which she was so fond. They rushed
back to the hotel, packed, and went to the station. After a brief
conversation with Tsuruko, who had come to see them off, they
boarded a sleeper on the eight-thirty express.
Tsuruko took advantage of a moment when Etsuko had stepped
down to the platform with Yukiko. Sachiko was standing in the
car door.
"Have you had any more proposals for Yukiko?" Tsuruko spoke
in a very low voice.
"Not since the one you know of. But I am hoping for something
soon."
"This year? Next year is bad, you know."
"I know. I have been asking everyone."
"Good-bye, Yukiko." Etsuko waved a pink georgette handkerchief
from the door. "When are you coming again?"
"I wonder."
242 I HE MAKIOKA 5ISTERS

"Make it soon."
Yukiko did not answer.
"You will come soon, Yukiko? Be sure to come soon."
They had two lower berths and one upper. Sachiko put 0-haru
and Etsuko opposite each other and took the upper herself. She
lay down in an under-kimono, but she made no real effort to sleep.
The image of Tsuruko and Yukiko and their tear-filled eyes lingered
on and on. This was the eleventh day since her arrival in
Tokyo; and she thought she had never before had so restless and
unsettling a trip. First those noisy children, then the typhoon,
and she had crawled off to the Hamaya only to be hit by the letter
from Okubata. The one day she had really enjoyed was the day
she had had lunch with Tsuruko. It was true that their primary
mission was accomplished: they had seen Dr. Sugiura. But they
had not once gone to the theater. And all yesterday and today Sachiko had raced through the dusty streets of Tokyo in the worst
of the heat. What a dizzying two days they had been. Only on a
trip could one think of rushing about to so many places in so
short a time. The memory alone was enough to exhaust her. She
felt less as if she were lying down than as if she had been thrown
down from some high place, and yet she could not sleep. Knowing
well enough that a sip or two of brandy might make her doze off,
she did not have the energy to get up for it. And with her all the
while was the unhappy question that would have to be answered
as soon as she reached home. It took shape and vanished and took
shape again, cloaked in doubts and shadows. Was Okubata right?
And if he was, what should she do? Did Etsuko suspect anything?
Had she told Yukiko of the letter?

SŪSSS^S<3S!5!S<3SS;St5<5a<SŪŪStS<S^

20

etsuko started back to school after a day's rest. Sachiko, on the
other hand, only felt more exhausted. She would call in a masseuse
and lie down for a nap in the middle of the day, or she
would go out to sit on the terrace.

DOOR 1 WE 243

Perhaps because it reflected the tastes of one who preferred
spring, the garden had little in it to attract the eye: a rather forlorn
hibiscus in the shade of the hillock, and a clump of hagi ^ trailing
its white flowers off toward the Stolz fence. The sandalwood
and the plane trees, such a profusion of leaves in summer, were
limp and tired. The green of the lawn was much as it had been
when she left, and yet the sun seemed a little weaker. The garden
carried just a suggestion of coolness, the smell of a sweet olive reminded
her that in Ashiya too autumn was near. They would soon
have to take in the reed awning. These last two or three days she
had felt an intense affection for the familiar garden. It was good to
go away now and then. Possibly because she was not used to traveling,
she felt that she had been away at least a month. She remembered
how Yukiko treasured every minute, how she would walk
through the garden, stopping here and there, when she had to go
back to Tokyo. Yukiko was not the only child of Osaka, Sachiko
knew. This was a most unremarkable little garden, but even here,
smelling the pines, looking at the mountains and the clear sky,
she thought that there could be no finer place to live than the
suburbs of Osaka. How unpleasant Tokyo was, how dusty, gray,
pushing. Yukiko was fond of saying that the very feel of the Osaka
air was different, and she was right. Sachiko would not have to
move. She could not begin to describe how much luckier she
thought herself than Tsuruko or Yukiko. Sometimes she would say
to 0-haru:
"You had a very good time for yourself, going off to Nikko.
But for me there is not one good thing in Tokyo. Home is the
best place in the world."
Taeko reported that she had been meaning to start work on her
dolls again (she had left them untouched through the summer),
but that she had not wanted to leave the house while Sachiko was
away. The day after Sachiko's return, she set out for her studio.
There was no telling when the sewing school would open again,
and the dancing teacher was no longer living. With nothing to
keep her busy except her dolls, then, she thought she might take
up French. Why not have Mme Tsukamoto come in, suggested
Sachiko. She herself had stopped when Yukiko went to Tokyo,

1 Lespedeza japonica, sometimes translated "bush clover."

244 I lit. 1V1AK1UKA iSlSi ije-KS

but if Koi-san was interested they might study together. That
would never do, laughed Taeko--she was only a beginner and she
would not be in a class with Sachiko; and besides, the French
woman charged too much.
Itakura called while Taeko was out. He only wanted to say hello.
After about twenty minutes or a half hour on the terrace he went
around to the kitchen to hear about Nikko.
It was true that Sachiko wanted a good rest before she grappled
with her problem, but as a matter of fact the suspicions she had
brought back from Tokyo showed a strange tendency to fade as
the days passed. The shock when she had opened the letter, the
fears that had clutched at her heart all through the following day,
the nightmare that had tormented her on the train--the feeling of
intolerable urgency--began to leave her the moment she was at
home in the clear morning sunlight. She began to feel that there
was no need at all for haste and confusion. Had it been a matter
that concerned Yukiko, she would have refused from the start to
listen. She would have dismissed the rumors as libelous, whatever
they were and whoever brought them, but there had been
that newspaper incident, and Taeko was basically different from
Sachiko and Yukiko. Sachiko could not trust her altogether; that
was why Okubata's letter had struck home.
Meanwhile, Taeko was her usual bright self. She could not possibly
have such a dark secret, thought Sachiko. The earlier consternation
began to seem a little funny--perhaps in Tokyo Sachiko
had caught something of Etsuko's nervousness. That wearing,
rankling city must surely afreet the nerves of one as delicate as herself.
Had her fears been morbid, then, and was her view of the
situation now the right one?
About a week after her return she found an opportunity to ask
Taeko.
Taeko, back early from the studio, was in her room looking at
a doll she had brought with her. It was a doll on which she had
taken special pains: an old woman in sombre kimono and garden
sandals, crouched under a stone lantern. She was listening to
autumn insects, one was to imagine.
"You have done a beautiful job, Koisan."
"It is rather good, I think."
"Beautiful. Much the best thing you have done lately. You were
DUUK I WE 245

right to make in an old woman. There is a sort of sadness about
it. . . ." Sachiko paused when she had finished praising the doll.
"Koi-san, I had a strange letter while I was in Tokyo."
"Oh?" Taeko was still gazing at the doll.
"From Okubata."
"Oh?" She turned to face her sister.
"Here it is." Sachiko handed Taeko the letter, still in its foreign
envelope. "Do you know what is in it, Koisan?"
"I think I can guess. Is it about Itakura?"
"Yes. Read it if you like."
Taeko was able when the occasion demanded to take on a calm,
unhurried air that made it next to impossible to know what she
was thinking. She quietly opened the letter and read through the
three sheets, front and back, without so much as moving an eyebrow.

"What a fool. He has been threatening to tell you."
"It came as a real shock. I wonder if you can imagine how surprised
I was."
"You should have ignored it."
"He asked me not to tell you he had written. But it seemed simplest
to speak to you. I suppose there is no truth in it?"
"He thinks because he is not to be trusted himself other people
are not to be trusted either."
"But how do you really feel about Itakura?"
"Feel? I have no feelings one way or the other--at least the sort
of feelings he is talking about. But I am grateful. He did save my
life."
"I see. That is what I thought."
Okubata's suspicions had been aroused, according to his letter,
after the flood; though he had said nothing to her, however, Taeko
discovered later that, for some time before the flood, he had been
behaving disagreeably toward Itakura. Itakura at first dismissed
his complaints lightly, suspecting them to be only evidence of a
rather childish anger at the undeniable fact that Itakura could and
Okubata could not visit the Ashiya house. After the flood, Okubata's
complaints, opener and more bitter, came to be directed at
Taeko too. Okubata said that he meant to talk only to her, that he
was ignoring Itakura, and that he hoped she would say nothing
to the fellow; and Taeko, not dreaming that the haughty Okubata
^.^yj inc. ivia&iuj^a t31 s 1 .f. K s

had already spoken to Itakura, did in fact say nothing. Itakura,
for his part, said nothing of his own difficulties.
The result of Okubata's efforts was a quarrel with Taeko. Afterwards
she refused to come to the telephone when he called, and
took care that he had no chance to meet her. His distress was so
real, however, that she Enally took pity on him. Recently, for the
first time in a very great while, she had agreed to see him--on
the third of the month, as the letter said. (Taeko was apparently
in the habit of meeting Okubata on her way to or from the
studio. Although his letter had them meeting in the studio, the
details on where and in what manner they met were far from
clear. Taeko said vaguely that they took a walk through the pine
groves about the place.) Okubata then announced that he had
evidence, charged her with the offenses he had described to
Sachiko, and insisted that she break off relations with Itakura.
When she answered that it was not right to snub the man who
had saved her life, he made her promise that she would see
Itakura as little as possible, that she would keep him from going
too often to the Ashiya house, and that she would have no further
business relations with him--that she would no longer have him
take her advertising photographs. To carry out these promises, she
had to give Itakura her reasons, and when she did she learned that
a similar promise had been forced from him, and that he too had
been sworn to silence.
That in general was Taeko's story. Since then--since the third
of the month--she had not seen Itakura and he had not come
looking for her. He had called on Sachiko because he was afraid it
would arouse her suspicions if his visits were suddenly to stop, said
Taeko, and he had purposely chosen a time when she herself could
be out.
This explanation might do for Taeko, but what of Itakura?
Even if Okubata had no reason to doubt the one, he might well
doubt the other. Taeko need not feel in the least indebted to
Itakura, he argued. There had been a good reason for the heroism.
Would so cunning a man brave such danger if he did not expect
a reward? Say though he would that he was just wandering
around the neighborhood, he had had everything planned in advance.
Why be grateful to an ambitious schemer who did not know
DOOR I WE 247

his place in the world--a man so lacking in honor that he could
think of stealing the fiancee of his old employer?
Itakura protested strongly. Okubata was quite mistaken. It was
precisely because Taeko was Okubata's fiancee that he himself
had been so concerned at the time of the flood. He had rescued
her from a sense of obligation, and it pained him to be misunderstood.
And he did have common sense: he could not imagine Koi-
san's marrying into a family like his.
And how did Koi-san weigh the two arguments? To be quite
honest, she could not deny having sensed Itakura's real motives.
He was clever enough not to reveal them too openly, but there
was more behind his bravery than a feeling of indebtedness to the
Okubata family. Whether consciously or not, he had worked that
day for Taeko, and not for his old employer. But that made no
difference. As long as he kept his distance, she could pretend she
noticed nothing. Itakura was very useful. He would run about on
errands for her, and she might as well use him, especially since
he seemed to think it a privilege to be used. Such in any case was
her view of her relations with him. But Okubata, a timid, nagging
sort of man, misunderstood completely. She and Itakura had therefore
decided that they would see each other as little as possible.
Okubata's doubts should now be at rest, and probably he regretted
having written to Sachiko.
"But he is so strange. It would be far better for him to ignore
Itakura."
"What seems like nothing at all to you, Koi-san, is not so simple
for him."
Taeko no longer hid the fact that she smoked. She took a white
tortoise-shell cigarette case and a lighter from her obi and lighted
a gold-tipped imported cigarette, by that time something of a
rarity. Silent for a moment, she rounded her full lips into an "0"
and blew several smoke rings.
"While we are on the subject." Her face was turned to one side.
"Have you thought about my trip to France?"
"I have been thinking about it."
"Did you talk to Tsuruko?"
"We talked about all sorts of things, and I was on the point of
mentioning it. But then I decided not to. It involves money, and
248 the makioka SISTERS

we have to be careful. I think we should let Teinosuke do the
talking."
"And what does he say?"
"That if you are really serious he will see what is to be done.
But he thinks there might be a war."
"Will there be, do you think?"
"Who knows. He thinks it would be a good idea to wait a little
longer, though."
"I suppose he is right. But Mrs. Tamaki is going to France, and
she says she will take me with her."
Sachiko had been thinking her problem would be solved if she
could keep Itakura, and Okubata too, at a distance; and one possibility
would be to send Taeko abroad. With the situation in Europe
changing more and more rapidly, she hesitated both because
it would worry her to send her sister off alone and because she was
quite sure the main house would never agree. It might help matters
if Mrs. Tamaki were to be with her.
Mrs. Tamaki did not mean to stay long, said Taeko. It had been
many years since she was last in Paris, and just as she had been
thinking that she should go for a look at the most recent fashions,
the flood had made it necessary to rebuild her school. She meant
to take advantage of the interruption, and to be away perhaps
six months. Taeko would do well to study in France for a year or
two, Mrs. Tamaki felt, but if she was lonely at the thought of
staying on by herself the two of them could come back together.
It would certainly do her no harm to stay for six months only.
Mrs. Tamaki would arrange for her to come back with some impressive
title. It was not likely that war would begin so soon--Mrs.
Tamaki meant to leave in January and return in July or August--
but if it did, well, they would have to give themselves up to fate.
Each would be a support to the other, and since Mrs. Tamaki had
friends in both Germany and England, they could always find
asylum somewhere. The opportunity was not likely to come again,
said Taeko. She was prepared to brave a little danger.
"And with Itakura to worry about, Kei-boy has decided it
will be all right for me to go."
"I think so myself. But I will have to talk to Teinosuke."
"See if you can get him to argue with the people in Tokyo."
"There is no hurry, is there, if she is not leaving until January?"
DOOR I WE 249

"But the sooner the better. When will Teinosuke be going to
Tokyo again?"
"He will have to go two or three times before the end of the
year, I suppose. You must get to work on your French, Koisan."

SŪS^ŪSŪS^SŪS!SS!SŪSŪSŪSŪŪSS

21

mrs. stolz, Fritz, and Rosemarie were leaving for Manila on
the President Coolidge, which sailed the fifteenth. Rosemarie,
impatient that Etsuko's visit to Tokyo should be taking so long,
was after Taeko and the maids every day. She was not back yet?
Why was she not back yet? Then she was back, and Rosemarie
waited each day for school to be out. Etsuko would throw down
her books and run for the fence.
"Rumi, komm'!" Rosemarie would clamber over the fence,
and they would jump rope barefoot on the lawn. Sometimes
Fritz and even Sachiko and Taeko joined them.
"Ein, zwei, drei, vier." Etsuko could count to twenty or thirty
in German, and she had her favorite phrases: "Schnell! Schnell!
Bitte, Rumi. Noch Night."
One day Rosemarie's voice came through the thick leaves at
the fence: "Take care of yourself, Etsuko."
"Au/ Wiedersehen, Rumi. Write to me when you get to Hamburg."

"You write too."
"I will. I promise. Say hello to Peter."
"Etsuko!"
"Rumi! Fritz!"
Fritz and Rosemarie burst into Deutschland iiber Alles. Sachiko
went out to see what was happening. The two German children,
high in a plane tree by the fence, were waving their handkerchiefs
at Etsuko, who waved back. The ship had apparently just sailed.
"Rumi! Fritz!" Sachiko too ran over and began waving her
handkerchief.
"Auf Wiedersehen, Etsuko's mother."
250 I HE 1V1AKIOKA aiSTERS

"Auf Wiedersehen. Take care of yourselves. And come back
to Japan some day."
"And you come to Hamburg, Etsuko and Etsuko's mother."
"We will, we will. We promise. As soon as Etsuko is big
enough. Take care of yourself, Rumi." Sachiko's eyes clouded over
at the silly little game.
The Stolzes being very strict with their children, there was
always that call "Rumi!" from across the fence when the girl
had been playing too long; but Mrs. Stolz saw how much these
last few days meant to the children. Free from the usual summons,
Rumi would play with Etsuko on into the evening, lining up
dolls in the parlor, changing their clothes, and in the end catching
the cat Bell and dressing her too. As they took turns at the
piano, Rosemarie would say: "Have another, Etsuko."
That meant: "Play another, Etsuko."
Mr. Stoiz's departure had been so sudden that Mrs. Stolz was
left to pack and to close the house. Every day Sachiko would
see her at work. From the second-Boor veranda one looked down
at the back of the Stolz house whether one wanted to or not,
and without meaning to spy, Sachiko saw almost as if it were
being played on a stage for her how furiously Mrs. Stolz and
the maids worked. She had often admired the kitchen utensils,
always arranged by size around the stove and the cook's table,
and always as polished and shining as weapons in an armory.
The cleaning, the laundering, the cooking were so regular that
the Makiokas had only to glance next door to know what time
it was.
There had once been an incident involving the two young
Japanese maids--the two who had preceded the maids now in
the Stolz house. To Sachiko they had seemed models of willingness
and industry, but Mrs. Stolz had disagreed. She was really
too stern, they sometimes complained to Sachiko's maids. Determined
to show by her own example that not a moment of the
day need be wasted, she would push them on to another job
as soon as they had finished one. It was true, they admitted,
that they were better paid than if they worked in a Japanese
house, and that they learned many useful things, but they scarcely
had time to breathe the whole day long. Admirable housewife
though Mrs. Stolz was, she was not easy to work for.
DOOR I WE 251

One morning 0-aki, ont sweeping the sidewalk, went on to
sweep the Stolz sidewalk too. It was little enough to repay them
for sweeping the Makioka sidewalk so often, she thought. Unfortunately
Mrs. Stolz saw her, and scolded the maids fiercely:
what was this, letting someone else do the work they should be
doing? The maids fought back. They were not avoiding work,
and they had not asked 0-aki to sweep the sidewalk. She had
done it out of kindness and only the one morning. They would
see that she did not do it again. Possibly because Mrs. Stolz
did not understand what they were trying to say, she was not
prepared to forgive them. In the end the maids said they thought
it best if they went looking for new jobs. Go, then, retorted
Mrs. Stolz. Sachiko, hearing the story from 0-aki, sought to intercede,
but the maids were firm: much though they appreciated
her kindness, they would rather she said nothing. Their resentment
went beyond the morning's incident. They worked as hard
as they could, and yet Mrs. Stolz, not even a little grateful,
told them in every other breath how stupid they were. It was
true, they supposed, that they were not as bright as she, but
when she had other maids she would begin to appreciate how
diligent they had been. If she were to see the light and apologize,
they might reconsider. Otherwise this would be a good chance
to leave. Mrs. Stolz made no effort to keep them, and the two
maids departed together. After the present maids came, it began
to seem that the earlier maids had had reason to be angry. Mrs.
Stolz once admitted to Sachiko that it had been a mistake to
let them go.
The incident suggested much about Mrs. Stoiz's nature; but
the fact that she was not all sternness, that she had her gentle
and affectionate side, became clear to Sachiko at the time of
the flood: Mrs. Stolz, hearing that two or three half-drowned
flood refugees had taken shelter at a near-by police box, gathered
shirts and underwear for them, and urged the maids to give
away any summer kimonos they did not need; pale and tearful, she
worried about her husband and children, and even Etsuko; and
when her family came home safely in the evening, she ran out
with that delirious squeal to meet them. Sachiko could still see
her clinging fiercely to her husband, there under the sandalwood
tree. Was such warmth not admirable? No doubt all German
________ 2;2 ______ _____ 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA 31S11.KS

ladies were outstanding, but Mrs. Stolz must be outstanding even
among Germans. There could be few so fine and noble. The
Makiokas had been lucky to have such neighbors; the two families
had seen too little of each other. Sachiko had heard that
foreigners kept aloof from Japanese, but the Stolzes had been
quite unreserved from the start--they had sent over a beautiful
cake when they moved in, and Sachiko regretted now that she
had not followed Etsuko's example. Mrs. Stolz could have given
her some good recipes.
There were other neighbors who were sorry to see the family
go, and tradesmen who were delighted at being able to buy a
sewing machine or an electric refrigerator at a remarkably low
price. Mrs. Stolz tried to sell unneeded household goods to
friends and acquaintances. Pieces no one wanted she sold for a
lump sum to a furniture store.
"Nothing left in the house. We eat from this till we leave,"
she laughed, pointing to a picnic basket.
Knowing that she meant to add a Japanese room to her
house in Germany, the neighbors gave her antiques and wall
hangings and the like. Sachiko offered a brocade that had belonged
to her grandmother. Rosemarie gave Etsuko a doll and
carriage she was especially fond of, and Etsuko gave in return
a colored photograph of herself at the dance recital, and the
kimono she had worn that day (pink silk, it was, decorated with
flowery parasols).
Rosemarie was allowed to spend her last night in Ashiya with
Etsuko, and "noisy" would not begin to describe that night.
Etsuko gave her bed to Rosemarie and borrowed Yukiko's couch.
The two were in no hurry to sleep.
"How long will this go on?" Teinosuke pulled the covers
over his head as the two girls came storming down the hall.
Finally he switched on the lamp at his pillow. "Two o'clock
in the morning!"
"Not really!"
"Do you think you should let them get so worked up? Mrs.
Stolz will be annoyed with us."
"But it is the last night. How can she possibly mind?"
"Ghost!" There were steps outside the bedroom door. "Father,
what is 'ghost' in German?"
Book Two 253

"Tell her the German for 'ghost.'"
"Gespenst." Teinosuke was surprised that he remembered.
" 'Ghost' is Gespenst in German."
"Gespenst." Etsuko tested the word. "Rumi, this is a Gespenst."

"Let me be a Gespenst too." The party was livelier than ever.
"Ghost!"
"Gespenst!"
The two ran shouting up and down the hall. Soon, with
Rosemarie in the lead, they invaded Sachiko's bedroom. They
had sheets over their heads, and they pranced about the room
and out into the hall again. "Gespenst! Ghost!" In bed at about
three, they were still too excited to sleep. And Rosemarie was
homesick. She was going back to her mother's. Teinosuke and Sa-
chiko had to get up in turns to comfort her. It was daybreak before
the house was finally quiet.
Bouquet in hand, Etsuko went to the pier with Sachiko and
Taeko. The ship sailed at seven. There were few children to
see Rosemarie and Fritz off, among Rosemarie's friends only
a German girl named Inge (Etsuko, who had met her occasionally
at the Stolz house, liked to call her ingen-mame, "kidney
bean") and Etsuko herself. The Stolzes boarded ship early in
the day, and the Makiokas set out after dinner. As the taxi
passed the customs gate, the President Codlidge was suddenly
over them, a nightless city bathed in floodlights. The walls and
ceiling of the Stolz cabin were a creamy green, and the bed
was a mound of flowers. Mrs. Stolz sent Rosemarie off to show
Etsuko the ship. With only a nervous fifteen minutes to spare,
however, Etsuko remembered little afterwards except that everything
was wonderfully luxurious and that she climbed up and
down a great many stairs. She returned to find her mother and
Mrs. Stolz in tears. Very soon the warning gong sounded.
"Beautiful--like a department store moving off." Taeko who
had on a thin summer blouse, shivered in the autumn breeze
from the harbor. For some time they could pick out Mrs. Stolz
and the children on deck; and when it was no longer possible
to distinguish one from another, they could still hear Rosemarie's
voice, shrill and determined: "Etsuko, Etsuko!"
St3<5<SSSSŪS<3ŪS:SŪ3ŪS!SSŪSŪSS?St

22

Manila
September 30, 1938
dear mrs. makioka:
This is the month for typhoons in Japan, and I am much
worried about you. You have had too many misfortunes these
last few months. I hope you have no more. I suppose that all
the boulders and the sand and mud on the national highway
and in Ashiya have been cleared away. And I suppose that
everything is back to normal, and that people are enjoying life
once more. Perhaps you have good neighbors in the house we
lived in. I often think of our pretty garden, and of the quiet
streets where the children rode their bicycles. They had many
pleasant times. How good you were at keeping them entertained!
I must thank you again for all your kindness. They often speak
of you, and sometimes they feel very homesick for you and'
Etsuko. Peter wrote from the ship to tell us what a pleasant
time they had in Tokyo with your sister and Etsuko. It was
very good of your sister. We are most grateful. The other day
I had a cable from Hamburg. Peter and his father arrived safely
and are staying with my sister, who has three children of her
own. I suppose Peter has become the fourth.
We are an enormous family here too. There are eight
children, and I am the only hen in the coop. Sometimes the
children quarrel, but for the most part they get along well.
Rosemarie is the oldest of all, and knows it. Every afternoon
we go out on our bicycles through the beautiful streets and stop
for ice cream.
Take care of yourselves. And please give my very best
regards to your husband, your sisters, and dear Etsuko. You are
to come to Europe when everything is quiet again. All we can hear
now is the rattle of swords, but I do not think we will have war.
No one wants it. I am sure Hitler will take care of the Czech

problem. „. ,
' sincerely,
hilda stolz
p.s. I am sending a little piece of embroidery. I hope you like it.
Boofe Two _____________________ 2; ; _____

Mrs. Stoiz's letter, written in English, reached Sachiko on
about the tenth of October, and a delicate hand-embroidered
tablecloth arrived two or three days later. Sachiko put off writing
her thanks--it seemed such a chore, and besides, who would
translate for her? Teinosuke asked to be excused. One evening,
strolling along the Ashiya River, she met the Japanese wife of
a German named Hening, a lady to whom Mrs. Stolz had
introduced her. Mrs. Hening said the translation would be no
problem. Although she did not write German well herself, she
could ask her daughter, who wrote both German and English.
But even then Sachiko had trouble collecting herself for a letter
to a foreign country. It was some time later that she finally
sat down at her desk and had Etsuko sit down at hers, and
sent the letters off to Mrs. Hening.
Soon afterwards Etsuko received a package from New York--
the shoes Peter had promised to buy in the United States. In
spite of the care with which he had taken the measurements,
they were too small. Elegant patent-leather party shoes, they were
a great sorrow to Etsuko, who tried in spite of the pinch to
force her feet into them.
"What a shame. If only they had been too large instead of
too small."
"But how could he have made such a mistake? Did he measure
too close?"
"Maybe your feet have grown. We should have told him to
allow a little room. I am sure his mother would have thought
of that if she had been here."
"What a shame, though."
"Oh, give it up, Etsuko. You are not going to wear them, no
matter how you try." Sachiko did not know what to say of the
well-meant present, and in the end she did not write to thank
Peter.
Taeko was almost never around the house in the daytime: she
was off at her studio, hoping to fill all the orders for dolls before
she went abroad. Mrs. Tamaki had arranged for her to take
French lessons at the especially low price of ten yen a month for
three lessons a week, from the wife of an artist who had studied
in Paris for six years. Back from school each day, Etsuko would
look through the net-wire fence at the Stolz house and listen
to the autumn insects in the weed-choked yard. With a com256 the makioka. sisters

panion so near at hand, she had seen very little of her school
mates and had rather grown away from them. Eager though she
might be now to make new friends, it was not easy to find
friends who suited her. The Makiokas thought another family
with a daughter like Rumi might move into the Stolz house, but
the house was designed for foreigners, and most foreigners had
left the Far East. Sachiko too was bored. She practiced her
calligraphy and gave koto lessons to 0-haru. One day she remarked
in a letter to Yukiko: "Etsuko is not the only one who
is lonely. Everything seems sad this autumn. I wonder if it is
a sign of age--I have always liked the spring, and this is the
first time I have understood the autumn."
It had been an eventful year: Yukiko's miai in the spring, the
dance recital in June, the flood and Taeko's narrow escape, the
death of the dancing teacher, the departure of the Stolz family,
the trip to Tokyo, the typhoon, the dark shadow cast by that
letter from Okubata--and now, with everything quiet, it was as
if a gap had opened in her life. She could not help thinking
how close she was to her younger sisters. Since she got along
well with her husband, and since Etsuko was an only child,
albeit a rather difficult child, Sachiko's life was if anything too
peaceful, too lacking in storms and trials. The unsettling agents
had always been her sisters. Not that they were a bother to
her: she was delighted at the color they gave the life of the
family. Sachiko among the four sisters had in largest measure
inherited her father's love of excitement. She disliked too quiet
a house. Out of deference to her married sister and her brother-
in-law she could not purposely lure her younger sisters away. Still
she rejoiced in the fact that they preferred her house to the
main house, and it seemed natural that they should be where
there was more room and where children were less of a problem.
Though he kept a worried eye on the main house, Teinosuke
understood his wife's feelings and always welcomed Yukiko and
Taeko. Everything considered, then, her feelings for the two had
not been what one usually understands by the affection of
sister for sister. She was sometimes startled at the thought that
she spent more time worrying about her sisters than about her
husband and daughter, but they were like daughters--they were
on a level with Etsuko in her affections, and at the same time
Boofe Two _____________________257____

they were her only friends. Left alone, she was surprised to note
that she had no friends worthy of the name. Her relations with
other housewives had for the most part been cool and formal.
Because of her sisters she had not needed friends. She knew that
she was as sad to lose Yukiko and Koi-san as Etsuko was to
lose Rosemarie.
Teinosuke was quick to sense this gloom. "Kikugoro is coming
to Osaka next month," he said, looking up from the entertainment
column of his newspaper.
Suppose they go on the fifth. And might Koi-san not want
to go too? Kikugoro was dancing one of her favorite roles. Taeko,
however, said that since she would be especially busy the first
part of the month, she would choose another day. Teinosuke and
Sachiko took Etsuko instead.
Sachiko was thus able to make up for the September failure
and to show Etsuko the Kikugoro Kabuki; but in the lobby
between plays Teinosuke noticed what must have escaped Etsuko,
that Sachiko's eyes were filled with tears. Though he knew how
quick she was to weep, he found this too strange.
"What is the matter?" He led her quietly into a corner. The
tears were streaming over her face.
"Have you forgotten? It was in March, on exactly this day.
Today might have been its birthday." Sachiko pressed her fingers
to her eyes.

SS3ŪS^S^S<5;S!SSSiS<S<SSS!S<5^SŪS!S<Sl

23

mrs. tamaki was leaving in January, and it was already mid-
November. More and more nervous, Taeko asked when Teinosuke
might be going again to Tokyo. Although he usually made
a business trip once every two months or so, he had not had
occasion to go for some time. Shortly after the Kikugoro performance
he left for two or three days in Tokyo.
His trips always being on short notice, Sachiko heard of this
one only the afternoon before, when he telephoned from Osaka.
258 the makioka sisters

She immediately summoned Taeko home from the studio to
consider how Teinosuke might best present her case. The real
reason--or one reason--for her desire to go to France and become
a true modiste was the possibility that she might have to support
Okubata. Permission to go to France on such grounds, however,
presupposed permission to marry Okubata, and the troublesome
question of her marriage was not likely to be solved in such
a short time. And Teinosuke did not relish becoming a marriage
go-between. Since Taeko wanted only to go to France and hoped
to avoid needless complications, might it not be better for her
to set aside the problem of her relations with Okubata, at least
for the time being? What pretext should they give, then? Sachiko
suggested this: although Taeko did not consider her life ruined
by the incident, still her name had once been in the newspapers;
it did not seem likely that she would make a really good marriage,
therefore, and she wanted to be able to support herself. She
would not refuse a good proposal if one came along, they might
add, and indeed she thought that returning from France with
a degree of some sort might improve her prospects--people who
had dismissed her as a juvenile delinquent would have cause to
reconsider. Suppose she asked permission on these grounds, with
the understanding that the main house need not pay for her
wedding?
Taeko had no objections. She wanted Sachiko to do as she
thought best.
Sachiko suggested another possible argument when she talked
to Teinosuke that evening. Wanting to keep Taeko from both
Okubata and Itakura, she had her own reasons for favoring a
trip abroad; but since she had discussed the Itakura affair with
no one, not even her husband, she could ask Teinosuke only
to speak of Okubata--to mention the fact that Okubata had
appeared at the Ashiya house two or three times recently; that
although he had appeared sincere, he could no longer be considered
a clean, wholesome youth; and that Teinosuke had learned
of his fondness for the teahouses, and thought him a not very
promising person. Teinosuke could then point out that it might
be well to let Taeko have her way and go abroad, her interests
happily having turned to sewing, and that, though undeniably
Book Two 259

at the age of discretion, she had made a mistake once and
ought for a time to be kept where Okubata could not reach her.
The money was after all Taeko's, thought Sachiko, and surrendering
it could bring no hardship to the people in the main house.
Still, they were old-fashioned. They were not likely to approve
of a woman's going abroad, and it might be well to frighten
them a little, to hint that Taeko was about to elope again.
Teinosuke stayed in Tokyo a day longer than he had planned.
Feeling that Tsuruko would be more approachable than her
husband, he chose two o'clock on the afternoon of the third
day for his visit to Shibuya. Tsuruko said that she could not
give him an answer until she had talked to Tatsuo. She would
have to write to Sachiko, and, seeing that Koi-san was in such
a hurry, she would write as soon as possible. She was sorry they
had to bother Teinosuke so often with family matters.
Sachiko did not expect a quick answer. She knew how slow
her sister was, and she knew too that Tatsuo needed time for his
decisions. Ten days passed, and the end of November drew near.
Suppose Teinosuke raise the question again--but Teinosuke was
not enthusiastic. He had opened the discussions, he said, and
they were no longer an affair of his. Finally Sachiko herself
wrote to ask what had been decided about Koi-san, and to point
out that if she was to go at all it would have to be in January.
The silence continued. Possibly Taeko should go to Tokyo--she
might hurry them a little. Taeko was ready to leave for Tokyo
in two or three days when, on November 30, a letter came.

November 28
dear sachiko,
Forgive me for not having written sooner. I hope you
are well. I was much relieved to learn from Teinosuke that
Etsuko's troubles are over. Soon it will be the New Year, my
second New Year in Tokyo; and how I dread the winter! Tatsuo's
sister-in-law says it takes three years to get used to the Tokyo
winter. Through her own first three winters she had nothing but
colds. I envy you, being able to live in Ashiya.
Teinosuke must be very busy, and it was good of him
to explain Koi-san's problems to us in such detail. I always feel
__ 260_________the makioka sisters

guilty about having to bother him. I should of course have
answered sooner, but as always I have been so busy with the
children that I have not been able to collect myself for a decent
letter; and then the fact that Tatsuo's opinion is the opposite
of your own has made it difficult for me to write, and I have
been putting the letter off from day to day. I hope you will
forgive me.
In a word, Tatsuo sees no reason for Koi-san to be so
touchy about the newspaper affair. It happened eight or nine
years ago, and no one even remembers. If she really thinks she
cannot marry and will have to support herself, then she is simply
being too sensitive. It may sound strange from a relative, but
Tatsuo says that with her looks, training, and talent he can
guarantee her a very good marriage indeed, and that she is
absolutely not to worry. We find it odd, then, to be asked to
give her money. I am told that there is no money specifically
in Koi-san's name. We have thought about her wedding, but
there is no money that we have to turn over on demand. Tatsuo
is moreover quite opposed to her becoming in any way a working
woman. He hopes that she will always have it as her goal to
make a good marriage when the time comes, and to become a
good wife and mother. If she must have a hobby, doll-making
will do. Dressmaking is quite out of the question.
This is not the time for a decision on Okubata. We would
like to have the question left open. Koi-san is a grown woman,
and we have no intention of being as strict as we once were.
If you will quietly keep watch over her, there is no reason why
she should not see him from time to time. We are far more
upset at the idea that she thinks of making a career as a seamstress.

I hate to ask it after all the trouble Teinosuke has gone
to, but could you pass this on to Koi-san? I cannot help thinking
that all of her troubles come down to her being so long unmarried.
It seems more urgent than ever to find someone for Yukiko,
and as soon as we possibly can. Are there to be no more proposals
this year?
I have left a great deal unsaid, I am sure, but I shall stop
here. My best regards to Teinosuke, Etsuko, and Koisan.

tsuruko

Book Two 261

"What do you think of it?" Sachiko showed the letter to Teinosuke
that evening. She had not yet spoken to Taeko.
"There seems to be a difference of opinion about the money."
"That is the point."
"What have you heard yourself?" Teinosuke asked.
"I am not really sure who is right. But I do remember hearing
that Father left money with Tatsuo. It might be better not to say
anything to Koisan."
"There is too much at stake. Tell her as soon as possible, and
be sure she understands."
"What about Kei-boy?" Sachiko asked. "What did you say
about him? You made it very clear that he is not as nice as he
once was?"
"I said in general what I thought. But I had a feeling she would
rather not talk about him. I did say that for the time being they
ought not to see too much of each other. I meant to say if she
asked me that we were opposed to the marriage, but she changed
the subject."
" 'We would like to have the question left open.' Do you suppose
they want her to marry him?"
"I suspect so. I thought so when I talked to her," Teinosuke
answered.
"You might have done better to bring up the question of the
marriage first, then."
"I wonder. They would probably have said that there was even
less reason to go abroad."
"You are probably right."
"In any case, it is more than I can manage. Let Koi-san talk
to them herself. No more for me," Teinosuke said.
Sachiko was reluctant to transmit Tatsuo's views unmodified,
since Taeko was even more hostile to the main house than
Yukiko; but Teinosuke thought it best to hide nothing. When
she showed the letter to Taeko the next day, the results were
exactly as she had expected. Taeko said that she was no longer
a child, that she did not need the guidance of any Tatsuo, that she
understood her affairs better than anyone else. And what was so
wrong with a woman who worked? The people in Toyko still
worried about family and position, and it seemed to them a disgrace
that the Makioka family should produce a seamstress. But
262 the makioka sisters

was that not ridiculously old-fashioned? She would go herself and
explain everything, she would make them see how wrong they
were. And she was furious about the money.
Always before, when she attacked Tatsuo, she had refrained
from criticizing Tsuruko, but this time her anger was aimed rather
at Tsuruko: Tsuruko was wrong to let Tatsuo say what he did. It
was true that the money was not in Taeko's name, but had she not
heard from Aunt Tominaga, and any number of times from
Tsuruko herself, that Tatsuo had money in trust for her? And now
they chose to cloud the issue. They kept having children and
needing more money, and no doubt Tatsuo had changed his plans,
but how could Tsuruko support him? Very well, Taeko knew what
to do. She would have her money. She wept and stormed, and
Sachiko was in a real sweat to calm her. Sachiko understood well
enough, but should Koi-san lose control of herself? Maybe Teinosuke
had explained badly. And in any case she should try to
understand their own position. Although it would be very fine indeed
for her to have everything out in Toyko, could she not proceed
more cautiously? Sachiko and her husband would be most embarrassed
if Koi-san went picking a fight--it was not to find themselves
in a fight that they had sided with her.
In a few days, Taeko was her old placid self again. It became
clear that she had only given vent to the rage of the moment,
and that she did not have courage to carry out her threats.
Even so, Sachiko was uneasy.
Then one afternoon, possibly around the middle of December,
Taeko came home from her studio earlier than usual.
"I have stopped my French lessons."
"Oh?" Sachiko tried not to seem interested.
"And I am not going to France."
"Oh? That seems a shame, now that your mind is made up.
But I think you are right. Tatsuo and Tsuruko have been so
worried."
"It makes no difference about them. Mrs. Tamaki has decided
not to go."
"Really? And why-has she changed her plans?"
"The school is opening again in January, and she says she
has no time."
Mrs. Tamaki had meant to go to Europe while the school
Book Two ______2&3_____

was being repaired. It had been found, however, that rebuilding
would have to begin from the very foundations. Setting out in
search of a new site--to rebuild would take both time and money
with materials and manpower so short--she had been lucky enough
to find at a most reasonable price a foreign-style house that could
be used almost unaltered as a sewing school. She had decided
that she wanted to reopen the school immediately. Her husband,
worried about the tensions in Europe, had all along been
opposed to the trip. Mr. Tamaki knew a military attache recently
back from Europe, and had heard that Germany, France, and
England, although on the surface friendly since the Munich
Conference in September, had by no means reached an accord;
that the English, unprepared for war, had only compromised to
put the Germans off guard; and that the Germans, quite aware
of this, meant to go the English one better. War could not
possibly be avoided. For all these reasons, Mrs. Tamaki had
decided not to go to France. Taeko too had changed her plans.
But whatever the main house in Tokyo might say, she added,
her plans to learn sewing were not to be changed. She would
begin her lessons again when the sewing school opened in January.
And since she felt more and more strongly the need to do without
an allowance from the main house, she was in an even greater
hurry to learn her trade.
"That is very well for you, Koi-san, but think of us. What
excuse can we make if you go on with your sewing?"
"You can say you know nothing about it."
"Do you really think we can?"
"I will make it look as though I am working on my dolls, and you can say that I seem to have stopped the sewing."
"Think of the trouble when they find out."
There was something a little threatening about Taeko's eagerness
to be independent and her determination to collect the
lump sum of money from the main house even if it meant
being disagreeable. Sachiko foresaw the day when she and her
husband would be caught in a cross fire. Whatever Taeko said,
she could only answer: "Think of the trouble."
24

what were Taeko's real motives for setting out to become a
professional woman? Did one not find certain inconsistencies if,
as she said, she still hoped to marry Okubata? Married to so
worthless a person, she should be prepared to support him, "but
he was the pampered son of a good family, a man who wanted
for nothing, and the day when he might worry about his next
meal seemed a very distant one indeed. The excuse was not
enough to justify a course in sewing and a trip to Europe.
Taeko ought rather to be planning for a home with the man she
loved. Since the precocious girl had always been one to lay her
plans carefully, she might well be preparing for distant eventualities,
and yet Sachiko was troubled. She would find herself wondering
whether Taeko did not in fact dislike Okubata, whether
she was not seeking a way to break with him. The trip abroad
might be her first step, and the sewing her means of supporting
herself once she had made the break.
Sachiko was becoming suspicious again.
She was puzzled about the Itakura affair. She had seen nothing
of Itakura since that short visit, and there was no sign that he
telephoned or wrote to Taeko, but with Taeko away from home
the better part of the day, the two of them could arrange
whatever they pleased. It was most unnatural that Itakura should
have disappeared. The suspicion arose that he was seeing Taeko
in secret. It was the vaguest of suspicions, with no eyidence
to support it, but for that very reason it grew stronger as the
days passed. Soon Sachiko came to feel that she could not be
wrong. For one thing, Taeko's appearance, her manner, her facial
expressions, her dress, her speech were changing. Of the four sisters,
Taeko had always been the most open and direct--to put her
case favorably, the most modern--but lately that directness had
been strangely transformed into a certain rudeness and vulgarity.
It bothered her little to display herself naked, and sometimes,
even before the maids, she would bare her bosom to the electric
fan, or she would come from the bath looking like a tenement
Boofe Two 265

woman. She seldom sat with her feet tucked properly under her.
She preferred to throw them out to one side, or, worse still,
to sit with her legs crossed, her kimono coming open at the
skirt. Quite indifferent to the prerogatives of age, she would
start eating or go into or out of a room ahead of her sisters, or
take a place higher at the table. Sachiko was left wondering what
horror might be coming next when they went out or had guests.
In April, at the Gourd Restaurant in Kyoto, Taeko went in
ahead of them all, took a place higher than Yukiko, and started
eating before anyone. Afterwards Sachiko whispered to Yukiko
that she never again wanted to dine out with Koi-san. And in
the tearoom of the Kitano Theater in the summer, Taeko sat
silently by while Yukiko poured tea. She had long been guilty
of such rudeness, but recently it had become worse. One evening
Sachiko noticed that the door to the kitchen was half open.
Through the trap door between the heater and the bath, also
five or six inches open, she caught a glimpse of Taeko in the
tub.
"Would you please close the door to the bathroom, 0-haru."
"Leave it open, leave it open!" shouted Taeko.
"You left it open on purpose?" asked 0-haru in surprise.
"I left it open to hear the radio."
Taeko had left all the doors open between the parlor and
the bath so that she could sit in the tub and listen to a symphony
concert.
Another time--was it in August?--Sachiko was having her afternoon
tea when the young man from the Kozuchiya came to
deliver kimonos. She listened to the conversation from the dining
room.
"But you are putting on weight. Miss Taeko. That kimono is
almost ready to split at the hips."
"It may not split," answered Taeko. "But you can be sure
I will have people following me."
The young man roared with laughter.
Sachiko was aghast. She had not dreamed that her sister could
descend quite to that level. Since the young man was not one
to sport openly with customers, there must be something in
Taeko's manner that urged him on. No doubt such exchanges
were the usual thing when Sachiko was not around. With her
266 the makioka sisters

dolls and her dancing and her sewing, Taeko was on familiar
terms with a wider range of classes than her sisters, and it was
natural that she should be better versed in the crude and vulgar,
but Sachiko, who had to then only been amused at Taeko and
her tendency to treat her shut-in sisters as children, thought that
matters had finally reached a point where she must interfere.
Though by no means as old-fashioned as Tsuruko, she was still
distressed to think that anyone in the family could carry on
such a conversation. Taeko was under the influence of someone,
she was sure, and she began to note something that reminded
her of Itakura's joking manner, his general outlook, his vulgarity.
There were reasons why Taeko should be different from the
rest of them. It was not entirely fair to reprove her. She alone
of the four sisters had known almost nothing of their father's
prosperous days, and she had but the dimmest memories of her
mother, who had died just as the youngest daughter was starting
school. Their pleasure-loving father gave the daughters everything
they wanted, and yet Taeko had never really known--had never
had an immediate sense of--what had been done for her. Yukiko,
so little older, had vivid memories of her father, and would often
recount how he had done this for her on one occasion, and
that on another, but Taeko was too young, and the favors she
received had never been entirely real. Although her father might
have let her go on with her dancing, that too had been stopped
soon after her mother died. She remembered chiefly how her
father would describe her as the darkest and plainest of them
all, and indeed she must have been a most untidy girl, with her
face quite uncared for and her clothes so shapeless that she could
have passed for a boy. She liked to say that some day she too
would finish school and dress up and go out as her sisters did.
She too would buy pretty clothes. But before she had her wish,
her father died, and the good days were over for the Makioka
family. Very shortly afterwards came the "newspaper incident."
As Yukiko said, Koi-san's behavior was natural enough for an
impressionable girl who had never enjoyed the affection of her
parents, and who, always at odds with her brother-in-law, was
unhappy at home. Though someone was perhaps to blame for
the incident, the main fault lay rather in the girl's surroundings.
Koi-san's grades in school had been no worse than those of her
Boofe Two 267

sisters, Yukiko pointed out. In mathematics she had been the
best of the four. Still there could be no doubt that the incident
had branded her and to an extent twisted her. And Tatsuo, in
the main house, had never been as good to her as to Yukiko. He
did not really get along well with either of the sisters, but he
had very early labelled Taeko the heretic. While showing some
affection for the older sister, he hinted that he thought the
younger a nuisance. In the course of time this favoritism became
evident in the allowances he gave the two, and even in their
clothes and accessories. Yukiko had her trousseau ready. Taeko
on the other hand had virtually nothing that could be called
expensive except a few things she had bought with her own
money or had had Sachiko buy for her. It was true, as the people
in the main house said, that since Koi-san had money of her
own they must be fair and give Yukiko more. Had Taeko herself
not told them that she would rather they gave more to Yukiko?
As a matter of fact she was less than half the burden on the
main house Yukiko was. Sachiko sometimes noted with a mixture
of surprise and admiration how clever Koi-san was at saving money
even while she followed the latest foreign styles--she did remarkably
well, even granting that she had a sizable income. (Now
and then Sachiko wondered whether a necklace or a ring might
not have come from the display cases of the Okubata store.)
Of the four sisters, Taeko knew best what it meant to have
money. Sachiko had grown up in her father's prosperous years,
whereas Taeko had been at her most impressionable when the
family fortunes were on the decline.
Fearing that this unusual sister would sooner or later be the
cause of another scandal, and that she herself and her husband
might be implicated, Sachiko thought of sending Taeko off to the
main house, but it was clear that Taeko would not agree to go,
and it seemed likely moreover that the main house was not
willing to take her. Tatsuo would have been expected, after
hearing Teinosuke's story, to say that he wanted Koi-san where he
could watch her, and he had said nothing of the sort. Once so
afraid of what people would think, he had overcome his resentment
at having his sisters-in-law in Ashiya. Still he must also have
economic reasons for his silence: he had come to look upon
Taeko as semi-independent, and he only had to send her a little
268 the makioka sisters

spending money each month. Troublesome though the youngest
sister was, then, Sachiko could not but feel sorry for her.
But they had to have an honest talk.
The New-Year festivities passed, and Sachiko came to suspect
that Taeko had taken up sewing again.
"Has Mrs. Tamaki's school opened?" she asked one morning
as Taeko started to leave the house.
"Yes."
"There is something I must talk to you about, Koisan."
Sachiko led her sister back into the parlor, and they faced each
other across the stove. "There is the sewing, of course, but there
is something else I have been wanting to ask you. I hope you
will not hide anything from me."
Taeko stared at the burning wood. Her skin glowed in the
fire light, and she seemed to be holding her breath.
"I might begin with Kei-boy. Do you still mean to marry him?"
For the first few minutes Taeko was silent. As Sachiko tried
various ways to reveal her suspicions, she saw that her sister's
eyes were filled with tears. Taeko pressed a handkerchief to
her face.
"Kei-boy has been deceiving me," she sniffled. "You remember
you said he was seeing a geisha?"
"Yes. Teinosuke heard of it in some teahouse."
"It was true."
Led on by Sachiko's questions, Taeko made her confession:
When in May she had heard from Sachiko of the geisha, she
had on the surface dismissed the story as no more than a rumor.
As a matter of fact, it had become an issue from about then.
Okubata had long been fond of the teahouses, but. his excuse
was that in his gloom at being unable to marry Taeko he only
went out now and then in search of consolation. He hoped she
would be generous with him. He wanted her to believe that
he only had an innocent drink or two with the ladies, and that
this in no way marred his chastity. Taeko accepted the explanation.
As she had told Sachiko, Okubata's brothers and uncles
were great pleasure-lovers, and her own father had frequented the
quarters. She had therefore been prepared to accept a certain
amount of dissipation as inevitable. She would not make a nuisance
of herself, provided that Okubata remained celibate.
Book Two 269

Then, from a trivial incident, she came to see that he had
been quite brazenly lying to her. In addition to that geisha in
the Soemon Quarter, he had a dancer, and she had had a child.
When the secret was discovered, Okubata offered a model apology:
the affair with the dancer had taken place long before; the child
having only been foisted on him--it was quite impossible to
know who the father was--he had been relieved of his paternal
responsibilities too. As for the geisha, he had no apology to offer,
he could only vow that he would not see her again. But Taeko
sensed from his flippant manner that he thought it a matter of
little concern to have lied to her. She could never trust him
again. Having actually seen the receipt for the separation money
he paid the dancer, she knew that he could not be lying about
at least that. There was no evidence that he had parted with the
geisha, however, and Taeko could not be sure there had not
been other affairs besides. Although Okubata protested that he
was still determined to marry her, and that his affection for
these women was not to be mentioned in the same breath with
his love for her, she could not but feel that she too might be
thrown away as the plaything of a moment. In sum, she began
to dislike him. Even so, she did not find it easy to break the
engagement. The foolish girl had trusted him, and now her own
sisters would point at her and laugh. But she wanted to be away
from him for a time. She wanted to think matters over quietly
by herself.
There could be no doubt that the trip abroad was a means toward
that end, and, as Sachiko had guessed, Taeko meant to learn sewing
so that she could support herself afterwards.
Her distress was at its worst when the Hood came. Until then
she had thought of Itakura as--well, a sort of servant. With the
flood, her feelings toward him underwent a very quick change.
She knew that Sachiko and Yukiko would think her frivolous,
but they had never known how it was to be saved when you
had given yourself up for lost. Kei-boy said that Itakura had his
reasons. Very well, suppose he had. He had still risked his life;
and in the meantime what was Kei-boy himself doing? Far from
risking his life, had he shown even a trace of real concern, of
real affection? It was the flood that killed the last of her love
for him. As Sachiko knew, he appeared at the Ashiya house after
_____270 the makioka sisters

trains were running from Osaka. Setting out to look for her,
he went only as far as Tanaka, and decided that he could not
get through the little water that was running across the street
there. After a time he wandered into Itakura's house, and thereupon
went back to Osaka. He arrived at Itakura's in an immaculate
blue suit and a Panama hat, a walking stick in his hand
and a camera over his shoulder--it was a wonder no one gave him
a cuffing for his elegance. Had it not been because he was afraid
of spoiling the crease in his trousers that he turned back at
Tanaka? Was the contrast not too complete with Teinosuke and
Itakura and even Shokichi, mud from head to foot? She had
long known how particular Okubata was about his appearance,
and she had not expected him to plunge into the mud with
them, but he had not even shown ordinary human sympathy.
If he was really so pleased and relieved to know that she was
safe, should he not have gone again to the Ashiya house? He
had said that he would stop by later, and had not Sachiko too
expected him? And did he think that he had acquitted himself
of his responsibilities by inquiring after her? It was at such times
that one saw the real worth of people. She had been resigned
to enduring his spendthrift ways, his fickleness, his general uselessness,
but she had quite lost hope when she saw that he was
unwilling to sacrifice the crease in his trousers for his future
wife.

SŪSsSŪSŪS<5S3Ū3ŪS<S!gŪ5!3!S<3SŪSi

2<>

tears streamed over her cheeks and she sniffled occasionally;
but she had told her story thus far clearly and with great composure.
Her tone became heavier as they moved on to the question
of her relations with Itakura. Her replies to Sachiko's questions
being limited to affirmation or denial, Sachiko had to fill in
the gaps for herself. This was the story Sachiko pieced together:
Itakura came to seem in many ways a pleasant contrast to
Okubata. Laugh though she might at the people in the main
Hook 1 we 271

house, Taeko was not wholly unconscious of family and position,
and she tried to hold herself back; but her heart worked
against her conservative mind. She was not one to lose her head,
whatever the crisis, and even after she fell in love with Itakura
she was by no means blind to his faults. Particularly because of
her failure with Okubata, she looked far into the future and
weighed the profit and loss, and after examining the balance as
cooly as she could, she concluded that her happiness lay in
marrying Itakura. Sachiko, who had guessed a good deal of the
truth without even considering that her sister might want to
marry the man, was stunned. Taeko, however, had taken the
man's defects into her calculations: that he was an uneducated
person who began as an apprentice, that he came from a family
of tenant farmers in Okayama Prefecture, that he had the peculiar
coarseness of emigrants returned from America. All that was true,
said Taeko, but as a man Itakura ranked several grades higher
than Okubata, the pampered child of wealth. His physique was
splendid, and he would not hesitate to plunge into a fire if it
seemed necessary. And best of all, he could support himself and
his sister--he stood in sharp contrast to a man who lived by
begging from his mother and brother. Going off to America
without a cent, he had made his way with help from no one, and
learned his trade--and art photography required not a little intelligence.
Although his formal education left much to be desired,
he had his own sort of intelligence and sensibility. He was more
of a student, she had discovered, than Okubata with his university
diploma. Family and inherited property and diplomas had
lost their appeal for her; Okubata had been enough to show
her how worthless they were. She meant now to be quite practical.
She asked only that her husband satisfy three conditions:
he must have a strong body, he must have a trade, and he
must be willing to offer up his very life for her. In Itakura all
three conditions were satisfied, and there was another point in
his favor: with three brothers back on the farm, he had no family
responsibilities. (The sister who kept house for him would go
home once he was married.) She would have his affections to
herself. Her position would be far easier than that of the wife
of the oldest and wealthiest family imaginable.
The perceptive Itakura had early guessed her feelings, one would
272 the makioka sisters

judge from his behavior. Taeko had but recently confessed them.
The year before--early in September, when Sachiko was in Tokyo
and Okubata's suspicions forced Taeko and Itakura to be more
cautious--they had debated what to do, and Taeko had declared
herself for the first time. Thus Okubata succeeded in bringing
them together. When it became clear that Taeko was actually
proposing marriage, Itakura seemed unable to believe his ears--
perhaps he was but making a show of propriety, perhaps he was
indeed caught by surprise. He said that he had not dreamed
of such good fortune, and that he would like two or three days
to think matters over. Beneath his surprise and hesitation there
seemed to run another vein: it was such a stroke of luck that
considerations of personal advantage and disadvantage had no
meaning. But ought not Koi-san to make sure that she would not
regret her decision? He himself would no longer be able to see the
Okubata family, he said, and Koi-san would probably be cast out
by the main branch of her family and even by the Ashiya branch.
And they would be misunderstood and even ostracized. He could
fight his way through, but could Koi-san? People would say that
he had cleverly bagged a Makioka daughter. But it made no difference
what people in general said--Kei-boy's reproaches would
be harder to bear. Then Itakura's tone changed: Kei-boy would
not understand in any case, and it was rather to the old master
and the old mistress (Kei-boy's mother) and to the young master
(Kei-boy's brother) that Itakura himself was indebted. Kei-boy
was a younger son to whom he owed nothing directly. Angry
though Kei-boy would be, the old mistress and the young master
might even be grateful to Itakura. They were quite possibly still
opposed to Kei-boy's marrying Koi-san. Itakura suspected that such
was indeed the case, although Kei-boy had said nothing. So, while
making a show of hesitation, Itakura contrived to accept Taeko's
proposal.
They made their plans in great detail: for the time being they
would keep their engagement absolutely secret; a problem to be
solved before that was how to break Taeko's engagement to Okubata;
they should do nothing rash, but should take their time and
if possible bring Okubata to renounce her voluntarily. For Taeko
the best step possible would be to go abroad; their marriage could
well be put off two or three years, and in the meantime they
JDOOK 1 WE 273

should prepare themselves to meet possible economic sanctions;
and Taeko should therefore go ahead with her sewing. Then, suddenly,
the opposition of the main house and Mrs. Tamaki's change
in plans made it impossible for Taeko to go abroad. Meanwhile,
Okubata followed her about, partly to annoy Itakura, she believed.
As long as she was in Japan, he would never break the engagement.
If, on the other hand, she were to send a letter from Paris
insisting that he give her her freedom, and if she were to keep
out of sight for a time, he might finally resign himself to what had
to be. Now he would be more difficult than ever. Concluding that
she had stayed in Japan for Itakura, he would trail her even
more closely. In a distant foreign country she could stand being
away from Itakura for six months or a year, but with him almost
beside her, and with Okubata clinging to her, she found she could
not live without him. There was no alternative, then. Since it was
becoming impossible to deceive the world and Okubata, they
might as well face the difficulties and be married as soon as possible.
There were only two reasons for hesitating: they were not
entirely ready to support themselves, and Taeko, prepared though
she was for ostracism, feared catching Yukiko in the wake of the
affair. She wanted to wait until a marriage had been arranged
for the latter.
"And you have only made the promise, then? You have gone
no farther?"
"We have gone no farther."
"You are telling me the truth?"
"There has been nothing more than the promise."
"Would you think a little longer, then, before you do anything
more?"
Taeko did not answer.
"Please, Koi-san. How can we face people, and especially the
people in Tokyo?" Sachiko asked in a shrill, excited voice. She
saw a pit opening before her eyes. Taeko was strangely calm.
26

for two or three mornings Sachiko called Taeko into the parlor
after Teinosuke and Etsuko had left. She wanted to see how
firmly Taeko's mind was made up, and she found no sign that
her sister could be moved. Sachiko was willing to make concessions
if only Taeko would give up the idea of marrying the man:
whatever the main house might think, she and Teinosuke approved
of breaking the engagement to Okubata, and, depending
on the circumstances, they might even intercede to see that
Okubata no longer bothered her; although it would be difficult to
recognize the sewing lessons openly, Sachiko could pretend to
know nothing about them; she and her husband would not
really oppose Taeko's becoming a professional woman; and, impossible
though it was to do anything at the moment, they would
argue Taeko's case when the time came and see that she received
her money from the main house.
But Taeko only answered that she and Itakura were willing as
their final concession to wait until Yukiko was married. They
hoped Yukiko's marriage would be arranged as soon as possible.
Matters of position and class quite aside, continued Sachiko,
she did not trust Itakura as a person. Since he had worked his way
up from shop apprentice to photographer, he was different from a
pampered youth like Okubata; and yet--Sachiko knew she should
not say so--he had about him the cunning of a man who has seen
too much of the world. Taeko spoke of his intelligence, but
Sachiko herself had observed only that he tended to be very
pleased with himself over things that made no difference. He was
a simple and indeed a rather inferior youth, and his tastes were
far from cultivated. And as for his having become the sort of
photographer he was--he needed only a certain craftsman's instinct.
Koi-san, blind to his defects at the moment, would do well
to think long and carefully. It had been Sachiko's observation
that marriages did not last when the husband and wife came from
different stations in life. To be quite honest, she was at a loss to
understand how a woman as discerning as Koi-san could posDUUK I WE 275

sibly want to marry such a man. Koi-san would very soon tire of
him. Sachiko did find chatterers like Itakura entertaining, but an
hour or so was all she could stand.
Taeko admitted that something of the cunning Sachiko noted
was inevitable in a man who, as a boy, had been a shop apprentice
and who had later seen the world--it had been made inevitable
by his surroundings--but there was for all that something surprisingly
clean and honest about the man. He was at heart not the
sly one Sachiko took him for. It was also true, as Sachiko had
pointed out, that Itakura made much of trivialities, and he was
disliked as a result; but might that not be evidence of something
innocent and childlike? Perhaps he was uneducated, perhaps he
was inferior. Taeko was as aware of his defects as anyone, and
she would prefer that Sachiko not worry. She did not demand
elegant tastes and a subtle mind, she had no objection to a noisy
and even a coarse man. Indeed a husband from the lower classes
would be easier to handle and less of a worry. Itakura considered
it a great honor to be taking her for his bride. His sister
too, and his family out in the country--they were overcome with
joy at the thought of how high they could hold their heads now.
When Taeko went to Itakura's house, he would tell his sister she
had no right to be so familiar with Koi-san--in olden times she
would have had to kowtow in the next room. They treated her
with proper deference, she would have Sachiko know. Taeko was
becoming boastful. Sachiko could almost see Itakura, always
pleased with himself, announcing that he was going to marry a
Makioka daughter. And they had apparently told his family--the
thought revolted Sachiko.
She was comforted to see that Taeko did not mean to do anything
rash until Yukiko was married. The crisis was therefore not
immediate, and Sachiko feared a rebellion if she set out now to
bring her sister under control. Since it would be at least six
months before Yukiko could be married, Sachiko must argue with
Taeko calmly and unhurriedly and prepare the way step by step
for a change of heart. For the time being Taeko should be allowed
complete freedom. But how sad for Yukiko. No doubt Yukiko
would find it distasteful to think that Taeko was waiting for her,
and expecting her to feel indebted. There were other reasons why
Yukiko had not married, but certainly one reason was the harm
276 I HE 1V1AKIUKA Jiaic.Ka

done her by that newspaper incident. She owed her sister nothing.
Yukiko would probably say that she was in no great rush to be
married, and that she felt no resentment toward Taeko for the
incident; her fate was not to be determined by anything so
trivial. Taeko should go ahead and be married without a thought
for her. Taeko for her part might not be trying to saddle Yukiko
with a debt, and yet it was a fact that she had been impatient at
the latter's slowness. She would hardly have thought of eloping
with Okubata, however young she was at the time, if Yukiko had
been married or on the point of being married. Although the
two sisters never quarreled, one could not deny that their interests
conflicted deeply.
Since that day--since she received the letter from Okubata in
September of the preceding year--Sachiko had told no one of the
Itakura affair. Now it had become too heavy a burden to carry
alone. She had always sided with Taeko. She had understood and
sympathized, she had encouraged the doll-making, she had rented
the studio, she had silently acquiesced in the relations with
Okubata, she had interceded with the main house each time
there was a disagreement--and this was her reward. But perhaps
it was because of her efforts that matters were no worse. There
was no telling what scandals they might have had otherwise. The
world in general and the people at the main house would probably
not agree with her, however, and what distressed her most
was the thought of the private detective who was sent out to
investigate the family each time there was talk of a husband for
Yukiko, and who, each time, dragged Taeko's misbehavior out
afresh for the world to see. Sachiko herself did not know the
exact details--what exactly had taken place between Taeko and
the two men--but Taeko's affairs must seem thoroughly shameful
to the disapproving eye. Yukiko's purity should be apparent
to everyone. As far as she was concerned, the Makiokas had
nothing to hide from investigators, but this scapegrace sister so
easily attracted notice that the investigation tended to be concerned
more with Taeko and her doubtful points than with the
principal herself. And it was even possible that things hidden
from the family were known abroad. Might not unwholesome
rumors be circulating about Sachiko too, and might they not be
responsible for this lack of suitors? There had been no new proDUOK i WE 277

posals since the spring of the year before, even though Sachiko
had asked all her friends to tell her of likely prospects. For
Yukiko's sake, something must be done. When these rumors
reached the main house, Sachiko would have a great deal to explain.
Teinosuke and Yukiko too would want to know why she
had not confided in them. And there might be more chance to
make Taeko reconsider if Teinosuke and Yukiko were to have
their turns arguing with her.

One evening toward the end of January, Teinosuke was reading
a magazine in his study when Sachiko came in and looked
solemnly at him, as if there were important matters to be discussed.

"Koi-san seems to have made the promise last September when
I was in Tokyo. Etsuko and 0-haru were with me, and Itakura
came here every day."
"I am responsible too, am I?"
"That is not what I meant. I only wondered if you noticed
anything."
"Not a thing. I did think even before the flood, though, that
he was a little too friendly."
"But he is that way with everyone, not just Koisan."
"I suppose so."
"How was he in the flood?"
"Very impressive. He did everything. I suppose Koi-san was very
pleased."
"But can't she see how vulgar the man is? I cannot understand
her. She flares up and tells me he has this good point and that
good point and the other good point. She was sheltered when
she was young, and she is too trusting. He has managed to get
around her."
"She knows what she is doing. Maybe he is a little vulgar, but
she knows a dependable man when she sees one."
"That is exactly what she says."
"That is one way to look at it."
"No! You really think she should marry him?"
"Not necessarily. But he would be a better match than Okubata."
"I think just the opposite."
And so she discovered to her surprise that they did not agree.

i^^^^^^h|^^^^^^^^^h;^^^^^hh^^ , y
"iiOT^ffi^^H|^^^^^^B^^RI^I^lEieil
"" '!^^Nw|
270 I Hf. iViAKluit.A jiaic,is.a

Under Teinosuke's influence she had begun to dislike Okubata,
and even now she did not feel friendly toward him; but when
she compared him with Itakura she found him much to be pitied.
Even though he was a classic example of the pampered youth,
even though he was quite useless, even though one knew at first
glance how frivolous and shallow he was--he was an old friend,
the child of an old Semba family. He was one of them. Sachiko
could foresee great difficulties if her sister were to marry him,
but at least for the time being they would not have to worry
about what people thought. If on the other hand she married
Itakura, she would be held up to public ridicule. Okubata seen by
himself was not a happy choice, but he was certainly better than
Itakura, and he could be their weapon to turn away the latter.
Teinosuke was more liberal. The question of family aside, he
said, there was no point on which Okubata could be given a
higher mark than Itakura. Koi-san was right. The conditions for a
husband were love, health, and the ability to make a living, and
if Itakura satisfied all three, what need was there to worry about
family? Teinosuke himself was not particularly fond of Itakura,
and only chose him in preference to Okubata, and, knowing that
the people in the main house would never approve, he did not feel
enthusiastic at the thought of pleading Koi-san's case. But since
she was not one to be married in the traditional manner, she
should be left free to marry the man she chose. Precisely because
she knew herself so well, they should be very cautious about
interfering. Yukiko was different, not a person they could turn
out to make her way alone. They should do everything for her.
They should find her a husband, and be sure that he came from
a good family and had money. But Koi-san could take care of herself.

Although Teinosuke would have to give his views if asked,
what he said was for Sachiko only. He did not want Sachiko announcing
what he thought to the people in the main house, or
even to Koi-san. He wanted to remain an outsider.
"And why is that?"
"She is too complicated," he muttered. "There are things I
will never understand."
"There are indeed. I took her part in everything, even to the
DOOR I WE 279

point of letting myself be misunderstood, and now to have her
turn on me . . ."
"That is what makes her interesting."
"She could have told me earlier. But to deceive me. This time I
am furious with her, really furious."
Sachiko looked like a spoiled child when she wept. The flaming
cheeks and the angry tears always made Teinosuke think how
it must have been long ago when she quarreled with her sisters.

SŪs3a=!5St3S!gŪŪSSt5<5^5?5<S!S<?SŪSi

27

sachiko worried about Yukiko, helpless in the main Tokyo house,
a different sort from Taeko, who would do what she wanted regardless
of the trouble it might cause and the rumors it might
start. Sachiko thought she could never apologize enough to Yukiko. She had been asked so earnestly by Tsuruko that September
night in Tokyo Station to find a husband for Yukiko; she
had hoped she might have a candidate before the end of the year,
this year being an unlucky one for Yukiko; and she had then
hoped to find someone before the day early in February when
the horoscope year would begin. That day was but a week off.
If rumors about Taeko were indeed frightening off prospective
husbands, then she must hold herself partly responsible. She had
long thought of calling Yukiko back for a conference--Yukiko
who would best understand her dissatisfaction with Taeko--and
she had hesitated only because of the psychological effect she
was afraid it might have on Yukiko to hear of Taeko's misbehavior.
Now, however, she was more afraid of what would happen
if Yukiko were to hear from someone else. And with Teinosuke,
whose advice she had so counted on, taking this extraordinary
position, she had no one left but Yukiko. She was trying to think
of an excuse for summoning her sister when notice came of a
recital in memory of Taeko's old dancing teacher.
280 the makioka sisters

RECITAL
yamamusa school, in memory of the late Yamamura Saku
one o'clock, February 21, 1939, Mitsukoshi Hall, Korai Bridge,
Osaka.
the dances (not necessarily in this order): Perfumed Sleeves
(Elegy), Nanoha,1 Dark Hair, Love Among the Saucepans,
The Battle of Yashima, Gift from Edo, The Curse, Snow, The
Coy One, Bird of Miyako, Eight Scenes, Tea, Moon of
Remembrance, The Maiden at the Well.
the dancers and their order of appearance will be announced on
the day of the recital.
Although there will be no charge, admission will be by invitation
only. Applications will be accepted from members of this
society and their families until February 19. A letter with
return envelope will be appreciated from anyone who wishes
to attend.
the daughters of osaka
(Pupils of Yamamura Saku)

Early in February, Sachiko sent the printed post card off to
Tokyo. To her older sister she wrote a brief note: for all their
hopes that they would soon have to call Yukiko back to Osaka,
the old year had passed without a single proposal, and here it was
February; although there was no real business at the moment,
Sachiko wanted very much to see Yukiko, and she was sure that
Yukiko wolild by now be feeling a little homesick; if there were
no particular objection, might Yukiko not be allowed to visit
Ashiya for a time?--there happened to be a Yamamura recital,
the announcement of which she was enclosing, and Taeko, who
was dancing, wanted Yukiko to be present. To Yukiko she wrote
in more detail: with the crisis in China, dance recitals were becoming
rare, and this might well be the last for a very long time;
Koi-san, quite out of practice, had at first refused the surprise
invitation to dance, and had at length accepted because such an
opportunity might not come again and because she felt she must
offer something in memory of the teacher; it was just possible
that this would be Yukiko's last chance to see Koi-san in a recital;
unable to learn a new dance on such short notice, Koi-san had

1 Colza or rape, an early-flowering brassicaceous herb.

DWK 1 WE 28l

hastily set about relearning "Snow", which she had danced the
year before; she would at least have to have a different kimono,
however, and the kimono Sachiko had had dyed at the Kozuchiya
(it had a delicate, unobtrusive pattern) seemed to fit the order;
Koi-san was being trained by a leading disciple of the old teacher,
a woman who had a studio in Osaka; Koi-san was thus her usual
busy self, what with practice every day in Osaka, and more practice
in the evening to Sachiko's accompaniment, and her doll-
making and all; Sachiko was kept busy at the koto (she had no
confidence that she could do "Snow" on the samisen); although
Sachiko found it hard to be angry with so diligent a worker, still
Koi-san had been a great trial to her, and there were incidents of
which she could not write in a letter, but which she would recount in detail when she saw Yukiko; and Etsuko insisted that
Yukiko, who had missed the last recital, must be present this time.
There was no answer from either Tsuruko or Yukiko. They began
to think that the latter would again arrive unannounced. Late
on the afternoon of February n--a holiday, the anniversary
of the founding of the Empire--Taeko was having a dress
rehearsal in the parlor.
"Yukiko!" Etsuko was the first to hear the bell.
"Come in, come in," 0-haru followed Etsuko to the door.
"They are all in the parlor."
The furniture had been cleared away except for one sofa, and the
rug was rolled up. In the center of the room stood Taeko, parasol
in hand, her Japanese-style coiffure tied up with bright pink
ribbons. Her kimono was the one Sachiko had described, a bronze-
purple with a fine pattern of snow-covered camellias and plum
blossoms. In a corner of the room, Sachiko sat on a cushion, her
koto before her. It was decorated with chrysanthemums in gold
lacquer.
"I thought I would find you all at this." Yukiko nodded to
Teinosuke, who sat on the sofa in a winter kimono, his long underwear
showing at the hem. "I could hear the koto from outside."

"We wondered what could have happened to you." Sachiko's
hands rested on the koto. Yukiko liked noise and gaiety for all
her apparent melancholy, and Sachiko saw a wave of emotion
cross the white face (possibly Yukiko was tired).
202 1 Mt, 1V1AK1UKA 01S11-.KS

"You came on the Swallow?"
Yukiko did not answer Etsuko's question. She turned instead
to Taeko. "Is that a wig you have on?"
"Yes. They finally had it ready today."
"It looks wonderful on you, Koisan."
"I thought I might want to wear it sometimes myself," said
Sachiko. "Koi-san and I had it made together."
"You can wear it too, Yukiko."
"When you get married."
"Listen to the woman! Do you really think it would fit me?"
Yukiko laughed happily at Sachiko's joke. But she was right:
because of the rich hair, one did not notice that she had an
extremely small head.
"You came at just the right time," said Teinosuke. "With
Koi-san's wig ready, we thought we would have her dance in full
costume. A special performance for me. The twenty-first is a
Tuesday, and I am not at all sure I can go."
"And I have to be in school," said Etsuko.
"They should have made it a Sunday."
"That would have attracted too much attention. It would not
do to attract attention at a time like this."
"Would you go over that passage again please?" Taking the
parasol in her right hand, Taeko held it with the handle upright.

"No, begin at the beginning," said Teinosuke.
Etsuko too was in favor of beginning again for Yukiko.
"But Koi-san will be exhausted, going through it twice."
"Think of it as practice, and do it again," said Sachiko. "Of
course I am freezing, here on the bare floor. You may not have
noticed."
"How about a pocket-warmer," suggested 0-haru. "It will make
a great difference if you sit on a pocket-warmer."
"Possibly I should."
"I can have a rest while you fuss about your pocket-warmer."
Taeko put down the parasol and, sweeping aside the long skirts,
walked over to the sofa. "May I have one too?" She lighted the
cigarette Teinosuke gave her.
"And I," said Yukiko, leaving for the bathroom, "ought to
wash my hands."
DOOR 1 WE 283

"This sort of thing always makes Yukiko so happy. I know:
you can take us out to dinner. Yukiko came all the way from
Tokyo, and Koi-san has been dancing for us."
"And I am the one who pays?"
"Of course. It is your duty. There is not a thing in the house,
and I have meant all along to be taken out to dinner."
"I would be happy with almost any kind of feast," said Taeko.
"Would you like to go to the Yohei or the Oriental Grill?"
"Either one will do. We can ask Yukiko."
"After all that time in Tokyo, she might want some good fish."
"Suppose we have a bottle of white wine, then, and go on to
the Yohei," said Teinosuke.
"I will have to dance very hard to pay for my dinner." As
0-haru came in with the pocket-warmer, Taeko put out the lipstick-smeared
cigarette and began arranging her skirts.

28

although it seemed that Teinosuke, busy closing books for a
certain company, might have to miss the whole concert, he telephoned
from the office that morning asking Sachiko to let him
know when Taeko would be dancing. At about two-thirty, Sachiko
called to say that if he left then he would be just in time. Unfortunately
a client appeared, and at a warning from 0-haru,
after he had wasted another half hour, that if he did not come at
full speed he would be late, he swept the client from the room,
and, without bothering to put on a hat, ran for the elevator and
across the street to the Mitsukoshi Building. He arrived at the hall
on the eighth floor to find that Taeko was already dancing. Since
the recital was a private one limited to Taeko's group, to the
Osaka Society, and to readers of the latter's newspaper, there
should not have been a large audience. Such recitals were becoming
rare, however, and with all sorts of people using their influence
to get tickets, almost every seat was taken, and spectators
were even standing at the back of the hall. Looking over their

204 lllH. 1V1AK1UK.A iJiaiC.RB

shoulders toward the stage, Teinosuke noticed, perhaps two yards
from him, a man with a Leica raised to his face. There could be
no doubt that it was Itakura. Pulling back into a corner, Teinosuke
stole an occasional glance at the photographer, who had his
overcoat collar turned up and who hardly looked away from the
camera. No doubt he meant to hide his face, but the overcoat,
a relic of his Los Angeles days, was so suggestive of the movies that
it only attracted attention.
The dance went smoothly. Taeko had done this "Snow" a year
before. But she had practiced only a month, and this was her first
performance on a real stage--she had until then danced either
on Mrs. Kamisugi's portable stage or in the Ashiya house--and it
was inevitable that there should be something a little inadequate
about her dancing, as if she were trying to occupy too large a
space. Aware of the danger, Taeko had sought to hide her defects
behind the samisen accompaniment, and she had particularly
asked the daughter of Sachiko's koto teacher, Kikuoka Kengyo, to
play for her. And yet there was no sign of stage fright. For all
Teinosuke could see, she was as composed as ever. The calm
deliberation with which she danced made it difficult to believe that
but one month's practice could have prepared her for so grand a
stage. Perhaps the rest of the audience did not notice, but to
Teinosuke there was a rather irksome feeling of defiance, of
brazenness, almost, something that challenged the critic to praise
or damn as he saw fit. Still, she was twenty-eight years old, an age
at which a geisha would be well past her prime, and it was not
strange that she should have this touch of bravado. He had
thought when she danced the year before that the metal beneath
the gilt was finally showing through--Taeko usually looked ten
years younger than she was. Did the dress of long ago make
women look older, then? Or only Taeko, because traditional
dress offered such a contrast to her usual foreign brightness? Or
was it this defiant manner that aged her?
The moment the dance ended, Itakura tucked his camera
under his arm and hurried out. An instant later a man ran headlong
through the audience and almost flung himself at the door
through which the gaudy overcoat had disappeared. For a moment
Teinosuke did not realize that the second figure was Okubata.
Teinosuke too ran out into the lobby.
Boofe Two _____________________285_____

"Why did you take Koi-san's picture? Have you forgotten that
you promised not to?" Okubata was trying to control his voice.
Itakura looked at the floor, like a child being scolded. "Give me
the camera."
Okubata began searching his man as a detective would search
a suspected criminal, running his hands over the pockets. He took
the camera out briskly and put it into his own pocket. Then,
reconsidering, he pulled at the lens with a trembling hand and
threw the camera to the floor as hard as he could. It was the
work of a moment. Okubata was gone by the time the other
spectators noticed, and Itakura had picked up his camera and
was walking dejectedly away. He had stood as if unable to raise
his head before the son of his old master, and even when the
Leica he prized as his very life was skidding across the floor he
did not seem to think of resorting to the physical strength in
which he had such confidence.
Teinosuke returned to his office after paying his respects backstage
and complimenting Taeko. It was not until late that night,
when Etsuko and his sisters-in-law were in bed, that he told his
wife of the incident. Itakura, whether on his own initiative or at
Taeko's request, had apparently planned to slip in and to stay only
long enough for pictures of "Snow." Okubata, who had been
hidden in the audience, intercepted him as he was hurrying off,
mission accomplished. Though it was hard to say when Okubata
had arrived, no doubt he had suspected that Itakura would be
present. Like Teinosuke, he had been watching from afar. He
would not let Itakura escape--such in any case was the only
explanation Teinosuke thought possible. He could not tell whether
they knew he had seen the little drama.
She had been afraid Okubata would be at the recital, said
Sachiko, and she had dreaded having to speak to him. Koisan
assured her that he had not been informed; and besides, he had to
spend two or three hours in the shop every afternoon except
Sunday. Still Sachiko was uneasy. There had been two or three
lines in the newspapers, and Okubata, if he saw them, might have
guessed that Koi-san would be dancing. Having cast a worried
eye over the audience from time to time, Sachiko was sure he had
not been present before Taeko's "Snow." Yukiko, who spent
more time in the audience than backstage and would have
286 the makioka 5ISTERS

noticed, had said nothing. Perhaps Okubata had slipped in at
about the same time as Teinosuke. Or perhaps he had been in
disguise. Sachiko did not know about Koi-san, but she herself
had not seen Itakura, and of course had had no intimation of
what happened in the lobby.
"They were able to keep from being seen backstage. It would
have been very awkward for them if we had noticed."
"Itakura held himself back, and nothing came of it. But we
cannot have two men fighting over Koi-san in public. We will
have to do something before the rumors start."
"Why do you refuse to worry with me, then?"
"I am worrying. Only it is not my place to interfere. Does
Yukiko know about Itakura?"
"One reason I asked her down was that I wanted to talk to her.
I have been looking for a chance."
Sachiko had meant to wait until the recital was over, and two
or three mornings later she was left alone with Yukiko after Taeko,
who said that she wanted to have her picture taken in her dancing
costume and would like to borrow Sachiko's kimono again, had
left in a taxi with her suitcase and wig box and parasol.
"I am sure she is going to Itakura's." Sachiko proceeded to
summarize the events between that shocking letter from Okubata
in September and the scene in the Mitsukoshi lobby.
"Was the Leica broken, then?"
"I wonder. Teinosuke says that the lens at least must have
been damaged."
"And they are taking pictures again because the film was
spoiled?"
"Probably." Sachiko saw that Yukiko had listened to the
story calmly. "This time I really, really think I have been stabbed
in the back. I am furious, more furious the more I think of it.
There is no point in going into all the details, but I am not the
only one. Has anyone been hurt as you yourself have, Yukiko?"
"Me? I have not been especially bothered. . . ."
"You are not to say that, Yukiko. Think of it all, since that
newspaper affair. Maybe you would rather I changed the subject,
but think of the trouble every time there is a chance of your
getting married. And after the way I have protected her and taken
Boofe Two _______ __________ 287 ____

her part--to go off and make such a promise to such a man
and not say a word to me."
"Have you spoken to Teinosuke?"
"Only after I could not keep it to myself any longer."
"And what did he say?"
"He said he did have opinions, but he would rather not be
involved."
"Why?"
"He finds Koi-san hard to understand. Frankly, he does not
trust her, and he would rather have as little to do with her as possible.
Just between the two of us, he really thinks it would be a
mistake to interfere. He thinks someone like Koi-san should be
left to do what she wants, even to marry Itakura. He says she
can take care of herself, and we should let her. I feel just the opposite,
and I have not been able to talk to him."
"Maybe I should have a good talk with Koisan."
"I do wish you would, Yukiko. There is nothing for us to do
but take turns trying to talk sense into her. She does say she will
wait until after you are married, of course."
"If it were any other man, I would not mind seeing her married
first."
"But Itakura is impossible."
"Am I wrong in thinking there is something a little vulgar about
Koi-san herself?"
"You may be right, I am afraid."
"In any case, Itakura is no brother-in-law for me."
Sachiko had expected Yukiko to understand, but for one so
reserved to express herself so clearly suggested even stronger opposition
than Sachiko's own. The two sisters agreed that they
would be delighted to have Okubata marry into the family if he
was the alternative to Itakura. Sachiko saw that her task must be
to sell Okubata.
5<5^SŪ5SŪS!SŪSŪS^SŪS^S!S^S<5!

29

with yukiko back, the Ashiya house was gay and noisy again.
Yukiko, so inarticulate that one hardly knew she was about,
added little to the noise, but one could see from the difference
she made that something bright was hidden behind that apparent
melancholy and reserve. And it was like a spring breeze to have
all the sisters under one roof. The mood would be broken if one
of them were to go.
Someone had finally rented the Stolz house. Every night the
kitchen blazed with light. The new renter, a Swiss, worked as
adviser to a Nagoya company and was away from home most of
the time. The house was managed by his young wife, who groomed
herself like an Occidental but who had the face of a Chinese or a
Filipino. Since there were no children, the place was far from
being as lively as when the Stolzes were there. Still, it made a great
difference to have someone in that Western-style house, so desolate
and run-down that it had begun to look like a haunted house.
Etsuko had hoped for a little girl to take Rosemarie's place. She
had many school friends, however, and they had already formed
their own little set, inviting one another back and forth to tea
parties and birthday parties and the like. Taeko, as busy as ever,
spent more time away than at home. She had dinner out one
night in three. Teinosuke suspected that she did not want to be
where her sisters could argue with her. He feared a permanent
breach, and in particular he was afraid that Yukiko and Taeko
might turn away from each other. But one evening, looking for
Sachiko in the Japanese room across from the bath, he slid the
door open to find Yukiko sitting on the veranda with her knees
tucked under her chin, while Taeko cut her toenails for her.
"Where is Sachiko?"
"She has gone to see Mrs. Kuwayama," answered Taeko. "She
should be back soon."
Yukiko quietly pulled her bare feet out of sight and took a more
lady-like posture. As he closed the door, Teinosuke saw Taeko
kneel to gather up the shiny parings. It was only a glimpse, and
Book Two ____________________ 289 ____

yet there was a beauty in the scene, sister with sister, that left a
deep impression on him. Though they might disagree, there
would not often be serious conflicts between them.
One night early in March, Teinosuke dozed off to be awakened
by his wife's tears against his face. He could hear a faint sobbing
in the darkness.
"What is the matter?"
"Tonight--tonight--it is exactly a year." The sobbing was more
distinct.
"I wish you would try to forget. It does you no good to remember."

With the taste of tears in his mouth, Teinosuke thought how
happy Sachiko had seemed when they went to bed. This flood of
tears was too sudden. But it had been in March, he remembered,
that Mr. and Mrs. Jimba invited them to meet Nomura, and
perhaps, as Sachiko said, exactly a year had passed since the
miscarriage. Natural though it was that his wife should continue
to grieve after he himself had forgotten, these attacks were most
puzzling. When the family had gone cherry-viewing the year before,
and when they had gone to the Kabuki in the fall, he had
seen just such a flood of tears, and he had seen too that Sachiko
was her usual self immediately afterwards. This time it was the
same. In the morning she looked as though nothing had happened.

Also in March, Katharina Kyrilenko sailed for Germany on the
luxury ship Scharnhorst. Teinosuke and the rest, while meaning to
repay the Kyrilenkos for the party two years before, had only
seen them occasionally on the train. Taeko continued to bring
reports of "the old one" and the brother and sister and Vronsky.
Though less enthusiastic about dolls, Katharina had not entirely
given them up. Just when Taeko was beginning to forget about
her, she would appear with a new doll to be criticized. She had
made considerable progress these two or three years. In the course
of time she had acquired a "friend," a young German named
Rudolf, and it was Taeko's theory that the doll-making suffered
because Rudolf was more interesting. Rudolf worked in the Kobe
office of a German company. Taeko, who had been introduced to
him one day in Kobe, frequently saw him out walking with
Katharina. One knew immediately that he was a German, she
290 the makioka sisters

said: he was tall and strongly built, and not so much handsome
as rugged. Katharina had apparently decided to go to Germany
because, for one thing, she had grown to like Germany since she
met Rudolf, and for another, Rudolf had arranged for her to stay
with his sister in Berlin. But her real destination was England,
where the daughter by her former husband was living. She would
have a springboard once she arrived in Germany.
"Is Yudofu sailing with her, then?"
Taeko called Rudolf "Yudofu," "Steamed Curds" (a pun on
"Rudofu," the nearest a Japanese could come to pronouncing
his name), and Sachiko and the others spoke of this gentleman
they had never met as if that were really his name.
"Yudofu is staying in Japan. Katharina is going alone with an
introduction to the sister."
"Will she go to England for the little girl, then, and back to
Berlin to wait for Yudofu?"
"I doubt it."
"This is the end of Yudofu?"
"I rather imagine so."
"That seems very businesslike of her."
"But I think that is really best," Teinosuke put in. They were
talking over the dinner table. "I doubt if they were really in love--
they were just playing."
"Unmarried people have to behave that way when they come
to Japan alone." Taeko apologized for the two.
"When does she sail?" asked Teinsouke.
"At noon, day after tomorrow."
"If you have any time day after tomorrow," said Sachiko to her
husband, "you might go see her off. It was wrong of us not to
have them over for dinner."
"We never quite got around to it, did we."
"And so you should see her off. Etsuko will be in school, but
the rest of us mean to go down to the ship."
"Yukiko too?" asked Etsuko.
Yukiko smiled and shrugged her shoulders. "Just to see the
ship."
After about an hour in his office, Teinosuke took an express
for Kobe. He had almost no time to talk to Katharina. Only
"the old one," Kyrilenko, Vronsky, the Makioka sisters, a gentleBook Two 291

man Taeko told them was Rudolf, and two or three other foreigners
and Japanese saw Katharina off. Teinosuke and his family
left the pier with the Kyrilenkos. By the time they said goodbye
on the Bund, Rudolf and the other foreigners had already disappeared.

"The old one does manage to hide her age," said Teinosuke.
"The old one" looked especially young from the rear. She walked
off, as always, with a quick, deerlike step.
"I wonder if she will ever see Katharina again. She is old, no
matter how young she looks,"
"And neither of them shed a tear," said Yukiko.
"She even seemed embarrassed when we cried."
"It takes courage to go off to Europe alone, with a war about
to begin. It takes courage for the old one too. But then I suppose
this seems like nothing after the Revolution."
"Born in Russia, grew up in Shanghai, drifted to Japan--and
now she is off for Germany and England."
"I suppose the old one is in a bad temper. Remember how she
dislikes the English?"
" 'I, Katharina, always fight. Now she go. I, not sad. Happy.'"
For the first time in a great while, they had Taeko's imitation of
"the old one." Having just heard "the old one" herself, they stood
roaring with laughter in the middle of the street.

^^^N^^js^3<j7s^3s3S^?<^ŧ9s3<?^9'

3°

"but katharina has improved--grown up," said Teinosuke.
"I kept wondering if she was so good looking the last time I saw
her." They had walked up from the Bund, and they continued
the conversation as they sat in a row--Sachiko, Teinosuke, Yukiko,
Taeko--at the Yohei, where they had made reservations that
morning.
"It was just her make-up. And she was dressed very carefully."
"She has changed her make-up since she met Yudofu," said
Taeko. "The whole tone of her face has changed. She has the
292 the makioka sisters

most amazing confidence in herself. Just you watch, Taeko, she
said. I'll find myself a rich husband in Europe."
"She is not bothering to take along much money, then?"
"In a pinch she can always be a nurse. She was a nurse in
Shanghai, you know. She probably has only enough money to
keep her for a little while."
"And she and Yudofu have said goodbye?"
"I imagine so."
"Yudofu is no fool," said Teinosuke. "His only responsibility
is to write a letter to his sister. And did you notice the way he
waved at her once or twice and then marched off ahead of everyone?"

"I did indeed. A Japanese could never have done that."
If a Japanese tried to behave like Rudolf, Teinosuke said, it
would be "Sudofu," "Soured Curds," and not Yudofu. But
Sachiko missed the point.
"What is 'Sudofu'? A French novel?"
"By Molnar. Remember?"
There was room for ten customers around the L-shaped counter.
The Yohei was therefore quite packed with only the Makiokas,
a man who looked to be a broker from the neighborhood, two
or three of his employees, and beyond them two young women,
no doubt geishas, chaperoned by an older geisha, and there was
barely room for one person to pass behind the chairs. The door
was constantly opening. A newcomer would ask--even beg--for
a place; but as is so often the case with proprietors of sushi1
restaurants, the old man made rudeness a part of his trade. Unless
the applicant was a steady customer who had a reservation, he
would be turned off with a snort as if to say that he ought to be
able to see for himself what his chances were. The passerby,
unless he happened to come at a slack time, had little chance of
being admitted. Even the steady customer who had made his
reservation, but who appeared fifteen or twenty minutes late,
would be told to go walk around the block for an hour or so.
The old man had learned his trade at the Yobei, a famous old
sushi restaurant in Tokyo, no longer in business. The name of
his shop was in fact a modification of "Yobei." He was a native of

1 Balls of vinegared rice, highly seasoned and usually topped with strips of
raw or cooked fish.

tfook l we ______ 293 ____

Kobe, however, and he made his sushi to Et the Kobe taste. Although
he did give his customers the vinegared rice and fish any
Tokyo sushi man would, the Kobe influence was evident in his
choice of materials. He always used white Kobe vinegar, never
yellow Tokyo vinegar, and always a thick soy sauce not seen in
Tokyo. He offered only fish taken before his very eyes, so to
speak, here along the shores of the Inland Sea. No fish was
unsuitable for sus/if, he insisted--on that point at least he agreed
with the old Yobei. He tried conger eels and blowfish and dace
and even oysters and sea urchins, and scraps of halibut or clam,
and sometimes red whale meat. Nor did he limit himself to fish:
he used mushrooms too, and bamboo sprouts and persimmons.
But he was opposed to tuna, that most common of sushi ingredients;
and scallops and omelettes and the commonplace
sus/if that goes with them were never seen in his restaurant.
Though he sometimes cooked his fish, the prawns and abalone
were alive and moving when they reached the customer.
Taeko had long known the old man. One might say that she
discovered him. Eating out often, she was wonderfully well informed
on the little restaurants in downtown Kobe. She had
found this one in the days when, in an alley opposite the stock
exchange, it was even smaller than now, and she had introduced
Teinosuke and the rest. She first gave them a description with
gestures: he looked like the dwarf with the enormous, mallet-
shaped head one sees in illustrations to horror stories; he turned
customers off most haughtily, and he attacked a fish with his
carving knife as though it had insulted him. When Teinosuke
went to see for himself he found the man ridiculously like Taeko's
description. His customers lined up before him, he would ask
what they wanted, and then proceed to give them what he himself
preferred: he would cut enough sea bream, for instance, to go
around, and after that he would give everyone prawns and halibut.
And it annoyed him when a customer had not finished the first
round in time for the second. "You still have some left," he would
say to anyone who carelessly let two or three pieces accumulate.
His fish varied from day to day, but he always had prawns and
sea bream, of which he was especially proud, and he liked to
begin a course with the bream. He did not welcome the uninitiated
person who asked for tuna. When a customer dis-
294 the makioka sisters

pleased him he would pepper the sushi, and grin as his victim
started choking.
Sachiko, with her particular fondness for sea bream, soon became
a regular customer, and Yukiko was as fond of this sushi
as she. With a little exaggeration, one might say that it was one of the pulls that brought Yukiko back from Tokyo. She thought of
the house in Ashiya when she became homesick, but somewhere
in a corner of her mind there was also a picture of this restaurant,
and the old man, and the glistening bream and prawns under his
determined knife. Although Yukiko for the most part preferred
Western food, she would find that after two or three months of
Tokyo tuna, she could almost taste the bream of Akashi. That
white flesh, newly cut, gleaming like mother of pearl, became the
image of the bright Osaka-Kobe region, and of her sister and
niece and the house in Ashiya. Sensing that Kobe sushi was one
of the particular pleasures Yukiko came back for, Teinosuke was
always careful to take her once or twice to the Yohei. He would
sit between Sachiko and Yukiko, and make sure that his wife and
sisters-in-law had sake in their cups.
"Delicious. Absolutely delicious." Beyond the shy Yukiko, who
sat huddled over her sake, Taeko was expressing her pleasure
quite openly. "This is the sort of thing we should have treated the
Kyrilenkos to."
"We really should have," said Sachiko. "We could have asked
the brother and the old one to come along with us this evening."
"I did think of it. But then we only had reservations for four,
and I doubted if they would eat raw fish."
"Nonsense," protested Taeko. "Foreigners love sushi." She
looked inquiringly at the old man.
"They eat it, all right." The old man reached down with a
water-swollen hand to restrain the prawns, which were scampering
over the counter. "They come in now and then."
"And have you forgotten how Mrs. Stolz ate it?" asked Sachiko.
"But there was no raw fish in the sushi you gave her."
"They eat raw fish too," said the old man. "It depends on the
kind, though. They don't seem to like tuna much."
"Why is that?" asked the broker.
"I don't know, but they don't seem to. Tuna and bonito they
don't much eat."
Boofe Two 295

"Remember Mr. Roots?" One of the younger geishas, turning
to the older one, spoke in a soft voice. She did not seem in the
least self-conscious about her Kobe accent. "He would eat raw
fish only if it were white."
"I do remember." The old geisha was busy with a toothpick.
"The red seems to bother foreigners."
"It must not look very appetizing," said Teinosuke. "A lump of
raw, red fish on top of the dead-white rice."
"Koi-san," Sachiko called down the counter. "What would the
old one say about a place like this?"
"Not here, not here!" Taeko resisted the impulse to do an imitation
of "the old one."
"You've been down to the harbor?" The old man cut open a
prawn and spread it over a ball of rice, which he then cut into
sections an inch or so wide. One prawn was set before Sachiko
and her husband, the other before Yukiko and Taeko. They were
such large prawns that a whole one per person would have left
room for nothing else.
Teinosuke took up a piece of the still-wriggling prawn. "We
saw someone off on the Scharnhorst, and while we were about it we
did a little sightseeing."
"German ships are very different from American ships," said
Sachiko. "Even a luxury ship like the Scharnhorst."
"Remember how bright and cheerful the President Coolidge
was?" Taeko agreed with her sister. "The Scharnhorst made you
think of a battleship."
"Eat it up, young lady, eat it up." The old man was impatient.
Yukiko had not touched the sushi before her.
"But the thing is still moving." It was always a trial for Yukiko
to have to eat as fast as the others. She liked the "dancing sushi"
of which the old man was so proud, the prawns that were still
moving when they were set out to be eaten; she liked it as well as
the sea bream. But she wanted at least to wait until it had
stopped moving.
"That is what makes it good."
"Go ahead and eat it. Are you afraid it will haunt you?"
"Would I be afraid of a prawn's ghost, I wonder," mused the
broker.
"What about a frog's ghost, Yukiko?"
_______ 290 __________________1 HE MAKIOKA L ISTERS

"A frog's ghost?"
"It happened when we were in Tokyo. Tatsuo took us out to
have barbecued chicken one evening. The chicken was very good,
but for the last course they killed a frog, and it let out a horrible
croak. Yukiko and I were as white as two sheets. Yukiko said
she could hear that croak the rest of the night."
"I would rather talk about something else." Quite sure that it
was no longer moving, Yukiko took up a piece of the "dancing
sushi."

&QGsSQQVSSSsS!SsSW3sSQGQsSŪSŪSsSi

31

choosing a weekend in mid-April, Teinosuke, the three sisters,
and Etsuko made their annual pilgrimage to Kyoto. On the
train back, Etsuko suddenly ran high fever. She had complained
of feeling tired for about a week and had not been as lively as
usual in Kyoto, and when they found, upon reaching home, that
she had a temperature of about one hundred and four, they immediately
called Dr. Kushida, who suspected scarlet fever and
said he would come again. The next morning he said there could
be no doubt about it--one symptom of scarlet fever was this
bright flush over the whole face, except around the lips--and
was in favor of sending her to an isolation ward. Since Etsuko
violently disliked hospitals, however, and since the disease, though
contagious, was not usually passed on to adults and did not often
appear more than once in the same house, he finally agreed to
treat her at home, provided it was in a room apart. Fortunately
Teinosuke's study was in a cottage off from the main house.
Brushing aside his protests, Sachiko moved Teinosuke into the
main house and turned his study, one room with a small anteroom,
into Etsuko's hospital suite. In addition to electric heating
and gas, the study had been fitted with a sink for light cooking
when, some four or five years before, Sachiko had convalesced
there from a severe attack of influenza. Teinosuke moved his desk
and some of the book shelves and cabinets to the master bedroom

Book Two __ __ 297

on the second floor. After he had disposed of everything else
that was likely to be in the way, Etsuko moved in with her nurse,
and communication was broken off between the study and the
house. Not completely broken off, of course. Someone had to
bring out food, and someone was therefore needed for liaison.
Because the other maids prepared food and were to be kept away
from the patient, the task was first given to 0-haru, who had no
fear of contagion and who loved to be of service, but her courage
had its disadvantages. After two or three days Yukiko pointed
out that 0-haru's disdain for antiseptics and the carefree way in
which she touched first Etsuko and then everything else in the
house could only result in spreading the disease. 0-haru was
therefore replaced by Yukiko, who had had enough experience
to be extremely cautious, and who was as fearless as 0-haru.
Yukiko entrusted nothing to the maids. She did the cooking and
the serving and the washing herself, and she went almost without
sleep for the week the fever was at its highest. She and the nurse
took turns refilling the ice bag every two hours.
Etsuko made good progress; the fever began to fall. Even so,
said Dr. Kushida, it would be forty or fifty days before the scarlet
had dried into scabs and peeled away and recovery was complete.
Yukiko, who had meant to go back to Tokyo shortly after the
excursion to Kyoto, decided to stay on. Sending an explanation
and a request for more clothes, she threw herself into her work,
happy to be in Ashiya even if it meant working as a nurse. She
strictly forbade anyone else to go in and out of the study. Sachiko,
ordered to keep away (she was always the first to catch a disease,
Yukiko pointed out), had so little to occupy her that Yukiko suggested
a day at the theater. There was no need to worry about
Etsuko. The suggestion quite hit the mark: Kikugoro was in
Osaka again, dancing one of Sachiko's favorite roles, and nothing
was to keep her from the theater this month, she had thought.
Then came the illness. But however much she wanted to see
Kikugoro, she could not go jauntily off leaving behind a child
with scarlet fever. She had to be satisfied with a phonograph
recording of the accompaniment to her favorite role. Koi-san, she
remarked, might want to go on alone, and apparently Taeko did
slip off to the theater.
Etsuko, meanwhile, was bored. She lay all day listening to the
298 the makioka sisters

phonograph, and soon there was a protest from the Swiss gentlean
who had moved into the Stolz house. He was a rather difficult
person. A month before they had been asked if they would
not do something about the barking dog. The protests came
through Mr. Sato, who owned the Stolz house and who lived two
doors from Sachiko. The Sato maid would be sent over to deliver
a two- or three-line note in English that had come from the
Swiss. This was the note about the dog:

my dear mr. sato:
I am very sorry, but I must trouble you about the dog
next door. I am kept awake every night by the barking. I wonder
if you would mind calling this to the attention of the owner.

And now about the phonograph:

my dear mr. sato:
I am very sorry, but this time I must trouble you about a
phonograph. The people next door have been playing phonograph
records morning and night, and it is a great nuisance. I
should be most grateful if you would point this out, and ask them
to be more quiet.

The Sato maid delivered the notes with an apologetic smile:
"We have had this from Mr. Bosch, and we thought we should let
you see it." The dog Johnny had only once or twice barked
through the night, and they had done nothing about that protest.
The phonograph was a different matter. Etsuko's sick room had
its own board fence, separate from the net-wire fence, to cut
off the view from outside, but it was nearer than the main
house to the house next door, and Teinosuke had frequently been
disturbed by the noise Rosemarie and Peter made. It was natural,
then, that the phonograph records should disturb the touchy
Swiss.
These protests seemed to indicate that Mr. Bosch, who worked
for a Nagoya company, spent some of his time in Ashiya, and yet
no one in the Makioka house had the slightest idea what he was
like. Mr. Stolz and his wife and children were always appearing on
the balcony and in the back yard, but although the Makiokas
did have an occasional glimpse of Mrs. Bosch, they had so far not
seen Mr. Bosch at all. There was now a board fence around the
Book Two 299

balcony just high enough to conceal a sitting person. Mr. Bosch
evidently did not want to be seen, and evidently too he was most
eccentric. According to the Sato maid, he was a sickly, nervous
person who suffered from insomnia. A detective appeared at the
Makioka house one day and said that there was some doubt
whether the foreigner was really Swiss at all, and there was cause
for suspicion that he might be engaged in sinister operations. If the Makiokas noted anything strange, they should report immediately
to the police. With the husband a man of uncertain
origins who was constantly on the road, and the wife apparently
of mixed Chinese blood, there were indeed grounds for suspicion.
The wife, added the detective, did not seem to be really a wife at
all. Mr. Bosch was only living with her for the time being. Her
nationality too was in doubt. Though a Japanese would have
taken her for Chinese, she insisted she was born somewhere to the
south--precisely where was not clear. The one time Sachiko
visited the woman, she noted that the furniture was of Chinese
sandalwood. It therefore seemed likely that she was Chinese and
wanted for some reason to hide that fact. In any case, she was
obviously an enchantress who combined Oriental allure with
Occidental poise. She reminded one of Anna May Wong, half
French and half Chinese, who was once a Hollywood movie star.
There was an exotic something about her that was likely to appeal
to a certain kind of European. With time heavy on her hands
when her husband was traveling, she would send a maid over to
see if Sachiko could pay a visit, or she would meet Sachiko in
the street and ask her in, but after hearing what the detective
had to say, Sachiko thought it better to keep her distance.
0-haru was incensed. Why should the young lady not play the
phonograph when she was ill? Did that foreigner not know what
it was to be neighborly? Teinosuke answered that if Mr. Bosch
was so eccentric, there was little they could do, and besides it was
not seemly in time of national crisis to be playing a phonograph
from early in the morning. Thereafter Etsuko entertained herself
at cards. But Yukiko objected to the card-playing: when the
patient was recovering, she said, and the scabs were beginning to
peel, there was most danger of contagion. Etsuko might well pass
the disease on to those who played with her--in particular, to
0-haru and the nurse "Mito." "Mito," who had been so named
300 the makioka sisters

by Etsuko because she resembled the movie star Mito Mitsuko,
had had scarlet fever herself and was immune, and 0-haru for
her part said she would not in the least mind an attack of scarlet
fever. Unlike the other maids, she ate Etsuko's left-overs--the sea
bream, for instance--as if she would not again have such an opportunity.
Although at first Yukiko had forbidden 0-haru to
come into the sick room, Etsuko was soon lonely, and Mito said
the chances of contagion were very small even without such
elaborate precautions. As Yukiko's reprimands lost their effect,
0-haru came to be in the sick room all day long. Even worse, the
two of them, 0-haru and Mito, were fond of taking Etsuko by an
arm or a leg and peeling off the scabs. See how far you can peel,
one of them would say, clutching a loose end and ripping off a
strip of skin. 0-haru would then make the other maids unhappy
by gathering up the skin to display in the main house ("See how
the young lady is peeling!"). In time, they became quite hardened
to the practice.
Early in May, when Etsuko was well on her way to recovery,
Taeko announced that she was going to Tokyo. She could not rest
until she had seen her brother-in-law about her money. She had,
it was true, given up her plans for a trip abroad, and she was in
no hurry to be married, but she now had other plans. If she was
to have her money at all, she needed it immediately. She might
find her brother-in-law in no mood to let her have it--well, she
would make him reconsider. Since she had no intention of doing
anything that would embarrass Sachiko or Yukiko, but meant only
to talk matters over quietly, she hoped they would not worry.
There was no reason why she had to go this month, but she had
suddenly wanted to go when it occurred to her that she could
most conveniently stay at the Tokyo house while Yukiko was away.
She could not see herself staying long in that cramped house
with all those screaming children and would be back as soon as
her business was finished. It would be good to see the Kabuki,
but she had seen Kikugoro so recently that she thought she could
do without the plays this month.
Whom did she mean to talk to, and what were the "plans" of
which she spoke, Sachiko asked. Taeko, afraid she would find her
two sisters united against her, was not quick to answer. At length
she hinted that she meant first to talk to Tsuruko, and if nothing
Book Two 301

came of that conversation she would not hesitate to go directly
to Tatsuo. It was not at all clear what the "plans" were, although
after much questioning Sachiko did draw from her reluctant
sister enough information to guess that Taeko hoped,
with Mrs. Tamaki's backing, to open a small dress shop. In that
case, thought Sachiko, there was little chance indeed that she
would get her money. Tatsuo was no doubt as firm as ever in his
resolution to pay for a wedding of which he approved, and for
nothing else, and he was strongly opposed to Taeko's becoming a
professional woman. And yet there did seem to be one slight
chance: Taeko might succeed if she attacked Tatsuo directly. He
had a timid streak, and he had been persecuted by his sisters-in- law in his younger days; and since the firm position he took when
no one challenged him was likely to collapse when he faced opposition,
there was no telling what success Taeko might have if
she tried bullying him a little. Probably she saw her opportunity.
Though Tatsuo would try to flee, she was ready to stay on in
Tokyo until she caught him.
Sachiko was worried. Had Taeko deliberately picked a time
when neither of her sisters could go with her? She said she meant
to talk matters over quietly, but might she not be resolved to
assail Tatsuo even at the risk of being thrown out of the family? If
so, she would not want Sachiko or Yukiko along. Possibly Sachiko
was imagining dangers, but one could not be sure what the impulse
of a moment might bring. Tatsuo might even conclude that
Sachiko had deliberately sent Taeko off to bother him. He might
feel that Sachiko had stayed behind because she wanted no part
in the discussions, but on the other hand it would not be impossible
for him to assume that Sachiko meant to watch with
lofty amusement while he grappled with the problem. And
Sachiko's position would be very difficult if Tsuruko too were to
look accusingly at her--to ask why she had not kept Taeko back,
why she had sent Taeko off to upset them. If she were to leave
Etsuko with Yukiko and go off to Tokyo herself, however, she
would find herself in the middle of a fight over money, and,
worst of all, she was not sure in her own mind whose side she
would take. Yukiko said that without a doubt Itakura was behind
Koi-san's "plans." The dress shop might be only an excuse, and
the plans might change once Koi-san had her money. For all her
302 the makioka sisters

apparent worldliness, Koi-san was too good-natured. The money
would be used as Itakura saw fit. She should therefore not be
given a thing until she broke with him. So said Yukiko, and there
was much to her argument. Still Sachiko had reasons for not
wanting to interfere. She was distressed at the fact that her
sister apparently meant to reject their advice and marry Itakura
whatever they said, and yet, when she thought of the courage with
which the girl was setting out to make her own way, she felt
that she could not help in what might seem like persecution.
However Taeko chose to spend the money, it was the means by
which she sought to stand alone, and she was capable of standing
alone. If indeed Tatsuo was holding money in trust, it
should be given to her. Sachiko would find herself in a fight over
money, then, whether she wanted to or not. She might even be
forced to side with the main house. In all honesty, she could not
say that she had the courage and determination to stand with
Taeko against Tsuruko and her husband.

Sii5SSSS!SSS<SSS!S!SSS^SŪSiSŪS!ŧSŪSŪSl

32

yukiko was completely opposed to letting Taeko go off alone.
There could be no excuse for Sachiko's remaining behind, she
said. She herself could take care of Etsuko and manage the house.
There would be nothing to worry about. And they could stay
on as long as they liked, and need not think of rushing back.
Taeko seemed a little upset when she heard of Sachiko's plans.
Sachiko explained that she was going along only because she
worried about what the people in Tokyo would think, and that
she had no wish to interfere. Taeko was free to challenge whomever
she would. Though Tatsuo and Tsuruko might want Sachiko
to take part in the discussions, she did not want to do so. If
finally she could no longer refuse, she would be wholly neutral.
She would do nothing to Koi-san's disadvantage.
Sachiko wrote to Tsuruko describing Taeko's objectives in a
Book Two 303

general way, and adding that she would prefer not to be consulted
herself, since Koi-san seemed hostile to mediation.
Sachiko stayed again at the Hamaya Inn. Taeko, to avoid giving
the impression that they were plotting together, decided to stay at
the Shibuya house at least until her business was finished. They
left Osaka on the Swallow Express, and that evening Sachiko
took Taeko to the Hamaya and from there called Tsuruko in
Shibuya: she wanted to see Koi-san to Shibuya immediately, but
as she was very tired and as Koi-san did not know the way, they
wondered if Teruo might not be troubled to come for her. She
would come herself, said Tsuruko. If Sachiko and Taeko had
not yet eaten, they might all three have dinner together. Could
they meet her somewhere on the Ginza? Sachiko thought she
would like to eat at either Lohmeyer's or the New Grand, and it
was she who had to give the old Tokyo resident instructions on
how to reach Lohmeyer's.
Sachiko and Taeko had their baths and set out for the Ginza.
They arrived at Lohmeyer's to find that Tsuruko already had a
table. She made it clear that this time she would pay the bill.
Because Sachiko generally had more spending money, it had been
the rule that the bill was hers, but this time Tsuruko was determined
to be the hostess. She was especially attentive to Taeko.
Living in such a small house, she repeated over and over, half
apologetically, they had sent for Yukiko and perhaps had made
it seem that they wanted only her with them. While they were
taking a very long time, however, they did mean to call Koisan
too one day. After a bottle of German beer each, the three sisters
wandered about the Ginza in the early-summer evening. Sachiko
said good-bye at the entrance to the subway.
She had decided not to go to Shibuya during the two or three
days the discussions were in progress and she therefore had to
entertain herself. She might call on old school friends now married
and living in Tokyo, she concluded. The next morning, while
she was reading her newspaper, she had a call from Shibuya:
Taeko would like to visit the inn. Did she have something to
discuss? No, she was just bored. And what of her business? She
had described it to her sister that morning, but Tatsuo was so
extremely busy that there was nothing to be done for the time
__ 304 ___________the makioka sisters

being. She thought she would have more fun at Sachiko's. Sachiko
replied that she was going to see a friend in Aoyama and would
be out until evening, but that perhaps Taeko could come by at
five or six. Sachiko was kept on and on at Aoyama, and had dinner
there. When she returned to the inn at seven o'clock, Taeko
promptly appeared. Taeko had waited for Teruo to come home
from school and the two of them had gone to see the Meiji
Shrine. At five they stopped by the inn and found Sachiko out,
and they waited and waited, and presently began to feel a little
hungry. Though the landlady offered to provide dinner, the
memory of that German beer was too strong, and Taeko took
Teruo to Lohmeyer's. She had just seen him off on the subway
(and she had apparently arranged to stay at the Hamaya). As
she went on with her story, it became clear that her reception at
Shibuya had been very cordial. Her brother-in-law, leaving for
work in the morning, urged her to stay and enjoy herself now
that she was in Tokyo. Cramped house though it was, they could
easily find room for her with Yukiko away. He himself was busy
at the moment, but in five or six days he would have time to take
her wherever she wanted to go. But of course he had time off for
lunch. If she would come to the Marunouchi Building at noon,
they could have lunch together. He would order tickets to the
Kabuki, and the three sisters could go to the theater in the next
few days. All in all, he had been so considerate that he made her
a little uncomfortable. She could not remember having been
treated more kindly. After Tatsuo and the children left, Taeko
talked to her sister for an hour or so and discussed her business
in some detail. Tsuruko listened intently, without a sign of displeasure,
and answered that she did not know what Tatsuo would
say. He was busy with a bank amalgamation and came home late
every night, and the problem would have to wait until the following
week. They would have time to consider it then, and in the
meantime Taeko should enjoy herself. Since it was her first visit
to Tokyo in so long, they could have Teruo show her the city;
or, since Sachiko was no doubt bored, how would it be if Taeko
went to the inn? She did not know what would happen finally,
said Taeko, but she had left everything to Tsuruko.
The day before, Mt. Fuji had been largely hidden in clouds.
That did not bode well for the success of her mission, laughed
JDOOK. 1 WE 305

Taeko. She was still uncertain, and extremely suspicious of these
blandishments, but even while she was reaffirming her intention
to resist soft words, it was clear that she was not displeased at
having been so warmly received.
The night before, by herself on the second floor of the inn,
Sachiko had been lonelier than even a lone traveler should be,
and quite unable to sleep. It had seemed dreary indeed that she
would have to spend five or six more days in Tokyo. Now, unexpectedly,
there were two of them in the large ten-mat room,
Sachiko and Taeko side by side, for the first time in how many
years? In the old Semba days the sisters had slept together--they
were still sleeping together the night before Sachiko was married.
She did not know how it had been when she was very young, but
at least after she started school she slept in the six-mat room on
the second floor with her two younger sisters. Only Tsuruko had
a separate room. Sometimes, so small was the room, the three of
them used but two mattresses. She and Taeko had rarely been
alone--between them was Yukiko, careful on the warmest
nights that her kimono was neat, never untidy even when she
slept. Sachiko could almost see that figure, slender and fragile
and always completely proper, lying between her and Taeko.
As they had done when they were girls, they talked carelessly
of this and that before they got out of bed in the morning.
"What are your plans for today, Koisan?"
"I have none."
"Would you like to see anything in particular?"
"Everyone talks about Tokyo, but there is not a thing I really
want to see."
"We belong in Osaka, you and I. How was Lohmeyer's yesterday?"

"We had something different--Wienerschnitzel."
"Did Teruo like it?"
"While we were eating, a friend came in with his mother and
father and sat down across the room from us."
"Oh?"
"Teruo turned bright red. I asked him what was the matter, and
he said the friend would never believe I was his aunt."
"I suppose not."
"The waiter kept speaking to us as though we were young
300 1 MK 1V1AK1UK.A JISIE.KS

lovers and giving us suspicious looks, and he stared at me with his
mouth open when I asked for beer. He must have thought I was
a school girl."
"When you wear foreign clothes, you look as young as Teruo.
The waiter thought you were a juvenile delinquent."
Shortly before noon, there was a telephone call from Shibuya:
Tsuruko had Kabuki tickets for the next day. With nothing else
to do, Sachiko and Taeko had tea on the Ginza, after which they
took a taxi for a tour of the government buildings and the
Yasukuni Shrine.
"See how popular that arrow pattern is," Taeko remarked as
they passed Hibiya Park. "I counted seven between the German
Bakery and the Nippon Theater."
"You have been counting all this time?"
"See, another. And another over there." For a moment, Taeko
was silent. "And see how those middle-school boys walk along
with both hands in their pockets. Very dangerous. Where was it,
I wonder--a middle school somewhere near Osaka. Students were
forbidden to have pockets in their uniforms. That strikes me as
a very good idea."
Taeko had always been precocious. And after all, she was old
enough that one need not be startled by such remarks.
Sachiko nodded her agreement.

s^sssssss^sssss^ssssssss^sssss^sasŪ

33

the curtain was about to go up on the last play of the afternoon, Stammering Matahei. They listened with admiration to the
names being called over the loud-speaker. It was a wide and
varied audience the Kabuki drew: Mr. X from Nishinomiya, Mrs.
Y from Shimonoseki, and even someone from the Philippines.
Suddenly Taeko held up a finger to silence them.
"Mrs. Makioka of Ashiya." There could be no doubt about it:
"Mrs. Makioka of Ashiya, Hyogo Prefecture."
"Would you see what they want, Koisan?"
DUUK i WE 307

Taeko was back in a few minutes. She picked up the handbag
and lace handkerchief in her seat. "May I speak to you a minute?"
Sachiko followed her into the lobby.
"What is it?"
"A maid just came from the inn."
When she had been told that someone had asked for her,
Taeko had gone to the door to find a maid from the Hamaya
waiting there. The maid, who had an Osaka accent, reported that
there had been a call from Ashiya. The landlady had not succeeded
in getting through to the Kabuki Theater, and had
finally sent the maid to deliver the message in person. And what
was the message? She herself had not been at the telephone,
said the maid, but according to the landlady it was something
about a sick person who had taken a turn for the worse. Not
the little girl, however. The lady on the telephone had said over
and over again that it was not the little girl, who had scarlet fever,
but rather the person in the ear-nose-and-throat hospital--Koisan
would know whom she meant. The landlady promised to relay
the message to the Kabuki Theater immediately. She asked if
there was anything else to be done and was told that at least
Koi-san should come back on the night train, and telephone if
there was time before she left.
"It is Itakura, then?"
Taeko had mentioned on the train that Itakura, whose ear had
been bothering him for five or six days, was in the Isogai
Hospital in Kobe. Having been told that the beginnings of a
papillary infection made surgery necessary, he had the day before
had the ear operated on. The operation was apparently successful.
Since her plans were made and Itakura assured her that there was
no cause for worry, she had decided not to postpone her trip--
and Itakura was so strong that you felt nothing could kill him.
But there had been a relapse. The call, she gathered, was from the
lady in Ashiya, said the maid. Yukiko, possibly after talking to
Itakura's sister, must have concluded that something should be
done. Papillary infections were not serious if treated in time, but
when the operation was late, the infection often spread through
the chest and sometimes even proved fatal. If Itakura's sister
found it necessary to call Yukiko, then all was not well.
"And what will you do, Koisan?"
300 I tlH. 1V1AK1UKA 0151E.K3

"Go back to the Hamaya, and leave as soon as I can." Taeko
was quite calm.
"And what shall I do?"
"Stay on to the end. It will hardly do to walk out on Tsuruko."
"But what shall I say to her?"
"Whatever seems best."
"Did you tell her about Itakura?"
"No." In the doorway, Taeko threw a cream-colored lace shawl
over her shoulders. "But you can if you like." She ran down the
stairs.
It was fortunate for Sachiko that the curtain had gone up and
Tsuruko's attention was concentrated on the stage. As they were
making their way out through the crowd afterwards, Tsuruko
asked what had happened to Koisan.
"A friend came and took her off a littlei while ago."
Sachiko saw her sister as far as the Ginza. Back at the inn, she
found that Taeko had just left. The landlady had reserved a berth
for that night and Taeko had taken the ticket and run for the
station. She had also telephoned Ashiya, but the landlady had not
heard the details of the conversation. Taeko did however ask her
to tell Sachiko that although the story was not entirely clear, a virulent
infection seemed to have set in shortly after the operation,
that the patient was in great pain, and that Koi-san would take the
train through to Sannomiya Station and go from there directly to
the hospital the following morning. Koi-san had left a small suitcase
at Shibuya and wanted Sachiko to pick it up before she left,
said the landlady, who had guessed something of the relationship
between Taeko and Itakura. Very restless, Sachiko put in another
emergency call to Ashiya, and found Yukiko as difficult to understand
as ever. It was not that the connection was bad; Yukiko's
voice was simply inadequate, though she was doing her best. A
frail little voice in any case--a Seeting, ephemeral voice, one
might have said--it was extremely unreliable over the telephone.
There was in fact nothing so exasperating as a telephone conversation
with Yukiko. Knowing how inept she was, Yukiko
usually had someone else talk for her, but she could not entrust
a matter concerning Itakura to 0-haru, nor could she leave
everything to Teinosuke. For want of a better solution, she had
to take the call herself. Her voice would trail off to something no
nook I we 309

louder than the hum of a mosquito, and it seemed to Sachiko that
she spent more time saying "Hello" than actually talking about
the business at hand. But in the fragments she managed to
salvage from the lapses and hesitations, she learned that there had
been a call from Itakura's sister at four in the afternoon. Although
he had seemed to be making good progress, Itakura had taken a
sudden turn for the worse the evening before. Had the inflamation
spread through the chest, then? No, there was nothing wrong
with the chest. It was the leg. What exactly was wrong with the leg
was not clear, but the patient leaped with pain if anything
brushed his leg, and he could only lie moaning and writhing. He
had not yet asked for Koi-san, according to the sister. Seeing
that he faced a crisis, and concluding that the case was no longer
one for an ear-nose-and-throat specialist, the sister thought she
should call in another doctor. Alone and quite at a loss, she had
telephoned for Koi-san as a last resort. Was there no more recent
report? asked Sachiko. Yukiko replied that she had telephoned to
say that "Koi-san would leave on a night train, and had been told
that the pain was growing worse--Itakura was almost mad with
pain--and that the sister had telegraphed her family in the
country. Her parents would be in Kobe the following morning.
Koi-san had already left, said Sachiko. Having no reason to stay on
in Tokyo herself, she would take a train the next morning. Just
before she hung up, she asked after Etsuko, and learned that
the girl was really too healthy. She kept trying to flee the sick
room, and the scabs were gone except for traces on the soles of her
feet.
Sachiko wondered how she could explain this sudden departure.
Finally resigned to the fact that no excuse would be really convincing,
she called Shibuya the following morning: Koi-san had
left on urgent business, and since she meant to follow today she
wondered if she might visit the Shibuya house. In that case,
answered Tsuruko, she herself would come to the Hamaya. Soon
she arrived with Taeko's suitcase. She was the most phlegmatic of
the four sisters, so phlegmatic that they had come to think of her
as a little obtuse, and she did not press to know what the "urgent
business" might be. Even so, Sachiko could see that her sister
was puzzled at this running off without waiting for an answer to
the troublesome question Koi-san herself had raised. After an31U 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA aiSTEKS

nouncing that she must leave immediately, Tsuruko proceeded
to stay for lunch.
"Is Koi-san still seeing Kei-boy?" she asked suddenly.
"Now and then, I believe."
"And she is seeing someone else?"
"Have you heard rumors?"
"There was talk of a prospect for Yukiko. Nothing came of it,
and we said nothing to her. But there was an investigation."
The person who had been acting as go-between had only meant
to be kind, Tsuruko was sure. Although Tsuruko had not learned
the details, it appeared that strange rumors were current about
Koi-san--that she had recently become intimate with a young
man who, unlike Okubata, came from the lower classes. No doubt
the rumors were quite groundless, said the go-between, but still
he thought Tsuruko should know of them. Tsuruko suspected that
Koi-san's behavior rather than any defect in Yukiko was responsible
for the failure of the marriage negotiations. Because she had
the most complete trust in Sachiko and Koi-san, she would not
ask to what extent the rumors were true, or who the young man
was, but it was her opinion and Tatsuo's that there could be
nothing better for Koi-san than to marry Okubata. They meant
to make him a proposal as soon as they had Yukiko safely married.
For the reasons outlined in the letter, therefore, they could not
give Koi-san the money she wanted. Her manner had suggested
that she was ready for a quarrel and they had been discussing
how best to send her back to Osaka. Tsuruko was relieved at the
turn events had taken.
"It really would be best for her to marry Kei-boy. I think so
myself, and so does Yukiko, and we have both been arguing with
her."
Sachiko's words may have sounded like an apology. In any case,
Tsuruko did not push the matter. By the time lunch was over,
she had said everything she had to say.
"Thank you very much." Immediately after dessert she stood
up to leave. "I may not be able to see you off this evening, I am
afraid."
3ŪS<3^!SŪS!SŪS!3ŪSS5ŪSŪSŪSt3ŪSI

34

back in Ashiya the next morning, Sachiko heard this from Yukiko:
When, two afternoons before, she had been told that there
was a call from Itakura's sister, Yukiko, knowing nothing of
Itakura's illness and never having met the sister, was sure the call
must be for Taeko. But no, it was for Miss Yukiko, the maid insisted,
and Yukiko went to the telephone. The sister said that she
knew of Koi-san's trip to Tokyo, apologized profusely for disturbing
Yukiko, and told her the details of the illness. The day of
the operation--the day before Taeko's departure for Tokyo--
Taeko had visited the hospital and found Itakura comfortable and
in good spirits, but from that evening his leg began to itch. Although
at first it was enough if they rubbed the leg for him, his
complaint by the next morning had become "It hurts, it hurts."
Now, the third day after the operation, the pain was still more
intense. Worse, the head of the hospital paid no attention, and
only pointed out that the incision was healing satisfactorily. He
fled after changing the bandage once in the morning, and for
two days now he had left the patient to suffer by himself. The
nurses were remarking apologetically that the doctor had really
botched things this time. Itakura's sister, who had closed the
Tanaka house to be with her brother, had concluded that she
could no longer bear the whole responsibility. She had not been
able to think of anything, she said, her voice choked with tears,
except to have Taeko come immediately--no doubt her brother
would scold her later. (She seemed to be calling from outside the
hospital.) One could imagine Yukiko, as uncommunicative as
ever, forcing the sister to do all the talking; but the tone and
choice of words made it obvious that the sister, whom Taeko had
described as a twenty-year-old country girl quite unaccustomed to
the city, had summoned all her courage to make the call. Yukiko
said she understood and would telephone Taeko immediately.
Taeko had gone directly from Sannomiya Station to the hospital.
Back home for an hour or so during the evening, she described
how frightening it was to find Itakura, usually so sturdy
_______ 312 ___________________ the makioka LISTERS

and so indifferent to pain, reduced to whimpering and moaning.
Told that Taeko was back, he had looked up at her with twisted
face and gone on moaning. The pain left him no room to think
of others. He had moaned all through the night, and neither eaten
nor slept. There was no sign of a swelling, however. It was difficult
to tell exactly where the pain was--from the left knee to the foot,
apparently. The moaning was louder when he turned over or
when someone chanced to touch the leg. Why should an ear operation
affect a leg, asked Yukiko. Taeko did not know the answer.
Not only did the head of the hospital refuse an opinion, but
he had been running away ever since Itakura first began to complain.
From what the nurse said, and from what Taeko herself
would guess as a layman, germs had entered at the time of the operation
and settled in the leg.
Dr. Isogai was forced to take action when the parents and a
sister-in-law, who had arrived early the same morning, began
holding consultations in the hall. That afternoon he called a
surgeon. After a conference with Dr. Isogai, the surgeon withdrew,
to be followed almost immediately by another surgeon,
who also examined the patient, had a conference with Dr. Isogai,
and withdrew. Dr. Isogai, said the nurse, had seen that the infection
was out of control. Having been told by the best-known
surgeon in Kobe that it was too late even for amputation, he
had in great haste called in a second surgeon, and again been
refused. Taeko added that she herself, after seeing Itakura and
hearing the sister's story, had known that there was not a moment
to lose. She had been in favor of consulting a reliable doctor, whatever
the head of this hospital might think, but country people are
slow. Itakura's family only stood in the hall conferring and wondering
what to do. Though Taeko was aware that they were wasting
precious time, she could not be too forward. She had met them
only that morning. When she made a suggestion, they said she
was probably right and did nothing.
Such was the story the evening before. At six this morning she
had come home again to rest for an hour or two, and said that Dr.
Isogai had finally called in a Dr. Suzuki who agreed to operate,
though he was doubtful about the results. Even then the parents
could not make up their minds. The mother in particular said that
if Itakura was going to die, they should at least let him die a
COOK I WE ________ ____________________313 ____

whole man. The sister on the other hand insisted that they must
do everything possible, hopeless though the case might be. The
sister was right, of course. Not that it mattered--Taeko was now
sure that nothing would help.
One had trouble knowing how far to believe the nurse, who
was hostile to Dr. Isogai and would criticize him on the least
provocation, but it was her story that the doctor was an old man
and an alcoholic besides. His hand thus being shaky, he had made
two or three serious blunders that she herself knew of. Even the
finest specialist. Dr. Kushida said afterwards, could not absolutely
guarantee that germs would not enter from an ear operation and
attack the legs, since after all a doctor was not a god, but if there
was the slightest possibility that an infection had slipped in, the
doctor should not waste a moment in calling a surgeon when the
patient complained of a throbbing anywhere in the body. Even
then, it was a battle with time, and the least delay might make the
final difference. One could sympathize with Dr. Isogai, then, in
having botched the operation, but one could not find terms--
cruelty, neglect, incompetence--to describe the failure of a doctor
who abandoned a suffering patient for three whole days. It was
Dr. Isogai's good luck that he faced a family of naive, poorly informed
farmers who would not make trouble for him. It was Ita-
kura's bad luck that he had not known what a questionable
physician he was choosing.
Sachiko had a number of questions: from which telephone
Yukiko had called, whether the maids knew, whether she had
told Teinosuke. Yukiko replied that she was in the sick room
with 0-haru when the first call came, and that 0-haru, Etsuko,
and the nurse "Mito" heard the conversation; that 0-haru and
Mito looked a little strange and said nothing, but that Etsuko
made a great nuisance of herself (what had happened to Itakura,
why was Koi-san coming home, and so on); that Yukiko, knowing
how quick 0-haru would be to tell the other maids, and not
wanting Mito to hear more, used the telephone in the main
house for the other calls; and that she told Teinosuke both of
the original call and of all she had done since. Teinosuke was
much concerned, she added, and after hearing the story in detail
from Taeko that morning had urged her to make the parents agree
to an operation.
314 ________1 HE 1V1AKIOKA 5ISTEK&

Sachiko wondered what to do. "I ought to go to the hospital
myself, for just a little while."
"But you should call Teinosuke first."
"I will have a nap first."
Sachiko had been unable to sleep on the train. She went upstairs
to lie down, but was too nervous to sleep even now. After
washing her face and ordering an early lunch, she went to call
Teinosuke. Although there was no keeping Taeko from the man's
bedside, said Sachiko, she knew that if she too went to the
hospital it might seem that the Makiokas were publicly acknowledging
the betrothal. Still Itakura had rescued Taeko at the time
of the flood, and Sachiko thought it would rest badly on her
conscience if she ignored what might well be his last illness. She
did not think he would live. Strong though he was, there was
something about him, she had thought, that suggested an early
death. Teinosuke agreed. Perhaps she should visit the hospital for
a few minutes. But might not Okubata be there? Might it not
be better to stay away? They concluded that she should go if
there seemed to be no danger of meeting Okubata, but that she
should not stay long, and that if possible she should bring Taeko
home with her. Calling Taeko to ask about Okubata, she was told
that at the moment only Itakura's relatives were at the bedside,
that no one else had been told, and that whatever happened Taeko
saw no need to call Okubata. Itakura would be excited unnecessarily.
She had thought of having Sachiko come to the hospital,
however: they were still debating whether to call in the surgeon
or not. Taeko and the sister were warmly in favor of an operation;
the parents were still undecided. Sachiko might be able to help.
She would leave after lunch, said Sachiko. Over an early
lunch she discussed with Yukiko the possibility of letting Mito
go: it would not do to have reports about Taeko leak out, and
Mito was no more than a playmate for Etsuko. Mito herself was
beginning to suggest that her work was finished, said Yukiko. As
she left in a taxi at noon, Sachiko asked Yukiko to tell Mito
that, short notice though it was, they would not need her services
after that day. If she would wait and perhaps have dinner with
Sachiko, she would be free to go afterwards.
The hospital--such it was called--was a shabby two-storey
tfook iwo 315

building in a narrow alley. On the second floor there were only
two or three rooms, Japanese style. Itakura had a six-mat room
with a view of a clothesline. Crowded and badly ventilated, it
smelled of perspiration. He lay facing the wall in a steel bed, his
body slightly bent. All the while Sachiko was being introduced
to the relatives--parents, sister, and sister-in-law--he was moaning
in a low voice, rapidly and quite without pause: "It hurts, it hurts,
it hurts." Taeko knelt by the pillow.
"Yone-yan. Sachiko has come."
"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts."
He lay on his side and stared at the wall. Sachiko, behind
Taeko, peered timidly down and saw that he was far from as
gaunt as she had expected, and his color was far from as bad. The
blanket was pulled down to his hips. He wore only a light cotton
kimono, the sleeves of which were pulled up, and his chest and
arms seemed as powerful as ever. The bandage over his ear was
held in place by a cross of tape, one strip from the jaw to the top of
the head, another from the forehead to the neck.
"Yone-yan," said Taeko again. "Sachiko is here."
It was the first time Sachiko had heard her sister call Itakura
"Yone-yan." At the Ashiya house she had always spoken of him as
"Itakura," and Sachiko herself, and Yukiko, and even Etsuko
had been in the habit of somewhat discourteously referring to
him by his last name. His full name was Itakura Yusaku, and this
"Yone-yan" was a diminutive of "Yonekichi," his trade name as
an apprentice in the Okubata shop.
"How awful to find you like this," said Sachiko. "You always
seemed so healthy." She sniffled into a handkerchief.
"See, the lady from Ashiya is here." This time the sister spoke
to him.
"No, leave him alone," said Sachiko. "I thought it was the left
leg that hurt."
"It is. But because of the ear, he has to lie on his left side."
"How terrible."
"And that makes it hurt all the more."
There were beads of sweat on Itakura's rough-grained face.
Now and then a fly would light on the face, and Taeko would
brush it away as she talked. Itakura stopped moaning.
3lb 1 HE MAKIOKA L ISTERS

"I have to go," he said.
"Mother, he has to use the bedpan." The mother was leaning
against the wall.
"Excuse me." She bent to pick up the bedpan, in newspapers
under the bed. "Quiet, now."
"It hurts!" The moaning, which had been low and steady and
trancelike, became the screaming of a lunatic. "It hurts, it hurts,
it hurts!"
"You will just have to stand it. There is nothing else to do."
"It hurts, it hurts! You are not to touch me. You are not . . ."
"Try to stand it. What else am I to do?"
Sachiko looked curiously at the sick man, wondering what
could have brought this failure of courage. The left leg had to
be moved several inches, and Itakura took some minutes turning
so that he faced partly up. He was quiet for a time, trying to
control his breathing. Then he set about the task of using the
bedpan. His mouth was open, and he looked up at them with
frightened eyes quite strange to Sachiko.
"Has he been eating?" Sachiko asked the mother.
"No, not a thing."
"He just drinks lemonade."
The left leg protruded from under the blanket. There seemed
to be nothing wrong with it, except that the veins were a little
swollen and it was a little too white. And possibly Sachiko was
imagining even that much. As Itakura rolled over again, the
screams were as terrible as before. This time, "it hurts" was
puncuated with screams of: "I want to die. Let me die;" and "Kill
me. Kill me right now."
The father was a quiet man who seemed too timid and good-
natured to have opinions of his own. The mother was considerably
more forceful. Whether from lack of sleep or from weeping or
from some ailment, her eyes were swollen and watery, and she
was always pressing them shut. Although there was, for that
reason, something a little dull and absent about her expression,
it was evident that she had taken charge of the patient. Itakura,
who seemed very dependent on his mother, would do whatever
she said. Because the mother resisted, said Taeko, they had not
called in a surgeon. Even after Sachiko arrived, they divided into
two factions, the sister and Taeko in one, the parents in the
Book Two 317

other, and held whispered conferences in the corners of the room,
or in the hall. The sister-in-law tried to mediate; she talked first
with one faction and then with the other. The parents spoke in
such low tones that Sachiko could make out nothing they said.
The mother seemed to be complaining, and the father listened.
Taeko and the sister called the sister-in-law aside and told her
over and over that the parents would be guilty of murder if they
did not agree to an operation, and that she must somehow try
to convince the mother. The sister then talked to the mother; but
the mother argued stubbornly that since her son would die anyway
she wanted him to die with a whole body. When the sister-
in-law tried to overcome that argument, the mother counterattacked:
was the sister-in-law prepared to guarantee that the
cruel operation would be a success? The sister-in-law next tried
to pacify the sister: she simply could not prevail; hers was not the
sort of argument old people understood. And the sister talked to
the mother. The mother, said the sister in a tearful voice, saw
only what was immediately before her eyes, and did not know
her duty as a parent. So that they would have nothing to reproach
themselves with afterwards, they should try surgery whether
it would succeed or not. Time after time the round of arguments
was repeated.
"Sachiko." Taeko called her sister to the far end of the hall.
"I cannot stand a minute more of this."
"But it is not at all unreasonable for a mother to feel as she
does."
"Anyway, we are too late. I am sure of that. But the sister has
asked me to see if you might not be willing to talk to the mother.
The mother is stubborn with the family. With important people,
she nods and does as they tell her."
"And I am an important person?"
Sachiko was most reluctant to enter the discussions. She sensed
how deep the old woman's resentment would be if outside interference
were to bring unhappy results, and she knew moreover
that the chances were eight or nine in ten that the results would
be unhappy.
"You only need to wait a little while. She sees that she will
have to do as everyone says. She will go on objecting until she
has satisfied herself."
_______318___________________'1 HE makioka sisters

More worried about persuading Taeko to come home now that
she had done her duty, Sachiko waited nervously for an opening.
A nurse about to go into Itakura's room stopped when she saw
Taeko.
"Dr. Isogai would like to speak to one of the relatives."
Taeko passed this information on to the people in the room.
The sister and sister-in-law were kneeling beside the pillow; the
mother and father were at the foot of the bed. The two old
people debated for a time which should go, and presently they
went together. Fifteen minutes later they came back, the father
looking most upset, the mother in tears and muttering something
in his ear. Afterwards it appeared that Dr. Isogai had instructed
them in the most positive terms to transfer the patient to a surgical
hospital. To have him die here would be no small inconvenience.
The doctor argued that he had done everything possible to treat
the ear; that, since the most complete care had been taken in
the disinfecting, there could have been no error in the operation
itself; and that the leg ailment must therefore be quite another
matter. The ear was healing, as they could of course see, and the
patient no longer belonged in this hospital. Out of consideration
for other patients, Dr. Isogai had called in Dr. Suzuki the night
before and persuaded him to take the case. Since then valuable
time had been lost through indecision, and maybe the time for
surgery had already passed. In any case the hospital could not
take responsibility for further delays. Thus Dr. Isogai made it
appear that the whole crisis had been brought on by the parents
and their slowness. They only bowed and thanked the good
doctor. When they were back in the room, the mother scolded the
father as if it had been entirely his fault that the doctor had
gotten around them so successfully. Sachiko knew that the complaints
resulted from an excess of grief. The mother, resigned at
length to the inevitable, had found the proper moment to end
her resistance.
It was growing dark as they prepared to move Itakura. Dr.
Isogai behaved with extreme coldness. His manner suggested that
the patient was a great nuisance, and he did not once come out to
see the family. The work of moving was left to a doctor and
nurse from the Suzuki Hospital. Whether or not he knew that
in the conferences of these last hours it had been decided to
Book Two 319

amputate his leg, Itakura only moaned like some strange animal.
The family accepted the fact that the strange animal was what
their son and brother had become, and no one asked his opinion
about the operation. One thought bothered them, however: what
of the screams when they moved him to the ambulance? The
halls were only a yard wide, there was no landing on the narrow
spiral staircase, and it was obvious from the screams when Itakura
had to use the bedpan that the pain would be intense when they
carried the stretcher out. The family seemed less concerned for
the strange animal than for themselves, who would have to listen.
Sachiko asked the nurse if something could not be done. There
was no cause for worry, said Dr. Suzuki. They would give him a
sedative. And indeed he was quieter when, after an injection,
he was taken away by the doctor, the nurse, and his mother.

S!SŪSŪSSS<3SSt5ŪS<S!S<?SiSŪS<3SS!SŪS!

35

sachiko called her sister aside while Itakura's father, sister, and
sister-in-law were cleaning the room and paying the bill. She
wanted to go home, she said, and Teinosuke had told her to
bring Koi-san with her if possible. Taeko replied that she would
wait for the results of the operation. Unable to dissuade her,
Sachiko Enally saw the four of them to Dr. Suzuki's and went
on to Ashiya in the same cab. As Taeko started into the hospital,
Sachiko called her back again: though she could understand
Koi-san's desire to help, still it appeared--perhaps they had only
been shy before the Makiokas--that the Itakura family really
did not need help. How would it be then if Koi-san were to slip
out? Of course much would depend on exactly what happened,
but Sachiko hoped Koi-san would not forget for one second their
great fear of rumors that she and the sick man were formally
engaged. She hoped her sister would think always of the Makioka
name, and most especially of the effect on Yukiko. Sachiko felt
that she may have gone a little too far. What she hoped to
convey, with much delicacy and indirection, was that it could do

320 the makioka sisters

no good to have Koi-san's affairs known now that Itakura was to
die. There was no doubt that Taeko knew what she meant.
To be honest, Sachiko could not keep back a certain feeling
of relief now that the possibility of Taeko's marriage to a man of
no family had been eliminated by natural and wholly unforeseen
circumstances. It made her a little uncomfortable, a little unhappy
with herself, to think that somewhere deep in her heart she could
hope for a man's death, but there was the truth. And she was
sure she would not be alone: Yukiko would be with her, and
Teinosuke; and Okubata, if he knew, would be dancing the
happiest dance of all.
"Why are you so late?" Teinosuke, already back from work,
had been waiting for her in the parlor. "They said you left at
noon, and I just had someone call the hospital to find out what
was keeping you."
"I had to stay on and on. I wanted to bring Koi-san back with
me."
"And did you?"
"No. She decided to wait for the operation. I think she is
right."
"They will operate?"
"Yes. They were still arguing whether they should or not when
I got there, and when they finally made up their minds I took
them all to the Suzuki Hospital."
"Will he live?"
"Probably not."
"It seems very strange. What is the matter with the leg?"
"No one really told me."
"Did you find out the name of the disease?"
"Dr. Isogai ran off whenever we tried to ask, and Dr. Suzuki
seemed not to want to talk while Dr. Isogai was there. I imagine it is blood-poisoning."
As Sachiko paid "Mito," all ready to leave, for her forty days'
services, and sat down to dinner with Teinosuke and Yukiko,
there was a telephone call from the Suzuki Hospital. The conversation
was a long one, the general drift of which Teinosuke
and Yukiko could follow from the dining room: the operation
was over and Itakura was resting more easily; because there would
have to be transfusions, everyone except the two old people had
Book Two _____________________321_____

had blood tests; Itakura and his sister were both Type A, whereas
Taeko was Type 0; although they could thus use the sister's blood
for the time being, they would need one or two more donors;
Taeko's blood, Type 0, would do, but the family was determined
not to ask for it; unhappily, the sister had suggested telling
Itakura's fellow apprentices in the Okubata shop, and two or
three of them had been informed and would very shortly arrive
at the hospital; Taeko did not want to see them, or, worse yet,
to see Kei-bov, who might have heard; she had therefore decided
to go home; the apprentices being old friends of Itakura's, the
sister seemed to think that they might be willing to donate blood;
since Taeko was exhausted, she hoped someone would send a
cab for her; and, finally, she wanted a bath and something to
eat as soon as she reached home.
"Does the family know about Koi-san and Kei-boy, then?"
asked Teinosuke when Sachiko was back in the dining room. He
was careful to lower his voice.
'T doubt it very much. If they did, do you think they would
think of letting Itakura marry her?"
"Never," Yukiko agreed. "He cannot have told his parents
about Kei-boy."
"But possibly the sister knows."
"Those men from the shop--do they see a great deal of
Itakura?"
"I wonder. I have not heard anything about old friends."
"But if there are people like that around his studio, then
there is not much doubt that Koi-san's affair is an open secret."
"You remember how Kei-boy told me he had ways of investigating?
He probably was thinking of the men in the shop."
Although a cab was ordered immediately, it was more than an hour before Taeko appeared. The cab had had a flat tire on the
way, and she had waited a fairly long time at the hospital. The
wait was no problem, but she had had to see the men from the
Okubata shop, and the man she most wanted to avoid, Kei-boy
himself. (It was not likely that he was in the shop at such an
hour. Taeko assumed that one of the men had called him.) She
stayed as far from Kei-boy as she could, and he was tactful enough
to keep his distance. When she started to leave, however, he came
up and asked why she did not stay longer--he asked with every
___ 322 the makioka sisters

appearance of politeness, but a note of sarcasm could easily be
read into the words. When the men from the shop, on their own
initiative, asked to have their blood tested, Kei-boy stepped forward
and said that he too would have a blood test. It was difficult
to see what he had in mind, though with that bustling officiousness
of his, he was probably but following a sudden impulse.
Taeko had had her own blood tested because she had thought she
could do no less when the sister and the sister-in-law were tested.
The whole family had tried to discourage her, she said.
"Where did they amputate?" asked Sachiko. The three sat for a
time at the dinner table with Taeko, who had taken a bath and
changed to a cotton summer kimono.
"Here." Taeko stretched out her leg and drew a hand across her
thigh. Then, in confusion, she waved as if to brush away the
mark.
"And were you watching?"
"Just a little."
"In the operating room?"
"I was in the next room, with a glass door between. I could
watch if I wanted to."
"How brave of you--even if you were not especially watching."
"I tried not to see--but I would be frightened and want to
take just a look. His heart was beating so, and his chest was rising
and falling like this. Does a general anaesthetic always do that
to a person, I wonder. You could never have stood seeing that
much, Sachiko."
"We will talk about something else."
"That was nothing. I did see something really terrible."
"Stop, stop. Please."
"It will be a long time before I can eat beef again."
"Stop it, Koi-san." This time it was Yukiko who protested.
"I found out the name of the disease, though." Taeko turned
to Teinosuke. "Gangrene. Dr. Suzuki would not talk while we
were in the other hospital, but he told us later."
"Is gangrene as painful as all that? It was from the ear, then."
"I have no idea."
They learned afterwards that Dr. Suzuki was not in good repute
with other members of his profession. Indeed it was strange that
Book Two 323

he agreed to take a case two leading surgeons had already refused,
and a case so hopeless that even he could make no promises.
It must have been just such incidents that had given him a bad
name. Though unaware of the doctor's shortcomings, Taeko had
thought, when she saw the large hospital with apparently no
other patients, that it was not a prosperous establishment. Perhaps
because the building was a converted Western-style house
that made one think of those put up some seventy-five years earlier,
in the first days after the opening of the ports, and because
footsteps echoed hollow against the high ceilings as in a haunted
house, she felt a sudden chill when she stepped inside the door.
Coming out of the anaesthetic, Itakura looked up at her and said:
"So I am a cripple." But the moaning animal at Isogai Hospital
had become a human being again. Clearly he had known all along
how serious his condition was, and what those repeated conferences
meant. In any case, it was a great relief to Taeko that the
moaning at least had stopped. She began to wonder if he might
not survive with but the one leg gone. She began to imagine him
on crutches. But it was only a two- or three-hour reprieve, in the
course of which the men from the Okubata shop and Kei-boy himself
arrived. She saw her opportunity to leave. The sister, who
alone knew of the triangle, helped her slip out unobtrusively. At
the door, Taeko told the sister to call her if there was a change, whatever the hour. She also told the driver that she might have to
get him out of bed before the night was over.
Exhausted though she was, Taeko talked with her sisters and
Teinosuke for some time. At four in the morning she was called
back to the hospital. Sachiko, half asleep, heard the cab, and
said to herself as she dozed off: So Koi-san has left again. She
did not know how much time passed before 0-haru slid the bedroom
door open.
"Mrs. Makioka. Koi-san called from the hospital to say that
Mr. Itakura is dead."
"What time is it?"
"About half past six, I think."
Sachiko could not go back to sleep. Teinosuke knew of the
telephone call, but Yukiko and Etsuko, asleep in Teinosuke's
study, did not learn of it until they got up at about eight.
____ 324 ____________ the makioka sisters

Taeko came home at noon to tell them all that had happened:
when Itakura again took a turn for the worse, the sister and the
men from the Okubata shop gave repeated blood transfusions, to
no avail; the poison attacked the chest and head, and the patient,
though for a time liberated from the pain in the leg, died in the
most intense agony; Taeko hoped never again to see such a painful
death; his mind was clear to the end, however, and he took
leave of his family and friends one by one, and thanked Kei-boy
and Taeko and wished them happiness; asking to be remembered
to the family in Ashiya, he mentioned them all by name, Mr. and
Mrs. Makioka, Miss Yukiko, Miss Etsuko, and even 0-haru; the
men from the Okubata shop, with their work to do, returned to
Osaka after spending the night at the hospital, but Taeko herself
and Kei-boy went to Tanaka with the body, and it was
from there that she had just returned; Kei-boy, who stayed on to
help after she left, was addressed as "the young master" by the
Itakura family; and the wake would be tonight and the next
night, and the funeral in two days, at the Tanaka house. Though
Taeko's face was worn, she was calm and shed no tears.
Taeko went to the wake for about an hour the second evening.
She wanted to stay longer, but Okubata had been there for two
nights and seemed to be looking for a chance to talk to her.
Teinosuke thought that he and his family should go to the
funeral. What most concerned him, however, was the welfare of
his two sisters-in-law. There was no telling whom they would meet.
It would be especially embarrassing, after the newspaper incident,
to meet the Okubata family on such an occasion. He decided to
stay away and to send Sachiko with condolences, choosing an
hour when there were not likely to be many at the wake. Taeko
went to the funeral, but not to the cremation. There were so
many people at the funeral, she said, that even she wondered
how Itakura could have made all those acquaintances. Kei-boy,
in among the men from the shop, was his usual officious self.
The ashes were buried in an Okayama temple, and the Makiokas
were not informed when the photograph studio was closed.
Perhaps the Itakura family had decided that further correspondence
would be presumptuous. Sachiko knew that Taeko went
quietly to Okayama once a week until the thirty-fifth day after
Hook Two 325

the death.1 Without calling on the family, she visited Itakura's
grave.
Yukiko and Etsuko, lonely without "Mito," had 0-haru sleep
with them in the study. It was for only two nights; the night
before Itakura's funeral they moved back to the main house.
Teinosuke reoccupied the study after it was fumigated.
Forgotten in all this excitement, a letter had come late in
May via Siberia. It was in English, addressed to Sachiko.

Hamburg
May 2, 1939
dear mrs. makioka:
I must apologize for not having answered your very kind
letter sooner. I had no time to myself either in Manila or on the
boat. I had to take care of all the baggage. My sister is ill even
now here in Germany, and I brought her three children back
with me. I had five in all to take care of. I had hardly a moment
to myself between Genoa and Bremerhaven, where my husband
met us. It is good that we all arrived home safely. My husband
seemed very well, as did Peter, who was with friends and relatives
at Hamburg Station. I have not yet seen my mother or my other
sisters. We must first think of making ourselves a home, and that
has been a great deal of trouble. We looked at many places
before we finally found the one that seemed right for us, and we
are now buying furniture and kitchen supplies. All our work
should be finished in another two weeks or so. The large trunks
and crates have not yet arrived, but we expect them within ten
days. Peter and Fritz are staying with friends. Peter, who is extremely
busy with his school work, asks to be remembered to you.
We have friends returning to Japan this month, and we will send
a little present for Etsuko, which we hope you will accept as a
very small mark of our affection. When are you coming to Germany?
I shall take great pride in showing you Hamburg. It is a
fine city.
Rosemarie has written a letter to Etsuko. Etsuko must
write too. She must not worry about mistakes in English. I make

1 There are memorial observances every seventh day for forty-nine days after
a death.

326 the makioka sisters

plenty myself. Is someone living in the Sato house? I often think
of that lovely place. Please give our regards to Mr. Sato. And to
your family. Did Etsuko receive the shoes Peter sent from New
York? I hope you did not have to pay customs on them.
Sincerely,
hilda stolz

Enclosed was a sheet at the top of which Mrs. Stolz had written:
"This is Rosemarie's letter, which I have translated for her."

Tuesday, May 2, 1939
dear etsuko:
I have not written for a long time. I will write now. I met
a Japanese man who lives in Mrs. von Pustan's house. He works
for the Yokohama Specie Bank. His wife and three children are
with him. Their name is Imai. The trip from Manila to Germany
was very interesting. We had a sand storm once coming through
the Suez Canal. My cousins got off the ship at Genoa. Their
mother took them to Germany on a train. We went by ship to
Bremerhaven.
Under my bedroom window here in the boarding house a
blackbird has a nest. First she laid the eggs. Now she has to hatch
them. One day when I was watching the father bird came with a
fly in his mouth. He tried to give the fty to the mother bird but
the mother bird flew away. The father bird was very smart. He put
the fiy down in the nest and flew away. The mother bird came
right back. She ate the fly and sat down on the eggs again.
We will have our new apartment soon. Our address will
be: First Floor Left, 14 Overbeck Strasse. Please write, and give
my regards to everyone.
Sincerely,
rosemarie
p.s. We saw Peter yesterday. He sends regards too.
BOOK THREE

y.ySSsi^Tw^y^^^y^^y^^^^y^Ss

yukiko had arrived in mid-February and stayed on through
March, April, May--almost four months. She never spoke of
going back to Tokyo, and she seemed to have settled quietly
in Ashiya. Early in June there was, surprisingly, word from Tsuruko
of a marriage proposal. Surprising for two reasons: it was
the first such proposal in two years and three months, the first
since Mrs. Jimba had mentioned Nomura, and whereas, since
Tatsuo's trouble with the Saigusa proposal years before, word had
come first to Ashiya and been passed on to Tokyo, this time it
was Tatsuo who acted first, and relayed the information to
Ashiya through his wife. The new proposal, as Sachiko read of it
in her sister's letter, did not seem very promising. It was not
the sort one would leap at: Tatsuo's oldest sister had married
into the Sugano family, large landowners at Ogaki, near Nagoya;
the Suganos were friendly with the Sawazakis, a well-known
Nogoya family, the previous head of which had occupied one of
the seats in the House of Peers reserved for leading taxpayers;
and the present head of the family, through the good offices of
Tatsuo's sister, would like to meet Yukiko. Mrs. Sugano of all
Tatsuo's relatives knew Sachiko and her sisters best. Sachiko,
perhaps nineteen at the time, had once gone with Tatsuo, Tsuruko,
Yukiko, and Taeko to watch the cormorant fishing on the Nagara
River, and they had spent a night at the Sugano house; two or
three years later, all of them had been invited to a mushroom
________ 32 b ____________________1 HE makioka sisters

picking. Sachiko remembered the place well: you drove for
twenty or thirty minutes along a country road to a lonely country
village; you turned off what would seem to be a prefectural
highway and saw the gate at the end of a deep, hedged lane.
Though there were otherwise only a few dreary farmhouses in the
neighborhood, the mansion of the Suganos, which dated from the
Battle of Sekigahara in 1600, was most imposing, with the memorial
hall for the family funeral tablets rising grandly across the
courtyard from the main building. Sachiko remembered too that
beyond the mossy garden was a vegetable patch, and that in the
autumn little girls climbed the heavily laden trees to shake down
chestnuts. The food was simple, largely home-grown vegetables,
but very good, the new potatoes and the baked lotus roots being
especially good. The lady of the house, Tatsuo's sister, was a
widow. Possibly because she had little else to think about, she had
for some time been considering Yukiko's problems, the Makiokas
heard, and she had set about finding a good husband. No
doubt she enjoyed being a matchmaker.
Tsuruko's letter had little to say about the present head of
the Sawazaki family, or about the circumstances that had led
to talk of a miai with Yukiko. There had, she said, been this
statement from Mrs. Sugano that she would like to have Yukiko
in Ogaki to meet Mr. Sawazaki. The Sawazaki fortune ran into
tens of millions of yen, ridiculously out of proportion to what
the Makioka family now had, but inasmuch as it was a second
marriage, and the man had already sent someone off to Osaka
to investigate Yukiko and the Makiokas, the prospect did not
seem entirely hopeless. But the most important thing to remember
was Mrs. Sugano's kindness; to ignore it would be to put
Tatsuo in a most difficult position. Since Mrs. Sugano had said
only that she wanted Yukiko to come to Ogaki, and that she
would explain later, Tsuruko did not really know what the situation
was, but in any case she hoped Yukiko would not be difficult.
And besides, Yiikiko had been in Ashiya a long time now, and
they had been thinking of calling her back; she could stop in
Ogaki on her way to Tokyo. Mrs. Sugano had not said who was
to accompany Yukiko. Though Tsuruko herself could go down
from Tokyo (Tatsuo was unfortunately very busy), it would be
quite ideal if Sachiko would go instead. Might they ask her to?
Boofe Three 329

There was to be nothing formal about the miai. They might
set out as if on a pleasure trip.
Tsuruko wrote with great blandness. But would Yukiko agree?
That was Sachiko's Erst question, and when she showed the letter
to Teinosuke, he too felt that there was something a little unexpected
about it, something not quite in keeping with Tsuruko's
usual good sense. It was true that the gentleman was not completely
unknown, the Sawazakis of Nagoya being famous in
Osaka too. But to send Yukiko off as ordered, without learning a
thing about the present head of the family--could it escape being
called rash and ill-considered? Since the Sawazakis were so far
above the Makiokas, might they not think the latter lacking in
dignity and restraint, unaware of their proper place? And the
people in the main house ought to have known, after so many
proposals had been refused, that Yukiko wanted each new one
investigated most carefully. Back from the office the next day,
Teinosuke said that there were many things he did not undertand.
He had talked with two or three people in the course of
the day, and learned what he could about the head of the
Sawazaki family: that he was about forty-five years old, a graduate
of the Waseda University business school; that his wife, who had
died two or three years before, had come from a noble court
family; that they had three children; that though it was the
previous head of the family who had sat in the House of Peers
by virtue of the taxes he paid, the family's fortunes had deteriorated
little if at all since; and that the Sawazakis were still one of
the richest and most important families in Nagoya. But Teinosuke
was not able to get a clear answer when he asked about the
disposition and deportment of the man himself. He could not
understand, said Teinosuke, why a millionaire who had been able
to marry into a court family should now be seeking, even for a
second wife, a daughter of the declining Makiokas. There must be
reasons why he could not make a more suitable marriage--but
Mrs. Sugano would hardly be sending Yukiko into the arms of a
man she knew to have serious defects. Perhaps Mr. Sawazaki,
searching at any cost for a wife in the pure Japanese style, a
sheltered lady of the old type, had heard of Yukiko and decided,
half from curiosity, that he would like to meet her. Or perhaps
he had heard that Yukiko's niece was closer to Yukiko than to
330 the makioka sisters

her own mother, and had concluded that Yukiko would make a
good stepmother for his children. If she got along well with children,
then nothing else mattered. Might he not have some such
uncomplicated motive for wanting to meet her? One of the two
explanations must be the correct one, and of the two was not the
first the more likely? In his curiosity to see whether the Makioka
daughter was really as elegant as reported, had the man possibly
taken the half-cynical view that he had nothing to lose by
seeing her? One could easily think so, and the people at the
main house, without having followed that possibility through,
were pushing Yukiko on simply because Tatsuo could not say no
to his oldest sister. The youngest in the Taneda family, Tatsuo
found it hard to lift his head before his brothers and sisters even
now that he had become a Makioka. A suggestion from this oldest
sister of all, really more like an aunt, was an order. Though
Yukiko would not be pleased, said Tsuruko, Sachiko must somehow
force her to agree. It mattered little at the moment whether
a marriage was arranged or not; Tatsuo would be greatly distressed
if Yukiko would not at least go to Ogaki. It was true that
the proposal did not seem promising, but marriage proposals were
so easily labelled and filed away, and it would certainly do Yukiko
no harm to be in the good graces of the Sugano family.
Almost immediately a letter came from Mrs. Sugano. She had
learned from Tatsuo that Yukiko was in Ashiya. To avoid roundabout
negotiations, she had decided to write directly. Sachiko
and Yukiko had of course had the details from Tsuruko, but the
matter was not to be taken so seriously. Mrs. Sugano preferred
to think that all of them--Sachiko, Yukiko, Taeko, and possibly
Etsuko, whom she had never seen--were only coming for a visit.
These ten years had seen little change in her out-of-the-way home.
And now the firefly season was coming. The place was not particularly
famous for fireflies. With swarms of fireflies in the night,
however, the nameless little streams that ran through the rice
paddies would all be very beautiful for another week or so. Unlike
maple leaves and mushrooms, fireflies would really interest
them. The firefly season moreover was very short: for another
week it would be at its height, and then it would be over. There
was also the weather to be considered. Fireflies were unimpressive
when the weather had been good for too long, and on the
Book Three 331

other hand, a rainy day was bad. The day after a rain was ideal.
Could they set aside the coming week-end, and arrive by Saturday
evening? An unobtrusive meeting might then be arranged with
Mr. Sawazaki. Mrs. Sugano did not know exactly what the details
would be, but she thought he would be willing to come from
Nagoya. The meeting could be at her house, and it need last no
longer than a half hour or an hour. And even if this weekend
should prove inconvenient for Mr. Sawazaki, she hoped the
Makiokas would come to see the fireflies.
It seemed that the people in Tokyo had urged her to write.
Although Sachiko herself was inclined to dismiss the proposal as
altogether too unpromising, in their hearts her sister and brother-
in-law were apparently hoping that a dream might come true.
And Sachiko herself had become very timid in marriage negotiations,
and did not have the courage to refuse a proposal arbitrarily.
There had, it was true, been a similar proposal some Eve years
before. The man had belonged to a class above the Makiokas,
and when, much excited, they had set about investigating, they
had found to their very great disappointment that there was
evidence of a domestic scandal. Though grateful to Mrs. Sugano,
Teinosuke could not help wondering whether they were being
made fools of again. He was even a little angry: was it not insulting,
he said, to demand that Yukiko come for a midi before
any of the usual preliminary steps had been taken? But this was,
after all, the first proposal in two years and three months. Thinking
how proposals had showered upon them until two or three
years before and then had suddenly stopped, Sachiko could not
help feeling that she had to take a certain amount of the blame
herself: for one thing, the Makiokas had made too much of
family and prestige and had set their sights too high, turning
away proposal after proposal; for another, Taeko's bad name
seemed to be having its effect. Now came this new proposal, just
when Sachiko was suffering the keenest pangs of self-recrimination.
She even thought sometimes that the world had lost interest
and that no one would come with another proposal, and
she feared that to dismiss this proposal, unpromising though it was,
would only be to invite more hostility. Others might follow even
if nothing came of this one. If they turned it away, on the other
hand, they could not expect another for the time being. And
3?2 _____the makioka sisters

was this not a bad year for Yukiko? Even while she laughed at
her sister and brother-in-law and their "dream," Sachiko could
hear a voice that refused to let her call it a dream herself.
Teinosuke advised caution, but was he not going too far? However
wealthy the Sawazakis might be, was Yukiko so ridiculously
unqualified to become the second wife of a man with two or
three children? The Makiokas had their pedigree too. She said so
to Teinosuke, and he had no answer. He felt that he could offer
no apology to Yukiko or to her parents in their graves.
After talking for an evening, Teinosuke and Sachiko decided
to leave everything to Yukiko. The next day Sachiko told her
sister of the two letters, and was surprised to see that Yukiko
did not seem especially displeased. As usual, Yukiko did not really
say yes or no, dut behind her brief replies Sachiko sensed something
like a willingness to be convinced. Perhaps even this proud
lady was growing impatient and would no longer be difficult on
the subject of mini. Sachiko had been careful to say nothing that
might hurt Yukiko's feelings and Yukiko had no cause to think
of the proposal as ridiculous or extravagant, or to suspect that
someone might be making fun of her. Usually when she heard
that there were children she was particular to ask about them--
whether they were well behaved, what their ages were, and so on
--but this time she was less meticulous. She would have to be
going back to Tokyo in any event, she said, and if they would all
go with her to Ogaki, she thought she would not find the fireflies
unpleasant. Yukiko wants a rich husband, laughed Teinosuke.
Sachiko sent off her letter to Mrs. Sugano: they were going to
take advantage of her kindness, and hoped she would continue
to favor them; Yukiko would be most pleased to meet the gentleman;
it appeared that there would be four of the--herself, Yukiko,
Taeko, and Etsuko; though she hesitated to plead her own convenience,
Etsuko had been out of school for a long time and
it would therefore be better if they could go to Ogaki on Friday
rather than Saturday; and she hoped that nothing would be said;
to Etsuko of the mini. Her real reason for moving the date up
was that she wanted to see Yukiko off as far as Gamagori. They
would spend Friday night with Mrs. Sugano, and go on to spend
Saturday night in Gamagori. On Sunday afternoon, Yukiko
Book Three 333

would leave Gamagori for Tokyo, the others for Osaka. Etsuko
would be back in school the following week.

SŪS<5tSS^S%S!SSSSSŪŪSŪ3!S^SŪSi

2

though sachiko would have preferred foreign clothes for a train
ride in the summer heat, she was off for a miai and had to tie herself
up in a smothering kimono and obi. She looked enviously at
Taeko, in simple girlish dress not much different from Etsuko's.
Yukiko, for her part, would have preferred to carry her good
clothes in a suitcase since it was not proper to dress ostentatiously
in time of crisis, but the details had not been settled clearly
enough for her to be sure that the man would not be waiting
when they arrived, and in the end she dressed with much more
care than usual.
"She looks so young." Teinosuke, who was seeing them as far
as Osaka, glanced at Yukiko across the aisle. As though it were a
fresh discovery, he whispered his admiration to Sachiko. And
indeed there were few who would have believed that Yukiko was
in that troublesome thirty-third year. Thin and sad though the
face was, the make-up set it off wonderfully well, and the kimono
was, of all Yukiko owned, the one that best suited her, a delicate
summer kimono and under-kimono of semi-diaphanous georgette,
the sleeves two feet long. On a quiet purple ground, the bold
plaited-bamboo pattern was broken here and there by flowers
and white waves. They had telephoned Tokyo to have it sent
by express when they decided to make the trip.
"She does look young. There are very few people her age
who could wear that kimono."
Yukiko looked at the floor, aware that she was being discussed.
If one had been searching for faults, one could have remarked
on that dark spot over the eye. The evening before Yukiko and
Etsuko had left for Yokohama to see Peter Stolz off--it must
have been in August--Sachiko had noticed that the spot was
334 __ the makioka sisters

back after having disappeared for some time, and since then,
though it was sometimes dark and sometimes faint, it had never
entirely left her. There were times when a stranger might not have
noticed at all, but a shadow was always to be detected by those
near her. And the spot had become quite unpredictable. Whereas
it had once come and gone in a monthly cycle, one could never
be sure now when it would be dark and when it would fade.
Teinosuke, much disturbed, said that if injections would do any
good then injections she should have, and Sachiko urged her
sister to see a specialist. They had been told by the doctor at
Osaka University, however, that a long series of injections would
be necessary, and that since the spot would disappear in any case
when Yukiko was married, it was hardly worth the trouble. And
the spot did not seem to bother people once they were used to it.
Much though it might upset the family, it was a very small
blemish indeed. More important, Yukiko herself did not seem
worried. They had therefore done nothing.
When viewed from a certain angle, the spot stood out under
heavy powder like mercury in a thermometer. Teinosuke had
noticed it as he watched Yukiko at the mirror that morning,
and he was sure it would attract attention. Sachiko guessed what he was thinking. Each of them knew that the other saw this unfortunate
development as a new shadow over a proposal unpromising
from the start.
Etsuko suspected that the trip was for more than fireflies. "Why
are you wearing a kimono. Mother?" she asked as they changed
trains in Osaka Station.
"I thought Mrs. Sugano might be offended if I wore foreign
clothes."
"Oh." Etsuko was not satisfied. "Why?"
"Why? You know how particular country people are when they
get old."
"What are we going to do today?"
"I have told you, I believe, that we are going to look at fireflies."

"But you and Yukiko are so dressed up."
"You know how it is when you go hunting fireflies, Etsuko."
Taeko came to Sachiko's rescue. "You must have seen it in
pictures--princesses with all sorts of court ladies, and long sleeves
Book Three 335

trailing off like this." Taeko demonstrated with gestures. "They
have fans in their hands and they run around the lake and over
the bridge after fireflies. You have to run around in a pretty
kimono--otherwise a firefly hunt hardly seems like a firefly hunt."
"What about you, then?"
"I have never owned a good summer kimono. Sachiko will be
the princess, and I will have to be a servant in foreign dress."
Though Taeko had recently been in Okayama for the third of
her visits to Itakura's grave, she seemed in good spirits. The tragedy
had left no visible scars. Now and then she would send her
sisters into spasms of laughter, and she managed her boxes of
candy and tins of cake like a juggler.
"Look, Yukiko, Mt. Mikami."
Etsuko, who seldom went east of Kyoto, was enjoying her
second trip around Lake Biwa, and remembering all the famous
places she had had pointed out to her the year before--Mt.
Mikami, the long bridge at Seta, the site of Azuchi Castle,
and so on. Just beyond Notogawa the train pulled to a stop--on
a curved embankment through the rice paddies, they saw as they
leaned out the windows. It was impossible to tell what the difficulty
was. A pair of crewmen climbed from the locomotive and
walked back and forth peering under the cars, but whether they
did not know what was wrong or were not saying, they gave only
vague answers to the passengers' question. They thought it would
be five or ten minutes at most. Presently a second train pulled up.
The crewmen came for a look, and one of them ran back toward
Notogawa.
"What is it, Mother?"
"I have no idea."
"Did we run over something?"
"Do you see anything?"
"But they ought to know we are in a hurry."
"Silly train, stopping in a place like this."
Sachiko too thought at first that someone had been run over,
but they seemed to have been spared at least that ill omen. For
all Sachiko knew it might be the usual thing for a train, not on a
remote branch line or a small private line, but on the main line of
the Government Railways--it might be the usual thing for such
a train to waste upwards of a half hour out among the rice
336 the makioka sisters

paddies. She did not travel much, and she could not really say.
Still she thought it odd. And the foolish, absent-minded way the
train had slowed down and clanked to a stop, almost as though
it were making fun of Yukiko's miai. Always when Yukiko had a
mini something came up to spoil the day. Sachiko had been
hoping that this time they would escape--and now, when they
had all safely boarded the train and everything seemed in prospect
of going well--now, to have this happen. She felt her face cloud
over, try though she would to hide her dejection.
"We are in no hurry. Suppose we have lunch while the train
is resting," joked Taeko. "We can have a much pleasanter lunch."
"An excellent idea." Sachiko set about reviving her spirits. "The
lunch will lose all its flavor in this heat unless we hurry and eat
it."
Taeko was already taking down bundles and baskets from the
rack above.
"How are the egg rolls, Koi-san? Has anything happened to
them?"
"The club sandwiches are in more danger. We will have them
first."
"You are an eater, Koi-san. Your mouth has been full ever
since we left Osaka." Yukiko seemed to have none of the forebodings
that troubled her sisters.
Some fifteen minutes later the train moved jerkily off. A new
locomotive had come out to meet it.

5SS<5!S^S<S<?33!SS<5SSSŪS!S<S!SŪSŪ

3

they had last been invited to Ogaki, for a mushroom picking,
the autumn before Sachiko was married. She was already engaged,
and the wedding came two or three months later. It would have
been 1925, fourteen years before, when Sachiko was twenty-two,
Yukiko eighteen, and Taeko fourteen. Mrs. Sugano's husband
had greatly amused them with his heavy midland accent. They
remembered how Tatsuo frowned when finally they were unable

koor l nree 337

to hold back their laughter. Proud of being related to a family that figured in the chronicles of Sekigahara, Tatsuo had been
looking for an excuse to display the Suganos to his wife and sisters-
in-law. He also took much pleasure in showing them the battlefield
and the ruins of the barrier gate at Fuwa. Their first visit
was in the worst of the heab, however, and they were exhausted
by the time he had finished dragging them over dusty country
roads in a battered automobile. On their second visit they had
to see the same famous places again. Sachiko was thoroughly
bored. She had a pride an outsider would not understand in
being a native of Osaka, and since the great heroes of her childhood
were the losers at Sekigahara,1 she had little interest in that
battle.
The second visit was in a sense to help unveil the garden
cottage, just then finished. Called the "Pavilion of Timelessness,"
it was connected with the main house by a long L-shaped gallery,
and it was for the old man's pleasure--naps, chess, special guests.
Though it showed more attention to detail than the rest of the
house, there was nothing that struck one as discordant or ostentatious.
Indeed the cottage had about it the pleasant expansiveness
of the well-to-do country family. Shown again to the Pavilion of
Timelessness, they noted that it had mellowed into an even
quieter, more tranquil little house than they remembered.
As they were looking out over the fresh garden foliage, Mrs.
Sugano came in to greet them formally, and to introduce her
daughter-in-law and grandchildren. The daughter-in-law, whose
husband, the present head of the family, worked in an Ogaki
bank, held a baby in her arms. A boy five or six years old hid
shyly behind her. The daughter-in-law's name was Tsuneko, the
boy was Sosuke, and the baby girl was Katsuko. The introductions
finished, Mrs. Sugano set about renewing the acquaintance, and
again the youthfulness of the sisters came up for discussion. When
she had heard the automobile and had gone out to receive them
at the gate, said Mrs. Sugano, she had seen Taeko climb from the
automobile, and wondered if it was young Etsuko--but then of
course her eyes were not as good as they might be. Then came
Yukiko and Sachiko, whom she took for Taeko and Yukiko--

1 Osaka Castle was the main seat of the anti-Tokugawa faction, defeated at
Sekigahara.

338 _______________ the makioka biSTERS

and a little girl--and no Sachiko. She was first able to identify
them properly when she came out to the cottage. Tsuneko too
was surprised: she had never met them, she said, but she had
heard enough about them to know fairly well how old they would
be. She had been unable to decide which was which when she
saw them get out of the automobile. She hoped they would
forgive her for asking, but was not Miss Yukiko a year or two
older than she? Tsuneko was thirty, explained Mrs. Sugano. It
was natural that Tsuneko, married for some years and already the
mother of two children, should have aged, and for all the special
care she had obviously taken with her dress, she looked almost
like Yukiko's mother. And Taeko too, Mrs. Sugano went on.
When she first came here, she was a little bigger than the girl
(pointing to Etsuko); and if the next time was 1925 and she
was fourteen or so then--Mrs. Sugano blinked with astonishment--it
seemed as if the last ten years and more had not happened.
She should not have confused Taeko and Etsuko, but
even here face to face she could not see that Taeko had aged
in the least. A year or two, no more. Taeko looked like a girl of
sixteen or seventeen.
After tea, Sachiko was called to the main house, and five or
ten minutes with Mrs. Sugano proved enough to make her regret
that they had accepted the invitation. What astonished her most
was the lack of information. Mrs. Sugano knew nothing of the
matter that most worried them, Mr. Sawazaki's character. She
had never even met the man. The Suganos and the Sawazakis
had long respected each other as old families, and the former
head of the Sawazaki family had been most friendly with Mrs.
Sugano's husband, but since her husband's death she had had
little or nothing to do with the younger Mr. Sawazaki. As far as
she could remember, he had never visited this house, and she
had never met him. She had not written to him before she set
about arranging the miai. Through mutual acquaintances, she
heard that he had lost his wife two or three years before, that
he was looking for a second, that nothing had come of proposals
thus far, and that, though he was past forty and had children by
his first wife, he hoped to take for his second an unmarried lady
in her twenties. Having had Yukiko on her mind for some time,
Mrs. Sugano thought she might arrange a meeting, even though
Hook I hree 339

Yukiko was past the specified age. She knew that she should have
found an appropriate go-between, but just any go-between would
not do, and she had concluded that rather than waste time on
empty forms she would act immediately. A little rashly, she had
written to the gentleman: she had such and such a lady among
her relatives, and she wondered if he would like to meet her.
When she heard nothing from him, she concluded that he was
not interested, but then it appeared that he had been quietly
investigating on the basis of her letter. After about two months
an answer finally came. This was the letter, she said, and handed
Sachiko a very brief note: Mr. Sawazaki had much valued the
friendship of the old gentleman and regretted that he had neglected
Mrs. Sugano herself since her husband's death; he was most
grateful for her letter and thanked her from his heart; though
he should have answered sooner, he had been occupied with his
own vulgar affairs; he would very much like to meet the lady; if
he could be given two or three days' notice, his Saturdays were
generally open, and he thought they might arrange the details
by telephone. Sachiko could only describe the letter as routine.
She was astounded: how to explain it, when old families like the
Suganos and the Sawazakis were so extremely careful to observe
the most elaborate of forms at such times? And was it not a piece
of impetuousness, effrontery almost--quite out of keeping with
her years--for Mrs. Sugano to send off a letter to a stranger without
even consulting the Makiokas? Sachiko had never before
encountered this impetuous streak in Mrs. Sugano's nature.
Whether or not it had become worse with age, she thought she
could see a suggestion of the authoritarian that made her understand
why Tatsuo so feared this oldest of his sisters. And it did
not entirely make sense for Mr. Sawazaki to have accepted the
invitation. Perhaps he was afraid of insulting the Sugano family.
Sachiko tried not to show her dissatisfaction. Mrs. Sugano went
on, not quite by way of apology, to explain that she tended to be
quick and impatient and greatly disliked tedious formalities, and
that she had thought everyone would understand everything once
a meeting was arranged. The details could be taken care of later.
She had not investigated Mr. Sawazaki, but in view of the fact
that she had heard no disagreeable rumors either about him or
about his household, she felt sure that he could have no serious
340 "I HE makioka 5ISTEKS

defects. They might save time by questioning him directly on
points they did not understand. She could answer none of
Sachiko's questions. Mr. Sawazaki had two or three children--she
was not quite sure whether it was two or three, and she did not
know whether they were boys or girls. Still she seemed pleased
with herself for having arranged a meeting. She had called Mr.
Sawazaki as soon as she had received Sachiko's letter, she said,
and he would come from Nagoya the next morning at about
eleven. Though she could promise no feast, she would have
Tsuneko get something ready, and she thought just the three of
them, herself, Sachiko, and Yukiko, should see him. They could
all go hunting fireflies tonight. She would arrange tomorrow for
young Mr. Sugano to show Taeko and Etsuko the battlefield. She
would send them off with their lunch (she was delighted with her
plans) and the miai should be over by two. One never could tell
about marriage negotiations. Knowing that Yukiko was in that
troublesome thirty-third year, Mrs. Sugano had been astonished
to find that she looked no more than twenty-four or twenty-five--
did she not satisfy Mr. Sawazaki's conditions in full?
Sachiko could not help wishing that she had an excuse to put
the miai off and to devote this trip to the fireflies. She had
brought Yukiko on the basis of but one letter from Mrs. Sugano
because she had had complete faith in the latter and had assumed
that the groundwork was carefully laid, and now she saw of how
little importance both the Suganos and the Sawazakis seemed to
think Yukiko. She knew that Yukiko would be hurt if she knew
the truth, and that Teinosuke would be even angrier than she
was herself. It was not hard to imagine the contempt Mr. Sawazaki
must have for a lady who proposed by letter to him and his tens
of millions--nor was it hard to see that he was less than serious
about the negotiations. Had Teinosuke been along, they could have
pleaded what should be common sense--that they would like to
investigate the man, and that they would like at least to go through
the form of having an intermediary. A woman alone, helpless before
the widow's enthusiasm, could do nothing so bold. And
Sachiko had to think of her brother-in-law in Tokyo. Sad though
it was for Yukiko, there was nothing to do but follow Mrs.
Sugano's wishes.
aooR l tiree 341

"Suppose you change clothes if you are too warm, Yukiko. I
am thinking of changing myself."
Back in the cottage, Sachiko signaled to Yukiko that the mini
was not today, and started to untie her obi. She tried to blame
her dejected gesture on the heat. She would say nothing about the
unpleasant details to either Yukiko or Koi-san. Since she was only
making herself unhappy, for today at least she would forget.
Tomorrow was another day, and this evening they could hunt
fireflies. It was not Sachiko's nature to brood, and she set to work
mending her spirits. Even so she felt a clutching at her heart as
she looked at Yukiko, unaware of what had happened. With a show
of jauntiness, she took out an informal summer kimono.
Etsuko was suspicious. "Are you wearing that to the firefly hunt,
Mother?"
"I am feeling just a little warm." Sachiko reached to hang up
the discarded kimono.

ss'ss^sss'sssss^sssss^^sssssssq^sq)

4

the house was a strange one, but it was probably less the strange
house than sheer exhaustion that kept Sachiko awake. She had
gotten up early, she had been rocked and jolted by train and
automobile through the heat of the day, and in the evening she
had chased over the fields with the children, two or three miles
at least. But she knew that the firefly hunt would be good to remember.
She had seen firefly hunts only on the puppet, stage,
Miyuki and Komazawa murmuring of love as they sailed down
the River Uji, and, as Taeko had said, one should put on a
long-sleeved kimono, a smart summer print, and run across the
evening fields with the wind at one's sleeves, lightly taking up a
firefly here and there with one's fan. Sachiko was enchanted with
the picture.
The firefly hunt was in fact rather different. If you are going to
play in the fields, you had better change clothes, said Mrs. Sugano,
542 1 Mt. 1V1AK1UKA OlSlt.K;)

laying out four muslin kimonos--prepared especially for them?--
each with a different pattern, as became their several ages. Not
quite the way it looked in the pictures, laughed Taeko. In the
dark, however, it hardly mattered what they had on. They could
still see each other's faces when they left the house, but by the
time they reached the river it was almost pitch dark. "The river"
was actually no more than a ditch through the paddies, a little
wider than most ditches, with plumes of grass bending from either
bank and almost closing off the water. A bridge was still faintly
visible a hundred yards or so ahead.
They turned off the flash lights and approached in silence.
Fireflies dislike noise and light. But even at the edge of the river
there were no fireflies. "Maybe they are not out tonight," someone
whispered. "No, there are plenty of them. Come over here."
Down into the grasses on the bank, and there, in the delicate
moment before the last light goes, were fireflies, gliding out over
the water, in low arcs like the sweep of the grasses. On down the
river, and on and on, were fireflies, lines of them wavering out
from this bank and the other and back again, sketching their uncertain
tracks of light down close to the surface of the water,
hidden from outside by the grasses. In the last moment of light,
with the darkness creeping up from the water and the moving
plumes of grass still faintly outlined, there, far as the river stretched
--an infinite number of little lines in two long rows on either side,
quiet, unearthly. Sachiko could see it all even now, here inside
with her eyes closed. Surely that was the impressive moment of the
evening, the moment that made the firefly hunt worthwhile.
A firefly hunt has none of the radiance of a cherry-blossom party.
Dark, dreamy, rather--might one say? Perhaps something of the
child's world, the world of the fairy story in it. Something not to
be painted, but set to music, the mood of it taken up on piano or
koto. And while she lay with her eyes closed, the fireflies, out there
along the river, all through the night, were flashing on and off,
silent, numberless. Sachiko felt a surging inside her, as though she
were joining them, soaring and dipping along the surface of the
water, cutting her own uncertain track of light.
It was rather a long little river, as she thought about it, that
they had followed after those fireflies. Now and then they crossed
a bridge over or back, taking care not to fall in, and watching for
,/^/^1-V	JL I l-l V/V^
343



snakes with eyes like fireflies. Six-year-old Sosuke ran ahead in
the darkness, thoroughly familiar with the ground. His father, who
was guiding them, called uneasily after him, "Sosuke, Sosuke."
No one worried about frightening the fireflies, there were so many,
and unless they called out to one another, they were in danger
of being separated, drawn apart in the darkness by fireflies. Sachiko
and Yukiko were left alone on one bank. From the other, now
brought in clear and now blotted out by the wind, came Etsuko's
call, "Koi-san, Koi-san," and Taeko's answer. There was something
child-like in the sport, and when it came to child-like things
Taeko was the most enthusiastic of the sisters. Etsuko always
joined forces with her.
Even now, here inside, Sachiko could hear the voices, blown
across the river. "Mother--where are you. Mother?" "Over here."
"And Yukiko?" "She is here too." "I have twenty-four already."
"Well, be sure not to fall in the river."
Sugano pulled up some grass along the path and tied it into
something like a broom. To keep fireflies in, he said. There are
places famous for fireflies, like Moriyama in Omi, or the outskirts
of Gifu, but the fireflies there are protected, saved for important
people. No one cares how many you take here. Sugano himself took
more than anyone. The two of them, father and son, went boldly
to the edge of the water, and Sugano's bunch of grass became a
jeweled broom. Sachiko and the rest began to wonder when he
might be ready to think of going back. "The wind is a little cold--
do you think perhaps". . . "But we are on the way back. We are
going back by a different road." On they walked. It was farther
than they had thought. And then they were at Suganos' back
gate, everyone with a few captured fireflies, Sachiko and Yukiko
with fireflies in their sleeves.
The events of the day passed through Sachiko's mind in no
particular order. She opened her eyes. She could have been
dreaming. Above her head, in the light of the tiny night bulb,
she saw the framed motto she had noticed earlier in the day:
the words "Pavilion of Timelessness," written in large characters
and signed by one Keido. Sachiko had no idea who Keido might
be. A flicker of light moved across the room. A firefly, repelled by
the mosquito incense, was hunting a way out. They had turned
their fireflies loose in the garden, and they had been careful to
344 1 HE, 1V1AK1UKA OJ.Sir.Ra

chase the last from the house before closing the shutters for the
night. Where might this one have been hiding? In a final burst
of energy, it soared five or six feet into the air, and glided across
the room to light on Sachiko's kimono, spread on the clothes
rack. Moving over the printed pattern and into the sleeve, it
flickered on through the dark blue-gray cloth. The incense in the
badger-shaped burner was beginning to hurt Sachiko's throat. She
got up to put it out, and, while she was up, moved on to see to the
firefly. Carefully she took it up in a piece of paper--the idea of
touching it repelled her--and pushed it through a slot in the
shutter. There were almost no fireflies left (had they gone back to
the river?) of the scores that had flickered through the shrubbery
and along the edge of the lake earlier in the evening. The garden
was lacquer-black.
Still Sachiko tossed, listening to the breathing of the other three.
They were apparently asleep. Taeko lay next to her, and Yukiko
and Estuko on the other side of the room. Someone was snoring
gently. Yukiko, she decided. A slight, delicate little snore.
"Are you awake?" It was Taeko.
"I have not slept a wink."
"Neither have I."
"You were awake all the time?"
"Because of the strange house. I never can sleep in a strange
house."
"Yukiko at least is asleep. Listen to the snoring."
"Like a cat's purring."
"Exactly. Bell might snore that way."
"But how can she be so calm, with the miai tomorrow?"
When it came to sleeping, thought Sachiko, Yukiko was sounder
than Taeko. Taeko was an extraordinarily light sleeper, awake at
the slightest disturbance, whereas Yukiko could sleep sitting up on
a train. Yukiko was surprisingly sound in many ways.
"He is coming here?"
"At eleven. We are to have lunch together."
"What shall I do?"
"You and Etsuko are being taken to Sekigahara. The three of us
will meet him."
"Have you told Yukiko?"
"I did mention it a little while ago."
dook i nree 345

Sachiko had not been rid of Etsuko long enough to talk to
Yukiko, though the two of them were alone those few moments
on the far bank of the river. "Tomorrow is the mini," Sachiko
said. Yukiko gave her usual vague answer and Sachiko could
think of no way to begin again. And as Taeko pointed out,
Yukiko, with her quiet snoring, did not seem in the least upset.
"I suppose when you have been through as many miai as
Yukiko, you learn not to worry."
"I suppose so," answered Taeko. "But she could be just a little
more helpful."

5

"your mother and Yukiko have been to Sekigahara any number
of times, but Koi-san was very young and would like to see it
again. Suppose you go off with Koi-san, then, and we will be
waiting here for you."
Etsuko knew that something was afoot. Usually she would
have whined and coaxed to have Yukiko go with her, but this time
she set out quietly in a cab with Taeko, Sosuke and his father,
and the old man who had charge of the lunch. In the Pavilion of
Timelessness, Sachiko helped Yukiko dress. Soon Tsuneko came
to tell them that the gentleman had arrived.
They were led to the fartherest part of the house and into
a large, old-fashioned room with low paper-paneled windows.
From the wide boards of the veranda, polished to a dark luster,
they looked out at the garden on which only the one room
fronted, at the tiles of the memorial hall through the fresh green of
the old maple tree, at the luxuriant growth of rushes between the
pomegranate in bloom by the veranda and the shiny black stones
along the pond. Sachiko asked herself whether there had always
been this room and this garden, and memories began to come
back. She wondered if it was not in this very room that they
had slept when they first visited the house twenty years before.
The cottage had not yet been built. She had forgotten everything
340 1 lit. 1V1AK1UKA ^1&1Ģ.K&

else, but she remembered the rushes, the thin green stems all
across the forepart of the garden like lines of rain in the air.
Sawazaki was introducing himself to Mrs. Sugano. When all
the introductions were finished, he took his place at the head of
the table. Sachiko and Yukiko faced the garden and Mrs. Sugano
was at the foot of the table opposite Sawazaki. Before sitting
down, he turned to examine a scroll hanging in the alcove above
the flower arrangement, lilies in a metal vase. The sisters had a
chance to study him from the rear: a small, thin gentleman whom
they would have taken for the forty-four or forty-five he was said
to be, and whose complexion suggested a glandular disorder. His
way of speaking, his bow, his gestures were all quite ordinary, and
there was no hint of ostentation in his dress. In comparison with
Sachiko and Yukiko he was even a little too carelessly dressed:
a brown suit not quite bulging, but worn a little thin here and
there; a silk shirt yellowed from repeated launderings; silk socks
the stripes of which were beginning to fade--all evidence that
he was not taking the midi seriously, and at the same time that
he lived a most frugal life.
"A fine Seigan1 piece," he said, whether or not he had finished
reading the poem on the scroll. "I understand you have a great
many."
Mrs. Sugano giggled modestly, and her face softened. This was
the flattery that worked best. "I am told that my husband's
grandfather studied calligraphy under Seigan."
For a time the two discussed historical and artistic matters:
the Sugano family had several pieces by Seigan's wife Koran,
screens and fans and the like, as well as several pieces by that
Ema Saiko who was famous as a lady disciple of the poet and
scholar Rai Sanyo. There had apparently been intercourse between
the Suganos and the Emas, who were physicians to the head
of the Ogaki clan, and Mrs. Sugano still owned a letter from
Saiko's father. When the talk turned to Sanyo's love for Saiko,
his days in this province of Mino, and Saiko's posthumous
Chinese poems, Sawazaki had much to say. Mrs. Sugano, though
her answers were short, gave evidence that she was not ill informed
herself.

1 Yanagawa Seigan (1789-1858) was a poet in the Chinese style.

door i nree 347 ____

"My husband was very fond of a bamboo ink wash by Saiko. He
used to bring it out for guests, and he talked so much of Saiko that
in the end I remembered everything myself."
"Mr. Sugano had very good taste. I used to play chess with him,
and he asked me several times to come for a look at the new
cottage. I've often thought I would trouble you to show me his
collection."
"I would have liked you to see the cottage today, but these
ladies are staying there."
"It is a beautiful room." Sachiko saw her opportunity to enter
the conversation. "So quiet, off in the garden by itself, really
much better then a special suite in the best hotel."
Again Mrs. Sugano laughed modestly. "It is hardly that good.
But please stay and enjoy it as long as you can. My husband in
his last years came to like quiet places more and more. He spent
almost all his time out in the cottage."
"And how did you choose the name?" asked Sachiko.
"Suppose we ask Mr. Sawazaki. He will know more about it
than I do." Mrs. Sugano seemed to be examining Sawazaki in the
classics.2
"Well . . ." Sawazaki was obviously uncomfortable.
"Might it be something about a Chinese woodcutter?" Mrs.
Sugano suggested.
"It might, I suppose." There was by now a distinct frown on
his face.
Mrs. Sugano laughed and gave up the interrogation. A strangely
perverse laugh, it rather chilled the conversation.
Tsuneko poured sake from a green porcelain decanter for
Sawazaki and then for the others.
Mrs. Sugano had said that Tsuneko would cook lunch, but most
of the lunch seemed to have come from a caterer. In such warm
weather, Sachiko would have preferred fresh vegetables cooked at
home to an uninteresting meal from a country caterer. She tried
a bit of the sea bream and found it soft and pulpy. Extremely
sensitive to the good and bad in sea bream, she hastily washed it

2 The name of the garden cottage is literally "Pavilion of the Rotted Axe-
handle," a reference to a Chinese woodcutter the handle of whose axe rotted
as he stood watching a supernatural chess game.

348 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA 5ISTEKS

down with sake, and laid her chopsticks aside for a time. Only
the trout seemed really edible, and they were not from a caterer:
she gathered that Sawazaki had brought them on ice.
"Suppose you try the trout, Yukiko."
Since it was her unfortunate question that had spoiled the
conversation, Sachiko wanted to make amends. She found
Sawazaki thoroughly unapproachable, however, and in desperation
she turned to her sister. Yukiko had been looking at the floor
since they came in. She only nodded.
"Yukiko is fond of trout?" asked Mrs. Sugano.
Yukiko nodded again, and Sachiko answered for her. "We are
all fond of trout, and Yukiko more than anyone."
"How nice. We didn't know what to offer you, way out here
in the country. And then Mr. Sawazaki brought the trout."
"We don't often see such beautiful trout," said Tsuneko.
"And packed in all that ice. You must have been loaded down.
Where did you say they were taken?"
"In the Nagara River." Sawazaki was feeling better. "I telephoned
Gifu last night and had them brought to the station."
"What a great deal of trouble."
"And so thanks to you we have our first trout of the year,"
said Sachiko.
Though the conversation moved a little more smoothly and there
was desultory talk of famous spots in Gifu Prefecture--the
Japan Rhine, Gero Spa, the Waterfall of Filial Piety--and of the
firefly hunt, it required a great effort to string the pieces together.
Sachiko, who could always drink, would as soon have had more
sake. There was some excuse for Tsuneko's not having noticed,
with the guests rather far apart in the large room and with but
one man among them, and the weather was too warm for much
sake. Still it seemed a little extreme that Mrs. Sugano and
Yukiko should have their first cups cooling before them, and
Sachiko should have had an empty cup since she washed down
that piece of sea bream. Concentrating on Sawazaki, Tsuneko had
decided that the women could take care of themselves. Perhaps
Sawazaki was not in a drinking mood, perhaps he was being
reticent, perhaps he was not much of a drinker. In any case, he
allowed his cup to be filled only once in three times Tsuneko
presented the decanter. He could not in the end have drunk more
door i nree 349

than two or three cups. All through the meal he sat with the stiffest
formality, almost like a soldier at attention.
"Are you ever in Osaka or Kobe, Mr. Sawazaki?"
"Never in Kobe. I do go to Osaka once or twice a year."
Unable to keep from wondering why this millionaire had agreed
to the mini, Sachiko was on the watch for defects. Nothing so far
had struck her as especially peculiar, though it was a little comical
to see how he hated to be asked something he did not know the
answer to. He hardly needed to pout--but maybe such was the
nature of rich men. The prominent veins along the bridge of his
nose, just below the eyebrows, suggested a quick temper. And
there was something a little furtive about the man (was it
Sachiko's imagination?), something a little effeminate, brooding,
even timid, about the cast of his features. She could see how little
interest he had in the mini. She had noticed that he turned a
searching eye on Yukiko several times during his conversation
with Mrs. Sugano. Afterwards that dark, cold glance scarcely
bothered with her at all. Mrs. Sugano and Tsuneko being at
great pains to bring the two together, Sawazaki would occasionally
say a word or two to Yukiko--and promptly turn to someone
else. Yukiko's monosyllabic answers were partly to blame, but
there could be little doubt that he was not pleased with her.
Sachiko concluded that the principal reason was that left eye. In
spite of Sachiko's hopes that the spot would have faded, it was only
darker today. Yukiko had started to put on her usual thick powder,
and Sachiko had had to restrain her--was it not just a little too
thick? Sachiko had tried various tricks, adding a touch of rouge
and thinning the powder, but there was no hiding the spot. Mrs.
Sugano and Tsuneko gave no sign that they noticed. Yukiko was
seated on Sawazaki's right, however, and the brilliant early-summer
light set the mark off sharply. Her own indifference helped a. little:
she behaved as though the spot were the most natural thing in
the world, nothing to be apologetic or embarrassed about; but
Sachiko, sure that it was darker than the day before, did not see
how she could leave her sister exposed much longer.
"I am awfully sorry, but I have to think about train time."
Sawazaki stood up abruptly when lunch was over, and Sachiko
thanked him from the bottom of her heart.
6

"Now that you are here, you must stay another night. Tomorrow
is Sunday, and we can have someone show you the Waterfall of
Filial Piety. You remember we talked about it at lunch."
But the sisters refused politely. As soon as Etsuko and Taeko
were back, they began getting ready for the 3:09 train, which
would have them in Gamagori at five-thirty. Though it was a
Saturday afternoon, the second-class car was almost empty. They
found seats together, and the exhaustion from the day before
overtook them. No one felt like talking. The car was oppressive
and sticky in weather that announced the coming of the rainy
season. Sachiko and Yukiko dozed off, and Taeko and Etsuko
turned in a companionable way to the weekly magazines.
"Etsuko, your fireflies are running away." Taeko took up the
firefly cage that hung by the window, and set it in Etsuko's lap.
The old man at the Sugano house had made Etsuko a cage to
take along, a tin can with gauze stretched over the open top and
bottom. The gauze had come loose, and one or two fireflies were
crawling out.
"Let me do it for you." Etsuko was having trouble with the
cord around the gauze. By shading the cage, one could see the
green light of the fireflies even in the daytime. Taeko peered inside.

"Look, look." She passed it back to Etsuko. "You have lots of
things besides fireflies."
Etsuko took her turn. "Spiders, Koi-san, spiders!"
"You are right." Tiny, rather engaging spiders about the size
of grains of rice were trailing after the fireflies. Suddenly, Taeko
jumped up with a shriek and dropped the can in the seat. Sachiko
and Yukiko opened their eyes.
"What is it, Koisan?"
"Spiders, big spiders!" There were enormous spiders among the
little ones. All four were aroused by now.
"Throw it away somewhere, Koisan."
Boofe Three 351

Taeko picked the can up gingerly and threw it to the floor.
A grasshopper jumped out.
"Poor fireflies." Etsuko looked mournfully at the can.
"Let me take care of your spiders." A man of perhaps fifty--
he had on a kimono and seemed to be from the country near by--
had been watching with amusement from diagonally across the
aisle. "Give me a hairpin or something." Sachiko gave him a hairpin,
and he took out each spider and stamped on it. There was a
little grass mixed in with the crushed spiders, but not many fireflies
escaped. "Several of them are dead. Miss," he said, tilting the
can from side to side when he had retied the gauze. "Take it to
the bathroom and sprinkle it."
"Wash your hands while you are there, Etsuko. Fireflies are
poisonous."
"And they smell." Etsuko sniffed at her hands. "Like grass."
"Don't throw the dead ones away, young lady. They make good
medicine."
"For what?" asked Taeko.
"Keep them and dry them, and then mix them with rice and
put them on cuts and burns."
"Really? And does that help?"
"I haven't tried myself, but they tell me it does."
Sachiko and the rest had never been through this part of the
country except on an express, and it bored them to have the train
stop politely at little stations they had not known existed. The
way from Gifu to Nagoya seemed interminable. Soon Sachiko and
Yukiko had dozed off again. "Nagoya, Mother. Look at the castle,
Yukiko." Etsuko set about waking them up. Opening their eyes
long enough to see the new passengers, they were asleep again
before the train was out of Nagoya. They did not notice that it had
begun to rain and that Yukiko had closed the window. The car
being even stuffier with all the windows closed, most of the other
passengers were soon dozing off with them. A young army officer
across the aisle some four seats ahead began singing Schubert's
"Serenade."

"Softly flows my serenade
Through the night to you. . . ."
_____352 ___________T^^ makioka sisters

There was nothing boisterous about the singing. Sachiko, opening
her eyes, thought someone had brought a phonograph. Though
they could see only the back of the uniform and part of the face,
they knew that the officer was young, still in his twenties, and
shy. He had been aboard at Ogaki, and they had not yet seen his
face--even when, in their troubles with the fireflies, they had the
attention of the whole car. He evidently was proud of his voice.
Still it was a little strained, as if he were aware of the pretty
ladies behind him. When he had finished he looked at the floor
for a time, and began Goethe's "Wild Rose" to the Schubert
setting.

"A boy once found a wild, red rose.
Rose upon the heath. . . ."

Sachiko knew the songs from a German movie called "Unfinished
Symphony." One of the sisters, they did not know which,
was soon humming with the young officer. As their voices grew
louder someone joined in with the harmony. The officer's neck
was scarlet. His voice was louder, and had a distinct tremor. Their
seats being a convenient distance away, the sisters sang on quite
as the spirit took them. When the concert was over, a startling
silence fell over the car. The officer looked bashfully at the floor,
and at Okazaki he fled from the car.
"And we never saw his face," said Taeko.
This was Sachiko's first trip to Gamagori. She had heard a great
deal about the Tokiwa Inn from Teinosuke, who made a trip
or two a month to Nagoya, and who often said that he must take
them all to the Tokiwa some time. He was sure that Etsuko in
particular would enjoy it. They had made all their plans two or
three times before, but always something had come up. It was
Teinosuke's idea that they should now go to Gamagori without
him. He was always too busy to keep them company even when
he was in Nagoya, he said, and this would be their chance. He
telephoned for reservations. Sachiko, who had learned to travel
without her husband on the trip to Tokyo the autumn before, was
childishly pleased with her new boldness and most eager to make
the trip. When she reached the inn, she felt even more grateful to
her husband. The miai had left a bad taste that would have stayed
with her had she said goodbye to Yukiko in Ogaki, and aside
Book Three 353

from her own unhappiness, it would have been too cruel to send
Yukiko forlornly off to Tokyo after such an experience. Teinosuke's
idea had been a splendid one indeed. Sachiko was determined not
to let herself think about what had happened, and she was greatly
relieved to see that Yukiko--with Taeko and Etsuko--meant to
enjoy herself. The rain had stopped, and they had a beautiful
Sunday. As Teinosuke had expected, the games at the inn and
the scenery along the coast, everything about the place in fact,
delighted Etsuko. Still more pleasing to Sachiko, enough to make
the trip really worth-while, was the bright, placid Yukiko, no longer
in the least disturbed about what had happened the day before.
In Gamagori Station at about two the next afternoon, they
boarded trains that passed within fifteen minutes of each other,
one for Tokyo, the other for Osaka.
Yukiko took a local train after seeing the others off. Never
having travelled such a distance on a local, she expected to be
bored, but it had seemed a nuisance to order an express ticket
and change at Toyohashi. She had a volume of short stories by
Anatole France to keep her company. Too listless to know what
she was reading, she put the book down and looked absentmindedly
out the window. She was feeling the strain of the last
two days, and she was suffering a reaction from the gaiety of but
a short time before. And now she would have to spend several
months in Tokyo. She had been so long in Ashiya that she had begun to think she might escape having to go back, and here she was,
deposited by herself on a slow train in a strange country station.
"See me off as far as Ashiya," Etsuko had said, half jokingly.
Even as she dismissed the remark with a promise to come again
soon, Yukiko had for a moment thought seriously of going back
with them and putting off her return to Tokyo.
The second-class car being even emptier than the day before,
she had a whole section to herself, but her neck was so stiff that
she could hardly move, and she would doze off only to wake up
again. In a half hour or so she was wide awake. For some time
she had noticed a gentlemen across the aisle four or five seats
away. She had opened her eyes because she sensed that he was
staring at her. As she sat up in some confusion and slipped her
feet into her sandals, the man turned to look out the window, but
something seemed to be on his mind. Before long he was stealing
354 the makioka sisters

glances at her again. At first rather annoyed, Yukiko began to
wonder if he might not have his reasons. She began to feel that
she had seen him before. About forty, he was wearing an open-
necked shirt and a gray suit with white stripes. He was small and
thin and he had a swarthy complexion; his hair was neatly combed,
and all in all his appearance suggested the rustic gentleman of
means. At first he had been sitting with his chin on his hands,
which were folded over the handle of the umbrella between his
knees. Now he was leaning back. There was a new white Panama
hat in the rack over his head. Who was he, why could she not remember?
The man seemed to be asking the same questions. He
would look away when she glanced in his direction and look back
again when she was not watching. She could not remember knowing
anyone in Toyohashi, where he had boarded the train--and
then she thought of that Mr. Saigusa whom her brother-in-law
had suggested as a possible husband more than ten years before.
Saigusa had belonged to a well-to-do Tovohashi family, there was
no doubt about it, nor could there be much doubt that this was he.
Displeased with the man's rustic appearance and what she took
to be evidence of scant intelligence and learning, Yukiko had
brushed aside Tatsuo's suggestion and insisted on having her own
way. The man was as rustic as ever. He was not especially unattractive,
and, old beyond his years even then, he had not aged
much, but his country air was even more pronounced. Because
of it Yukiko was able to call up that particular face from all the
dimly remembered faces in all the dimly remembered miai. The
man apparently began to suspect the truth at about the time she
recognized him. He turned abruptly to the window. But he still did
not seem convinced. Taking care to choose moments when Yukiko
was not looking, he would now and then steal a sidelong glance at
her. She had met him several times at the main house in Osaka,
and, determined as he had been to marry her, he should not have
forgotten her even if she had forgotten him. What was puzzling
him, perhaps, was that she had changed so little since the miai,
and that she was as youthfully dressed as she had been that day.
Even so it was not pleasant to be stared at. What if he knew how
many miai there had been since, what if he knew that just
yesterday there had been another, and that she was on her way
home from it? She shuddered at the thought. And unhappily, she

Boofe Three _____________________355_____

was wearing a less radiant kimono than that of two days before,
and she had been rather careless with her make-up. Knowing that
she showed the wear of travel more than most people, she wanted
to retouch her face, but she thought it would be a sign of weakness
to walk down the aisle past the man, or to steal a look at the
mirror in her compact. He was probably not on his way to Tokyo,
since it was a local train. At each station she hoped that he would
get off. At Fujieda he stood up and took his Panama hat from the
rack. After a last look at her, quite open this time, he turned to
leave the train.
Thoughts of that mini and all that happened before and after
chased through her tired mind. Had it been 1927? No, 1928
seemed more likely. She must have been about twenty. And was
that her first miai? Why had she taken such a dislike to the man?
Tatsuo tried every argument: the Saigusa family was one of the
wealthiest in Toyohashi; the man was the oldest son; Yukiko
would want for nothing; it was too good a match for what the
Makioka family had become; and now that the discussions had
come so far Tatsuo's position would be most difficult if she were
to refuse. But Yukiko went on shaking her head, and her reason
was more than the man's dull manner: though they had been told
that he had been unable to go on to school because of illness,
they knew that his poor record in the middle school was in fact
responsible; and even as the wife of a wealthy man, Yukiko
thought, it would be dreary to rust away in a little city like
Toyohashi. Sachiko, who quite agreed with her, protested even
more strongly. It would be unbearably sad to send poor Yukiko
off to the back country. Then too, without saying so even to each
other, they wanted to annoy Tatsuo. His foster father but recently
dead, Tatsuo had begun to flex his muscles. All three sisters,
Taeko with the others, had been most annoyed at the way he
seemed to think he only needed to use force. They had formed a
league of three to show him how mistaken he was. What angered
Tatsuo most of all was Yukiko's refusal to give a definite answer
until he had gone almost beyond retreating. Then, suddenly, she
became stubborn. To his reproaches, she replied that young girls
preferred not to express themselves openly on such matters, and
that he should have known from her manner whether or not she
wanted to marry the man. Even so, she could not deny that, in part,
356 the makioka sisters

she had been thinking of the fact that an executive in Tatsuo's
bank was acting as go-between. She purposely made her answers
evasive to embarrass her brother-in-law. Through no fault of his
own, the man Saigusa thus became ammunition for a family
quarrel. Yukiko had neither thought nor heard of him since. No
doubt he had several children by now. And what if she had
married the rustic gentleman? More than sour grapes, she was
sure, made her know that she would not have been happy. If he
spent his life on slow trains between one out-of-the-way little
station and another, she could not believe that she would have
been happy with him. Her decision had been the right one.
Reaching the Shibuya house at about ten that night, she said
nothing of the encounter to either Tatsuo or Tsuruko.

7

sachiko had much to think about on the train back to Osaka.
More than of pleasant things--the firefly hunt two evenings before,
the night and morning in Gamagori--she found herself
thinking of the forlorn figure they had just left in Gamagori, of
that thin face, the dark spot over the eye as prominent as ever.
With the face and figure came back all the impressions of the
unhappy miai. She did not know how many times in the last
ten years she had seen Yukiko through a miai. Counting informal
meetings, she thought five or six would probably be too modest
an estimate. Never before had the Makiokas been so humbled.
Always they had felt that the advantage was with them, that the
other side was courting their favor--always it had been their role
to judge the man and find him lacking. This time their position
had been weak from the start. They should have refused when the
first letter came, and they had begun to retreat then, and
Sachiko had retreated again when there was still some possibility
of refusing. She had, in the end, gone through with the miai
out of deference to Tatsuo and Mrs. Sugano. Why then had she

Book Three 357

felt so intimidated? Always before she had displayed Yukiko
proudly, a sister of whom she need never be ashamed, and yesterday
she had trembled each time Sawazaki looked at Yukiko. There
was no evading the fact that Sawazaki had been the examiner and
they the examined. That fact alone was enough to make Sachiko
feel that she and Yukiko had been insulted as never before. What
weighed even more on her mind, however, and quite refused to
leave her was the thought that Yukiko carried a blemish. A blemish
hardly worth considering, perhaps, but there it was nonetheless.
They might as well forget about this miai. What of future ones?
Something must be done about that mark over the eye. Could it
be removed, and did it not make Yukiko's prospects even worse?
Or had the mark been especially dark yesterday, and conditions--
the light, the angle--impossibly bad? One thing was certain: they
would no longer enter a miai with the old feeling of superiority.
From now on it would be as yesterday: Sachiko would tremble as
she saw her sister exposed to the stare of the prospective husband.
Evidently guessing that this silence was more than a sign of
fatigue, Taeko gave herself up to her own thoughts.
"What happened yesterday?" she asked in a low voice, taking
advantage of a moment when Etsuko had gone to water the fireflies.

Sachiko did not want to talk. After a minute or two, as though
she suddenly remembered that a question had been put to her,
she answered: "It was over in a great hurry."
"And what will come of it?"
"Well, you remember how the train broke down."
Sachiko fell silent again, and Taeko asked no more questions.
Though she gave Teinosuke a general account of what had
happened, Sachiko did not go into all the unpleasant details. The
thought of living them again was too much for her. The man was
certain to refuse, said Teinosuke, and they might take the initiative
and refuse first, before they were made fools of. But that
was only talk. They had to think of their relations with Mrs.
Sugano and the main house; and in secret Sachiko still held out a
hope that somehow, perhaps . . .
Before they had time to make their plans--almost as if to chase
Sachiko home--a letter came from Mrs. Sugano.
_____ 3;8 ____________ the makioka sisters

June 13
dear sachiko:
It was good of you to come all the way out into the
country. I fear we did nothing to entertain you, and I hope you
will forgive us and come again, possibly for the mushrooms this
fall.
I am enclosing a letter I received today from Mr. Sawawki.
Nothing but trouble has come of my feeble efforts. I have no
apology, and I can only repeat that I hope you will forgive me.
Upon asking an acquaintance in Nagoya to investigate, my son
was yesterday informed by letter that whatever desires there might
be on the other side, there was some doubt as to what you
yourselves would be thinking.
It is in any case not a particularly fine match, and I am
only sorry to have brought you all this distance for nothing. Please
pass this on to Miss Yu&i&o.
Sincerely yours,
sugano yasu

This letter was enclosed from Sawazaki:

June 12

my DEAR mrs. sugano:
I was happy to find you well in this gloomy weather.
Thank you very much indeed for your troubles of day before
yesterday.
About Miss Makioka: since, upon conference, we have
concluded that the answer must be negative, I should be most
grateful if you would so inform her. I am answering immediately
lest I cause you further trouble.
Thank you again for your kindness.
Sincerely yours,
sawazaki hiroshi

These two oddly formal notes added to the unpleasantness in
a number of ways. The Makiokas were, for the first time, being
told they had failed an examination. For the first time they
were branded the losers. Prepared though they had been in advance,
the tone of the letters annoyed them, as did Mrs. Sugano's
way of ending the negotiations. It did no good to complain, of

Book Three 359

course, but Sawazaki's letter was written in pen and ink on a sheet
of very ordinary paper (the earlier letter to Mrs. Sugano had been
in brush on more elegant paper). Although he said that the
decision had been reached "upon conference," he could probably
have given his answer the day of the miai. Be that as it may, he
was not writing to the Makiokas, and could he not have thought
of a less stiffly formal way to explain his reasons to Mrs. Sugano?
Aside from the enormity of calling people a great distance only to
reply that "the answer must be negative," was it not an insult to
the Sugano family not to give an explanation? "Since ... we
have concluded." And what was that "since"? "Upon conference,"
he said, and he seemed to mean: "I have talked the matter over
with my relatives and we have decided that it is no match." Such
perhaps was the way with millionaires. That glib "since" clause
made them yet unhappier. What could Mrs. Sugano have had in
mind, enclosing the letter? If they had not known what Sawazaki
said, it need not have worried them. Why then had she found it
necessary to show them a letter that was not even addressed to
them? There may have been nothing in it that disturbed her. But
one could have expected of a woman her age that she quietly tuck
it away and report the failure of the negotiations so as not to hurt
the Makiokas. It was little comfort to have a forced explanation
tacked on. "My son was yesterday informed by letter that whatever
desires there might be on the other side, there was some doubt as
to what you yourselves would be thinking. It is in any case not a
particularly fine match." Though without doubt Mrs. Sugano
belonged to an old and well-placed family, Sachiko and Teinosuke
had to conclude that she was an insensitive rustic who simply
did not understand the feelings of the city-dweller. It had been
their mistake to be drawn into marriage negotiations managed by
such a person. And the main responsibility rested with the main
house in Tokyo. The Ashiya house had gone into the negotiations
because they trusted Tatsuo. Should not Tatsuo, presumably familiar
with his sister's disposition, have done a little preliminary
investigating, and determined for himself just what the prospects
were? The important thing was Mrs. Sugano's kindness; to ignore it
would be to put Tatsuo in a difficult position--the details would
come later. So Tsuruko had said in her letter. Had it not been
irresponsible of Tatsuo to have Mrs. Sugano's message relayed to

____ 360 the makioka sisters

them without considering Yukiko's position and without bothering
to see whether or not Mrs. Sugano had investigated her candidate?
Teinosuke and Sachiko and Yukiko had been made unhappy to
no purpose whatsoever. It was possible to feel that they had all
been used to save face for Tatsuo. Whatever might be the effect
on Sachiko and himself, Teinosuke was secretly troubled lest the
affair lead to more unpleasantness between Tatsuo and Yukiko.
He could only be grateful that the two letters had been sent to
Sachiko and not to the Tokyo house. Sachiko followed his suggestion
and waited a couple of weeks before writing to Tsuruko.
At the end of her letter she spoke casually of word from Mrs.
Sugano that the negotiations with Sawazaki did not seem to be
going well. She hoped her sister would tell Yukiko in a tactful
way, she added, but the matter might as well be dropped.

i3s3s^>^<7s^'^s5s3s3s5s3s3s3s^s3^?s3s9s3s3s9s3s^

8

early in july Teinosuke had to spend two or three days in
Tokyo. Worried about Yukiko, he found time to visit the Shibuya
house. He did not see Tatsuo, but Tsuruko and Yukiko both
seemed in good spirits. Though he talked alone to Tsuruko while
Yukiko was out making ice cream, the question of the mva did not
come up. He thought the main house might have had some hint
from Mrs. Sugano of the reasons why Yukiko had not pleased the
man, but Tsuruko did not seem to want to discuss the miai.
Possibly no word had come; possibly she preferred to keep it secret.
She talked a great deal of how, since it would soon be the
twenty-second anniversary of her mother's death, they would all
have to go to Osaka for memorial services;1 and perhaps Yukiko's
unexpectedly good spirits were due to the fact that she could
count on returning to Ashiya soon.
They had decided, said Tsuruko, to move the day up from
September 25, the anniversary of her mother's death, to September

1 On certain anniversaries, memorial services have a special significance.

Hook I hree 361

24, a Sunday, and have services at the Zenkeiji Temple. She and
Tatsuo would therefore go to Osaka on Saturday, September 23.
The problem was which of the children to take. Six would be far
too many. Teruo, the oldest, would of course have to go, and
though they could leave behind the other three of school age,
Masao and Umeko would have to go too. And whom to put in
charge of the house? It would be ideal if Yukiko would agree to
stay in Tokyo, but one could hardly order her away from memorial
services for her own mother. They had no one else to ask,
there was nothing to do but leave the maid 0-hisa in charge. Did
he think it would be all right?--for only two or three days, after
all. There would be six of them in Osaka, then, and where should
they all stay? Probably at two houses. Six people would be more
than they could have descending on one house. Tsuruko would
ask to be put up in Ashiya. So she rambled on, worrying about an
event more than two months off.
Sachiko herself had been wondering what the main house
meant to do about the memorial services, and had thought of
writing to Tokyo before long. In December 1937, on the twelfth
anniversary of her father's death, Tatsuo had had simple services
in a Tokyo temple of the same sect as the Zenkeiji. The main
house had just that autumn moved to Tokyo and faced all the
problems of the new life, and it would not have been easy to
return to Osaka. Formal greetings and lacquer incense bowls
for memorial offerings were sent around to relatives: though
aware of the impropriety, Tatsuo meant to have memorial services
for the late Mr. Makioka in Tokyo; he would be delighted to see
anyone who happened to be in the city, but he could hardly ask
a special trip; and he hoped rather that everyone would visit the
Zenkeiji during the day. The reasons given were valid, and Sachiko
sensed too that Tatsuo, who knew how lavish services in Osaka
would have to be, feared the expense. Their father had been a
patron of the arts, and actors and geishas in considerable numbers
were present at services as late as the second anniversary. The
second-anniversary banquet at the Harihan Restaurant, complete
with professional entertainers, made one think of the Makioka
family at its most prosperous. His lesson learned, Tatsuo sent out
invitations for the sixth-anniversary services in 1931 to a small
and select circle, but many remembered and more heard by
_____ 362 ____________the makioka sisters

chance, and the modest plans for refreshments at the temple had
to be dropped in favor of another banquet at the Harihan. Although
there were those who rejoiced in the display ("Father
loved extravagance so, it is good to spend a little money on him--
think of it as filial piety"), Tatsuo complained that the question
was whether he should or should not spend beyond his means. The
Makioka fortune no longer being what it once was, the services
should have been more modest, as he was sure Mr. Makioka in
his grave would agree. Everything considered, it seemed likely that
he had special reasons for staying away from Osaka on the
twelfth anniversary. The family elders all criticized him severely:
what was this, not coming down from Tokyo for a parent's
memorial services? The people at the main house had become
wonderfully economical, it was true, but was not a memorial
service rather special? With Tsuruko caught in the cross fire,
Tatsuo's final excuse had been that he would make amends by
having the sixteenth anniversary services in Osaka. Sachiko had
therefore been wondering what he meant to do on this twenty-
second anniversary of her mother's death. It was less that the other
relatives would complain than that she herself would be most
dissatisfied if services were again held in Tokyo.
Tatsuo had no strong personal feelings in the matter, not
having known his mother-in-law. Sachiko's own feelings about her
mother were rather different from her feelings about her father.
Her father, who died of apoplexy in December, 1925, at the age
of fifty-four, had not lived an especially long life. Her mother's
life was short; she died in 1917 at the age of thirty-six. Sachiko herself
was just at that age, it occurred to her, and Tsuruko was already
two years older, and yet she remembered her mother as far
more beautiful than either herself or Tsuruko today. The circumstances
of her mother's illness and death had something to do with
the fact that Sachiko, fourteen at the time, saw her mother as
fresher and younger than she actually was. Though victims of
lung diseases often become repulsively pallid and emaciated,
Sachiko's mother preserved a strange charm to the end. Her
face, a cleaner white, took on no shadow, and her hands and
feet, thin though they were, still carried a warm glow. She
had fallen ill shortly after Taeko's birth. Sent at first to the seashore,
to Hamadera and Suma, she was finally moved to a little
Book Three 363

rented house in the hills at Minoo when it became evident that
the sea air only made her worse. Sachiko was allowed to see her
mother in the last years only once or twice a month, and then
for a very short time. She would find after she went home that the
image of the sick woman lingered on and on in her mind, joined
to the lonely sound of the waves or the wind in the pines, and
it was thus that she came to idealize her mother, and her mother's
image became the focus of her affections. Because the family
knew after the move to Minoo that the mother would not live
long, Sachiko's visits were not restricted as they had once been.
There was a telephone call one morning, and she was dead
shortly after Sachiko and the rest arrived at her bedside. The
autumn rain, which had been falling for several days, beat against
the glass doors at the veranda. The little garden sloped gently
off to a mountain stream and all down the slope autumn hagi,2
beginning to shed its blossoms, was pounded at by the rain. With
the water rising and people talking excitedly of a flood, the sound
of the rushing water was far stronger in their ears than the sound
of the rain. Sachiko would tremble as a stone in the bed of the
stream, grinding against another, shook the foundations of the
house, and she would wonder what to do if there should indeed
be a flood. But at the sight of the quiet, utterly tranquil face of
her mother going away as the morning dew, she quite forgot her
fears, and felt as though something cool had swept over her, as
though she were being drawn in by a vision and washed clean.
It was sadness that she felt, but a sadness divorced from the personal,
with a sort of musical pleasure in it, at the thought that
something beautiful was leaving the earth. Though they had
known that their mother would not live through the autumn, the
grief would have been scarcely endurable, the darkness far more
intense and persistent, had the dead face been less beautiful.
Sachiko's father, early addicted to pleasure, had been married
at the age of twenty-eight, rather late for the time, to a woman
nine years younger than himself. According to the family elders,
it was such a happy match that for a time he stopped going to
the teahouses. The two stood in complete contrast to each other,
the husband a lover of gaiety and lavishness, the wife, born of a
Kyoto merchant family, in every sense the fragile, self-effacing

2 Lespedeza japonica.

_____ 364 ____________the makioka sisters

Kyoto beauty. For all the contrast, people looked upon them as
a couple to be envied. But Sachiko had no memories from so
early a day. She remembered rather that her father was always
away chasing after his pleasures, and that her mother, the docile,
long-suffering townsman's wife, managed the house with no hint
of dissatisfaction. The addiction to pleasure, verging on debauchery,
only became more shameless with the mother's illness,
and yet Sachiko knew that it was the Kyoto beauty her father
liked best. He chose Kyoto more often than Osaka for his pleasures,
and he sometimes took Sachiko with him to a Kyoto teahouse.
And he loved Yukiko more than Taeko. No doubt he had
all sorts of reasons, but one must have been that of the four
sisters Yukiko most resembled her mother. Tsuruko too resembled
her mother, while Sachiko and Taeko were like their father. Although
Tsuruko's face reminded one of the Kyoto beauty, she
was tall and generously built, and quite without her mother's
fragile grace. Less than five feet tall--a woman of the last century
--the mother had had tiny hands and feet. The graceful fingers
reminded one of a delicately wrought miniature. Taeko, the
sliortest of the four daughters, was taller than her mother had
been, and Yukiko, an inch taller than Taeko, was rather large by
comparison, but she more than the others had inherited her
mother's good points. She had about her a sort of perfume to
remind one of her mother.
Sachiko heard of the memorial services only through her husband.
Nothing came directly from either Tsuruko or Yukiko until
tlie formal invitation arrived in mid-September. It struck her as
a little odd, on reading the invitation, that the main house meant
to move the sixteenth-anniversary services for her father up two
years and hold them at the same time. Teinosuke too was surprised--nothing
had been said in Tokyo of memorial services for
the father. But whatever Tsuruko might have had in mind, there
seemed little doubt that Tatsuo had meant from the start to combine
the two services. It was not unusual to move up services
for one parent or the other. Still Tatsuo, who had been criticized
for the inadequacy of the earlier services, had promised to make
amends when the sixteenth anniversary came. One could not deny,
if confronted with the argument, that times had changed and that
lavish display was improper in a national crisis, but if that was
Boofe Three_____________________ 36 ; _____

what worried Tatsuo, should he not have consulted the more
troublesome relatives? To wait until the last minute and
abruptly announce his decision--was it not a little tactless? The
invitation said simply that the family would be much honored if
such and such a person could be at the Zenkeiji Temple,
Shimodera-machi, Osaka, at ten o'clock on the morning of September 24,
for memorial services, the sixteenth and twenty-second
respectively, for the late Mr. and Mrs. Makioka. It was not until
some days later that Sachiko heard the details from Tsuruko over
the telephone: although they had had no such plans when
Teinosuke was in Tokyo, Tatsuo had suggested that it might be
well to have the father's services this year too, reckless spending
for memorial services being difficult to reconcile with National
Spiritual Mobilization; even so they had made the change in
plans only recently, after they had begun the invitations, and after
Tatsuo had decided that with a war on in Europe and no one able
to say how long Japan could stay out, and with the China Incident,
now in its third year, showing signs of becoming part of a
world war, they must economize and tighten their belts a bit
more; since there were to be so few guests they had not thought
engraved invitations necessary, and they had had to call in clerks
from the bank to help with the rewriting; there had been no time
for consultations, but Tsuruko did not think they would again
be criticized--and she agreed completely with her husband.
Wlien she had finished this elaborate chain of apologies and explanations,
she went on to tell of her own plans. She and Yukiko,
with Masao and Umeko, would take the Swallow Express on the
twenty-second. They hoped they might stay with Sachiko. Tatsuo
and Teruo would take a night train on Saturday, return on
Sunday night, and thus be no trouble to anyone. As for Tsuruko
herself, it had been two years since she was last in Osaka. Inasmuch
as she could leave the house in 0-hisa's hands this time and
did not know when she could leave home again, she would really
like to stay four or five days, but unfortunately she had to return
on the twenty-sixth at the very latest. What of refreshments, asked
Sachiko. Yes, refreshments--they had taken a room at the temple,
and they would have a caterer bring in lunch. She had
telephoned all the instructions to Shokichi, whose father was
taking care of the Osaka house. There were not likely to be

366 the makioka sisters

complications, but to make very sure, could Sachiko check again
with the temple and the caterer? Expecting some thirty-five guests,
she had ordered lunch and sake for forty. They might ask the wife
and daughter of the priest to warm the sake. They would have
to serve it themselves, however, and she hoped Sachiko would
be willing. Tsuruko, who rarely telephoned, talked on and on
when she did. She would think of something more and something
more that had to be said. Both Yukiko and Taeko would
be at the services. How embarrassing to have people see the two
of them, still unmarried. And what sort of presents should she
bring to the family? It was Sachiko who finally said: "I will see
you day after tomorrow, then."

^s^s^s^^sSs^s^^s^O'^^sJs^TsS^'^s^^y^O^S?'

9

the matter touched upon at the end of the conversation--that
it would be a trial to display the two sisters for whom husbands
had not been found--probably troubled both Tatsuo and Tsuruko.
One could see here another reason for their lack of enthusiasm.
Tatsuo had wanted to have at least Yukiko married before this
twenty-second anniversary--Yukiko, who was still "Miss" at thirty-
two, while all the younger cousins were married and some of them
mothers already. At the sixth-anniversary services in 1931, it had
not been easy for Tsuruko and Tatsuo to hear how Yukiko "had
not aged at all," and this time the discomfort would be still more
acute. True, Yukiko looked as young as ever, and she did not
seem in the least humiliated at having been overtaken and passed
by cousins. For that very reason people pitied her, and turned to
reproach the main house. What a shame that such a woman
should be so long unmarried; her dead mother and father must
be lamenting in their graves. A good half of the responsibility was
her own, thought Sachiko, who thoroughly sympathized with her
brother-in-law.
But she was upset at the thought of the approaching visit for
hoor l tiree 367

reasons that had nothing to do with Yukiko. There had been
another change in Taeko's affairs.
For a short time after Itakura's death, Taeko had seemed dazed
and apathetic. In a week or two, however, she had to all appearances
recovered. She had been stunned by the death of a man for
love of whom she had been prepared to brave all opposition, but
she was not one to brood. Soon back at sewing school, she was
as healthy and energetic as ever. Sachiko was Filed with admiration:
this time even Koi-san had been shaken, and it was fine
of her to show it so little. With all these projects of hers, said
Sachiko to Teinosuke, Koi-san could do things she herself could
never hope to imitate.
One day toward the middle of July, Sachiko had lunch with
Mrs. Kuwayama at her favorite Kobe sus/ii restaurant. Koisan
had just called to make reservations for two, said the old man.
Sachiko had no idea where she might have called from, since she
had left the house that morning, and had equally little idea who
the other person might be. Several times recently, added one of
the boys, Koi-san had been in with a gentleman. Startled, Sachiko
would have liked to hear more, but with Mrs. Kuwayama beside
her she could only smile and change the subject. And the truth
was that she was a little afraid to know who the man was. Leaving
Mrs. Kuwayama after lunch, she went to a French movie she
had seen once before. When she left the theater at five-thirty,
she could hardly keep herself from wandering back toward the
restaurant--Taeko would just then be arriving with her gentleman
friend. Instead, she went straight home.
A month later, toward the middle of August, Teinosuke,
Sachiko, Etsuko, and 0-haru went to see Kikugoro, playing that
month in Kobe. (Taeko rarely accepted Sachiko's invitations to
a play or a movie. She meant to go, she would say, but some
other time.) As they climbed from the taxi and started to cross
the street, Sachiko and 0-haru were held back by a red light. A
taxi passed, and they had a glimpse of Taeko and Okubata inside
--in the bright summer sunlight there could be no mistaking
them. Lost in conversation, they did not know they had been seen.
"0-haru, you are not to tell Mr. Makioka or Etsuko," said
Sachiko in consternation. Noting the change in Sachiko's expres-
368
1 HE MAKIOKA SISTERS


sion, 0-haru nodded with great seriousness and looked at the
ground. Sachiko deliberately held back. She wanted her heart to
be pounding a little less violently when she overtook Teinosuke
and Etsuko, a block or so ahead. Always in a crisis she felt the
tips of her fingers go cold. She clutched at 0-ham's hand.
"0-haru." She had to say something. "Have you heard rumors
about Koi-san? She hardly ever seems to be at home any more."
0-haru only nodded.
"If you know anything, please tell me. Are there telephone
calls from that man?"
"No calls--that I know of," said 0-haru with some hesitation.
After a pause, she muttered hastily: "Two or three times in
Nishinomiya . . ."
"You have seen him?"
"Him . . . and Koi-san too."
Sachiko said no more. After the first act she had a chance to
question 0-haru in the lobby. 0-haru had taken two weeks'
vacation the month before to nurse her father, who had been in
a Nishinomiya hospital after an operation for piles; and once or
twice every day she had had to go home for food and other supplies.
She always took the bus on the National Highway. Three
times she met Okubata, she said, once as she got off the bus, twice
while waiting for a bus. Each time Okubata took a bus in the
opposite direction, for Kobe. 0-haru thus crossed the road from
the south and waited on the mountain side of the road, and Okubata
came down through the mambo, crossed from the north,
and waited on the side toward the sea. (0-haru had used the word
mdmbo, an old dialect word that survives only in the Osaka
district. It describes a short tunnel, a sort of underpass, and it is
believed to have come originally from the Dutch. To the north
of 0-haru's bus stop was a railway embankment through which,
just behind the bus stop, had been cut a tunnel barely large
enough for one person to pass.) The first time she saw him, she
was wondering whether or not to speak when he smiled and
raised his hat. The second time neither bus came for some
minutes, and he strolled over for a chat. He seemed to run into
her often, he said, and asked what she might be doing in the
neighborhood. When she explained her business, he smiled and
said that she should call on him some time. He lived just over
cook i nree 3(39

there, he said, pointing through the mambo. Did she know the
Ipponmatsu, the Lone Pine? He lived just beside it--she would
have no trouble finding the house, and she really must come to
see him. Though he evidently had more to say, 0-haru's bus came
to cut him off. (0-haru, when she told a story, had a way of
mimicking the conversation that brought it vividly to life.) She
met him three times, always at about five in the evening, and
always alone. Another time, again at five in the evening, she met
Taeko at the same bus stop. Taeko came up and tapped her on
the shoulder. "Where have you been," 0-haru asked, immediately
overcome with confusion at her own question. Since Taeko had
managed to steal up unnoticed, it seemed fairly clear that she had
come through the mambo. When would 0-haru be back, Taeko
asked in return. And how was her father? "Kei-boy said he saw
you," added Taeko, smiling broadly. 0-haru wondered what she
could possibly say next. Taeko only told her to hurry back, however,
and crossed over to take a Kobe bus, whether for home or
on business in Kobe, 0-haru did not know.
That was the whole of the story in the theater lobby. Suspecting
that 0-haru knew more, Sachiko called her into the
parlor two mornings later, after Taeko had left the house and
they had sent 0-teru out with Etsuko. It was the morning for
Etsuko's piano lesson. 0-haru said she knew nothing more, although
she had thought it strange that Okubata should have a
house in Nishinomiya--she had thought he lived in Osaka--and
she had gone through the mambo one day and up to the Lone
Pine to find that he did indeed have a house, a little white-walled
red-tiled house with a low hedge in front. The sign at the gate
said only "Okubata." From the newness of the wood she guessed
that he had but recently moved in. It was fairly dark, after six
o'clock, and a bright light was shining through the white-lace
curtains in the open second-floor windows. A phonograph was
playing. As she listened she thought she could make out the voice
of someone besides Okubata. It seemed to be a woman's voice,
though she could not hear well because of the music. (Yes, she
even remembered the record. That one, the one Danielle Darrieux
sang in "Return at Dawn.") She had meant, if she had
time, to go for another look, but two or three days later her
father left the hospital and she returned to Ashiya. And she had
_______370__________________1 HE MAKIOKA SISTERS

fretted a great deal, she said, over whether or not to tell Mrs.
Makioka. Neither the gentleman nor Koi-san had made any
attempt to silence her, and she thought perhaps Mrs. Makioka
already knew. Might it not seem odd, then, if she said nothing?
Still one should be careful about talking too much. But did Mrs.
Makioka not agree that Koi-san was very probably spending
much of her time in that house? 0-haru could, if necessary, go
see what the gossip was in the neighborhood.
Sachiko had been caught off balance by that glimpse of Taeko
and Okubata in the cab. Calmer reflection suggested that even
though Taeko had turned away from him at the time of the
Itakura affair, she had not broken with him completely. Now
that Itakura was gone, it was not really surprising that the two
should occasionally be seen together. Some ten days after Itakura's
death, Sachiko had come upon a notice in the newspapers of the
death of Okubata's mother. "I see that Kei-boy's mother is dead."
She glanced at Taeko, who nodded vaguely. "Was she ill long?"
asked Sachiko. Taeko wondered. And had Taeko seen Kei-boy?
Taeko shook her head. Sensing that her sister did not want to
talk about "Kei-boy," Sachiko was careful afterwards not to mention
his name. Taeko had not said specifically that she was refusing
to see him.
Fearing a second Itakura, Sachiko thought it a good thing--
natural and proper and far less likely to arouse hostile criticism--
for Taeko to have taken up with Okubata again. It was a little
premature, on the basis of only 0-haru's story, to conclude that
she had in fact done so. But what could be more likely? And did it
not seem possible (assuming that Sachiko's suspicions were well-
founded) that Taeko, who could count on the approval of Sachiko
and the people at the main house, thought she had nothing to
conceal? Embarrassed at having to discuss Okubata after having
once lost patience with him, had she not hoped that 0-haru
would tell Sachiko everything? Such in general were Sachiko's
conclusions.
A few mornings later she and Taeko happened to be alone in
the dining room.
"You passed us in a cab the other day," said Sachiko lightly.
"The day we went to see Kikugoro."
Taeko nodded.
dwk. i riTW 371

"And you went to the Yohei?"
"Yes."
"Why does Kei-boy have a house in Nishinomiya?"
"His brother threw him out of the Osaka house."
"Why?"
"For no very good reason."
"His mother died not long ago."
"That has something to do with it, I suppose." Bit by bit,
Taeko told of the new house: the rent was forty-five yen, Okubata
was living alone with his old nurse.
"When did you start seeing him again?"
Taeko had visited Itakura's grave every seventh day for some
time after his death. The month before, early on the morning of
the forty-ninth day, she had set out for Okayama. Okubata was
waiting at the station when she came back from the temple. He
had known she would be there, he said. She rode back with him
to Sannomiya Station, and relations between the two, broken off
at Itakura's death, were thus resumed. She added that she had in no way changed her opinion of Kei-boy. Much pleased with
himself, he boasted that since his mother's death he had come to
know what the world was like. His brother had thrown him out,
and he had finally had his eyes opened. But Taeko paid little attention
to what he said. With Okubata quite alone in the world,
she for one would not be cruel to him. What she felt was not so
much love as pity.

SŪS<SiSŪSSS<SiS<SŪ3S!S!S!S!SŪ!SŪSiS!Si

10

since taeko had spoken with obvious reluctance, Sachiko did not
try again to question her. She thought even so that she had the
explanation for a great deal that had attracted her attention:
more and more Taeko had taken to coming home late at night,
and it was far from clear where she spent her time. She no longer
seemed part of the family. Sometimes when she came home she
did not bother to take a bath, and the color of her skin suggested
372 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA ;51!ŧH.K>)

that she had had a bath wherever it was she had been. Until then
a lavish spender, she had become thrifty when the Itakura affair
began--even when she had a permanent wave, she wonid hunt
out the cheapest beauty parlor possible. But all that had changed:
she was most extravagant again with her cosmetics and her
clothes, down to the smallest accessory. Sachiko noticed that in
the last two months the old wrist watch, the rings, the handbag,
the cigarette case, and the lighter had all been changed for new.
On the thirty-Efth day after Itakura's death Taeko had received
that prized Leica--the one that had been thrown to the floor in
Mitsukoshi Hall--and she had carried it about for a time. Now
she had a new chrome Leica. Sachiko had at first assumed that
with the death of her lover, Taeko's view of life had changed and
she had abandoned her policy of saving money, but the matter,
when one thought about it, seemed more complicated. Taeko
had recently shown little interest in doll-making, and she had
even turned her studio over to a pupil. It appeared too that she
was absent from the sewing school more often than not. For a
time Sachiko thought it best to view Taeko's affairs from a distance.
But if Taeko and Okubata were quite openly seeing each
other again and going out boldly in public, there was no telling
when Teinosuke would run into them. Teinosuke, with his intense
dislike for Okubata, would have opinions of his own, and
very strong ones too. She therefore told him everything. He
looked as unhappy as she had expected, and two or three mornings
later, when she went into the study, he asked her to sit down.
He had information for her about Kei-boy's relations with his
family. That part of the story having aroused his suspicions, he
had made inquiries and learned that in collusion with certain
clerks Kei-boy had taken goods from the Okubata shop. This was
not the first time, but always before his mother had persuaded the
oldest brother to forgive him. The most recent incident had so infuriated
the brother that he threatened to have Kei-boy arrested.
The family somehow pacified him, and when the thirty-fifth-day
services for the mother were over Kei-boy was thrown out of the
house.
He did not know how much of this Koi-san had learned, said
Teinosuke, but should not Sachiko and the people in Tokyo review
their plans for having her marry the fellow? Certainly Tatsuo,
uuuK. iinw 373

strait-laced person that he was, would have second thoughts.
Sachiko and the others had been tolerant--had perhaps even
been glad that Taeko was carrying on with Keiboy--because
they saw marriage as a solution to all her problems. But if plans
for marrying her off must now be abandoned, it did not seem
proper that the two should be keeping company. Even if Sachiko
herself and Tsuruko and Yukiko continued to think that Okubata
would be better than some nondescript person of whose origins
they knew nothing, Tatsuo was not likely to agree, at least until
Kei-boy was forgiven and taken back into the Okubata family,
and a marriage arranged with the family's consent. In any case,
something had to be done. Okubata had once had his mother
and his brother watching over him. Now, disinherited, he had a
house of his own, small though it was, in which to do quite as he
pleased. Probably he had received a certain amount of consolation
money, and did it not seem likely that he was living on that,
with no thought for the future? And that Koi-san was helping
him spend it? If she did not love the man--Teinosuke did not
like these suspicions--it was possible to imagine that her motive
was not pity but something far less admirable. And what if they
found some day that Koi-san and Okubata were living together?
Or what of a possibility not quite so extreme: Koi-san was seen at
the Nishinomiya house every day, and what if Okubata's brother
were to hear of the affair? What would he think of the Makiokas?
There was nothing to be done if Koi-san came to be thought
loose, but what of Sachiko and himself, who were supposed to be
watching her? Would not accusing eyes be turned on them too?
He had always preferred to withdraw, said Teinosuke, when
Taeko's behavior came. up for discussion, and this time too he
would rather not interfere too aggressively, but if Koi-san meant
to go on seeing the man, they would have to tell Tatsuo and receive
his permission--at the very least his tacit permission. Otherwise
they would find themselves with no excuses to offer.
Teinosuke had taken up golf, and it embarrassed him to meet
Kei-boy's brother on the links.
"You really think Tatsuo would pretend not to notice?"
"Hardly."
"And so?"
"We will have her stop seeing Kei-boy."
374 i njc. ivifii^i}jp.n. i-nj^t-."^

"It would be very fine if she would. But what if they go on
meeting in secret?"
"If she were my daughter or sister, I think I would throw her
out of the house."
There had been tears in Sachiko's eyes for some time. It was
true that by turning Taeko out they would have satisEed the
public and the Okubata family, but would they not be inviting
the possibility Teinosuke found most distasteful? Taeko was
twenty-eight and quite capable of taking care of herself, he said,
and it would be a mistake to try to control her. They might best
turn her out for a time and see what happened. If she went to
live with Kei-boy--she went to live with Kei-boy. Once they
began worrying about such eventualities there would be no end
to their worries. But Sachiko could not bear to think of sending
her sister away labeled an outcast. Could she, who had consistently
protected Koi-san from the fury of the main house,
really throw her out at so late a date for reasons so trivial? Teinosuke
was being ungenerous. Whatever you said of her, Koi-san was
the sheltered daughter of a well-to-do family, and at heart she was
weak and a little too good-natured. And she had never had a
mother. Sachiko had hoped in her inadequate way to serve as a
substitute, and now, just as they were thinking of memorial rites
for their mother, could Sachiko even consider turning her sister
out?
"I am not saying she has to go," Teinosuke added a little
hastily as he saw the tears. "I only said 'if she were my sister.'"
"I wish you would leave everything to me. I will talk to Tsuruko.
I can reason with her."
But Sachiko did not really know whether or not she would tell
Tsuruko. In any case she would wait until the services were over.
On the evening of the twenty-second, when the guests from
Tokyo arrived, she broke the news to Yukiko only, and asked her
advice. If they were seeing each other again, said Yukiko, what
could be better? There was no need to worry about Kei-boy's
having been disinherited. What if he had taken something that
did not belong to him? It was from his own shop, after all. One
could expect as much from Kei-boy. The family only meant to
teach him a lesson and would be welcoming him back in no time.
It might not be entirely proper for Taeko and Kei-boy to be
jouuk iraw 375

appearing in public together--but why not look the other way if
they agreed to behave more circumspectly? Yukiko was opposed
to telling Tsuruko. Tsuruko would only tell Tatsuo.
Though Sachiko did not like to criticize the main house, there
was something unsatisfying about their plans for the services.
Partly to supply what was missing, partly to entertain the sister
so long away from Osaka, Sachiko hit upon the idea of a quiet
little party with her sisters. At noon on the twenty-sixth, two days
after the services, she would take a room at the Harihan--the
restaurant called up such fond memories of her dead mother and
father--and even Teinosuke would be asked to stay away. She
would have only her sisters. Aunt Tominaga, and the latter's
daughter Someko. The famous Kikuoka and his daughter Tokuko
would play for them. Taeko would dance "Perfumed Sleeves"
to Tokuko's accompaniment and "Moon at Dawn" to Sachiko's
koto and Kikuoka's samisen. For two weeks Sachiko had been
practicing the koto, and Taeko had been going to Osaka for
dancing lessons.
Early on the twenty-third Tsuruko went out to shop and pay
calls, taking only Umeko with her. She did not come back until
late that night. She had been invited to dinner somewhere. On
the twenty-fourth all nine of them set out from Ashiya at about
eight-thirty in the morning: Tsuruko, Masao, Umeko, Teinosuke,
Sachiko, Etsuko, Yukiko, Taeko, and 0-haru. The women
were in formal clothes, Tsuruko in black, the three younger sisters
in varying shades of purple, and 0-haru too in dark purple.
Kyrilenko, hairy legs protruding from under his shorts, got on
the train a few stations later. He glanced at the colorful assembly,
and came over to speak to them.
"Where are you all going?" He hung from a strap before Teinosuke.
"You seem to have the whole family with you."
"This is the day my wife's mother died. We are all going to the
temple."
"Oh? And when did she die?"
"Twenty-two years ago," said Taeko.
"Do you hear anything from Katharina?" asked Sachiko.
"I'm glad you reminded me. She asked in her last letter to be
remembered to you. She's in England."
"She has already left Berlin?"
_________ 37° ________________________1 ttj-. 1V1AK.1UK.A 01Sl.ti.Ka

"She was there just a little while. Then off to England. And
she has seen her little girl."
"How nice. What is she doing in England?"
"Working in an insurance company. She's the president's
secretary."
"And the little girl is with her?" asked Teinosuke.
"Not yet. She's suing to get the girl back."
"Do give her our regards when you write."
"I imagine with the war on it takes a long time for letters to
come through."
"And your mother must be worried," said Taeko. "There will
be air raids, you know."
"There is nothing to worry about." Kyrilenko too fell into the
Osaka dialect. "Katharina can take care of herself if anyone can."
For those who remembered the gaiety at the Harihan, the banquet
after the services was a little lonely. Even so, the effect was
not as chilling as one might have expected. Forty guests were
seated in a long hall made by taking away the partitions separating
three temple rooms. A number of people who had been close
to the family were present: among them were Tsukada the master-
carpenter, Shokichi, representing his father, and two or three
men who had worked in the old Semba shop. Although the sisters
should have been pouring the sake, the cousins and
Shokichi's wife were so diligent that they hardly had to leave
their seats. The tall white hagi shedding its blossoms in the garden
made Sachiko think of that garden at Minoo and the day her
mother had died. For the most part the men talked of the
European war. The women, though not as if to be critical of
Tatsuo, spoke again of how young "Miss Yukiko" and Koisan
looked.
One of the clerks from the shop, a man named Tomatsuri,
had drunk a little too much.
"They tell me you are still single, Miss Yukiko," came a thick
voice from the lower end of the room. "Why is that?"
There was silence for a moment.
"We are already behind schedule," said Taeko, always in control
of herself, "and we think we might as well take our time and
look around for someone really good."
"But you are taking a little too much time."
boor i nree 377

"Come now. Is it ever too late?"
Ladies giggled nervously here and there. Yukiko only smiled
at the exchange. Tatsuo pretended not to notice.
"Tomatsuri, Tomatsuri." Tsukada the carpenter had taken off
his civil-defense jacket and sat in shirtsleeves. Gold teeth flashed
from the sunburned face. "I hear you made a killing in the stock
market."
"Not yet. I am still thinking about it."
"You have some good ideas?"
"This month I go to China. My sister was working in a dance
hall in Tientsin, and the army noticed her and made a spy of
her."
"Oh?"
"And now she has married an old China hand, and I hear she
does very well. She sends a thousand or two back every now and
then."
"I ought to have a sister like that myself."
"She says this is no time to be loafing around in Japan. There
is money waiting to be made in Tientsin."
"Take me with you. I could stop being a carpenter almost any
time."
"Any sort of business that makes money is all right with me.
A string of girls, maybe."
"You have to be ready for anything, I always say. 0-haru, how
about a drink."
In the Ashiya house, a little drunk on the sake 0-haru poured
for him, Tsukada would always set about courting her. Would she
marry him? He would turn out the woman he already had,
whenever she said--he was not joking. 0-haru would laugh
happily, and so the game would go on. Today he was a little too
persistent in trying to make her drink.
"Let me see if they are heating more sake." She fled to the
kitchen in spite of Tsukada's protests, and from there out to the
weed-choked back garden. Hidden in the underbrush, she took
a compact from her black satin obi and retouched her face, a
little flushed from drink. Then, sure no one was watching her,
she took out an enamel cigarette case, the gift of a favored shop
clerk, lit a cigarette, had a few hasty puffs, and, slipping the butt
back into the case, went inside again.
II

tsuruko said it was absolutely necessary for her to leave on the
twenty-sixth. After the party at the Harihan and a stroll through
the entertainment district for an hour or so, Sachiko and the
others took her to Osaka Station.
"Will we see you again soon?"
"Not unless you come to Tokyo." They talked through the
window of the third-class car. With the children along she could
not sleep even if she took a berth, she said, and if she had to sit
up there was no difference between second-class and third.
"Kikugoro will be playing next month."
"He was in Kobe last month, but somehow it was different
from seeing him in Tokyo or Osaka."
"They say he means to use real cormorants next month for a
fishing scene on the Nagara."
"It must be a new play. But the dancing is what I like best."
"Speaking of dancing, Aunt Tominaga was delighted with
Koi-san. She said she had no idea Koi-san was so good."
"Isn't Yukiko getting on the train?" Masao had a crisp Tokyo
accent.
Yukiko, standing on the platform behind the rest, smiled and
started to say something. She was drowned out by the bell signalling
train time. Since they all knew that she meant to stay in
Ashiya, Tsuruko had not made a point of taking her along, and
Yukiko had offered no apology. The matter had been settled
automatically.
Sachiko took Yukiko's advice and said nothing of Taeko's
affairs, and Taeko, apparently interpreting to her own advantage
the fact that she had heard nothing from Sachiko, went more and
more openly to Nishinomiya. Her daytime visits were bad enough,
but Sachiko was much pained at the dark looks she got from
Teinosuke when Taeko was away from the dinner table too
many nights running. Teinosuke and Sachiko, and Yukiko too,
did their best to avoid the word "Koi-san." The silence only made
them more uncomfortable, however, because each knew what
door i nree 379

the others were thinking. And then there was the question of the
effect on Etsuko. Though she had been told by her mother and
Yukiko that Koi-san was busy making dolls, it was clear that she
did not believe a word of the story. Without having been warned
by anyone, she too became shy of mentioning Taeko's name.
Sachiko several times asked her sister to keep her affairs hidden
from Teinosuke and Etsuko. Taeko would nod, and, after coming
home early for two or three nights, would fall back into her old
habits.
"Did you tell Tsuruko about Koi-san?" No longer able to contain
himself, Teinosuke brought the matter up one evening.
"I meant to, and then I had trouble finding the right time."
"Why?"
"As a matter of fact I told Yukiko, and she thought it would
be better not to say anything."
"Why?"
"She seems to sympathize with Kei-boy. She is willing to look
the other way."
"Whether or not you sympathize with him ought to depend on
the facts. Does Yukiko see the effect this sort of thing has on
her own chances?" Teinosuke frowned fiercely and said no more,
and Sachiko had trouble guessing his thoughts.
Toward the middle of October, he was again in Tokyo for two
or three days.
"Did you go to Shibuya?"
"Yes. And I told Tsuruko everything." Tsuruko had said only
that she must give the problem some thought. Toward the end of
the month an unexpected letter came.

October 25
dear sachiko,
I am afraid we were a great bother to you. Besides everything
else, you gave that extremely pleasant party at the Harihan.
I came away thinking what a good place Osaka was. I was too busy
even to write afterwards, and now I find that I must write a
letter I would prefer not to. I find that there are things I must
say, distasteful though they are--about Koi-san of course. I was
thoroughly shocked when I heard Teinosuke's story. He said he
would leave nothing out, and told me everything, from the affair
380 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

with the man Itakura on down to Kei-boy's being disinherited,
and I was more shocked the more I heard. I have occasionally
picked up rumors about Koi-san, but I had no idea that she was
so thoroughly bad. I had thought that she would not go too far
with you watching her. I see now that I was wrong. I have
worried a great deal about making a good girl of Koi-san, and
each time I have tried to intervene I have found you protecting
her. She is a disgrace to the Makioka name. And I understand
that even Yukiko said there was no need to tell me. Yukiko and
Koi-san have insulted us by refusing to come home, and now
what do they have in mind? I cannot help thinking that the three
of you are deliberately trying to make trouble for Tatsuo--
though we are probably at fault ourselves. We have not done as
much for you as we might.
I have let myself run on. I have felt that I must tell you
exactly what is on my mind, however, and if I have hurt you I
am sorry.
The question now is what to do with her. We once agreed
with you that the best solution would be for her to marry Kei-boy.
We can no longer consider the possibility. It may be that there will
be room for argument once he is taken back into his family, but
as matters stand now we must insist that she stop seeing him. If
she really has her heart set on marrying him, she ought to know
that seeing him now can only alienate the Okubata family. Since
she cannot be trusted even if she says she is no longer visiting, his
house, Tatsuo says, we must have her come to Tokyo for a while.
It may not be easy for her. As you know, our house is small and
we do not live as well as you do, but this is no time to worry about
trifles. Explain everything to her, and send her to us. Tatsuo
says that it was wrong of us to think we were too crowded.
Yukiko is to come back too, and we will all bear the inconvenience
together.
I must ask you to be stern with her at least this once.
Even if she refuses to come to Tokyo, we do not mean to leave
her with you. This is Tatsuo's view, and I quite agree with him.
He adds that he hopes this time you will be on our side and
help us be firm, and that we have made up our minds and want
no stalling. We would like an answer before the end of the month
on which of the two it is to be: does she come to Tokyo, or is she
Book '1'hree 381

thrown out of the Makioka family? Since we would of course
prefer to avoid the second possibility, we hope you and 'Yukiko
will do your best to persuade her. I shall be waiting for an
answer.
As always,
tsukuko

"I have had this letter from Tokyo, Yukiko. Read it." Sachiko's
eyes were red. "It is a very strong letter. And she seems to be
unhappy about you too."
"Tatsuo made her write it."
"But she was the one who did the writing."
"We insulted them by not going to Tokyo, she says. But that
all happened so long ago. He has never really wanted us since
he moved to Tokyo."
"And he as much as said that he did not mind having you,
but Koi-san would be a nuisance."
"Where would they find room?"
"They talk as though I were the one who made Koi-san a
delinquent. I knew she would never listen to them, and I
thought if I stood between and watched over her I could keep her
from going too far wrong. Tsuruko can say what she likes, if I
had not been here to step in, who knows what might have happened?
I have only been thinking of Koi-san and of the people
in the main house, and I have tried to keep from hurting anyone.
I have only done what I could."
"And it is all so simple, they seem to think. If it is not convenient
to have her around, just throw her out and everything
is settled."
"But what shall we do? She will never go to Tokyo."
"There is no need even to ask."
"What shall we do, then?"
"Wait a little while."
"Not this time, Yukiko. Teinosuke is on their side."
Sachiko would see what Koi-san had to say, then, and it would
be good if Yukiko could be with her. The three sisters shut themselves
into Taeko's bedroom the next morning.
"Koi-san, would you think of going to Tokyo for just a little
while?"
3ŧ2 1 HE makioka sisters

Taeko shook her head like a spoiled child. "I would rather be
dead than have to live with them."
"But what shall I tell them?"
"Whatever you like."
"You can say so, Koi-san, but Teinosuke is on their side. They
are not going to forget."
"I will live by myself for a while."
"Not with Kei-boy?"
"I will see him, but I certainly will not go to live with him."
"Why do you put it so strongly?"
Though she did not answer, it seemed that she did not want
people to misunderstand, to think she was in love with the man
when she only pitied him. Sachiko and Yukiko suspected too that
she was reluctant to admit her mistake. In any case, since she must
leave the house, it would better satisfy appearances if she were at
least for the moment to live alone.
"You promise, Koi-san? You promise to take a room somewhere?"
Sachiko's relief was apparent in her voice. "I hate to say
so, but that might really be best."
"And if you have a room somewhere I can look in on you now
and then," said Yukiko.
"Yes, Koi-san. There is no reason to make a real issue of it. We
can just say that you have reasons for wanting a room of your
own, and there will be no need to tell anyone you have left home.
If you come in the daytime when Teinosuke and Etsuko are
away, we will always be glad to see you. And we can send 0-haru
around to look after you."
There were tears in Sachiko's eyes and Yukiko's. Taeko alone
was calm, her face quite expressionless. "What shall I do about
my things?"
"You ought to take along the things people will notice--the
chest and dresser. But you can leave your valuables here. Where
will you live?"
"I will have to think about that."
"The Matsuzumi Apartments?"
"I would rather not be in Shukugawa this time. I can find something
if I look."
After her sisters had left, Taeko sat in the window and looked
Book Th r ee ______________________38?_____

up at the clear late-autumn sky. Soon there were tears streaming
over her cheeks.

S<y@Ū3ŪSŪS<S<3!SŪ0ŪSŪSŪSŪS2ŪSi

12

taeko took a room north of the Motoyamamura bus stop. It
was, according to 0-haru, a newly finished house, bare and gaunt
in the rice paddies, and still without complete utilities. In Kobe
with Yukiko some three days later, Sachiko called Taeko for lunch,
and found that she was out. Again from 0-haru, they learned
that she was generally out unless one called early in the morning.
She would be around soon, thought Sachiko, but the days went
by without a glimpse of her or a telephone call from her.
Perhaps Teinosuke thought that the sisters had quite severed
relations with Taeko, or perhaps he knew that a certain amount of
secret intercourse was inevitable. In any case, he seemed satisfied
now that Taeko had at least outwardly been expelled from the
family. Told that Taeko had taken a new studio and would live
there, Etsuko accepted the explanation with reservations. Sachiko
and Yukiko tried to convince themselves that they had seen little
of Taeko anyway and that the change was therefore of no importance.
Indeed if a blank space had opened in the house it had
opened some time before and had not been specifically the
result of the recent unpleasantness. Still they found it sad to
think that one of them was living in a shadow.
To forget the sadness, they would go to Kobe every other day
or so and search out old movies and new movies, and sometimes
they even saw two movies a day. Among the movies they had
seen in the last month alone were Bagdad. dos Mddchen
Irene, Helene, Burgtheater, Boys' Town, and Suez. They kept
thinking they might run into Taeko. Disturbed at the long silence,
Sachiko finally sent 0-haru off to make inquiries. 0-haru reported
that she had found Taeko still in bed, evidently quite well. Mrs.
Makioka and Miss Yukiko were worried, Koi-san must visit Ashiya,
384 _______THE makioka sisters

said 0-haru. Taeko laughed and said there was nothing to worry
about. She would be around before long. In December, Sachiko
and Yukiko went to see the French movie Prison sans Barreaux,
for which they had been waiting impatiently. Sachiko had to stay
at home nursing a cold for some time afterwards.
On the morning of the twenty-third, with Etsuko's vacation to
begin the next day, Taeko appeared for the first time in nearly
two months. After talking for about an hour, she went off with
a suitcase full of New Year clothes. She would be around in
January with holiday greetings, she said. On the morning of
January 15, she came for New-Year's porridge. Afraid of a chill
since that cold, Sachiko stayed close to the house. Yukiko, fond
though she was of the movies, was always reluctant to go out
alone. She was extremely shy for her rather mature years, and
she wanted someone to be with her on the most trivial errands.
To keep her at calligraphy and the tea ceremony, Sachiko had
been going with her for lessons. Even such quick sortees were
dangerous, however, and often Yukiko was sent off alone. And
they turned to something they had long been thinking needed
attention: Yukiko went every other day for injections to clear
the spot over her eye. Dr. Kushida gave her hormone and vitamin
injections recommended by a skin specialist at the Osaka University
Hospital. This much Yukiko had to keep her busy, and in
addition a review, twice a week, of Etsuko's piano lessons.
Left to herself, Sachiko would sit down at the piano, or go
upstairs to practice her calligraphy, and she would sometimes
call 0-haru in to practice the koto. 0-haru had begun her koto
lessons two autumns before with the songs a girl of six or seven
learns in Osaka: "Flowers of the Four Seasons," or the one
about the princesses brought from their cloisters for the Doll
Festival. Sachiko gave her a lesson now and then as the spirit
moved her, and they had moved on to "Black Hair" and "Manzai"
and the like. 0-haru, who had so disliked school that she asked
to be sent out as a maid instead, found this sort of school more
congenial. On mornings when Sachiko had promised a lesson, she
would rush through her house work. She had also picked up
dances from Taeko--"Snow" and "Black Hair"--so that she
could make her way through them with some competence. Now
she was learning "The Call of the Crane." One phrase--"Is it a
Boofe Three ____________________ 38; ____

lie, is it the truth?"--gave her trouble, and she was set to practicing
it over and over for two and three days running. Soon Etsuko
was humming the accompaniment.
"I will get even with you this time, 0-haru." She had been
annoyed at the way 0-haru would hum piano melodies she herself
had difficulty with.
Late one morning toward the end of the month, Taeko appeared
again. Sachiko was listening to the radio.
"Yukiko?" Taeko pulled a chair up to the fire.
"She has gone to Dr. Kushida's."
"An injection?"
"Yes." Sachiko had been taking down recipes said to be good
for the season. Now someone was reciting a No play.
"Would you turn it off, please, Koisan?"
"Wait. Look at Bell." Taeko pointed her jaw at the cat, asleep
by Sachiko's feet.
Bell was drowsing happily in the warmth from the stove. Taeko
had noticed that its ears twitched at each drum beat. Only the
ears were affected, it seemed, by a reflex of no concern to the rest
of the cat.
"What do you suppose does it?"
"Very strange."
They watched, fascinated, as the ears twitched an accompaniment
to the No, and when the No was finished Taeko turned
off the radio.
"An injection? Does it seem to be doing any good?"
"I wonder. Yukiko is not the sort to go on with injections."
"How many will she need?"
"The doctor only said we would have to be patient."
"Will it leave before she is married?"
"Dr. Kushida seems to think there is a possibility."
"But I wonder if injections will ever really take it away. That
reminds me. Katharina is married."
"You had a letter?"
"I saw her brother yesterday in Kobe. He came running after
me, and said they had word two or three days ago."
"And who is her husband?"
"You remember she was secretary to the president of an insurance
company? Well, she married him."
_____ 3 8 6 _____________the makioka sisters

"She caught someone, did she."
"She enclosed a picture of her house, and told her brother and
mother to hurry to England. Her husband would take care of
them. She would even send travel money. The brother said the
house looked like a palace."
"She did very well for herself. A tottering old man, I suppose?"
"As a matter of fact he is just thirty-five, and this is his first
marriage."
"Not really!"
"You remember how she told us she would catch a rich husband
when she got to Europe?"
"When did she leave Japan? Hardly a year ago."
"The end of March."
"Only ten months ago, then."
"And she has been in England no more than six months."
"She did very well for herself in six months. It pays to be
beautiful."
"Beautiful? There must be any number of women better looking
than Katharina. Or do you suppose there are no good-looking
women in England?"
"Are Kyrilenko and the old one going to England, then?"
"I gather not. The old one says they would embarrass Katharina.
If they stay in Japan, the husband will never know how poor they
are."
"Westerners worry about that sort of thing too, do they?"
"Oh, yes, and she got the first husband to give her the child."
There was no particular reason for Taeko's visit; she only
wanted to tell of Katharina. Though Sachiko pressed her to stay
for lunch--Yukiko would soon be home--Taeko seemed to have
an appointment with Okubata and she left after about a half
hour. Sachiko sat for a time staring at the fire. The news of
Katharina's marriage did indeed seem important enough for a
special visit. It was only in the movies, Sachiko had thought, that
rich young executives fell in love with and presently married their
newly-hired secretaries. As Taeko had remarked, Katharina was
not outstandingly beautiful, nor did she seem to have extraordinary
talent. If even she could be so fortunate, were similar cases
then common in the West? That the president of an insurance
company, thirty-five, unmarried, and the owner of a fine manBook Three 387

sion, should many a woman quite without roots, a vagabond
about whose family and breeding he knew nothing, a woman he
had hired but six months before--Japanese common sense would
simply not permit it, however beautiful the woman might be.
She had heard that the English were conservative. Were they
nonetheless liberal on the subject of marriage? When Katharina
said she would find herself a rich husband, they had laughed at
her as a romantic girl who knew little of the world, but she had
known more than they, and had left Japan in complete confidence
that her looks would see her through.
It would be a mistake to compare a White-Russian refugee with
a cloistered lady from an old Osaka family. But how ineffectual
they all seemed in comparison with Katharina! Even Taeko, the
scapegrace, the venturesome one, did in the final analysis fear
criticism, and had not succeeded in marrying the man she
wanted. And Katharina, probably younger than Taeko, had left
her mother and brother and home behind and set off across the
world, and promptly made herself a future. Not of course that
Sachiko envied Katharina--Yukiko was far better than any
Katharina--but how feeble and spineless they seemed, two older
sisters and two brothers-in-law, unable to find Yukiko a husband!
Sachiko would not want her quiet sister to set about imitating
Katharina--the fact that she could not do so even under orders
was what gave Yukiko her charm--but should not Yukiko's
guardians, the people at the main house and Teinosuke and
Sachiko herself, feel humble before the Russian girl? They were
utterly useless, Katharina might laugh, and what could they answer?
Sachiko remembered how Tsuruko, returning to Tokyo the
year before, had heaved a deep sign and said to Sachiko when no
one else was listening: "I only hope someone will marry her. It
hardly matters who any more. Even if it ends in divorce, I hope
someone will marry her."
Soon the doorbell rang and Yukiko came in. Her face already
flushed from the heat, Sachiko bent nearer the stove and wiped
the tears from her eyes.
sasaasaaaass^ss&fi^ssaas^s^as

t3

it was some two or three weeks later. Yukiko and Sachiko were
still regular customers at Mrs. Itani's beauty shop, and "Itani" still
worried about Yukiko. One day she asked whether Sachiko knew
an Osaka lady named Mrs. Niu. And how did Itani happened to
know Mrs. Niu, Sachiko asked in return. Itani had met her just
the other day. The two had chanced to be at a farewell party for
a soldier going overseas, and Itani, learning that Mrs. Niu knew
Sachiko, had exchanged reports with her. Mrs. Niu said that she
had once been very close to Mrs. Makioka, but that for some reason
they had not seen each other recently. She and two or three
friends had called at the Ashiya house and found Mrs. Makioka
in bed with jaundice--but that was long ago, possibly three or
four years ago.
Sachiko remembered the incident well. There were Mrs. Niu
and Mrs. Shimozuma and someone else whose name she had forgotten--that
fearfully stylish lady just back from America, the one
with the strange accent. Really too ill to see them, Sachiko had
not been especially polite, and she had sent them off without
dinner. Perhaps Mrs. Niu was annoyed. She had not come again.
"I was very rude to her. Did she say anything?"
"No, she seemed more worried about Miss Yukiko. She wondered
if Miss Yukiko was married yet, and said she had a good
prospect. She thought of the man when Miss Yukiko's name came
up. She said she was sure he would interest you."
Itani talked on. Meeting Mrs. Niu for the first time, she had no
idea what the lady might consider "a good prospect." Still a friend
of Mrs. Makioka's was to be trusted, and Itani therefore ventured
to ask her good offices for Miss Yukiko. The man, Itani learned,
was a doctor who had lost his first wife. Except for a daughter
twelve or thirteen, he had no immediate family. He was not
practicing medicine at the moment, but worked as director of a
pharmaceutical company. That, said Itani, was all she had heard,
and she had replied that it seemed to her not a bad prospect
Book Three 389

at all, and had urged Mrs. Niu to act immediately, since not a
moment was to be lost. Itani herself would be glad to do anything
she could, and she doubted that the Makiokas would make
the demands they once had. She would see then how the man
felt, said Mrs. Niu. That was very well, said Itani, but should they
not now frame their plans in a general sort of way? Mrs. Niu
replied that she would guarantee to produce the man--she did
not think he would have objections, and if he did she would drag
him out by force--and she wanted ,Itani to take responsibility for
producing the Makiokas. A simple, quiet dinner party could be
arranged, somewhere in Osaka. Mrs. Niu had the next two or
three evenings open. In any case she would telephone. A splendid
idea, Itani agreed, and Mrs. Makioka too would be pleased. As
they left, Itani again urged Mrs. Niu to hurry. Itani was sure she
would receive a telephone call very soon. She would visit Sachiko
when she did.
Both Mrs. Niu and Itani were rather aggressive women, and
Sachiko was sure she would soon hear more. At about ten o'clock
three mornings later there was a call from Itani. Mrs. Niu had
just telephoned to ask whether Itani could bring Miss Yukiko to
a certain Japanese-style restaurant that evening at six. It would
be no formal mica. Miss Yukiko need feel no more constraint
than if she had been invited out to dinner. Mrs. Niu hoped Yukiko
would agree to go alone, but if someone had to be with her it
should be Teinosuke and not Sachiko. Beside her radiant sister,
Yukiko would leave but a dim impression. Itani agreed, and hoped
very much that Yukiko would go alone. Though it was rude of
her to bring up such an important matter over the telephone, she
added, they had covered the ground already, and haste was so
important. She wanted her answer immediately. Sachiko asked her
to wait an hour or two.
What did Yukiko think, she asked. It was true that so hastily
arranged a party did not seem entirely felicitous. Still they must
not be rude to Itani, who had been thinking of Yukiko all this
time. And Mrs. Niu, hardly a friend of but a day, knew them
well enough not to suggest too outrageously inappropriate a
man.
But they really knew so little, answered Yukiko. Should
Sachiko not talk to Mrs. Niu, even over the telephone? Sachiko
390 _____the makioka sisters

immediately called Mrs. Niu and learned that the man's qualifications
seemed surprisingly good: his name was Hashidera, he was
from Shizuoka Prefecture, and he had two older brothers, both
doctors; he had studied in Germany; he rented a house in Ten-
noji Ward, where he lived with his daughter and an old housekeeper;
the daughter, a student in the Sekiyo Hill Seminary, had
inherited all her mother's elegance and grace; the man lived well,
inasmuch as he had very probably received a share of the family
property (the two brothers were both successful men, and the
family was one of the more important in Shizuoka Prefecture),
and he probably had a sizable income besides as director of the
East Asia Pharmaceutical Company; the man himself was well
groomed and more than prepossessing--indeed one would not
be wrong in calling him truly handsome. And how old was he?
Probably forty-four or forty-five. And the daughter? She would be
in about her second year in the seminary. And did he have any
sisters? Any younger brothers? Mrs. Niu did not know. What of
his parents, then? Mrs. Niu wondered whether they were still
living. It gradually became clear that Mrs. Niu and the man's
wife had shared the same hobby, and had come to know each
other as members of a group that studied batik dying. Mrs.
Niu said that she had not visited the house often. She had met
the husband once while the wife was living, she believed, and
again at the funeral, and at memorial services on the first anniversary--four
times in all, counting a visit the day before to
discuss the meeting with Yukiko. She had told him that there was
no point in mourning his wife forever--she had a fine girl she
wanted him to meet. He replied that he would leave everything
to her, and now if the Makiokas were to refuse . . .
Mrs. Niu was adept at both standard Tokyo speech and the
Osaka dialect, and could change back and forth to suit the occasion;
but for some reason (was she using only standard speech
these days?--Sachiko remembered their last meeting) it was an
even swifter torrent of Tokyo speech than usual that assailed
Sachiko over the telephone.
Sachiko was coaxed into standard speech herself, Mrs. Niu was
really too unkind, she said. Had Mrs. Niu not insisted that
Sachiko stay away from the party? No, that had been Mrs. Itani's
idea. Mrs. Niu herself quite agreed, but because the idea had
Book Ihree 391

been Mrs. Itani's, Sachiko should be angry with Mrs. Irani if she
must be angry with someone.
"That reminds me," Mrs. Niu said, "I met Mrs. Jimba the other
day, and when one of us happened to mention you she said she
had tried to arrange something for you once herself."
Sachiko was startled. "What did Mrs. Jimba say?"
"Well--" Mrs. Niu hesitated. "She said she was turned down
rather sharply."
"She must have been angry, then," said Sachiko.
"Possibly so," Mrs. Niu said. "But if it's no match, it's no
match, and you can never arrange anything if you are going to
be upset at each little failure. I'll never be so unreasonable myself,
and if you don't like the man you can just come out and
say so. Anyway, tell Yukiko that she has to meet him. I'll be very
unhappy if she won't meet him."
Mrs. Niu added that she had already made reservations, and
would be there with the man at the appointed hour. They needn't
telephone again. She would be expecting them.
Sachiko thought it a little undignified to accept an invitation
for that very night, an invitation as startling in its way as a covey
of birds flying up at one's feet. If they chose not to worry about
dignity, however, there was no reason why they should not send
Yukiko off. Yukiko would not want to go alone, but Teinosuke
had gone in Sachiko's place before and could go again if he
was free that evening. The problem was only that they did not
want to seem vulgarly eager. They wanted an excuse to postpone
the mini two or three days, to give it a little dignity. But
they had to worry about Mrs. Niu and what she would think if
they looked coldly upon a project that filled her with enthusiasm.
One of her remarks had upset Sachiko: that Mrs. Jimba was
angry. Sachiko felt even more timid about refusing. They had
refused Nomura two years before with the utmost circumspection :
they had said that the main house was a little dissatisfied--
but the refusal had apparently carried stronger overtones than
they had meant to put into it. Sachiko had for some time wondered
whether Mrs. Jimba might not be angry, and had even felt
that she had reason to be angry. Mrs. Niu's remark therefore
struck home. And why had Mrs. Niu brought the subject up?
She liked to talk, of course, but it was more than the usual chatter
_______392__________________ '1'HE makioka sisters

when she suddenly introduced a complete outsider into the conversation
and passed on a report she ought to have kept to herself.
Perhaps Sachiko was being threatened.
"What shall we do, Yukiko?"
Yukiko did not answer.
"How would it be if you were to go?"
"And you?"
"I would like to go with you, but they say I am to stay home.
Will you go with Irani?"
"With Irani?"
"We can have Teinosuke go with you, then." Sachiko studied
Yukiko's expression. "I know he will go if he has nothing else to
do. Shall I telephone him?"
Yukiko nodded very slightly, and Sachiko put in an emergency
call to Osaka.

14

told that Yukiko and Itani would arrive separately at his office
no later than five-thirty, Teinosuke had nothing in particular to
suggest, though he knew how prompt Itani would be and insisted
that Yukiko too arrive on time--or better, some twenty
minutes or a half hour early. He was much disturbed when, at
five-fifteen, there was still no sign of Yukiko. He knew that his
wife and Yukiko paid no attention to time, and he knew too that
Itani's impatience would be trying. Yukiko must surely have left
the house by now. Still, to make very sure, he put in a call to
Ashiya. Before the call went through, Itani arrived with Yukiko
behind her.
"Fine, fine. The two of you together. I was just going to
phone."
"As a matter of fact I went by to call for Miss Yukiko. Shall
we go? We have so little time, and I've kept the cab waiting."
Teinosuke had heard the details of the miai, but only by telephone.
Though he knew Mrs. Niu's name, he was not at all sure
Book Three 393

he had met her. He felt as if he were plunging into a fog. On the
way to the restaurant he asked about the man, and of Itani's
relations with him. Itani would have to leave such matters to Mrs.
Niu, she was afraid. What then of her relations with Mrs. Niu?
Itani had met Mrs. Niu but once, and that once but recently.
Teinosuke felt that he had ventured into a new sort of fairyland
indeed.
Mrs. Niu and Hashidera were waiting at the restaurant.
"Well, well. Here you are already. Have we kept you waiting?"
Itani's manner was wonderfully familiar considering that she had
met the woman only once.
"We just this minute arrived," answered Mrs. Niu pleasantly.
"But aren't you remarkable. It's exactly six."
"I'm always on time. I was worried about Miss Yukiko, though,
and went around to fetch her."
"Did you have trouble finding the place?"
"None at all. Mr. Makioka here knew it immediately."
"How are you? I believe we've met." Teinosuke remembered
having seen this face in his parlor.
"I'm afraid I'm not being very friendly these days. It's a long
time since I've seen Sachiko--not since we found her in bed with
jaundice."
"It was then, was it. That must have been three or four years
ago."
"At least. Three of us rushed in and forced her out of bed.
I'm sure we looked like female gangsters."
"Gangsters is the word for it." Hashidera, who had on a brown
suit and was waiting to be introduced, glanced sideways at
Mrs. Niu and smiled. He turned to Teinosuke. "My name is Hashidera.
As a matter of fact, the lady is exactly what she says she
is--a gangster. She told me I had to come, and she dragged me
out before I knew what was happening to me."
"Please, Mr. Hashidera. Be a gentleman. You're here, and you
don't talk of such things."
"Quite right," agreed Itani. "You don't go making excuses.
After all, men are supposed to behave like men. And you are
really being a little insulting."
"So it goes with lady gangsters. Ganging up on me again."
"Nothing of the sort. We're thinking of your own good. You'll
_____ 394 _____________the makioka sisters

only ruin your health, sitting around all day staring at your wife's
picture. You need to go out now and then. You must know that
there are plenty of women just as beautiful."
Teinosuke was afraid to look at Yukiko. But Yukiko was by
now a veteran, and she only smiled.
"We'll stop arguing and sit down at the table. You are over
there, Mr. Hashidera, and I'll sit here myself."
"With two gangsters after you, it won't pay not to do as you're
told."
Teinosuke suspected that, like Yukiko, Hashidera had been
dragged out against his will. Far from sure that he wanted to
remarry so soon, he had been pounced upon by Mrs. Niu, a
woman with whom he was not particularly friendly, and forced
to act before he knew what he was doing. His conversation was
full of words like "startled" and "confused." And yet the show of
confusion was not at all displeasing. Teinosuke saw that the man
knew how to handle himself in polite society. Offering a card
on which he was announced as a physician and a director of the
East Asia Pharmaceutical Company, Hashidera smiled: "I'm no
doctor. I'm the chief clerk in a drug store." There was little of
the physician about him. He rather suggested the able entrepreneur.
Although he was said to be forty-four or forty-five, the
skin on his face and hands down to the tips of his fingers had a
youthful firmness. A regular-featured, round-cheeked, good-looking
man, the s'olidness of whose figure gave him the full dignity
of his years. In appearance at least he would rank first among the
candidates they had reviewed for Yukiko's hand. He also seemed
to be a good drinker, though not quite a match for Teinosuke,
and he could always be persuaded to have another cup of sake.
Usually there was a certain stiffness and restraint among people
so recently introduced. Partly because of the two bold lady
gangsters, however, and partly because the man himself was so
completely at ease, the conversation flowed smoothly.
"I must come here oftener. Look at all the food." The sake
was having its effect on Teinosuke, whose cheeks were a pleasant
pink. "It's getting harder and harder to find anything decent
to eat or drink. Is the food always so good?"
"I doubt it," said Hashidera. "Mrs. Niu probably threatened
them with violence."
Book Three 395

"That's not quite true. But my husband is a steady customer,
and they generally let us have our way. And I thought the name
of the place might bring us luck."
"Happy Omen," the restaurant was called. Mrs. Niu pronounced
it "Kitcho."
"Isn't it 'Kikkyo,' Mrs. Niu?" asked Teinosuke. "It's not pronounced
quite as it's written. Probably easterners like Mr. Hashidera
here have never heard the word, but here in Osaka we
have what we call a kikkyo. Do you know what it is, Mrs. Irani?"
"I'm afraid I don't."
"Kikkyo?" Hashidera too looked puzzled. "What is it?"
"I know," said Mrs. Niu. "Kikkyo--one of those things. You
know, the things you buy at the Ebisu Fair in Nishinomiya or
Imamiya. A little piece of bamboo with coins and good-luck
pieces dangling from it."
"That's right."
"At the Ebisu Fair you can buy . . ." Mrs. Niu took up the
jingle for the Ebisu Fair.

"Balloons and saucers and
pocketbooks too.
Pennies and pocketbooks and high hats too . . .

All of them dangling from a sprig of bamboo. And kitcho we
ignorant Osakans call kikkyo. Right, Mr. Makioka?"
"Quite right. How do you happen to know?"
"I may not look it, but I'm an Osakan too."
"Really?"
"And I know at least that much. But do people still pronounce
it the old way? Here in the restaurant they seem to say kitcho."
"Let me ask you another. In that jingle you just gave us, Mrs.
Niu, what is a hazebukwo?"
But Mrs. Niu had pronounced it kaxebukuro, and thought it
meant "balloon."
"No, hazebukuro is right."
"Is there such a word?"
"A bag to roast haze in," ventured Hashidera. "Haze is a sort
of puffed rice. In Tokyo children eat it on the day of the Doll
Festival."
"Mr. Hashidera knows more than any of us."
396 the makioka sisters

For a time the conversation was of customs and dialects in
the east and the west, and Mrs. Niu, who had been born in
Osaka and reared in Tokyo and who later had moved back to
Osaka, was the best informed of all. She called herself an amphibian,
and she quite justified the claim as she switched from Tokyo
speech for Itani to the Osaka dialect for Teinosuke. Itani, who
had spent a year or so in America learning her trade, talked of
how it was "over there," and Hashidera told of his visit to the
Bayer plant in Germany: the place was enormous, he said, and
had among other things a movie theater at least the size of the
Osaka Shochiku. Presently Itani set about bringing the conversation
back to its original purpose. She asked Hashidera about his
daughter and his family in Shizuoka, and contrived to make him
exchange remarks with Yukiko. The subject of his remarrying
came up again.
"And what does your daughter think?"
"I haven't asked her. The important thing is that I haven't
made up my own mind yet."
"And so I keep telling you to make up your mind. You'll have
to marry again some time."
"I suppose you're right. But then you know how it is. I don't
feel in the mood to start having a new family in such a hurry."
"And why might that be?"
"No special reason. I just can't quite take the step, that's all.
But with someone like you to prod me on, I suppose I'll find
myself married again in no time."
"You leave everything to us, then?"
"I'm afraid it's not so simple."
"Aren't you slippery. I'm sure it would please your wife, if
she knew, to see you married again."
"I'm not really brooding as much as you seem to think I am."
"Mrs. Niu," put in Itani. "This gentleman obviously has to
have someone put the plate in front of him and take up the spoon
for him. We won't argue with him. We'll go ahead and arrange
everything our own way."
"And when the time comes we'll not take any excuses."
Teinosuke and Yukiko could only watch smilingly as the
lady gangsters attacked Hashidera. The dinner was the informal
one they had been promised, and there was little to suggest a
Book Three 397

miai. But to drag out a man who was not sure he wanted to
marry, and to play out the little drama with which Teinosuke
and Yukiko were being entertained--this was an art that only a
lady gangster could have mastered. Teinosuke could not help
thinking that they were in an extremely peculiar position themselves,
and what astonished him most was that Yukiko had somewhere
learned to smile and enjoy herself. The old Yukiko would
scarcely have been able to endure it--she would have been a
flaming red and on the verge of tears, and she might even have
stood up and left the room. Women like Yukiko seemed to keep
their freshness and innocence through the years. Had the accumulated miai brought a certain callousness, however, a certain
brashness even? No, it was only natural that a lady of thirty-three
should have become calmer and more poised. Aware only of her
continued youthfulness and of the youthful clothes she wore,
Teinosuke had failed to notice the change.
That aside, what did Hashidera have in mind? Even if he felt
only that he had nothing to lose by taking a look at Mrs. Niu's
young lady, one might with some justice assume that he was more
"in the mood" to remarry than he admitted. He need not have
come at all if he was so reluctant. There was something a little
exaggerated about his confusion, and no doubt he felt that if
Yukiko was a girl to suit him, he might consider marrying her. In
any case, it hardly seemed likely that he had come just to tease
them. But he was clever enough to justify Mrs. Niu's use of the
adjective "slippery," and his manner gave not a hint of the impression
Yukiko had made on him. While the other four talked
quite easily, Yukiko, just a little abashed, stayed outside the conversation.
As always, she made no attempt to exploit openings
the others gave her. Hashidera for his part was far too busy with
the gangsters to offer her more than two or three polite remarks
through the meal. The Makiokas took their leave quite perfunctorily,
without even knowing whether or not they would see him again, but Itani, who was with them on the train, was confident.
She would bring her mouth to Teinosuke's ear and whisper
over and over again that everything must be left to Mrs. Niu and
herself, that they would see the affair through successfully, that
they would take no excuses from a man who had come so far,
that he was most pleased with Miss Yukiko. Itani had seen it all.
1^

that night Teinosuke reported his impressions to Sachiko: to
judge from appearances, the man must be given a perfect mark,
and seemed quite ideal for Yukiko, but they could only wait,
since he was still debating whether or not he wanted to remarry,
and since the prospects were in no sense as bright as Mrs. Niu
and Itani seemed to think. Teinosuke and his wife had become
very timid about miai since the year before--if they put
too much faith in the ladies they might be made fools of again.
But the next morning Itani came calling. She had already had
a telephone call from Mrs. Niu, and she wondered what Miss
Yukiko thought of the man. Following Teinosuke's advice,
Sachiko said only that the man had made a very good impression
indeed, but that he did not yet seem to have made up his mind,
and . . . No need to worry about that, said Itani. There was one
difficulty, though: Mrs. Niu had that morning had a call from
Hashidera, who said that Miss Yukiko struck him as a little moody.
He preferred bright, lively, sparkling girls. But Itani had explained
everything. Miss Yukiko impressed people as a little moody at
first, but she was in fact not moody at all. Mrs. Niu must be
sure to tell Hashidera so. Miss Yukiko might be a little reserved,
but she was certainly not moody. She was so gentle and quiet
that she sometimes made the wrong impression on strangers.
When one got to know her, however, one found her surprisingly
--perhaps, said Itani, that was not a tactful adverb to have chosen
--anyway, surprisingly bright and modem and sophisticated. She
was exactly the sort of girl Hashidera wanted. If he did not
believe it he had only to see her more often. In music she liked
the piano, in food she preferred the foreign, and she loved foreign
movies. She knew English and French. What more could Itani
say to demonstrate that Miss Yukiko was a bright and cheerful
girl? It was true that she wore Japanese clothes, but did not the
fact that gay clothes so became her show that there was something
gay in her nature? If he would only take the trouble to know
her, he could see for himself. Girls from good families simply
Book Three ______ 399 _____

did not talk when they met strange men, that was all. Itani had
rambled on and on, she said, and put coin after coin in the
telephone. But if the truth must be told, Miss Yukiko was too
quiet, and she was likely to be misunderstood. She should
muster up her courage and talk a little more. Itani would arrange
to bring the man around soon. She wanted Miss Yukiko to
leave a bright, happy impression this time.
Sachiko had been secretly apprehensive about that spot over
the eye, though it had not been particularly noticeable the day
before. But was there really much hope? She wrote off a good
half of Itani's story as idle chatter. The next day at about three,
she had a telephone call: Itani was in Osaka, and in an hour
she and Mrs. Niu would bring Mr. Hashidera to call on Sachiko.
Were they coming here? asked Sachiko in some confusion. They
were indeed, said Itani. Mr. Hashidera had very little time and
could stay no more than twenty minutes or a half hour, and there
was no other convenient place to meet. And then Mr. Hashidera
wanted to see the family and the house. That would be very
pleasant, of course, but might they not . . . ? Itani cut her short.
They could only stay twenty minutes or a half hour, and they
would not expect to be entertained. With Mr. Hashidera beginning
to show signs of interest, it would put him out of sorts if
the plans had to be changed.
Sachiko had to consider Yukiko's feelings. What should they
do? They could send Etsuko off to Kobe with 0-haru, of course.
But Yukiko proved surprisingly tractable. Etsuko and 0-haru had
already guessed everything, she was sure. Very well, then, they
would be waiting, Sachiko said to Itani. She immediately telephoned
Osaka to ask if Teinosuke could be home in time.
Back before the guests arrived, Teinosuke said that he too
had had a call from Itani. Mr. Hashidera was starved for a taste
of home, Itani had said, and would like to meet Sachiko and the
rest of them at the Ashiya house that afternoon. But what surprised
and pleased Teinosuke most was the change in Yukiko.
Was it not remarkable that she had agreed to see the man?
Soon the three guests were in the parlor. Itani called Sachiko
out into the hall. Was Koi-san at home? Startled, Sachiko answered
that Koi-san was unfortunately away at the moment. Then
they would like to see at least Etsuko, said Itani. Mr. Hashidera
_____ 400 _____________the makioka sisters

had wanted to bring his own little girl, but the plans had been
too hurried. Next time he would surely do so. The girl and
Etsuko were quite ideal for each other. They would soon be
friends, and Mr. Hashidera would find that he was interested.
Irani exuded confidence.
Since Yukiko had permitted it, Teinosuke agreed that they
might call in Etsuko and have her impressions too, and presently
the four of them, Teinosuke, Sachiko, Etsuko, and Yukiko, were
facing the guests. Again Hashidera's manner suggested that he
had been dragged out against his will. He had not approved of the
visit--he had thought it most rude to sweep down thus uninvited,
and his arguments had been quite overruled by the lady
gangsters. And, he added (one hardly knew how to take the
remark), a plain office worker like himself did not deserve such
a bride.
Yukiko was no longer as difficult as she had once been, but
she was not likely to lose her reserve overnight. It was as though
she had paid no attention to Itani's orders. She made no effort
to be friendly, and as always she barely answered questions that
were put to her. Teinosuke thought to bring out an album of
photographs from the Kyoto cherry-viewing the year before. Sachiko
had to do most of the explaining, with Yukiko or Etsuko
shyly adding a detail now and then. If only Taeko were here with
her quips and burlesques, thought Sachiko. She could not help
suspecting that the other three shared her wish. Twenty minutes
went by, and a half hour, and after an hour Hashidera looked at
his wrist watch and said he must go, and Mrs. Niu and Irani too
stood up. Might the two ladies not be able to visit a little longer?
asked Sachiko. Itani was always busy, but Mrs. Niu--it had been
so long since she last called, and though they really could offer
very little . . . Perhaps she would stay, then, said Mrs. Niu.
Would they feed her? If she did not mind potluck, said Sachiko.
Splendid, said Mrs. Niu, and stayed for dinner.
Yukiko and Etsuko left the three to talk by themselves. Sachiko
too was pleased with Hashidera. She and her husband, quite
without prearrangement, found themselves praising him and assuring
Mrs. Niu that, though they had not yet heard Yukiko's
views, they did not expect her to have reservations--somehow
they felt sure that she would not object to such a man. As they
t5ooK l tiree 401__

learned the results of Mrs. Niu's investigations, they felt more
and more that this was a proposal they would like to see through,
but what still disturbed them was the fact that Hashidera himself
seemed so unenthusiastic. It was Mrs. Niu's feeling, however, that
he was striking a pose as a sort of defense against the noisy women
around him, and that deep in his heart he was not a little interested.
But to be honest, he had been deeply in love with his
first wife, and he worried a great deal about the daughter she
had left behind. Probably, then, he wanted to be pushed forward
until there was no retreating. He wanted someone to prod
him into a step he could not quite take by himself. If he really
was so unenthusiastic, he hardly needed to let them bring him
out twice. For all of his protests that it did not make sense to run
off to the house of a young lady he had met but once, he had in
the end allowed himself to be brought, and was that not evidence
that he was interested in Yukiko? Sachiko and Teinosuke had
to admit that there was much to the argument. Since he was
so worried about the little girl, continued Mrs. Niu, no objection
could prevail against a lady of whom the girl approved. She
would arrange next time for the girl to meet Yukiko, and she
would like if possible for young Etsuko to be present--the two
children would become great friends. With that Mrs. Niu took
her leave. Sachiko told Teinosuke afterwards that of the many
prospective husbands they had inspected for Yukiko, this man
seemed the best. All of their conditions were satisfied, and his
family, his position, his way of living were neither ridiculously
high nor ridiculously low by Makioka standards. Such a candidate
was not likely to come again. And if, as Mrs. Niu suggested,
he was deliberately holding back and hoping that they would
go out after him, they might try being more aggressive. She
seemed to be asking for brilliant suggestions from Teinosuke,
but Teinosuke, though he agreed with her, could only wonder
what was to be done. The real difficulty was that Yukiko was so
passive by nature. They could expect no help from her. She
could have put on an abler performance this afternoon, for instance.
But they would think of something.
In Osaka the next day, Teinosuke looked for an excuse to stop
by and become better acquainted with Hashidera, whose office
was not far from his. In the course of the conversation the day
402 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

before, he remembered, Sachiko had said that because of the war
she was running short on German vitamins and sulfamine, of
which she always liked to have a supply on hand, and Hashidera
had urged her to use the sulfamine made by his company. Unlike
most Japanese medicines, it produced absolutely no secondary
reactions, he said, and he felt sure that it was quite as effective as
the German product. Since his company made Vitamin B, she
might give that a try too. He would send a package around immediately.
Teinosuke protested that he was in Osaka every day
himself and could just as well pick it up. Please, any time--if
Teinosuke would but telephone, Hashidera could always arrange
to be in. Though Teinosuke had not been serious, it now occurred
to him that without seeming forward he could go around
and say that his wife would be most grateful for a little of the
medicine. Leaving his office early, he walked down Sakai Boulevard.
He picked out the building as he turned west off the
boulevard, the only reinforced-concrete building in a row of old
earth-walled shops. Hashidera promptly ordered a boy to go off
and wrap up so many packages of this medicine and so many
packages of that. His office was not really suitable for receiving
guests, he said, and if Teinosuke would wait a few minutes possibly
they could go out together. He seemed to be leaving orders
with two or three employees, and he came out coatless and hatless.
Waiting in front for perhaps five minutes, Teinosuke saw from
Hashidera's way with the employees that, in theory only one
among several executives, he in fact ran the company. He suggested
that they call on him if anything else were needed, and
handed Teinosuke the package. Embarrassed at not being allowed
to pay, Teinosuke withdrew apologetically, but at Hashidera's suggestion
that they talk for a little while, he found himself following
along, afraid he might miss an opportunity to hear something
important. They would have a cup of coffee together, he assumed.
Instead they turned into an alley and climbed to the second
floor of a little restaurant one would have taken for a private
house. Teinosuke thought he knew Osake well, but he had not
known of this alley and this restaurant. The second floor, only
one small room looking out over clusters of roofs and here and
there a tall building, gave one the sense of being in the very
heart of the old Semba district. Probably it was a favored spot

cook i nree 403

for merchants, and especially the owners and managers of the
pharmacies in which the district abounded, to talk business over
a light lunch. A poor place to be taking a guest, said Hashidera,
but unfortunately he had a little work to do before he went
home, and he could not stray far from the office. Having in effect
invited himself to dinner, Teinosuke was more and more embarrassed.

The food was cleverly prepared though not remarkably good--
some five dishes, and two or three flagons of sake. It was early
when they sat down, and Teinosuke, sensing that Hashidera was
extremely busy, meant to take his leave early. There were still
traces of light in the early-spring sky when they left the restaurant.
The meal could have taken no more than two hours. Although it
was clear that Hashidera was only returning a courtesy, and although
the conversation, of the most desultory, touched on none
of the significant matters Teinosuke had hoped it might, he did
learn something of Hashidera: his specialty was internal medicine,
and in particular the gastroscope; he had chanced upon his return
from Germany to become acquainted with this pharmaceutical
company, and circumstances had compelled him to give up medicine
and turn instead to business; the company had a president,
who was never seen; Hashidera did most of the work; when he
went out into the provinces to sell new medicines, the confusion
of the customer who had assumed he was not a doctor, and
learned in the course of the conversation that he was, could
sometimes be very amusing. Hashidera did not once ask about the
Makioka family, and Teinosuke found it difficult to speak of
Yukiko, but when fruit was brought he gathered his courage and,
working his remarks into the conversation so that they did not
sound like an apology, mentioned the fact that his sister-in-law
was far from the moody girl she at first impressed one as being.
w^SSSSwywS'wwKyWWSKyy^SSiSSSŪ

16

the next day Sachiko had a call from Mrs. Niu. So Teinosuke
had visited Mr. Hashidera. It was splendid that he had gone
ahead by himself. She hoped that he would keep up the work and
that they would become close friends. The Makiokas had been
in the habit of leaving everything to others--hence their reputation
for haughtiness. Mrs. Niu and Mrs. Itani had brought
matters thus far, and it remained to see what their own efforts
would do for them. The work of the two ladies, she thought, was
at an end. They would withdraw tor the time being. She was
sure everything would be arranged beautifully. The Makiokas
should do their best and see what came of the negotiations. And
she would be waiting to hear the good news. She even offered
congratulations. To Sachiko and Teinosuke, it hardly seemed that
they were ready to be congratulated.
Immediately afterwards they had a visit from Dr. Kushida, who
was passing the house on his way to see a patient. He had the information
Sachiko had requested. Sachiko had some time before
remembered that Dr. Kushida and Hashidera were both alumni
of Osaka University, though not in the same graduating class, and had thought to ask about the latter. Always busy. Dr. Kushida
did not even take off his coat. He handed Sachiko a piece of
paper. She would find on it all he could tell her, he said, and
left. Fortunate to have a classmate who was a very close friend
of Hashidera's, Dr. Kushida had been able to make detailed inquiries
about the man, his family in Shizuoka, and even the
daughter, a quiet, docile girl whose reputation at school was far
from bad. In general the information agreed with what Teinosuke
had already been able to gather. As he left, Dr. Kushida added
that he could give the man his highest recommendation.
At last Yukiko's luck had turned, said Teinosuke to his wife.
They must do something to bring the negotiations to a happy
conclusion. Though aware that he might seem wanting in common
sense, therefore, he sat down and wrote Hashidera a letter
some five or six feet long. He must apologize for his rudeness in
DUUK. 1 HTW 405

discussing so delicate a problem by mail, and yet he must tell
Hashidera about his sister-in-law. He had been on the verge of
speaking the day before. Now, quite without regard for the proprieties,
he would unburden himself. The question was this:
why had his sister-in-law reached such an age without marrying?
Possibly Hashidera suspected something dark in her past or something
wrong with her health. There were no such complications.
One reason, and one reason alone, explained her not having
married, and perhaps he had already heard of it from Mrs. Niu or
Mrs. Itani: the people around Yukiko, even though they belonged
to a family of little importance, had chosen to be fussy about
position and pedigree, and had succeeded in making themselves
unpopular by turning down good proposal after good proposal.
The result he would not attempt to disguise: people no longer
brought word of likely candidates. It would be ideal if Hashidera
would investigate for himself until his last suspicions were cleared
away. The responsibility lay with the people around her. Yukiko
herself was unblemished and had a perfectly clean conscience.
He knew that he might seem to be boasting too much about a
relative, but he could give Yukiko good marks in intelligence,
learning, deportment, artistic ability. And what touched him
particularly was that Yukiko was fond of children. Teinosuke's
own daughter, ten this year, was actually closer to Yukiko than
to her own mother. It seemed only natural that she should be.
Yukiko watched over her school work and piano practice, and
was a devoted nurse when she was ill. Here again he hoped that
Hashidera would investigate and see for himself. And the matter
of whether or not she was moody: as he had suggested the
day before, she was not. Hashidera need feel no uneasiness on
that score. If he might be permitted to speak quite openly, continued
Teinosuke, he was prepared to offer it as his opinion
that Yukiko would in no way disappoint Hashidera. There was
no doubt that she could at the very least make the little girl
happy. He was aware that in writing with such warmth of a
relative he might embarrass Hashidera, but it was his desire to
see Yukiko married that compelled him to write. He hoped again
that Hashidera would forgive his unconventional behavior.
Such was the letter, which Teinosuke took great care to write
in the gravest and most formal language. Confident since his
400 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

Student days of his ability to write, he had no particular trouble
discussing the most delicate matters in the most circumspect
fashion. This time, however, he was afraid of over-writing. He
labored to avoid seeming importunate on the one hand and
stiffly reserved on the other. The first draft was too strong and
the second too weak, and immediately after he had mailed the
third draft he began to wonder whether he had made a mistake.
If Hashidera did not want to remarry, the letter was not likely to
change his mind; and if he was interested, the letter might
alienate him. It might have been better to wait.
Not really expecting a reply, Teinosuke found himself on edge
even so when two or three days passed and he heard nothing. The
following Sunday he left the house after telling Sachiko that he
was going out for a walk. He found himself in a cab at Osaka
Station and ordered it to Tennoji Ward. Though he had no real
intention of calling on Hashidera, he remembered the address and
thought he would just wander by for a look at the house. Leaving
the cab in what he took to be the neighborhood, he walked along
reading the names at the gates, and, possibly because the air felt
like spring, his step became brisker, and the future seemed bright.
Hashidera's house was relatively new, a cheerful house with a
sunny southern exposure. It was one in a row of three or four
trim two-storey houses, each with its board fence and its pine
trees, far from badly built for houses to rent--a little suggestive
in their way of the house one might choose for setting up a
mistress. Perhaps even so small a house was too large for a middle-
aged widower with only one daughter. Teinosuke stood for a
time looking up through the pine needles, each separate needle
aglitter in the morning sun, at a half-open upstairs window. It
seemed a shame to have come so far for nothing. He pushed open
the gate and rang the bell.
The housekeeper, fifty or so, led him upstairs.
"Good morning."
He turned and saw Hashidera at the foot of the stairs, a spruce
kimono pulled over his nightgown. "Could you wait j'ust a few
minutes? I seem to have overslept."
"Please, please. It was rude of me not to warn you."
Hashidera bowed genially and started toward the back of the
house. Teinosuke was much relieved. He had felt that he could
duuk. i mw 407

not rest until he saw the man again. The letter had obviously
not offended him.
Teinosuke waited in the front room on the second floor, apparently
the parlor. There were no flowers in the shelved niche, but
the wall-hanging, the porcelain below it, the framed motto over
the door, the double screen, the sandalwood table, and the smoking
set were carefully arranged and in good taste, and the fact
that the paper-panelled doors and the mats on the floor were
spotless and had none of the shabbiness one associates with
widowers' apartments suggested what sort of man Hashidera was,
and suggested too what his wife must have been. The house had
seemed bright and cheerful as he looked up from the gate, and
it was even brighter than he had expected. The door panels,
white with a leaf pattern in mica, turned off the sunlight brilliantly.
The air was crystal clear to the farthest corners of the
room, the smoke from Teinosuke's cigarette hung motionless in
a sharply defined spiral. Though he had felt a little forward as
he handed his card to the housekeeper, he was glad now that he
had come. It was something to be a guest in the house, and to
see that the master was not out of sorts.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
Some ten minutes later, Hashidera came back in a carefully
pressed blue-serge suit. It was warmer on the veranda, he thought
--he led Teinosuke to wicker chairs from which they looked out
over the street. Not wanting it to seem that he had come for an
answer to his letter, Teinosuke meant to leave immediately, but
the sun was warm through the glass doors, and Hashidera as always
made it easy to stay on, and presently an hour had gone by.
Teinosuke did finally mention the letter, for which he said he
must apologize. Hashidera answered that on the contrary he had
been most grateful. For the rest, the conversation flowed in an
effortless detour around the really significant matter. Teinosuke
roused himself and stood up to leave. Hashidera was going to the
movies with his daughter, however, and if Teinosuke had no
other business he might go at least that far with them. Anxious
for a glimpse of the daughter, Teinosuke accepted the invitation.
Cabs were becoming scarce. Hashidera called a Packard from
a garage he knew, and Teinosuke rode with him as far as the
Asahi Building. Hashidera would of course be glad to see him to
408 ___ 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA OISTEKS

the station--if he had no other plans, though, suppose he join
them. Teinosuke was uncomfortable at the thought that he would
be one more meal in debt. But he did want to know the daughter,
and it was such a good opportunity to become friendlier with
Hashidera too.
For another hour or so they talked over dinner. This time, with
the daughter along, the conversation was little more than innocent
chatter about movies and the Kabuki, and American actors and
Japanese actors, and school. The girl was thirteen, three years
older than Etsuko, and much more poised. Though she still wore
a student's uniform and there was no sign that she used makeup,
her face was no longer that of a little girl. It was the delicately
molded face of an adult, rather long and thin, with a proud,
high nose. Inasmuch as she did not look like Hashidera, Teinosuke
suspected that she took after her mother, who must have
been a beauty. Probably Hashidera saw in the girl the image
of his dead wife.
Teinosuke tried to pay the bill. No, the invitation had been
Hashidera's, and Hashidera would pay. Very well, said Teinosuke,
the next party would be his. He would like to show them Kobe.
He left them at the elevator with a promise to meet again the
following Sunday. The girl was to be along too. That promise
was the gift he brought home from his expedition.

S<5^,S,^^^;^^-5<S^^.y,;l^.;^^

n

sachiko laughed at news of this remarkable success. He was becoming
rather brazen these days, she said, but secretly she was
very pleased. There was a time when she would have been furious
at this lack of restraint, and Teinosuke himself, knowing that
until recently he would not have been up to such forwardness,
could only marvel at the change their search for a husband had
brought. But he had gone far enough. He would wait to see what
came of the Sunday meeting. In the meantime there was a
telephone call from Mrs. Niu. She had heard that Teinosuke had

Book Three 409

met the girl too, and she could not tell them how delighted she
was at the brightening prospects. And Hashidera and his daughter
were to be their guests. Mrs. Niu hoped everything would be done
to make them feel welcome. She hoped especially that Yukiko
would do her best to cancel out that first impression of "moodiness,"
an impression that had troubled Mrs. Niu deeply. It seemed
then that Hashidera reported each new development to her. He
could not be entirely cold to the proposal.
On Sunday, the Hashideras stopped by the Ashiya house for an
hour or two, and a party of six set out in a cab for Kobe. The
Makiokas had debated at some length what to eat--Chinese food,
Western food at the Oriental Grill, or Nagasaki food--and had
decided that the Kikusui, a Sukiyaki restaurant, was most like
Kobe. Lunch was over at four. After a stroll through the city and
tea at Juchheims, the Hashideras left for Osaka. The Makiokas
went on to see the American movie Condor at Hankyu Hall. It
was not to be expected that one meeting would bring any real
intimacy between the two families, and in fact they had scarcely
gotten to know one another's faces.
The next afternoon Yukiko was upstairs practicing her calligraphy.

"Telephone, Miss Yukiko." 0-haru came running up.
"For Mrs. Makioka?"
"He said he would like to speak to Miss Yukiko."
"Who is it?"
"Mr. Hashidera."
Yukiko put down her brush in great consternation. She hovered
at the foot of the stairs, her face a naming red, and went no
nearer the telephone.
"Where is Mrs. Makioka?"
"She stepped out for a minute."
"Where?"
"To mail a letter, I believe. She left just this minute. Shall I
call her?"
"Quick! Go call her. Quick!"
0-haru hurried out the door. Half for the exercise, Sachiko
generally went out to mail her own letters, and while she was
about it to take a stroll along the embankment. 0-haru found
her just around the first corner.
410 ___ ______1 HE MAKIOKA biSTERS

"Mrs. Makioka," she panted. "Miss Yukiko wants you."
"Why?"
"There is a telephone call from Mr. Hashidera."
"From Mr. Hashidera?" This was quite unexpected. "For me?"
"No, for Miss Yukiko. But Miss Yukiko sent me to call you."
"Did she go to the phone?"
"She was standing by the stairs when I left."
"Yukiko is so odd. She could just as well go to the phone herself."

Most unfortunate, thought Sachiko. Yukiko's dislike for the
telephone was no secret, and when--rarely--there was a call for
her she usually had someone else do the talking and went to the
telephone herself only on very special occasions. No one had
objected up to now, but this was one of those special occasions.
Whatever Hashidera's reasons for calling, it seemed imperative,
since he had asked for her, that Yukiko take the call. He would
receive quite the wrong impression if Sachiko were to talk to him
instead. Yukiko was after all not a sixteen-year-old. Though her
sisters understood this shyness, they could hardly expect a stranger
to understand. They would be lucky if Hashidera was not
offended. Perhaps Yukiko had gone to the telephone, timid and
protesting? But to go reluctantly after having made him wait, to
say almost nothing--she was even worse over the telephone than
she was face-to-face--and as a result to have him break off the
negotiations--the better alternative might be to let him go on
waiting. There was always that stubborn core. Possibly she had
refused to go near the telephone, and was waiting for Sachiko to
rescue her. Even if Sachiko were to rush home, however, she
would probably find that he had given up, and if he had not, what
could she say by way of excuse? This was one time when Yukiko
herself should have taken the call, and promptly. Something told
Sachiko that this trivial incident could mean the end of the
negotiations on which they had worked so hard. But surely
Hashidera, polished and amiable gentleman that he was, would
not exaggerate the incident. If Sachiko had only been at home,
she could somehow have dragged Yukiko to the telephone.
Wretched luck that he had picked a time--no more than five or
six minutes--when she was out of the house.
Book 'I'hree 411

The receiver was back on the hook, and Yukiko was nowhere
in sight.
"Where is Miss Yukiko?" she asked 0-aki, who was making
cakes for tea.
"She went upstairs, I believe. She is not in her room?"
"Did she answer the telephone?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Right away?"
"She waited and waited, and then finally . . ."
"And did she talk long?"
"No more than a minute or so."
"When did she finish?"
"Just this minute."
Upstairs, Yukiko was studying a copybook.
"What did Mr. Hashidera want?"
"He said he would be waiting at Osaka Station at four-thirty,
and he wanted me to meet him."
"I suppose he wanted to go for a walk with you."
"He said he was thinking of walking through Shinsaibashi and
having dinner somewhere, and he wondered if I would go with
him."
"And what did you say?"
Yukiko did not answer.
"Are you going?"
Yukiko muttered something that sounded very much like
"No."
"Why?"
Silence again.
"You do not agree, Yukiko, that it might be a good idea to
go?"
Sachiko knew her sister well enough not to need an answer?
it would be unthinkable for Yukiko to go walking alone with a
prospective husband, a man she had met but two or three
times. And yet Sachiko was angry. No doubt Yukiko disliked the
thought of having dinner with a man she did not know well, but
did she feel no obligation to Sachiko--more important, to Teinosuke?
If she would only consider the embarrassment and the humiliation
Teinosuke and Sachiko had endured, she ought to think
________ 412 ____________________the makioka sisters

of doing something for herself. It had been bold of Hashidera to
make the call in the first place, and it must 'have been a deep
disappointment to be turned away so brusquely.
"You refused, then?"
"I said I was very sorry."
If she had to refuse, she could have refused gracefully, but
the art of graceful refusal was foreign to Yukiko. Tears of resentment
came to Sachiko's eyes at the thought of the strained, inept
reply Yukiko must have made. Angrier and angrier the longer
she looked at her sister, Sachiko turned abruptly and started downstairs.
She went out to the terrace and on into the garden.
Yukiko might still try to recover the lost ground by calling
Hashidera immediately, apologizing for her rudeness, and offering
to meet him in Osaka that evening, but there was very
little chance that Sachiko's arguments would move her. They
would only quarrel if Sachiko tried to use force. Should Sachiko
go to the telephone herself? Could she offer an explanation
ingenious enough to convince him that Yukiko had good reasons
for not meeting him today? Suppose they meet tomorrow, then,
he might say, and what could she answer? Yukiko would continue
to refuse until she felt that she really knew the man.
Giving up the thought of immediate remedies, might Sachiko
succeed in pacifying Hashidera if she went to Mrs. Niu the
next day, explained Yukiko's feelings and general nature very
carefully, and had Mrs. Niu pass the explanation on? Yukiko
was in no sense keeping aloof from Hashidera, she would explain,
and did not object to walking with him. She had simply led too
sheltered a life, and she lost her self-possession when she met
strange men. And was that fact not evidence of something pure
and clean in her nature?
As Sachiko walked through the garden turning these various
possibilities over in her mind, she thought she heard the telephone
ring.
"Telephone, Mrs. Makioka," 0-haru called down from the
terrace. "From Mrs. Niu."
Startled, Sachiko turned to go into the house. She decided
to take the call from Teinosuke's study instead.
"Sachiko. I just had a call from Mr. Hashidera. He was
furious."
Boofe Three ____ ___________413_____

Mrs. Niu's tone was ominous. That crisp, assured Tokyo speech
was even crisper when she was aroused. She did not know exactly
why, but he was furious. He did not like spineless, quivering,
old-fashioned women. Mrs. Niu had said that Yukiko was bright
and lively, but where in the world was the liveliness she spoke
of? He wanted no more talk of his marrying the woman, and
he hoped Mrs. Niu would tell the Makiokas immediately. Mrs.
Niu did not know exactly what had annoyed him, but he had
evidently wanted to have a good conversation alone with Yukiko,
and had invited her to go for a walk that evening. The maid
who answered the telephone said that Yukiko was at home,
and then there was no Yukiko. He waited and waited. When
she finally came to the telephone he asked if she was free that
evening. "Well," she said, and it was impossible to tell whether
she meant yes or no. As he pressed her for a clearer answer,
she finally said, in a voice he could barely hear, that there
were reasons why she could not see him. She said not another
word. He left the telephona in great anger.
Such was his story, said Mrs. Niu. And what did the lady
have in mind, he had asked--was she intent on making a fool
of him? He was really furious. Mrs. Niu hardly stopped for
breath as she reported the conversation.
"And so I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do."
"I am terribly sorry. Terribly sorry--after all the trouble you
have gone to. If I had only been at home. I stepped out for
just a minute."
"Even if you weren't at home, Yukiko was."
"That is very true. I am really terribly sorry. And I suppose
there is nothing to be done now."
"Nothing."
Sachiko would have liked to crawl away and hide. She could
only listen, and now and then offer a hesitant, incoherent answer.
"I know I shouldn't say all this over the phone, Sachiko, but
I don't think there will be any point in seeing you to talk about
what has happened. I hope you won't mind." Mrs. Niu seemed
ready to end the conversation.
"Really, really. I will be around to apologize. And you are
quite right to be angry." Sachiko hardly knew what she was
saying.
414 the makioka biSTERS

"You needn't apologize, Sachiko, and there's no reason for
you to come and see me." Mrs. Niu wanted to hear no more.
She cut Sachiko's apologies short and said goodbye.
Chin in hand, Sachiko sat for a time at her husband's desk.
When Teinosuke came home, she must tell him the unpleasant
news. Or should she wait until tomorrow, when she would be
calmer? She knew how disappointed he would be, and what
worried her most was the thought that the incident might turn
him against Yukiko. He had always tended to dislike Taeko and
to sympathize with Yukiko. Might he not come to dislike both
of them? Taeko had someone else to watch over her, but what
would Yukiko do if Teinosuke were to abandon her? Sachiko
was in the habit of going to Yukiko when she had to talk
about Taeko, and to Taeko to talk of Yukiko. She suddenly
felt very lonely. How inconvenient it was not to have Taeko
with her!
"Mother." From the doorway, Etsuko looked curiously at her
mother. Coming home from school and finding the house quiet,
she had sensed that something was wrong. "What are you
doing?" She came into the room and peered over her mother's
shoulder. "What are you doing. Mother? Tell me what you are
doing."
"Where is Yukiko?"
"Upstairs reading. Is something wrong?"
"No. Suppose you go talk to Yukiko."
"You come too." Etsuko tugged at her mother's hand.
"All right." Sachiko stood up. Back in the main house, she
sent Etsuko upstairs and sat down at the piano.
Teinosuke came home about an hour later. Sachiko was still
at the piano when she heard the bell. She followed him out to
the study.
"Something terrible has happened. And after you went to all
that trouble."
Not sure whether she would tell him today or wait until
tomorrow, Sachiko had found when she saw him that she could
not keep the news to herself. His expression changed for a
moment, and she thought she heard a sigh. For the rest he
listened quietly, showing no sign of displeasure. In the face of
this composure, Sachiko felt her resentment at Yukiko well up
Book Three 415

again. Who had caused them all this trouble? she thought bitterly.
There was nothing to be gained by going over the whole story
again, she knew, but it seemed clear that Hashidera had been
in a mood to marry. Even though he refused to give a definite
answer, there could be no doubt that he was interested in Yukiko.
Why else would he have called today to invite her out? The
telephone incident seemed too unfortunate--she wanted to stamp
her feet and wail like an angry child. But wailing would do not
good. The opportunity was gone, forever. Why had she not been
at home? She might not have been able to make Yukiko accept
the invitation, but she could at least have seen that her sister
was polite to the man. And the negotiations would have progressed
smoothly. Perhaps a formal engagement was in sight. She did
not think she was dreaming when she said so. The chances
were, or should have been, eight or nine in ten. And then came
that call, when Sachiko was out of the house for no more than
five or six minutes. That the merest trivialities should determine
a person's future! Sachiko was inconsolable. She even seemed
to blame herself for having left the house. And it had been
Yukiko's unhappy fate that the call came at that time of all
possible times.
"I am furious, of course. But poor Yukiko."
"It happened because Yukiko is what she is. I imagine it
would have been the same even if you had been there to answer
the telephone."
Teinosuke set about comforting his wife. Even if Sachiko had
been with her, Yukiko would not have been able to talk to the
man. And short of her accepting the invitation and going out
with him, it did not seem likely that he would have been
satisfied. The ultimate source of the trouble was to be found in
Yukiko's nature, and not in the simple question of whether or
not Sachiko was with her at the telephone. Even if they had
made their way safely through this crisis, there would have been
others ahead. The talks were doomed to failure from the start.
Yukiko had not managed to change herself.
"Do you mean that she will never marry?"
"Not at all. A girl too shy to go to the telephone has good
points of her own. There are men who would never think of
calling her spineless and old-fashioned--men who would see some4lt> 1 HE MAKIOKA SISTERS

thing very charming in her shyness. And only a man who sees
her good points is qualified to be her husband."
Sachiko's anger subsided. Noting that she was not so much
comforting her husband as being comforted by him, she felt more
apologetic than ever. She made a special effort to feel sorry
for Yukiko, who had come downstairs and was sitting on the
parlor sofa with Bell in her lap. But some of the anger returned--
Yukiko was really foo lackadaisical.
"Yukiko." Sachiko Hushed from the strain of keeping back
her anger. "I had a call from Mrs. Niu. She said Mr. Hashidera
was furious and wanted nothing more to do with us."
"Oh?" Yukiko showed little concern. Possibly she was feigning
an indifference she did not feel. She rubbed the throat of the
purring cat.
"And not just Mr. Hashidera. Mrs. Niu too, and Teinosuke,
and myself," Sachiko wanted to add. Somehow she held herself
back. Did Yukiko agree that she had blundered? If so, she might
at least offer a word of apology to Teinosuke. But Sachiko knew
that Yukiko would never apologize even if she knew she should.
The resentment rose anew.

SSSS>CifiS5iCsCtCsgsC>C>C>ftCS;SStGiC^C^^

18

the next day Itani came to Sachiko with all the details.
She knew that Hashidera had called Mrs. Niu, and as a matter
of fact he had called her too. She felt almost as though he
were springing at her throat (he was such a gentleman, too),
and, guessing that the matter was no ordinary one, she immediately
set out for Osaka to see both Hashidera and Mrs. Niu. And when
she heard the story, she agreed that Hashidera had reason to be
angry. His dissatisfaction was a result not only of what had
happened the day before. It had had its beginnings the day
before that, when Hashidera and his daughter had gone to Kobe
with the Makiokas. As they were walking back toward the station,
Hashidera and Yukiko were cut off for a few minutes by a parade
door. i nree 417

in honor of the expeditionary forces. Glancing at a haberdashery
window, Hashidera remarked that he thought he would buy some
socks. Would Yukiko mind helping him? Yukiko stammered and
stuttered, and looked back for help from Sachiko, fifty yards
away. Finally Hashidera, much annoyed, went into the shop and
bought the socks by himself. The incident took no more than
fifteen or twenty minutes, and no one else noticed, but for
Hashidera it was most disagreeable. He tried to take a liberal
view, to convince himself that such was Yukiko's nature and
that she did not especially dislike him. Still it weighed on his
mind, and since the weather was so good and he happened
to have time to spare, it occurred to him the next day that he
might telephone and see whether she did indeed dislike him.
And so, as they knew, insult was piled on insult. He had thought
the first time that she was only embarrassed and uncomfortable.
When he was treated with similar disdain a second time, he
could only conclude that she disliked him thoroughly. Her abrupt
refusal amounted to asking if he was too dull to see the point.
She could surely have found a more graceful way to phrase it.
The young lady was trying to wreck the talks on which the
people around her had worked so hard. He was most grateful for
Mrs. Niu's kindness and Itani's--and Sachiko's and Teinosuke's
too, he added--but however much he wanted to please them,
there was little he could do. He did not feel that he was breaking
off the negotiations--he felt rather that Yukiko had broken them
off. But it had been Mrs. Niu who was really angry, said Itani.
She could not approve of Yukiko's attitude toward men. Because
she had thought an impression of "moodiness" highly probable,
Mrs. Niu had especially advised Yukiko to leave a warm, lively
impression instead, and Yukiko had refused to take her advice.
Mrs. Niu found it even harder to understand Sachiko, who
allowed Yukiko to have her way. Such aloofness was no longer
permitted to a princess even, or to the daughter of a noble
family, and what precisely did Sachiko think her sister was?
So Mrs. Niu had said. Sachiko suspected that Itani was putting
her own resentment into Mrs. Niu's mouth. Severe though the
reproaches were, Sachiko had no answer. There was something
mannish about Itani, however, and once she had had her say she
felt better and moved on to more comfortable topics. It was not

____ 418 ____________ the makioka sisters

such a tragedy, she said, noting Sachiko's dejection. She did
not know about Mrs. Niu, but she herself meant to go on
doing what she could for Miss Yukiko. In the course of the conversation,
that spot over Yukiko's eye had come up for discussion.
Although he had seen her three times in all, Hashidera had
noticed nothing, said Itani, and the daughter had first called the
spot to his attention. They need not worry, then. It made no
difference whatsoever.
Sachiko told Teinosuke nothing of the incident in Kobe.
Telling him could only have the effect of alienating him from
Yukiko. Teinosuke for his part wrote a letter to Hashidera of
which he said nothing to Sachiko. He had no apologies to offer,
he wrote, and he knew his letter might sound querulous, but
there was one thing at least that he must be allowed to explain.
Perhaps Hashidera thought that they, his wife and Teinosuke
himself, had pushed the marriage talks without attempting to
learn Yukiko's views. That was far from the case. Yukiko did
not dislike Hashidera, and they had cause to believe that her
feelings were the opposite. If Hashidera wanted an explanation
for her strange manner of a few days before, or for her manner
over the telephone, then her general shyness before men was
explanation enough. There was no evidence of any dislike for
him. Though it would seem ridiculous to outsiders that a woman
past thirty should be so shy, her family, those who knew her well,
saw nothing whatsoever to be surprised at. She had always behaved
thus, and her fear of strangers had if anything begun to
leave her. They knew, however, that they could not expect people to understand, and he had no apologies to offer--especially
for that telephone incident. He had denied that she was moody
and had insisted that at heart she was gay and bright, and even
now he felt that he had not been mistaken, but for a woman
past thirty to be incapable of the simplest greeting was evidence
of bad training in the extreme. Hashidera had every right to
be angry. If he had been forced to conclude that she was not
qualified to become his wife, then there was no quarreling with
his decision. Teinosuke would have to admit that Yukiko had
failed the test. He did not have the impudence to ask that
Hashidera reconsider. Improper upbringing had left her behind
the times: she had early lost her mother, and she had still been
Ģŧook l nree 419

young when her father had died--and of course a good part of
the responsibility lay with Teinosuke and his wife. Though it
was possible that he had come to overrate Yukiko, he did want
Hashidera to know that he had no recollection of having resorted
to distortion or falsehood in his efforts at matchmaking. He hoped
that Hashidera would soon find himself a good wife, and that
something would be arranged for Yukiko too, so that they
could both forget the unpleasantness, and he hoped that one
day they might all be friends. Since it had been such a pleasure
to know Hashidera, it was an irreparable loss that through so
trival an incident they might not see each other again.
That was the substance of the letter. Almost immediately a
polite answer came from Hashidera. He was most grateful for
Teinosuke's admirable letter. Teinosuke was being modest when he
said that his sister-in-law had been reared in an outmoded manner.
The fact was that Yukiko could never really be at home in the
modern world. She would therefore always retain something pure
and maidenly. What she needed was a husband who would place
a proper value on her virtues, someone who would see it as his
duty to cherish and protect them, and unfortunately the deep
understanding and the delicate sensibility required were quite
lacking in a countrified boor like himself. He had therefore
come to believe that a match would make neither of them happy.
He would be most distressed if he thought he had said anything
about the lady that might seem insulting, and he was most
grateful for all their courtesies. The tranquil happiness of the
Makioka family was something for the world to envy. Because
she was lucky enough to be a member of such a family,
Yukiko had become the gem she was. Like Teinosuke's, the
letter was carefully written in brush on Japanese paper. Though
it was not in the most formal of language, no one could have
taken exception to the careful, polished sentences.
In Kobe with the Hashideras, Sachiko had picked out a blouse
for the daughter and asked to have an initial embroidered on it.
Some days after the marriage talks were broken off, the blouse
was delivered. Thinking Hashidera might find it strange if she
let the matter drop, Sachiko sent the gift through Itani. When
she visited Itani's beauty shop two weeks later she was given
a manila-wrapped package that had been left by Hashidera, and
_______ 420 ___________________1 HE MAKIOKA LISTERS

when she got home she found that it contained a crepe singlet
from the Eriman in Kyoto. It was exactly right for her--perhaps
Mrs. Niu had done the selecting. They concluded that it was in
return for the blouse, and they thus had further evidence of
Hashidera's scrupulous attention to the proprieties.
Though it was not easy to tell how Yukiko felt, outwardly
she was neither disappointed nor apologetic. One would have
said--she might have had a guiltier conscience than she chose
to reveal--that she appreciated what Sachiko and the others had
done for her, and yet, since she was incapable of doing more
for herself, she was not one to grieve over a man who could
reject her on such grounds. Sachiko found that the opportunity
to speak of her resentment had passed, and soon the two sisters
slipped back into their old relationship, though Sachiko still felt a
vague rankling. She would have liked to tell everything to Taeko.
Unfortunately it had been some twenty days since Taeko's last
visit. She had come on a Tuesday early in March, the morning
after the fateful telephone call; had stayed only long enough
to hear that again it was "no match"; and had gone away looking
bitterly disappointed. Afraid that Itani and Mrs. Niu knew a
good deal bout Taeko and were hoping to learn more, Sachiko
gave carefully evasive answers each time they asked what had
happened to "Koi-san." She did not want it to be known that
Taeko was living out, and yet she had to be prepared, if Taeko's
relations with Okubata attracted notice, to say that Taeko was
no longer one of the family. Now that her efforts in Yukiko's
behalf had come to nothing, she found herself wanting intensely
to see Taeko. What might have happened to Koisan--ought
they to telephone her? They discussed the matter over the breakfast
table one morning, and that morning 0-haru, who had taken
Etsuko to school, was some three hours coming home.
Sachiko and Yukiko were alone in the parlor.
"Koi-san is ill," said 0-haru in a low voice.
"111? What is the matter?"
"It seems to be either intestinal catarrh or dysentery."
"Was there a telephone call?"
"Yes, ma am."
"And you went to see?"
"Yes, I ..."
Uook ihree 421

"Is she in her room?" asked Yukiko.
"No, ma'am." 0-haru stared at the floor.
This was the story: 0-haru had gotten out of bed to answer
the telephone that morning. The call was from Okubata, who
said that two days earlier Koi-san had taken ill at his house.
At about ten o'clock in the night she began to run a high fever,
well over one hundred, and she was seized with violent chills.
When she tried to leave he kept her back and made her go to
bed. She got worse, and the next day he called a doctor who
practiced in the neighborhood. The doctor had trouble with
his diagnosis. It looked like influenza, he said, or possibly typhus,
but in the middle of the night she was taken with violent
abdominal pains and diarrhea, and the doctor decided she had
intestinal catarrh or dysentery. If it did prove to be dysentery,
they would have to move her to a hospital. For the time being
she would be at Okubata's, however, since they could hardly
send her back to her room alone. Okubata was telling only 0-haru.
Though Koi-san was in great pain, there was no immediate
danger, and there was no reason why they could not take care of
her in his house. He would let the Makiokas know of any change
in her condition--not of course that he expected a change.
0-haru decided to see for herself, and went to Nishinomiya after
taking Etsuko to school. Taeko was much worse than Okubata
had suggested over the telephone. She had had some twenty
or thirty attacks of diarrhea in the night. Braced against a chair,
she was in fact spending all her time over the bedpan. The
doctor said that this would never do, that she should rest quietly
in bed and use an insertable bedpan, and after 0-haru arrived
they forced her to lie down. There were several attacks of diarrhea
during 0-haru's visit, violent spasms that produced nothing and
only added to the suffering. The fever was still high, about one
hundred two at the latest measuring. The stool was being tested
at Osaka University, and they would have the results in a day
or two. When 0-haru suggested that it might be a good idea
to call Dr. Kushida, Taeko answered that she did not want
Dr. Kushida to see her in such a place. And she did not want
to worry her sisters. 0-haru was not to tell Sachiko. 0-haru replied
only that she would come again some time during the day.
"Was there a nurse?"
422 the makioka sisters

"No. They said they would call a nurse if it seemed that
she would be in bed long."
"Who is taking care of her, then?"
"The young master takes care of the ice bag." For some reason,
0-haru had begun calling Okubata "the young master." "I took
care of disinfecting the bedpan and tidying her up afterwards."
"Who does it when you are not there?"
"I wonder. The old woman, I imagine. She is very good--the
young master's housekeeper."
"And she does the kitchen work too?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"But it might be dysentery. I should think it would be
dangerous to have her handling the bedpan."
"Do you think I should go and help?" asked Yukiko.
"Suppose we wait a little longer."
If it was dysentery, something would have to be done, but
there was no cause for confusion if it was only an attack of
catarrh which would pass in two or three days. For the time
being they would only send 0-haru off to help, said Sachiko.
Should they then tell Teinosuke and Etsuko that sudden business
had called her home, and that she would be gone for two or three
days?
"What sort of doctor do they have?"
"I have no idea. Somone from the neighborhood, they said.
They had never called him before."
"It would really be better to have Dr. Kushida," said Yukiko.
"It would indeed," Sachiko agreed. "If only she were in her
own room. But with her at Kei-boy's . . ."
Taeko had insisted that 0-haru was not to tell the family,
but Sachiko suspected that she hoped 0-haru would ignore her
orders. Surprisingly weak at times, Taeko knew how good it was
to have a family. She would be lonely with neither Sachiko nor
Yukiko beside her.
i9

o-haku hurried away after an early lunch, careful to thank
Sachiko for the two or three days she was to have off. As she
started for the door, she was called into the living room and
given careful instructions: she was not to fall into her usual
carelessness; she must wash her hands after she touched the
patient, and she must sprinkle the bedpan with lysol each time
it was used. And these instructions were added: though Sachiko
wanted to be kept thoroughly informed, Okubata had no telephone;
it would be awkward if a call were to come while Teinosuke
and Etsuko were in the house, and 0-haru was therefore to call
at least once every morning; and even if it was possible to use a
telephone in some near-by shop, she was to go to a public
telephone.
Since it was already afternoon, they could not expect a call
that day. The next morning seemed a great distance off, and the
first call came at about ten. Sachiko took it in Teinosuke's study.
The connection was very bad, and from time to time they were
cut off. It was a very great effort to acquire very little information.
There seemed to have been no particular change, except that
the diarrhea had become worse during the night--some ten
attacks every hour. The temperature showed no sign of falling.
Was it dysentery? They did not know yet. What about the tests
at Osaka University? They had no report. What about the stool
--did there seem to be a mixture of blood? There did seem to be
traces of blood, and besides the blood there was a thick, white
mucus. Where was 0-haru calling from? A public telephone.
There was no public telephone near Okubata's house, and it
was most inconvenient, and she had been late because two or
three people were in line ahead of her. She would try to call
again that day. She would call the following morning at the latest.
"If there is blood, it must be dysentery," said Yukiko, who
was standing beside the telephone.
"I suppose so."
"Is there blood with intestinal catarrh?"
_______ 424 ___________________ 1 HE MAKIOKA LISTERS

"I doubt it."
"It must be dysentery. Ten attacks an hour."
"I wonder if the doctor is good."
Convinced that it was dysentery, Sachiko debated what to do.
The second call did not come that day, nor did it come the
following morning. Toward noon, 0-haru appeared at the kitchen
door.
"What is it?" Noting a certain tenseness in 0-haru's manner,
the two sisters led her into the parlor.
"It does seem to be dysentery."
The report had not yet come from Osaka University, but the
doctor, who had called the night before and again that morning,
said it seemed to be dysentery. The Kimura Hospital on the
National Highway had an isolation ward. Should the doctor have
Taeko sent there? They were on the point of asking him to do so
when the green grocer happened to tell 0-haru that they might
better choose another hospital, and upon inquiring around the
neighborhood, 0-haru found that the Kimura Hospital had a
bad name. Dr. Kimura was almost deaf and incapable of a really
thorough examination, and his diagnoses were often wrong.
Though he was a graduate of Osaka University, his record had
not been good, and it was even said that his graduation essay
had been written by a classmate. The classmate, who was practicing
not far away, sometimes boasted of having written two essays.
Much disturbed when 0-haru passed this information on to him,
Okubata set about looking for another hospital. Unfortunately
no other in the area had an isolation ward. How would it be,
he suggested, if they said that she had intestinal catarrh and
nursed her at home? They could hardly expect the doctor to
agree, dysentery being an infectious disease. Surely not every
dysentery patient was sent to the hospital, argued Okubata;
a great many were treated at home. It made no difference what
the doctor said: they would treat her at home, and he would
have to agree. But they should consult Mrs. Makioka. Very well,
said 0-haru. Knowing that a telephone call would not do, she
hurried back to Ashiya.
Sachiko wanted to know more about the doctor. He was a
graduate of Osaka University, said 0-haru, and seemed to be
two or three years younger than Dr. Kushida. His father, who
door i nree _________ 42 5

was still living, had long been practicing in the neighborhood,
and father and son were both well thought of, but it seemed
to 0-haru that he lacked Dr. Kushida's brisk assurance. He was
fearfully slow and deliberate in his examinations, and it was
not easy to force a definite answer from him. His slowness had
been one reason for the delay in the final diagnosis, and another
had been the fact that for dysentery the fever was rather too
high, and the diarrhea had begun a full day after the first symptoms
appeared. There had thus been some possibility that it was
typhus. The attack of dysentery was more serious than it would
have been with a prompter diagnosis.
"But where did she pick it up? Did she eat something?"
"She said she thought it was the mackerel."
"Where did she have mackerel?"
"That evening she and the young master were walking in
Kobe, and they had mackerel in a sushi restaurant called the
Kisuke."
"I have never heard of it. Have you, Yukiko?"
"Never."
"Koi-san said it was in one of the geisha quarters. She had
been told that it was very good and she had been meaning to go
there for some time. They were on their way home from a
movie."
"And nothing happened to Kei-boy?"
"The young master never eats mackerel. Koi-san had mackerel
by herself, and they are sure that that was it. But she only had a
little, and it was not the least bit old or spoiled."
"I am always afraid of mackerel. You never can tell about
mackerel, no matter how fresh it is."
"The darker it is the more dangerous, they say, and she had
two or three slices of dark meat."
"Yukiko and I never eat mackerel. Only Koisan."
"And Koi-san eats in too many places."
"That is the truth. She hardly ever had dinner at home, and
now see what happens to her."
And what was Okubata thinking? However calm he might seem,
was he not upset at having on his hands a patient with an
infectious disease? When he found that it was not, as he had
supposed, a light attack of catarrh, had he concluded that he
420 _____1HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

had more than he could manage, and had he hoped to send her
back to Ashiya? Sachiko remembered his behavior at the time
of the flood, two years before. But 0-haru replied that he did
not seem in the least upset. Rather the dandy, he had not
wanted to spoil his trousers in the flood, but he did not seem
to fear infectious diseases. Perhaps, remembering how the flood
had helped turn Taeko against him, he was determined to show
his devotion this time--in any case, 0-haru could not believe
that it was empty talk when he urged Koi-san to stay with him.
And he noticed the smallest details. He would sometimes give
instructions to 0-haru and the nurse, or help with the ice bag
and the bedpan himself.
"I am going with 0-haru," said Yukiko. "No one can possibly
mind."
People did not die of dysentery. Besides, Okubata himself had
been the first to urge that Koi-san stay with him, and they
really had nowhere to move her. There seemed nothing wrong
with leaving her in Nishinomiya, then, but they could hardly
disclaim all responsibility. Whatever Teinosuke and the people
in the main house might think, Yukiko and Sachiko did not mean
to leave Koi-san unattended. There could be no objection if
Yukiko went on her own initiative. She would feel better if
Okubata had had Dr. Kushida in, said Yukiko, but with only a
strange doctor and nurse--she had to help. She would take 0-haru's
place, and 0-haru could be used as a messenger. Since it was so
difficult to learn the truth by telephone, they only worried the
more, and since there would be any number of things lacking
in a bachelor's house, 0-haru would have much running back and
forth to do. Yukiko immediately went to get ready. After a light
lunch, she left the house without asking Sachiko's permission.
Probably she did not want to trouble her sister. Sachiko agreed
with her completely, and made no effort to stop her.
Etsuko was told in an offhand way that Yukiko had gone
to have an injection and afterwards to do some shopping in
Kobe. Such a story would not do for Teinosuke, however, and
Sachiko told him everything, down to Yukiko's decision, quite
without prompting from Sachiko, to go to Nishinomiya. Teinosuke
frowned and said nothing. He could only accept the decision in
silence. At dinner, Etsuko was told a little of the truth--that
Hook I hree 427

Yukiko had gone to take care of Koi-san--and she immediately
began digging for more: where was Koi-san, and what was
the matter with her? Koi-san was ill in her apartment, and
Yukiko had gone because Koi-san was all alone. And it was
nothing serious, nothing for a child to worry about--Sachiko's
manner became a little impatient. Etsuko said no more. Not
at all sure that the child believed them, Teinosuke and Sachiko
tried to interest her in other subjects. She answered their questions
without enthusiasm, and now and then she would glance cautiously
up at one or the other. Although she had been told that
Koi-san, who had disappeared the end of the year before, was
very busy, she had heard much of the truth from 0-haru, and
indeed it was convenient not to have her in complete ignorance.
Two or three days later, worried that there was no sign of
Yukiko in spite of all 0-haru's trips back and forth, she began
nagging at 0-haru to tell her how Koi-san was. Finally she
accosted her mother.
"Why is Koi-san away from home? Have them bring her home,
right away."
Thus Sachiko found that she was the one being scolded. She
tried to calm the child. "Yukiko and I are taking care of
Koi-san, and there is nothing for you to worry about. Children
are not supposed to talk about such things."
But Etsuko was aroused. "How can you leave her there?"
she screamed. "She might die on you. She might. How can
you leave her there?"
The fact was that Taeko's progress was not satisfactory. She
was getting worse. With Yukiko at her bedside, she did not want
for nurses, but 0-haru reported that she was getting weaker day
by day. The results of the tests had come from Osaka University.
Among the germs were germs of the most virulent sort. And
for some reason her temperature rose and fell any number of
times every day. At its highest, it went up to one hundred
four, and with the fever came violent chills. Partly this was because
she had been given medicine to stop the diarrhea and the
violent abdominal pains. When the diarrhea subsided, the ague
began and the fever rose. And when on the other hand the
diarrhea returned, the fever fell, the pain became intense, and
she strained at the bedpan to produce only a thin, watery
428 1 HE MAKIOKA LISTERS

substance. Told that the heart seemed to be affected, Yukiko
was quite beside herself. Would Taeko recover? It did not seem
to be simple dysentery--might there be complications? She suggested
that the doctor try injections. Ringer's solution or vita-
camphor, but he only replied that matters were not yet so
serious. Sure that Dr. Kushida would by now be giving injection
after injection, Yukiko asked the nurse's opinion, and was told
that Dr. Saito, influenced by his father, disapproved of injections.
He would give an injection only in a real crisis. Miss Yukiko,
said 0-haru, now felt that it no longer mattered what people
thought, that they must call in Dr. Kushida, but she wanted Mrs.
Makioka to come for a look. 0-haru added that in the last five
or six days Koi-san had gotten thinner and thinner. Mrs. Makioka
would be shocked.
Sachiko had been hesitating because she feared infection and
because she did not want to worry Teinosuke. Now, however, she
decided to go with 0-haru that very morning, and to say nothing
to her husband of the visit. Just before she left, she thought to
call Dr. Kushida and ask his opinion. She explained brieBy that
Taeko had taken ill in the house of an acquaintance, that there
were reasons for leaving her there, that they had called a doctor
named Saito in the neighborhood, and that her progress had been
far from ideal. At such times, replied Dr. Kushida with his usual
briskness, one gave the patient shot after shot of Ringer's solution
and camphor. Otherwise the patient only became weaker. Sachiko
must tell the doctor to hurry with injections before it was too late.
She might have to ask Dr. Kushida to pay a call, said Sachiko.
It was not as if he did not know Saito, replied Dr. Kushida,
and if Saito had no objection he would call whenever they
needed him.
Some hundreds of yards east of Narihira Bridge, a cherry tree
over an earthen wall to the north of the National Highway was
in full bloom.
"How beautiful," murmured 0-haru.
"This is always the first tree to bloom," said Sachiko. She
looked at the pavement, from which shimmering waves were
rising as in midsummer. They had hardly noticed in all the
excitement, but here it was April, and in another ten days the
cherries would be in full bloom. And would the whole family
ISook three 429

go to Kyote as usual? If only they could; but did it seem likely,
even at the most sanguine estimate, that Koi-san would be up
in time? Perhaps she would be well for the late cherries at Omuro.
Etsuko had come down with scarlet fever the year before, Sachiko
remembered. Though the child had waited until after the cherry
viewing, and her illness had not interferred with that particular
pleasure, it had kept Sachiko from seeing Kikugoro. This month
Kikugoro was coming to Osaka again. He would be dancing
"Wistaria Maiden," and she had meant to go whatever happened.
Would she have to miss him this year too?
The cab moved along the embankment. In the distance. Helmet
Mountain rose through a spring mist.

^^9s7sOs3s^s3s^s3s^s3^s^s3s^>^^y

20

taeko was in bed upstairs. Yukiko and Okubata had heard the
cab and were waiting at the foot of the stairs.
Okubata signalled to Sachiko and led her to the rear of the
house.
"Excuse me for being so abrupt, but there is something I have
to tell you."
Dr. Saito had just made his call, and as Okubata saw him to
the door, the doctor had said that Taeko's heart was weaker.
The symptoms were still far from clear, he added, and he might
be imagining things, but it seemed to him that the liver was
swollen. She might just possibly have anthrax. And what was
anthrax? Okubata had asked. A disease in which pustules form
in the liver. The extreme temperature fluctuations, the chills
and ague. Dr. Saito had said, could only be explained by anthrax.
He did not feel confident alone, however, and wondered if he
might call in a specialist from Osaka University. Okubata learned
more of anthrax: germs from other lesions, occasionally from
dysentery, attach themselves to internal organs; if there is but
one pustule it is easily treated; unfortunately the pustules tend
to multiply, and the disease can be very troublesome when num430 _____ the makioka sisters

hers of pustules form in the liver. If the pustules break in the internal
organs, all is well, but if they break against the diaphragm,
the bronchial tubes, or the peritoneum, almost nothing can be
done to save the patient. Though Dr. Saito avoided a direct
statement, there was little doubt that he considered his diagnosis
certain.
"Well, let me see her." When she had heard the story from
Yukiko and Okubata in turns, Sachiko headed for the stairs. The
six-mat room, which faced south, had a little balcony and a
foreign-style hinged door. Though the floor was matted in the
Japanese fashion, the room was otherwise occidental but for a
closet with sliding doors; there was no alcove, the walls and even
the ceiling were white. As for furnishings: a triangular cupboard
stood in a corner of the room, and on it a dirty candlestick,
apparently a foreign antique, covered with drops of wax; two
or three other knickknacks, probably from second-hand stalls;
and a faded French doll that Taeko had made long before.
As for hangings, there was only a painting on glass. It would
have been a singularly ugly room but for the thick crepe-covered
quilt of large scarlet-and-white checks, like a blaze of flowers in the
sunlight that poured through sliding windows some two yards
wide. The fever had fallen, it seemed. Taeko lay on her right side
with her eyes fixed on the door, waiting for Sachiko. Sachiko
had dreaded this first encounter, but, perhaps because 0-haru
had prepared her well, she found Taeko less wasted than she
had expected. Yet there was no denying that Taeko had changed.
The round face had become long and thin, and the swarthy skin
was even darker. And the eyes seemed to have grown as the
rest of the face shrank.
Something else caught Sachiko's attention. It was natural that
Taeko, unable to bathe, should be a little dirty, but there seemed
to be rather a special kind of uncleanness about her. Ordinarily
she was able to hide the effects of her misbehavior under
cosmetics. Now, as a result of the emaciation, a certain darkness,
a shadow of what one might call dissoluteness, had come over
the face and throat and wrists. It must not be supposed that
Sachiko was immediately conscious of all this, but there her
sister lay, like a charity patient picked up in a gutter, her arms
lifeless on the bed, as though she were quite exhausted from
Boofe Three 431

something besides the dysentery, from her intemperance over
the years. A woman Taeko's age, long in bed, often seems to
revert to the pretty little girl she was at twelve or thirteen, to
take on a cleanness, a spiritual quality almost. With Taeko it was
the opposite: she had lost her youthfulness, and she even looked
older than she was. And, strangely, that fashionable modern air
had disappeared. She reminded one of a servant in some teahouse
or restaurant, a not-too-proper establishment at that. Though
she had always been the different one, the scapegrace, no one
could have denied that there was something fresh and girlish
about her, and now this muddy, sagging skin--a skin that seemed
to hide some loathsome disease, and made one thing of a fallen
woman. The brightness of the quilt set the diseased look off
more sharply. It occurred to Sachiko that Yukiko must have
noticed, and that she had quietly been watching "the diseased
look" develop. When Taeko had had a bath, Yukiko refused to use
the tub afterwards. She would borrow the most intimate garments
from Sachiko without thinking twice, but she never tried to
borrow anything from Taeko. Sachiko had noted all this vaguely,
whether or not Taeko had, and she had noted too that Yukiko's
squeamishness had begun at about the time a rumor came to them
that Okubata had chronic gonorrhea. Taeko was fond of saying
that her relations with both Itakura and Okubata had been
nothing but "clean," and Sachiko had made it a point not to
challenge her. Yet Sachiko had trouble accepting these protestations,
and it seemed that Yukiko, without saying a word, had
for some time been critical and even contemptuous of her sister.
"How are you, Koi-san?" Sachiko asked lightly. "They said
you had wasted away to nothing, but you really look much better
than I expected. How often have you used the bedpan today?"
"Three times since this morning." Her face as expressionless
as ever, Taeko answered in a low but distinct voice. "Only pains,
and nothing comes out."
"That happens with dysentery. 'Tenesmus' is the word doctors
have for it."
"Oh?" Taeko was silent for a moment. "I hope I never see
another mackerel." She smiled for the first time, albeit faintly.
"I quite agree with you. Never have mackerel again." Sachiko's
manner changed a little. "There is nothing to worry about, but
432 ___________the makioka sisters

Dr. Saito says we must be careful, and he wants to call in
another doctor. I thought we might ask Dr. Kushida."
The three of them had decided downstairs that, since Taeko
did not know how serious her condition was, a direct statement
might upset her less than a long explanation, and that, though
Dr. Saito had suggested calling a specialist from Osaka University
and there was much to be said for the suggestion, they might
only succeed in frightening her. It would not be too late to call a
specialist after they had heard what Dr. Kushida had to say. Taeko
listened vacantly, her eyes on the floor.
"Do you mind, Koisan?"
"Dr. Kushida is not to see me here." She spoke with sudden
determination, and there were tears in her eyes. "I would be
ashamed to have him see me here."
The nurse was tactful enough to leave. Okubata and Sachiko
and Yukiko stared in surprise at the tears that were streaming
down Taeko's face.
"Let me talk to her alone." In much confusion, Okubata
cast a pleading glance at Sachiko. His eyes swollen from lack
of sleep, he sat across from Sachiko in a flannel nightgown over
which he had thrown a blue-gray silk bathrobe.
"Never mind, Koi-san," said Sachiko. "We can do without Dr.
Kushida." The important thing was to avoid exciting her. Sachiko
could not help feeling that she had gone too far already, and
though Okubata probably knew what had caused this outburst,
Sachiko had no idea.
It was almost noon, and she had come without Teinosuke's
permission. An hour or so later, when Taeko was quiet again,
she picked her moment to withdraw. Meaning to go home by
bus or streetcar, she walked south through the mambo of which
0-haru had spoken. Yukiko was beside her and 0-haru a little
to the rear--they would see her part of the way.
"Something strange happened last night."
So Yukiko began. It was at about two in the morning, she said.
Yukiko and the nurse were sleeping across the hall. (They usually
took turns with Taeko. The latter having gone comfortably to
sleep at about twelve, however, Okubata suggested that the two
have a good night's sleep. He would take care of the patient
himself. They had left everything to him, and he must have been
Book Three 433

dozing beside the bed.) Suddenly they heard a loud groaning
from the other room. Was she in pain, was she having a nightmare?--but
Kei-boy would surely be watching over her. As Yukiko
jumped out of bed and opened the door across the hall, she heard
Okubata trying to rouse Taeko, and she heard Taeko call out for
Itakura: "Yone-yan," she said, using the affectionate nickname.
She said no more. Evidently the dream had passed. But there
could be no doubt about that cry: "Yone-yan." Yukiko closed
the door and went back to bed, and for the time being everything
was quiet. At that point the full force of her exhaustion struck
her, and she slept until, at about four, the diarrhea began with
intense pains, and Okubata, unable to manage alone, came to
call her. She had been up ever since. She was surer and surer
that "Yone-yan" was Itakura, and that Taeko had been frightened
by a dream of the dead man. The first anniversary of his death
was approaching--he had died in May. One knew, from the way
Koi-san visited the grave in Okayama every month, that she still
thought about him, possibly because he had died so horribly,
and one could not help suspecting that it must trouble her, with
the anniversary approaching, to be seriously ill in the house of
his rival. Koi-san had depths beyond depths. It was not easy
to know what she was thinking. Still it seemed fairly certain
that this much at least was on her mind, and that she had had a
nightmare somehow related to Itakura. Or possibly Yukiko was
imagining things--she could not really be sure she was right.
The physical anguish since that morning had left Koi-san no
room for mental anguish; and when, finally, the pain subsided,
she only lay apathetic. And Kei-boy was an even better actor
than Koi-san, and from his manner one would never have guessed
that anything untoward had happened. But if even Yukiko
had noticed, did it seem likely that Kei-boy had not? And that
outburst this morning: this was pure conjecture on her part,
said Yukiko, but did it not seem likely that Koi-san, having
been tormented by Itakura's ghost, was afraid to stay with Okubata?
Might she be thinking that she would not recover while she
was here--that she would grow weaker and die? If so, might she be
telling them less that she did not want to see Dr. Kushida than that
she wanted them to move her?
"You may be right."

434 ^ HE makioka sisters

"I might try to find out more. But Kei-boy is always around."
"I just happened to think. If we have to move her, how would
Dr. Kambara's hospital be? I am sure he would take her if we
explained."
"Of course he would. But can he treat dysentery?"
"If he will let us have a room, we can have Dr. Kushida come
in."
Dr. Kambara had a surgical hospital between Osaka and Kobe.
Long before, when the sisters had been girls and Dr. Kambara
himself a student in Osaka University, he had frequented the
Osaka house and the Semba shop. Old Mr. Makioka had learned
that he was a very gifted student and that he was short of money,
and, going through a suitable intermediary, had offered help.
When Dr. Kambara returned from Germany to open his hospital,
part of the capital came from the Makiokas. With all the qualities
of a great surgeon and with complete confidence in himself, he
soon prospered. Before many years he was able to repay the debt
in full, and afterwards when someone from the Makioka family
or the shop would go for treatment he would accept only a small
part of the usual fee. He was in part still repaying the old debt,
of course, but he had about him a fatherly expansiveness, and a
natural warmth that told of his east-country origins. If Sachiko
were to explain what had happened, and ask him to find a suitable
pretext for taking Taeko in, he would not be likely to refuse. They
would have to trouble Dr. Kushida to look in on the patient now
and then, since Dr. Kambara had only surgeons on his staff. Fortunately
Dr. Kushida and Dr. Kambara were classmates, and on
good terms.
As Yukiko and 0-haru saw her through the underpass, Sachiko
worked out her plans: she would call Dr. Kushida and Dr. Kambara;
because Taeko was growing weaker, and because Dr. Saito
had even suggested that they might expect the worst, they could
no longer leave her at Okubata's even if she had wanted to stay;
they could not be too careful, and Yukiko was to approach Dr.
Saito and insist on injections; and if Yukiko could not prevail by
herself she was to talk to Okubata. At home, Sachiko called Dr.
Kambara. Quite as she had expected, he said he would have a
room ready, and they should bring the patient immediately. Dr.
Kushida was a different matter: always busy, he was difficult to
Kook 'Ihree 43;

catch. After following him around from patient to patient, Sa-
chiko found him at about six in the evening. She was all for moving
Taeko immediately. There were all sorts of details to be
arranged, however, and she had to explain everything to Teinosuke,
who seemed worried in spite of his silence, and make him
agree to pay the expenses, and the move finally had to be put off
until the next morning. Sachiko called Nishinomiya at about
seven in the morning. 0-haru, back at noon with messages from
Yukiko, reported new developments. First the illness: chills and
tremors had begun again shortly after Sachiko left, and the temperature
for a time rose above one hundred four. In the evening
it was still over one hundred. Okubata went to the phone, and insisted
on injections, and Dr. Saito said he would give them a try,
but it; was his father who appeared and who, after an examination
and some deliberation, said that the time had not yet come for
injections, and shoved the hypodermic needle (the nurse had it
ready) into his case. Convinced that they must change doctors,
Yukiko waited until Taeko seemed relatively comfortable and suggested
again that they call Dr. Kushida. Her suspicious were confirmed:
Taeko did not want to be in Okubata's house--though
she did not give her reasons. She wanted to be moved to a hospital
or even back to her room. She would not mind seeing Dr. Kushida
afterwards, but she would not see him here. Because Okubata was
sitting tensely beside the bed, she talked with great reluctance.
Much annoyed, he tried several times to make her reconsider:
she was not to say such things, she was to stay in his house, there
was nothing to worry about. She ignored him and talked only to
Yukiko, and finally he lost his temper. Why did she dislike it here,
he asked, his voice rising. Suspecting that Taeko's nightmare had
brought emotional complications, Yukiko tried to calm him without
touching on what had evidently upset him. She was most
grateful for his kindness, she said, but they could not leave Taeko
on his hands forever. And then Sachiko had said--and Yukiko
told of the arrangements with Dr. Kambara. In the end he was
somewhat calmer.
21

there was another small incident when at eight the following
morning Taeko was taken away in an ambulance. Okubata insisted
that he would go with her. It was his duty to see her to the
hospital. Sachiko and Yukiko took turns arguing, almost pleading,
with him. They quite understood, but they wanted him to leave
everything to them. Though they would not keep him from seeing
Koi-san afterwards, the relationship between the two was not publicly
recognized, and Koi-san herself worried about appearances,
and the sisters hoped he would leave her with them for a time,
and try to stay in the background. They would let him know of
any changes, and they would always welcome telephone calls
from him. After a great struggle, they made him promise to telephone
only in the morning, to ask only for Sachiko or 0-haru, and
not to telephone the hospital directly. Sachiko explained everything
to Dr. Saito and thanked him for his trouble. He was most
agreeable, and offered to see Taeko to the hospital, where Dr.
Kushida would be waiting.
Yukiko rode in the ambulance with Dr. Saito, while Sachiko
stayed behind to clean house. An hour or so later, after paying
the nurse and tipping the old woman, Sachiko followed by cab.
That indescribable tension when someone near her was sent to
the hospital, that terrible foreboding--Sachiko had experienced
it before and feared it again now, and she could not fight off a
growing heaviness of spirit even as she looked out at scenery that
would ordinarily have left her buoyant and gay: the spring sunlight
was more radiant than the day before, the Rokko mountain
chain carried a still heavier spring mist, and here and there magnolias
and forsythias were in bloom. Taeko had changed dreadfully
in one short day. Yesterday Sachiko had been able to tell
herself that Dr. Saito was trying to frighten them. Today she began
to wonder whether it was not just possible--those fixed, staring
eyes, quite unlike the eyes of yesterday. Taeko did not have a
really expressive face at best, but that morning she looked numb
and apathetic. Those strangely wide eyes seemed fixed on a point
t5ooR l tiree 437

in the air, like the eyes of one who watched death. Sachiko could
not look at them without feeling a new wave of terror. Yesterday
Taeko had wept, and argued with some warmth, but during that
discussion this morning--should Okubata go along, should he stay
behind--she had only stared blankly ahead, as though the matter
did not concern her.
Dr. Kambara had said over the telephone that he would have a
special room for her, and her room was in fact an expensive one
in the pure Japanese style, the main room of an outbuilding
joined to the main hospital by a covered corridor. Built originally
as Dr. Kambara's residence, it had become a sort of rest house
when, the year before, he bought a mansion a half mile or so
away, and now, since it could easily be turned into an isolation
ward, Taeko was offered a luxury suite: an eight-mat room and an
adjoining four-mat room surrounded by wide verandas, with access
to kitchen and bath. Sachiko had called the agency to ask
if they might have the "Mito" who had seen Etsuko through
scarlet fever, and Mito was available. She came on duty that same
morning. The popular Dr. Kushida was a different matter: although
Sachiko had been most careful to specify the time, he did
not come and he did not come, and again they had to chase
him from patient to patient, and call two or three times to hurry
him. Though Dr. Saito did look at his watch occasionally, he
waited politely and left after turning Taeko over to Dr. Kushida.
The conversation between the two doctors, full of ponderous German
words, was not entirely clear to the others. Dr. Kushida's diagnosis
seemed to differ considerably from Dr. Saito's. The liver
was not swollen, he said, and he could not believe that Taeko had
anthrax. The violent temperature fluctuations and the chills went
perfectly well with amoebic dysentery, and were not so extremely
unusual. She was making good progress, he added, but there
was no denying that she was weak. He would give her injections
of Ringer's solution and camphor, and afterwards "Mito" would
give her prontosil. He would call again the next day. There was
nothing to worry about. Sachiko, not wholly convinced, saw him
to the gate and asked in a tearful voice if everything was really
going as well as he suggested. Of course, of course, he said, overflowing
with confidence. But might they not call in a specialist
from Osaka University? No, Saito was exaggerating. If it seemed
430 I tin. IVlAK.lUJ'i.A J1S11-.KS

necessary Dr. Kushida would call a specialist. Everything could be
left to him. But, persisted Sachiko, Koi-san had changed even to
the layman's eye. Only yesterday she had seemed so different. Did
she not have the look of one who faced death? Dr. Kushida refused
to consider the possibility. Exactly that expression came at
some time to anyone who was seriously debilitated.
Sachiko paid her respects to Dr. Kambara and returned to
Ashiya. Sitting in her hushed Western-style parlor, with Teinosuke,
and Etsuko, and Yukiko, and 0-haru all out of the house,
she found her uneasiness coming back. Dr. Kushida had taken
care of them for many years, and not yet made a mistake. She
ought to believe him--and there were any number of reasons why
she wanted to give more weight to his opinion than to Dr. Saito's.
But just this time--in Taeko's eyes there had been something that
tormented Sachiko, and filled her with forebodings only a person
who shared the same blood could understand. She had come home
to write a difficult letter, thinking that it would be best to take her
fears seriously and tell Tsuruko everything. But she would need
two or three hours, and only after lunch was she able to drag herself
upstairs: to explain, with suitable embellishments, what had
happened since they turned Taeko out, and why, when they heard
she was ill, they had felt that they had to take care of her. The
most talented calligrapher among the four sisters, and the master
of a polished style as well, Sachiko was never reluctant to write
letters. Her brush would sweep over the paper, leaving behind
bold, powerful strokes. Unlike Tsuruko, she never bothered with a
first draft. But this time she made two or three false starts before
she finally finished her letter:

April 4
dear tsuruko,
It has been a very long time since 1 last wrote. And now it
is spring again, the pleasantest time of the year of this part of the
country. Every day there is a mist over Rokko, and I find it hard
to stay in the house. For the most part we have been well, as we
hope you have been.
I must tell you unpleasant news. Koi-san has amoebic dysentery,
and her condition is serious.
I have told you, I believe, that after your letter we turned
UUUK. Ilium 439

her out with orders not to come back. Perhaps I told you too that
she did not, as we had feared, go to live with Kei-boy, but took a
room of her own. Though we worried a great deal, we neither
asked about her nor had word from her. It would seem that 0-haru
visited her in secret, and learned that she still had her own room
and that she was seeing Kei-boy, though she never spent the night
in his house. With that news we felt a little easier. Then, toward
the end of last month, Kei-boy called 0-haru to tell her that
Koi-san was ill. She was ill at Kei-boy's, and it was not possible to
move her. At first we paid little attention, but gradually the symptoms
of dysentery became clearer. Even then we could not decide
what to do--we had turned her out, after all, and we did not
know whether we should take her from Kei-boy's house or not.
0-haru was most upset, and reported among other things that it
was dysentery of the worst kind, that Kei-boy had called in a rather
unreliable doctor from the neighborhood, that the treatment was
far from satisfactory, that Koi-san had a high fever and was in
great pain from diarrhea, and that she was so thin one would almost
take her for a different person. For a while I did nothing.
Without my permission, Yukiko went off to help take care of her,
and finally I went myself. I was thoroughly shocked when I saw
her. The doctor said that she seemed to have a disease called anthrax
along with dysentery, and suggested that we call in a specialist.
If it was anthrax, he said, she might even die. Koi-san, when
she saw me, began wailing and begging to be moved. I could not
help thinking she meant that she did not want to die in Kei-boy's
house. Yukiko too has a theory: with the first anniversary of the
other man's death coming, she suspects, Koi-san has the idea that
he--the photographer, Itakura--is somehow putting a curse on
her; she seems to have had nightmares about him. Possibly Yukiko
is right, and possibly too Koi-san has thought how difficult it
would be for the rest of us if she were to die at Kei-boy's. In any
case, it takes more than a slight indisposition to leave someone
like Koi-san so helpless. Since yesterday she has lain staring into
space, not a muscle on her face moving--she has the look of
death, you might say. That expression terrified me when I saw her
this morning. I felt that I had to follow her wishes. Taking full
responsibility on myself, then, and asking Kei-boy to keep his distance,
I had her moved to Dr. Kambara's hospital in an ambulance

440 1 til!. 1V1AK1LI&A OlSll'.Ka

today. All of the isolation wards were full, and Dr. Kambara
agreed to take her in, though secretly. Dr. Kushida, whom I believe
you know, has charge of the case.
This, in general, is the situation. Whatever Tatsuo thinks,
I know you will admit that we could have done nothing else.
Teinosuke seems to agree with me, and to be greatly worried, although
he has not yet been to see her. I will telegraph you if the
end seems in sight (I trust I will not have to do so), and I want
you to know that the worst predictions are not entirely out of the
question. The expression on her face, and her general appearance,
are like signs that something terrible is coming. I hope I am
wrong. I am sure this is a confused letter, but I have felt I must
give you the whole story, right down to this moment. I am about
to leave again for the hospital. I have not been able to fix my mind
on anything, and Yukiko has accomplished far more than I. At
times like this she is a real tower of strength. She has been up
night after night, hardly closing her eyes.
I will write more later.
As always,
sachiko

Though she felt certain qualms at frightening her genial sister,
Sachiko exaggerated the illness a little to win sympathy for Taeko.
There could be no doubt, however, that for the most part she was
writing what she felt. When she had finished the letter, she started
for the hospital. She wanted to be out of the house before Et-
suko came home.

SŪSiSŪSŪS<S<5<5<5S<5ŪSŪS<S^SŪSS3'

22

one could see the improvement within a few days after Taeko
was moved. Strangely, that look of death lasted but one day. The
day after she entered the hospital, the frightening shadow had
disappeared. As though roused from a bad dream, Sachiko remembered
Dr. Kushida's confidence, and could only be impressed

DUUK. 1 riTVK 441

anew at his prowess as a diagnostician. Thinking too how she must
have frightened Tsuruko, she immediately sent off a second letter.
Tsuruko was delighted. This time there was none of the usual
slowness--a special delivery letter came two days later.

April 6
dear sachiko,
Your most unexpected letter was such a blow that I did
not know how to answer. Now your second letter has come, and
I cannot describe my relief. I could not be happier, for Koisan,
of course, and for the rest of us too.
I may tell you now that I really did not think Koisan
would live. I should not say so, perhaps, but I could not help
thinking that she was gone, that this was the punishment for the
trouble she has caused all these years. If she had died, who would
have arranged the funeral? And where would it have been? Tatsuo
would refuse, I am sure, to take charge, and it would have been
still more unreasonable to ask you, and we could hardly have had
the funeral at Dr. Kambara's. I was extremely worried, and I
thought how Koi-san would be a problem to the very end.
But now we are rescued from the dilemma, largely through
your labors and Yukiko's. Do you suppose Koi-san is grateful? If
she is, she might take this as the occasion for a clean break with
Kei-boy, and the opportunity to begin a new life. Has she any
mind to?
Dr. Kushida and Dr. Kambara have been a great help. It
is very sad not to be able to thank them openly.
As ever,
tsuruko

Sachiko made a special trip to show Yukiko the letter.
"I have had this." She quietly took the letter from her handbag
as Yukiko was seeing her to the door. "Read it here."
"How like her," said Yukiko.
Sachiko did not know exactly what that meant, but the truth
was that the letter had made an unfavorable impression on
Sachiko herself. Tsuruko had unwittingly revealed how very little
affection she had for Taeko. Her chief concern was to protect the
family, and while she did have a point, Sachiko had to feel sorry
442 1 MH, 1V1AK1UKA J1S11.K5

for Taeko. Perhaps Taeko was being punished. Yet it seemed that
she had already had punishment enough: as became a child of
storm and violence, she had nearly died in a Hood; she had lost
the lover for whom she was prepared to throw away her good
name, and she had suffered time and time again in a manner
hardly imaginable to her more decorous sisters. Sachiko doubted
whether Yukiko or herself could have endured as much. And she
could see only too vividly Tsuruko's initial confusion, and the immense
relief described in the letter. She found herself smiling at
the picture.
Okubata telephoned the Ashiya house the day after Taeko was
moved. Sachiko reported Dr. Kushida's diagnosis in detail, and
added that they had reason to feel more hopeful. For the next two
or three days there was silence. On the evening of the fourth day,
after Sachiko had left for home, Yukiko and Mito were at the bedside
and 0-haru was heating gruel over a hot plate in the next
room. Someone, probably from the family, had come to see them,
said the old man who took care of the house. The caller would
not give his name, but maybe it was Mr. Makioka. "Teinosuke?--
that hardly seems likely," said Yukiko, looking at 0-haru. Just
then there were footsteps outside, and a figure appeared in the
shrubbery: a showy double-breasted blue suit, dark glasses with
gold rims (though there was nothing wrong with his eyes, Okubata
had taken to wearing dandified dark glasses), and that cane,
swinging as always. The outbuilding had its own entrance, but
people who called for the first time usually came through the main
hospital. Somehow Okubata had learned of the separate entrance
and come directly to it, and while the old man was bringing his
message had, uninvited, gone around to the garden. (They heard
later that he had abruptly asked where Miss Makioka Taeko's
room was, and had dismissed the old man's questions rather airily:
"Just tell them I am here." How did he know that Taeko was in
this separate building, and how had he found the way through
the grounds to the second entrance? At first they suspected 0-haru,
but it later seemed less likely that he had had a secret informant;
he had probably done his own detective work. Since the Itakura
incident he had been strangely interested in spying on Taeko, and
no doubt he had hovered about the place until he had the information
he wanted.) The garden ran in an L-shape around the
dook i nrve 443

east and south verandas. Brushing against the spiraea, then in full
bloom, he came up to the front veranda and pushed the glass
door open--it was already open a crack--through which he could
see Taeko's face. He took off his glasses, smiled, and announced, not quite apologetically, that he happened to be in the neighborhood
and thought he should stop by. Yukiko was reading a newspaper
over a cup of tea. Noting Mito's fright at this strange intruder,
she went out to speak to him as though there were nothing
to be surprised at. He was standing on the steps in some discomfort,
and his manner suggested that he would like to come in.
She hastily pushed a cushion out to him. Ignoring his attempts at
conversation, she withdrew to the next room, and, putting on a
kettle in place of the gruel 0-haru was heating, made him a cup
of tea. She thought of having 0-haru serve it, but reconsidered
when it occurred to her that 0-haru's good nature might cause
trouble. "You may go, if you like, 0-haru," she said. "I can manage
by myself, I think." She went back into the smaller room after
she had served the tea.
It was the sort of warm, overcast day one expects when the cherries
are in bloom. The doors on the inside of the veranda were
open. Lying with her face toward the garden, Taeko had seen
Okubata. She watched him impassively. A little embarrassed at
being deserted by Yukiko, he lit a cigarette. As the ash grew longer,
he started to drop it at his foot, then hesitated, and, peering into
the room, asked no one in particular if there was an ash tray.
Mito brought him a saucer.
"I hear you are better." He brought a foot up to the veranda
and rested the heel on the frame of the open door. The stylish
shoe was in full view. "You were really in danger, I can tell you
now."
"I know, I know." Her voice was stronger than it had been.
"Just a step this side of hell."
"When will you be up? You are missing the cherry blossoms."
"I can do without them. I am more worried about Kikugoro."
"If you are healthy enough to worry about Kikugoro, we can
stop worrying about you." He turned to Mito. "Will she be up
by the end of the month?"
"I wonder." Mito too seemed disinclined to talk.
"I had dinner with Kikugoro last night."
444 I I'llI. 1V1AK1UKA ^IhUJ.K!)

"Oh? Someone had a party?"
"Shibamoto."
"Oh, Shibamoto. He has always been a Kikugoro man."
"He said a long time ago that he was going to have Kikugoro
for dinner and wanted me to come too. Kikugoro is not easy
to get, you know."
A restless, inattentive person unable to concentrate on any one
thing, Okubata went to the movies but found the legitimate theater
rather hard work. For all that, he loved to be with actors, and
in the days when he had had money to spend he had frequently
taken this actor or that actor to a teahouse. Very friendly with
Mizutani Yaeko, Natsukawa Shizue, and Hanayagi Shotaro, for
instance, he would visit the dressing room when one of them came
to Osaka, even if he had not bothered to see the play. He had
been wanting to meet Kikugoro less because he admired that
actor than because it was fun to know popular actors.
He proudly told of the dinner party, embellishing his narrative
with imitations of Kikugoro. It seemed clear that he had come
especially to boast of this new adventure. In the next room, 0-haru
was entranced. Yukiko would suggest that she hurry back to
Ashiya, and 0-haru would nod and go on listening. When Yukiko
pointed out that it was five o'clock, 0-haru saw that what must
be must be, and stood up to leave. She generally came in the
afternoon, did the cooking and washing, and returned to Ashiya
in time for dinner. How long would young Mr. Okubata go on
talking? she asked herself as she walked toward the National Highway.
He was not supposed to come to the hospital. Mrs. Makioka
would be very, very surprised. And what would Miss Yukiko do if
he stayed on? Miss Yukiko would have trouble scolding him for
the broken promise. While 0-haru was waiting for a streetcar, a
cab driver she knew happened to go by in the direction of Osaka.
The cab was empty--if he was on his way back, would he mind
taking her? He made a detour to deliver her at the corner below
the Makioka house, and she came panting up to the kitchen door.
Where was Mrs. Makioka? Had Mr. Makioka come home yet? She
sped through the kitchen, where 0-aki was making an omelette.
"A terrible thing," she said dramatically. "Young Mr. Okubata has
been to the hospital." She found Sachiko alone, resting in the
parlor.
Book 1 hree ______________________ 44;

"Mrs. Makioka," she said in a hushed voice. "The young master
has been to the hospital."
"What!" Sachiko jumped up in alarm. 0-haru's tone, far more
solemn than the occasion demanded, had caught her off guard.
"When did he come?"
"It was just after you left for home."
"Is he still there?"
"He was still there when I left."
"What can he be thinking of!"
"He said he happened to be in the neighborhood. And he came
in through the garden without waiting for the old man to show
him the way. Miss Yukiko ran off and left him, and he stayed
and talked to Koisan."
"And was Koi-san put out?"
"She seemed to be enjoying herself."
Sachiko went out to telephone from the study. (Yukiko at first
sent Mito to take the message, and went reluctantly to the telephone
herself when Sachiko said that she must speak to Yukiko,
much though it pained her to be so insistent.) Kei-boy was still
there. When it began to grow chilly, he had moved in from the
veranda without being invited and closed the door behind him,
and now he was sitting by the bed. Koi-san did not seem in the
least annoyed. Yukiko had finally moved back into the main room,
where she sat listening to the conversation--she could not wait in the next room forever. Hoping to suggest that he ought to be
going, she poured him another cup of tea, and made it a point
not to turn on the lights even after the sun had gone down.
Paying no attention whatsoever, he chattered on. The man was
shameless, said Sachiko. Unless they protested he would come again
and again. Should Sachiko herself go see what was to be done? No,
said Yukiko. It was time for dinner, and besides, knowing that
Sachiko had called, he would be leaving soon. There was no need
for Sachiko to make a special trip. Teinosuke would be coming
home, moreover, and Etsuko would be after her, wondering why
she was going out at that time of the night. Very well, then, said
Sachiko; she would leave everything to Yukiko, and she hoped
Yukiko would get rid of the man. Sure that Yukiko would say
nothing, she could only wonder what had happened afterwards.
The evening went by, and she did not find another chance to
440 l he makioka listers

telephone. As she started upstairs after Teinosuke, 0-haru came up behind her.
"He seems to have left about an hour after you called."
"You called, did you?"
"I went out a little while ago to a public telephone."

S!SŧS!SŪ3ŪS<SŪSŪSSS<S%!3S!S!3S<SS^

23

at the hospital the next day, Sachiko learned that even after her
call, Okubata had showed no sign of leaving, and Yukiko had
again withdrawn into the next room. Since it was by that time
really dark, she finally had to turn on the lights. Meanwhile
Taeko's dinner hour passed, and Yukiko had Mito take her a bowl
of gruel. Okubata seemed quite at home. Did she have an appetite?
And when would she be able to eat heavier things? He was
a little hungry himself--would they mind ordering him something
to eat? What would be good? he wondered. Some time after Mito
too had Sed, he apparently became really hungry, and, calling his
apologies for having bothered them, went out the way he had
come. Yukiko opened the door a crack and pointedly refrained
from seeing him to the gate. She would guess that he had been
inside with Koi-san two hours, from four to six, and in all that
time could Koi-san not have said one word to suggest that he was
not welcome? Coming in on them from the garden with that
supercilious way of his (Yukiko had said before that Okubata became
a different person when Sachiko was not present; and he
was particularly disagreeable that day)--Mito must have thought
it very strange. Surely, knowing how he was embarrassing them
all, Koi-san could have said something. Would it not have been
natural for her to say something? Such were Yukiko's views. She
did not confront Taeko, however, but complained rather to Sachiko.

Fearing that Okubata would come again before long, Sachiko
thought it might be better to visit him and ask him to stay away,
and she still had a duty call to make. Okubata had evidently paid
Book Three 447

Dr. Saito's bill, and miscellaneous expenses--medicine, and food
for the nurse, and so on--must have mounted up in the ten days
he had Taeko in his house. There were many small items besides:
taxi fares for the doctor, tips for the driver, supplies of ice. All in
all he must have paid rather heavily, and Sachiko had not even
been around to thank him. He probably would not take money.
She would of course make him take money for the doctor's bill,
but the rest would have to be paid in gifts. How much would it
all come to? She asked Taeko one day, and Taeko answered that
she would pay back everything herself, that Sachiko was not to
worry. It was only right that she should take care of all the expenses
both at Okubata's and now in the hospital, she continued.
Because she could not conveniently draw money from the bank
while she was in bed, she was letting Okubata and Sachiko pay
in her place. She would clear all her debts when she recovered,
and Sachiko was not to worry.
But Yukiko pointed out that Taeko had been living by herself
for six months and would have used up the better part of her
savings. She could hardly carry out her grand promises. Although
they need not have worried about arrangements that concerned
only Taeko and Okubata, the older sisters were now involved.
Everything, money and goods, must be paid back, and as soon as
possible. Sachiko might think Kei-boy had money, added Yukiko,
but she herself, in the days she spent in his house, had seen many
signs that he was very hard pressed indeed. The food, for instance,
was astonishingly plain: in the evening only soup and one vegetable
besides rice, for Kei-boy and Yukiko and the nurse as well.
Occasionally 0-haru would bring back something a little more
elaborate from the Nishinomiya market, and Kei-boy would have
his share of that. When Yukiko made it a point to tip Dr. Saito's
driver herself, Kei-boy pretended that he had not noticed. A man
could feign a certain insensitiveness to small details. It was the old
housekeeper, thought Yukiko, of whom they had to be careful.
She was a gentle, docile old person, devoted to Okubata and extremely
considerate of Koi-san as well, and she wasted not a cent
in the kitchen. It was Yukiko's feeling, however, that agreeable
though the old woman was, she was secretly hostile to the Makioka
family, and especially to Koi-san. Not that she gave even a hint
of displeasure. Yukiko simply had her intuitions. If Sachiko wanted
448 the makioka sisters

further details, she could have them from 0-haru. 0-haru and the
old woman were always talking together. In any case, the old
woman was a problem, and they should not remain in Okubata's
debt.
Vaguely worried, Sachiko called 0-haru into the parlor and
asked what the old woman seemed to think of them. Had 0-haru
heard anything? If so, she should hold nothing back. Her face
most solemn, 0-haru looked uncertainly up at Sachiko. Would it
really be all right to tell everything? Assured that it would be, she
timidly began her story.
The fact was that she had been wondering whether she ought
to tell Mrs. Makioka. The month before, when she had been in
and out of Okubata's house, she and the old woman had become
very friendly. With the patient to take care of, they had been too
busy for a really good talk. But after Taeko was moved, 0-haru
went to pick up the last of the baggage; Okubata was out, and
the old woman, all alone, asked her to stay for a cup of tea. The
woman was warm in her praise of Sachiko and Yukiko, said 0-haru.
How lucky Koi-san was to have such fine sisters! The conversation
moved on to "the young master." No doubt he had his faults.
Still, turned out by his brothers after the death of the old mistress,
he was much to be pitied. He had only Koi-san in the whole
world, said the old woman, choking with tears. If Koi-san would
become his wife--0-haru should do what she could to see that a
marriage was arranged. Hesitantly, the old woman went on to
say that the young master had made many sacrifices for Koisan
these last ten years. She even hinted, though with great circumspection,
that Taeko was at the bottom of the incident that had
led to Okubata's being disinherited. What astonished 0-haru most
was the allegation that for some years Koi-san had been receiving
financial help from Okubata. Almost every day since she left the
Ashiya house, she had been coming to Okubata's in the morning
before breakfast, staying for three meals, and going back late at
night to sleep in her own room. She said she was supporting herself
and cooking for herself. As a matter of fact she was a free
boarder, and she even brought laundry for the old woman to do,
or cleaning for the old woman to send out with Okubata's. And
their pleasures outside the house--the old woman did not know
which of the two paid the bills, but she thought she had evidence
Book Three 449

in the fact that, though Okubata generally kept one hundred or
two hundred yen in his wallet, she would find it empty after he
had been out with Koi-san. What Koi-san actually paid from her
savings, then, was probably her room rent and little more. Noting
that 0-haru did not seem convinced, the old woman went into
her room and brought out a sheaf of bills and receipts of the last
year or so. "While we are talking about it," she said, and she
proceeded to point out how the bills had gone up since Taeko
became a "boarder." The gas bill, the electric bill, cab fares, the
green grocer's bill, and the fish monger's bill had all jumped astonishingly
since November, and did indeed suggest how carelessly
Taeko was spending Okubata's money. Bills from department
stores and clothes shops too were largely accounted for by Taeko's
purchases. 0-haru was astonished to find a bill for the camel's hair
coat Taeko had had made at an expensive Kobe shop the December
before, and the voile afternoon dress made for her at the
same shop in March. Of a fine material, very light for its warmth,
the coat was reversible, brown on one side and bright red on the
other. When she had come to show it off in Ashiya, Taeko had
said that it had cost three hundred fifty yen, and that, to pay for
it, she had sold two or three kimonos that now seemed too bold.
0-haru remembered wondering at the time whether Koi-san could
really afford such luxuries on her own resources, and she thought
she understood for the first time what had really happened.
The old woman insisted that she did not mean to condemn
Koi-san, that she only wanted to show how desperate the young
master had been to win Koi-san's favor. She was beginning to
touch on matters that embarrassed her, continued the woman, but
even the pampered Okubata was after all the third son of the
family, and he did not have a great deal of money to spend on
himself. He had managed well enough while the old mistress lived.
Now his funds had been cut off. The master in Osaka (Okubata's
oldest brother) had given him a modest solatium upon his being
disinherited, and he had been eating into his capital ever since.
The end was near; the young master, in his blind determination
to please Koi-san, showed no concern for the future. He expected
someone to come to his rescue. Unless he had a change of heart
and set about making an honest living for himself, however, it did
not seem likely that he would regain the sympathy of his family.
450 the makioka sisters

The old woman kept urging him to find work, even if it brought
him no more than a hundred yen a month. But his head was too
full of Koi-san. Only if he could marry Koi-san was there a possibility
of his reforming. The old mistress and the master in Osaka
had been opposed to the marriage at the time of that newspaper
incident, and the woman had quite agreed with them, but now,
as she thought of the years since, she could not help feeling that
they had been wrong. If the marriage had been permitted, the
young master might not have gone astray. He might have had a
happy family by now, he would be working with the best of them.
Though for some reason the master in Osaka had never taken
kindly to Koi-san, and even now would not be pleased at the marriage,
there was no point in worrying about him. The opposition
would not last forever. Marriage would open a new road for the
young master. There was still one great difficulty, however, and it
concerned the master in Osaka less than Koi-san herself: in the
old woman's view, Koi-san did not really mean to marry the young
master.
She might seem to be criticizing Koi-san, the old woman said
over and over again, but she did not mean to be. Finally she asked
what the Makiokas thought of the young master. He was pampered
and he knew little of the world, and if they chose to look
for faults there was no doubt that they could find many, but the
old woman would swear to one thing: that his affection for Koisan
was as steady as it had ever been. He had, it was true, first
known the joys of the teahouses when he was but sixteen or
seventeen, and his conduct had not always been exemplary. In
the days when he was separated from Koi-san his dissipation had
been extreme. The old woman hoped they would understand nonetheless
that he had only been despondent over his inability to
marry the woman he had chosen. Perhaps Koi-san, whose intelligence
was on a level far above his, who had sound judgment, and
who was almost too talented for a woman, had become impatient
with his general uselessness. That of course was understandable,
but after all a relationship that had lasted more than ten years
was not to be broken off so easily. Koi-san must see that the young
master, so unswerving in his affection, would really be too forlorn.
And if she did not mean to marry him, he might have resigned
himself to that fact had she broken cleanly at the time of the
Boofe Th r ee _____________________451_____

Yonekichi affair (the old woman called Itakura "Yonekichi"). Instead
she had managed to make it seem that she meant to marry
Yonekichi and that she did not mean to, and that she was still
fond of Okubata and that she was not. It was the same now that
Yonekichi was dead--what exactly did she mean, leaving the impression
that she did not want to turn the young master away,
and at the same time that she did not want to marry him? Could
one help thinking that she was after his money? Not entirely
satisfied with this summation of the case, 0-haru pointed out that
whatever the old woman had been told, the Makiokas had heard
that Koi-san wanted to marry Itakura, and that Kei-boy stood in
the way. Koi-san, she said, had told them among other things that
she meant to wait only until Miss Yukiko was married. Leaving
aside the problem of Miss Yukiko, answered the old woman, it
astonished her to hear that the young master had stood in the way.
Even while Koi-san was keeping her affair with Yonekichi secret
from the young master, she was meeting the latter without telling
Yonekichi. She was always--the old woman knew for a fact--
telephoning the young master. Koi-san had used the two of them
with consummate skill. In her heart, perhaps, she liked Yonekichi
better. Still she seemed to have reasons for holding on to the
young master as long as possible. The woman was in effect charging
that Taeko had used Okubata for what she could wring out of
him. But as the old woman knew, protested 0-haru, Koisan
had her dolls, and she made enough to take care of herself and
even to put money in the bank. Where then was the need to use
the young master? So Koi-san said, retorted the old woman, and
0-haru believed her, as did Miss Yukiko and Mrs. Makioka, but did it seem possible that a woman alone, with the income from work
that was child's play, could feed, clothe, and house herself in such
luxury, and have money left over to put in the bank? The Makioka
family naturally overestimated her ability to support herself, what
with the fine studio she was said to have, and the foreigners, even,
she had among her pupils, and her lavish advertising through pictures
Yonekichi took for her, but it did not seem probable that
she really made much money. Though the old woman had not
seen Koi-san's bank book, she could guess that the balance was
not impressive. Or if it was, that could only be because she was
squeezing the young master to build up her own savings. The old

452 the makioka sisters

woman would not be at all surprised if it should prove that Yonekichi
had been behind the scenes, urging her on. If Koi-san was
receiving help from the young master, then the burden on Yonekichi
would be lighter. Perhaps he knew all along that she was
seeing the young master, and chose to look the other way.
More humiliated at each revelation, 0-haru sought to defend
Taeko, but the old woman had unshakable evidence. How about
this, and how about this, she would say, lining up her exhibits.
0-haru did not have the courage to tell Sachiko the worst. It was
too awful, she would rather not talk about it. Even so she offered
an item or'two. The old woman knew exactly how many jewels
Taeko had, and what sort of jewels they were. (With the China
Incident in progress, people no longer wore jewels, and Taeko
kept hers in a box as precious to her as her life. She had left it
with Sachiko rather than risk keeping it in her room.) Every
single one had come from the Okubata shop, said the old woman.
She herself had any number of times seen the old mistress come
to the young master's rescue when it became known that he had
stolen another ring. Sometimes he would give a ring to Koisan,
sometimes he would sell a ring to give her money, and now and
then a ring Koi-san had sold in secret would be found back in the
shop. Not all the jewels went to Koi-san. Some he sold for his
own spending money, but one could assume that most of them
were for Koi-san. And it seemed moreover that she knew perfectly
well what he was doing and even urged him on, describing in
exact detail the ring she wanted. (Besides rings, there had been
wrist watches and compacts and broaches and necklaces.) The old
woman, who had been with the Okubata family she did not know
how many years and who had nursed Kei-boy himself when he
was a baby, knew everything. There was no end to the evidence
she could offer. It seemed, nevertheless, that she was not telling
the story out of bitterness. She wanted rather to show how devoted
the young master had been. The Makiokas thought ill of the
young master because they did not know the facts, she said; hence
they opposed the marriage. If they would only consider the real
reason for the young master's troubles, their opposition would very
probably stop. She was not saying that Koi-san was bad or good.
If Koi-san was important to the young master, then she was important
to the old woman too. The latter only hoped that they
Book Three 453

would all work to win Koi-san over. She had again found someone
she liked, it seemed, and she might again be preparing to brush
the young master aside. Perhaps she had noted that his pocket
book was a little thin.
0-haru was startled. The conversation had taken an unexpected
turn. How did the old woman know that Koi-san had found "another
man she liked"? The old woman could not answer for sure,
but Koi-san and the young master quarreled a great deal these
days, and in the quarrels she often heard the young master mention
the name "Miyoshi" with some warmth. Miyoshi seemed to
live in Kobe, though it was not clear what part of Kobe, or what
sort of work he did. The young master often spoke of "that bartender."
And what, the old woman wanted to know, was a bartender?
Evidently the man worked in a Kobe bar. She knew nothing
more, and 0-haru did not press her.
So much for 0-haru's story. In the course of the conversation,
she added, she had learned that Koi-san was a heavy drinker. In
Sachiko's presence, Taeko drank a half pint of sake at most. It was
the old woman's story that with Okubata she could drink easily
a quart, and up to a third of a bottle of whisky. She rarely lost
control of herself, though it was true that sometimes, more frequently
of late, Okubata had to carry her home. The old woman
had no idea where they might have been drinking.

fiSSfi^SfiXSiCSgtC^^c^c^csc^CNfisfisacsSSC^
24

it took a great deal of self control on Sachiko's part to hear the
story through. From time to time she would feel herself flushing,
and she would want to cover her ears and say: "That will do,
0-haru." There was probably a great deal more she could have
heard if she wished, but she found a convenient breaking point.
"That will be enough, 0-haru. You may go." She leaned against
the table, waiting for the agitation to subside.
Was it true, then? Was what she feared true? One always takes
the part of those near one, and Kei-boy to the old woman was a
___ 454 the makioka sisters

pure, clean youth. It did not seem likely that he had really been
so unswerving in his love for Koi-san. No doubt Koi-san and Teinosuke
had reason to call him a profligate. Even so, Sachiko could
not ignore the old woman's description of Taeko, the vampire.
Just as the woman made too many allowances for Kei-boy, so the
Makiokas made too many allowances for Koi-san. Sachiko had felt
certain unpleasant suspicions each time there was a new ring on
her sister's finger, but the suspicions had disappeared as she saw
how pleased Koi-san was at having been able to buy a ring with
her own money. And Koi-san had had her studio, and Sachiko
had seen her dolls sell for surprisingly high prices, and, after helping
with the accounts at the exhibitions, Sachiko had found herself
believing what Koi-san said. Even when the latter turned to sewing
and her income from dolls was cut off, she told her sisters
that she had saved enough to go to Europe or to open a dress
shop, and that she had no trouble meeting her expenses. Thinking
how sad it would be for Koi-san to use up her savings, Sachiko
ordered clothes for Etsuko, and took orders from people she knew
in the neighborhood, and in general saw that Koi-san had money
to live on. She had gone out of her way to believe Koi-san, who
boasted that she was able to support herself quite without help
from the family. Had Sachiko made too many allowances because
it was her own sister, had she refused to believe the truth? But
what had Koi-san said of Okubata? Had she not said that she
could not expect to rely on so incompetent a person, that indeed
she would have to support him once they were married? Had she
not said that she received nothing from him, not a fraction of a
cent, and that she even tried to keep him from touching his own
money? Had those fine words been to deceive the world, and her
sisters too?
But perhaps it was not Taeko they should blame. Perhaps it was
the sisters, easily convinced, wholly unworldly, easy, trusting, foolish.
Sachiko had to admit the truth in the old woman's arguments,
now that it was here before her: one simply did not live in luxury
on the income from a girl's hobby. Sachiko had had her suspicions,
and her refusal to pursue them, one was forced to conclude,
was less foolish than cunning. She had refused to believe that she
could have such a sister, and her refusal had caused all the trouble.
She felt her cheeks bum at the thought that the world, and still
Book Three 455

more the Okubata family, must have interpreted her motives differently.
She had not been able to restrain her annoyance when
she heard how strongly Okubata's mother and brother were opposing
the marriage. Now she saw their reasons. Taeko was to
them a vampire, and the family behind her was wholly disreputable.
How to account for sisters and brothers-in-law who let the
girl behave so? Sachiko had to agree that Tatsuo had been right to
dismiss Taeko from the family. She remembered too that Teinosuke
always tried to have as little as possible to do with Taeko's
affairs. He would only say that Koi-san was too complicated, that
he could not understand her, and probably he had guessed something
of these darker matters. Possibly, in his roundabout way, he
had been suggesting as much to Sachiko. If so, he could have
spoken more plainly.
She decided not to visit Okubata that day. Complaining of a
headache, she took a pyramidon tablet and retired to her bedroom.
She avoided Teinosuke and Etsuko for the rest of the day.
After seeing Teinosuke off to work the next morning, she went to
bed again. She had visited the hospital at least once a day since
Taeko was moved, and she thought she might go around for just
a few minutes in the afternoon. Somehow the being known as
"Taeko" had changed form, however, had become distant and
vaguely evil. Sachiko was frightened at the thought of meeting her
sister. At about two 0-haru came upstairs. Was Mrs. Makioka
going to the hospital? Miss Yukiko had just called, and asked if
Mrs. Makioka could bring along the copy of Rebecca. Still in bed,
Sachiko answered that she would not go herself. 0-haru should
take the book--it was on a shelf in the six-mat room. She called
0-haru back: since Koi-san no longer needed much care, she said,
0-haru might suggest that Yukiko come home for a rest.
Yukiko had been away for more than ten days. She had gone
to Okubata's the end of the month before and from there directly
to the hospital. Sachiko's message had its effect, and she was
home in time for dinner. Trying to make it seem that nothing was
amiss, Sachiko got up late in the afternoon. As a reward for
Yukiko's labors, Teinosuke selected a very special bottle of white
Burgundy, a rarity by then, from his impoverished wine cellar,
wiped away the dust himself, and uncorked it with a pleasant pop.
"And how is Koi-san?" he asked.
_____ 4 ; 6 _____________'1 he makioka sisters

"There is nothing to worry about. She is still weak, though, and
it will be a while before she is really her old self again."
"Is she thin?"
"Very thin. She has a long, thin face--remember how round it
was?--and the cheek bones stand out like this."
"I ought to go see her. May I go see her. Father?"
Teinosuke grunted and frowned. A moment later the frown
was gone. "You can go, I suppose. But remember that dysentery
is an infectious disease. You are not to go till the doctor says
you can."
Because he was in especially good spirits, Teinosuke let them
talk of Taeko before Etsuko, and even made it seem that the
girl was not forbidden to see her aunt. But even allowing for the
good spirits, Sachiko was startled. She suspected that Teinosuke's
attitude toward Taeko was changing.
'T understand Dr. Kushida is taking care of her." He turned to
Yukiko again.
"He was, but we never see him any more. He says there is nothing
to worry about. When the patient begins to look a little better,
you see no more of Dr. Kushida."
"Then there should be no need for you to go again yourself."
"None at all," Sachiko agreed. "Mito is there, and 0-haru can
go every day to help."
"When are we going to see Kikugoro, Father?"
"Any time. We were only waiting for Yukiko to come home."
"Next Saturday?"
"But first come the cherry blossoms. Kikugoro will be here all
month."
"We see the cherries on Saturday, then. You promise. Father?"
"Yes, yes. If we wait any longer, the cherries will be gone."
"And Mother too, and Yukiko? Promise?"
"We promise."
It made Sachiko a little sad to think that this year Taeko would
be missing. If there had seemed any possibility that Teinosuke
would agree, she would have liked to suggest waiting until the
end of the month, when Taeko would be out of bed, for a trip to
see the late cherries at Omuro.
"What are you thinking about. Mother? You must want to see
the cherries."
Book Three 457

Teinosuke knew what she was thinking about. "Would Koisan
be able to go even if we waited? If she is up by then, we might
take her to see the late cherries."
"But she will hardly be able to walk around the room by the
end of the month," said Yukiko.
Yukiko had noticed that Sachiko was not sharing in the general
good spirits.
"Did you go to Kei-boy's?" she asked when they were alone the
next morning.
"No. As a matter of fact, I want to talk to you about that."
Motioning Yukiko upstairs, she told the whole of 0-haru's story.
"And what do you think, Yukiko? Is the old woman telling the
truth?"
"What do you think?"
"I think she is."
"So do I."
"It is all my fault. I trusted Koi-san so."
"But that was only natural." Yukiko's eyes clouded over, and
Sachiko was already in tears. "It is not your fault at all."
"And what can I possibly say to Tatsuo and Tsuruko?"
"Have you talked to Teinosuke?"
"How can I talk to him? It is all too humiliating."
"I imagine he is beginning to think he should have been easier
with her."
"It seemed so last night, certainly."
"And I imagine he knows well enough what she has been up
to. He probably knows, and thinks it will only be worse if we
have nothing more to do with her."
"If Koi-san would only reform, now that he has begun to
change his mind."
"She has been the same Koi-san ever since I can remember."
"And is not going to change now, whatever we say?"
"Not Koi-san. Think of the number of times we have tried to
change her."
"The old woman is right. It would be better for both of them
if they were to marry."
"I doubt if there is any other answer."
"Do you think she really dislikes him so, then?"
Though both sisters were thinking about the bartender "Miyo-
458 the makioka sisters

shi," mention of the name would only have added to the discomfort.

"I have no idea. She refused to stay in his house, and then she
talked on and on when he came to the hospital. Not even a hint
that he ought to leave."
"Maybe she pretends to dislike him when she is really very fond
of him."
"I almost hope so. But probably she feels in debt to him. She
could never tell him to leave even if she wanted to.
Yukiko went back to the hospital to fetch Rebecca, and for two
or three days afterwards she rested, read, and went to movies in
Kobe. That week-end the four of them, Teinosuke, his wife,
Etsuko, and Yukiko, made their annual pilgrimage to Kyoto for
the cherry blossoms. Because of the national crisis, there were few
drunken cherry viewers, and the cherries were left to those who
really wanted to see them. The Makiokas had never before quite
known the beauty of those weeping cherry trees in the Heian
Shrine. It was a most elegant cherry viewing, quiet and wholly
without ostentation.
Two or three days later Sachiko sent 0-haru to pay Okubata for
the cost of Taeko's illness.

2^

okubata called at the hospital again, and 0-haru, alone with
Mito, telephoned Ashiya for instructions. "Be less cold than last
time," answered Sachiko. "Smile pleasantly and invite him in."
Back home that evening, 0-haru reported that he had stayed some
three hours. Three days later he came again, and when, at six, he
showed no sign of leaving, 0-haru ordered food and a flagon of
sake from a restaurant on the National Highway. He was
thoroughly delighted, and talked on until after nine o'clock. But
Taeko was annoyed. Such kindness was quite uncalled for, she
said. If you were the least bit kind to the man, he took advantage
of you. 0-haru found it hard to understand why she was being

Book Three _____ ________459_____

scolded--after all, Koi-san and Okubata had been chatting most
agreeably until but a moment before.
As Taeko had predicted, Okubata was encouraged by the unexpectedly
kind treatment. He came again two or three days later,
had dinner ordered from the same restaurant, and at about ten
o'clock said he thought he would stay the night. After a hurried
call to Ashiya, 0-haru spread the bedding Yukiko had used--it
would be a tight fit, she said, there beside the patient and the
nurse in the larger of the two rooms--and, ordered to stay the
night herself, found some cushions to sleep on in the next room.
Remembering how she had been scolded before, she apologized
the next morning for not even having a slice of bread in the
house, and offered him tea and fruit. He had his breakfast at some
leisure.
A few days later Taeko was released from the hospital and
moved back to her room. She still had to rest, and every day
0-haru would be with her from morning until late at night to take
care of the cooking and cleaning. The last of the cherries, early
and late, had fallen, and Kikugoro had left Osaka. It was the end
of May before Taeko could really go out. Though he had not
publicly "forgiven" her, Teinosuke made it clear that he would
not object to her being seen in the Ashiya house. Anxious to put
on weight, she came for lunch almost every day through June.
Meanwhile the world was shaken by new developments in Europe.
In May came the German invasion of the Low Countries
and the tragedy of Dunkirk, and in June, upon the French surrender,
an armistice was signed at Compiegne. And what, through
all this, had happened to the Stolz family? Mrs. Stolz had predicted
that Hitler would manage to avoid war, and what would
she be thinking now? And Peter must be old enough for the Hit-
lerjugend. Might Mr. Stolz have been drafted? But perhaps all of
them, Mrs. Stolz and Rosemarie too, were so intoxicated with victory
that they refused to let family problems bother them. Such
speculations were always on Sachiko's mind. And then one could
never know when England, cut off from the continent, would be
attacked from the air, and the possibility of air raids brought up
the problem of Katharina, now living in a suburb of London.
How unpredictable human destinies were! No sooner had the
Russian refugee, until then living in a tiny doll's house, made
460 the makioka sisters

everyone envious by marrying the president of a large company
and moving into a house like a castle, than the English people
found themselves facing an unprecedented calamity. Since the
German attack would be concentrated on the London area, Katharina's
castle might be reduced to ashes overnight. Even worse
disasters were in prospect: she might find herself without food or
a rag to wear. Might she not be thinking of the distant skies of
Japan? Might she not be thinking of that shabby little house, and
wondering whether she would have done better to stay there herself?

"Suppose you write to Katharina, Koisan."
"I must ask her brother for the address next time I see him."
"I ought to write to the Stolzes too. I wonder who would
translate for me."
"Why not ask Mrs. Hening again?"
Sachiko wrote a long letter to Mrs. Stolz, the first in a year and
a half. She wrote of many things: they were overcome with pleasure
at the military successes of a friendly nation; each time they
read of the European war, they thought and talked of the Stolz
family; the Makiokas were well, although with the China Incident
dragging on they were gloomy at the thought that they too might
soon find themselves in a real war; they could not but be astonished
at how the world had changed since the days when the
Stolzes were next door, and they wondered wistfully if such happy
times would ever come again; that dreadful flood had perhaps left
the Stolzes with bad memories of Japan; such disasters were rare
in any country, however, and they should not be deterred from
returning to Japan once the war was over; the Makiokas wanted to
see Europe at least once, and they might all appear in Hamburg
one day; since they hoped to give Etsuko the best possible musical
training, they meant to have her study in Germany. Sachiko added
that she was sending Rosemarie some silk and a fan by separate
mail. The next day she visited Mrs. Hening and asked to have
the letter translated, and some days later, on an errand in Osaka,
she bought a dance fan at the Minoya and sent it off to Hamburg
with a piece of silk crape.
On a Saturday early in June, Teinosuke and Sachiko went to see
the spring greenery in Nara. Sachiko had been busy since the year
before with one or the other of her sisters, and Teinosuke wanted
Book Three 461

to give her a rest. He thought too that for the first time in a very
great while they could be alone, just the two of them, husband
and wife. They spent Saturday night at the Nara Hotel and the
next day went from the Kasuga Shrine to the Hall of the Third
Moon and on to the Great Buddha and the temples west of the
city. From about noon Sachiko was troubled by a swelling and
itching behind her ear. The discomfort grew as her hair brushed
against the irritated spot. It was rather like hives, but she suspected
that, making her way through the green foliage at the Kasuga
Shrine and posing five or six times for Teinosuke's Leica, she had
been stung by a sand Sy. She really should have worn something
over her head--she regretted not having brought a shawl. Back at
the hotel that night, she sent a bellboy out for carbolic liniment.
There was no such medicine, the boy replied, and she tried Mosquiton
instead. It was quite ineffective. She could not sleep for
the itching, and the next morning she sent for zinc ointment.
Teinosuke went directly to his office from Uehonmachi Station,
while Sachiko returned to Ashiya. Toward evening the itching subsided.
When he came back from work, Teinosuke called her out
to the terrace to have her ear examined in a strong light. It was no
sand By, he snorted. It was a bedbug. What! Where could she
have picked up a bedbug? In the Nara Hotel, answered Teinosuke.
He had felt a little itchy himself that morning--see? He rolled up
a sleeve. There could be no doubt that it was a bedbug, he said.
If Sachiko would look at her ear she would find two bites close together.
Sachiko held a mirror behind her ear, and saw that her
husband was right.
"You are absolutely right. A fine sort of hotel--mde maids and
waiters, terrible service, and bedbugs."
She was furious at the Nara Hotel. It had spoiled the whole
weekend.
They must go on another trip to make up for it, said Teinosuke.
June and July passed. Late in August he had business in Tokyo
and suggested an outing somewhere along the main TokyoOsaka
Line. Sachiko had for some time been wanting to make the round
of the Fuji Lakes. They planned, then, that Teinosuke would go
ahead and Sachiko would follow two days later to meet him at
the Hamaya Inn, and that they would return to Osaka via the
lakes. Teinosuke advised a third-class sleeper. Nothing was better
462 ____ the makioka sisters

than a third-class sleeper in hot weather, he said. There were no
smothering curtains, the cool breezes passed freely. Third class was
far better than second. Perhaps she was too tired, however, for
there had been an air-raid drill that day and she had found herself
in a bucket brigade. In any case, she would doze off and dream
of the air-raid drill and wake up only to doze off and dream the
same dream again. It seemed to be the Ashiya kitchen, and yet it
was a far more up-to-date American-style kitchen, all white tiles
and paint, and sparkling glass and chinaware. The air-raid siren
would sound, and the glass and chinaware would begin snapping
and cracking and breaking to bits. "Yukiko, Etsuko, 0-haru, this
is dangerous," she would say, and flee into the dining room, away
from the shiny particles in the air. Coffee cups and beer steins
and wine glasses and wine and whisky bottles would be snapping
and cracking in the dining room too. This is just as bad--she
would lead them upstairs, where they would find all the light bulbs
exploding. They would then run into a room with only wooden
fixtures--and Sachiko would be awake. She had the same dream
she did not know how many times. Finally it was morning. Someone
had opened a window and she had a cinder in her eye. Tears
streamed down her face. She arrived at the Hamaya at nine, to
find that Teinosuke had already gone out. She thought of making
up for the lost sleep, but there was that object in her eye. Each
time she blinked the tears started again. Eyewash did no good.
She finally asked the landlady to call a good eye doctor and had
the cinder removed. The doctor ordered her to wear a bandage
for the rest of the day and to call again the following day. What
in the world had happened, asked Teinosuke, back for lunch.
Thanks to him, she had had a dreadful time. She would never
take a third-class sleeper again. Something always seemed to go
wrong with their second honeymoons, laughed Teinosuke. He
would finish his business so that they could leave early the following
day. How long would she have to go bandaged? Only that
day, but there was danger, if she was not careful, of injury to the
eyeball, and she was to see the doctor again the following day.
What ought she to do if they were leaving early? A bit of dust
in one eye, scoffed Teinosuke. The doctor was out after their
money; the eye would be all right by evening.
Sachiko called the Shibuya house while Teinosuke was out.
Book Three 463

They had arrived that morning and would stay only the day, she
explained to her sister. Shy about her bandaged eye, she asked if
she might trouble her sister to come to the inn. There were reasons
why she could not leave the house, answered Tsuruko, much
though she would like to see Sachiko. Tsuruko then asked for news
of Koi-san. Koi-san had recovered, said Sachiko. Feeling that they
should not be too harsh about "disinheriting" her, they were
letting her come to the house, though not openly. Sachiko really
could not discuss the matter over the telephone. She would be in
Tokyo again soon. Very bored, she waited until the streets were a
little cooler and went out for a walk on the Ginza. History is
Made at Night was playing. She had seen it once before, and she
suddenly wanted to see it again. Because she had only one eye,
she found that Charles Boyer did not look like Charles Boyer.
Those beautiful eyes were without their usual charm. She decided
to take off the bandage. Her eye seemed to have healed--there
was not a sign of a tear. He had been quite right, she said to
Teinosuke that evening. And the doctor had made so much of it.
Doctors were all alike. They wanted to hang on to you, if only
one day longer.
They spent the following two nights at Lake Kawaguchi. This
"second honeymoon" more than made up for the failure at Nara.
After the heat of Tokyo, they had a clean autumn breeze at the
foot of Mt. Fuji, and it was enough just to go for a stroll along
the lake, or to lie looking from the second-floor window at the
mountain. The native of Tokyo cannot imagine the fascination
of Mt. Fuji for someone like Sachiko, who barely knew the east-
country--an exotic fascination like that of "Fujiyama" for the
foreigner. They had chosen this Fuji View Hotel because Sachiko
was drawn to the name. And there was Fuji, right before the
hotel, almost hanging over them. For the first time Sachiko could
look up from the base of the mountain and watch all the changes,
morning and evening, as she would. Both the Fuji View and the
Nara Hotel were finished in unpainted wood, after the fashion of
the classical Japanese mansion, but there the resemblance between
the two hotels ended. The Nara Hotel was old and the
wood had become dark and gloomy. Here the walls and pillars to
the farthest corners of the room were fresh and clean, in part because
the hotel was new, but also in part because the mountain
464____________the makioka sisters

air was so incomparably clean. After lunch the second day, Sachiko
lay gazing up at the ceiling. On one side she could see the top of
Fuji, and on the other the undulations of the range around Lake
Kawaguchi. For some reason, she thought of a lake she had never
seen, and of the prisoner of Chillon. It was less the mountains and
the color of the sky than the touch of the air that made her feel
as if she had been set down in a far-off country. And she felt too
as if she were at the bottom of a cool lake, as if the mountain
air were tingling carbonated water. Little clouds passed over the
sun. The light would go and suddenly burst forth again, and at
such moments the whiteness of the walls seemed to work its way
past her eyes to make her mind itself as clear as the air. Lake
Kawaguchi had until recently been noisy with refugees from the
heat. Since the twentieth the number of guests had fallen off
sharply, and now the large hotel was empty and quiet. There was
not a sound, however one strained one'? ears. In the silence,
watching the light go and come and go and come again, Sachiko
lost consciousness of time.
Teinosuke too had been staring at the ceiling and tasting the
silence. He walked over to look out at Mt. Fuji.
"This is very interesting," said Sachiko.
"What is?"
Sachiko was looking at the nickel-plated thermos bottle on the
table beside her pillow.
"Come look. See what a palace we are in."
The polished surface of the thermos bottle was a convex mirror
reflecting the smallest details of the bright room. Everything was
thrown out of perspective, however, so that the room had become
a hall of state with an infinitely high ceiling. Sachiko, now sitting
up in bed, was very far away.
"Look at me, will you." She shook her head and raised an arm,
and in the convex mirror a far-away figure shook its head and
raised its arm--the elf in the heart of a crystal, or the dragon
queen in her palace below the sea, or a princess of the blood in
her royal chambers.
How long had it been, he wondered, since his wife had seemed
so youthful. They were back ten years and more, and on their
honeymoon again. After a night at the Fujiya Hotel in these same
mountains, they had driven around Lake Ashi, with Fuji in the
door i nree __ ____ ____405____

background, and no doubt the surroundings called them back to
that trip long years before.
"We must come here often," whispered Sachiko in bed that
night. Teinosuke agreed. The bed-time talk also touched on soberer
matters. With her husband in such a good mood, it would
be a great shame to miss the opportunity. Sachiko quietly brought
up the question of Taeko. Teinosuke ought to see her himself.
He quite understood, said Teinosuke. He had been too harsh, and
with someone like Koi-san harshness could only bring embarrassing
complications. He would henceforth play no favorites.

SiSSiSiSSSSS^SiSiS^StS^a^SSSS^SSSSS!

26

in september Teinosuke carried out the promise he had made on
that "second honeymoon." He saw Taeko for the first time since
she had been turned out of the house. Though he had allowed
her to come and go, he had chosen not to see her himself. Now
they had a pleasant dinner party, the five of them, husband and
wife and sisters and daughter. Sachiko and Yukiko, still troubled
by the story they had heard from 0-haru, felt a certain constraint
with Taeko. They were nonetheless determined to forget the unpleasantness,
and, close to their sister for an evening at least,
they drank more sake than they usually allowed themselves. The
dining room was very lively indeed. Without having discussed
the matter, Sachiko and Yukiko had come to much the same conclusion :
they would say nothing to Teinosuke and they would not
reprimand Taeko herself. Since a good part of the responsibility
lay with them, they would be warm and affectionate in their efforts
to win back this erring sister. Why not stay the night? suggested
Etsuko, and Teinosuke and the others promptly took up
the suggestion. It was decided that Taeko would stay the night.
Etsuko was delighted--she and Yukiko and Koi-san would all
sleep together. Easily aroused, she found such occasions particularly
exciting.
Taeko's old charm had returned. When Sachiko had seen that
4bb 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

decaying face, and the muddy skin that seemed to cloak a venereal
disease, she had wondered whether the freshness would ever
come back, but Taeko was once more a lively, full-cheeked modern
beauty. Out of deference to the people in the main house,
said Teinosuke, Taeko should keep up the form of living out, and
she would spend part of her day in the Ashiya house, returning to
her room at night. Her old room upstairs having been given back
to her, she would sit by the sunny window immersed in her sewing,
much of it on orders brought in by Sachiko. Sometimes she
rushed through dinner and went upstairs again in the evening.
Hoping to keep down Okubata's expenses, Sachiko went quietly
out in search of orders, and as she watched Taeko at work, affection
for her youngest sister welled up again. Koi-san did like to
work. This very aggressiveness, it was true, had led her astray.
Still, if they watched her, they might turn her talents to something
good and constructive. She was so clever with her hands;
she could master new skills so quickly. When she took up dancing
she was soon a good dancer, when she took up dolls she was soon
making really fine ones, and now see how it was with her sewing!
Not many girls barely thirty years old had mastered so many
skills.
"You are so patient with it, Koi-san." Often, when the machine
was still humming at eight or nine in the evening, Sachiko would
go upstairs to look in on her sister. "But you really should stop.
Etsuko will have trouble getting to sleep, and you will be stiff in
the morning."
"I thought I could finish it tonight."
"Oh, finish it tomorrow. Do you really have to make so much
money?"
Taeko laughed quietly. "As a matter of fact, I do need money."
"Whenever you do, just tell me, Koi-san. Please. I can always
give you spending money."
Because Teinosuke now had an important account with a munitions
company, Sachiko's purse was fat and she had considerable
latitude in managing the house, and Teinosuke had pointed out
that they were taking care of Yukiko with virtually no help from
the main house, and they might start looking after Taeko too.
Whenever she had a chance, then, Sachiko mentioned the possibility
of an allowance, but Taeko always turned the suggestion
cook i nrw 407

off lightly, as though she had too much pride to accept the offer,
as though the last thing she wanted to do was depend on others.
Neither Sachiko nor Yukiko could guess from Taeko's manner
what had happened to Okubata. Though Taeko came to Ashiya
every day, she always spent part of the day elsewhere. She would
come either late in the afternoon and spend the evening, or come
in the morning and leave in the afternoon. Perhaps she was seeing
Kei-boy, perhaps not. The two sisters worried a great deal, but
neither sought to question Taeko. They agreed with the old
woman: the only solution was to see Taeko and Okubata married.
It would be rash to make the suggestion openly, however,
and they only hoped that in the course of time Taeko would
have a change of heart. Then one day--it was early in October--
she brought home a report that Okubata was leaving for Manchuria.

"For Manchuria?" Sachiko and Yukiko asked in unison.
"It is very funny." Taeko laughed and told her story:
She did not know all the details, but it appeared that an
official had come to recruit twenty or thirty Japanese for the Man-
churian Imperial Household. "Officials," they were to be, but certainly
not high officials. Dignified manservants, rather, to see to
the Emperor's personal needs; neither intelligence nor learning
was required. The men had only to be of good bourgeois origins,
personable and well-mannered--pampered young men of family,
in a word, who might even be a little stupid. Kei-boy fitted the
order. His brothers were most enthusiastic. Since it would be in
the service of the Manchurian Emperor, they need not worry
about what people would think, and since the work would in no
sense be difficult, it should be just right for Kei-boy. If Kei-boy
agreed to go to Manchuria, they might welcome him back into
the family. They would all want to wish him well.
"How nice. But it seems odd that he agreed to go."
"Oh, his mind is not made up yet. Everyone is urging him on,
but he is holding back."
"That is not surprising, Koi-san. A boy from Semba going all
the way to Manchuria--think of it."
"But he needs money. He will have to move, and no one in
Osaka will hire him, and he has to do something. This is his
chance."
_______408_______________ 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

"I suppose so. It is not work just anyone could do."
"Exactly. And that is why the pay is so good. And why I keep
urging him on. I tell him he only has to stay a year or two. His
brother will be over the grudge by that time, and people will start
trusting him again. I tell him to pick himself up and go."
"But it will be so lonely. Is the old woman going along?"
"She says she wants to, but she has her sons and grandchildren
to think of."
"Suppose you go, Koi-san," said Yukiko. "You ought to be willing
to, if it means giving him a new start."
Taeko snorted and frowned.
"He would probably go if you promised to go with him, even
for a little while--say six months, until he settled down. You
must, Koi-san, if it means helping him."
"Yes, do, Koi-san," Sachiko joined in. "Even his brothers would
thank you."
"This is my chance to break with him." Taeko's voice was low,
but the words were clipped and distinct. "Otherwise we would go
on and on. It would be far the best thing for him to go alone.
And so I keep arguing with him."
"Koi-san," said Sachiko. "We are not trying to make you marry
him. We are only suggesting that you stay with him for six months
or a year. When you see that everything is going well, you can
come back by yourself."
"If I went all the way to Manchuria, it would be harder than
ever to leave him."
"Possibly. But surely you could make him see what had to be.
And if he refused to understand, you could run off by yourself."
"And is there a doubt in the world that he would throw everything
over and run off too?"
"I see what you mean, of course. But after all you do owe him
something, and if you are going to leave him you should do your
duty first."
"Do I owe him so much?"
Seeing that they were headed for a quarrel, Sachiko said no more.
But Yukiko pressed on: "You really can say you are not in debt
to him? Everyone knows what you have been to each other all
these years."
UUUK. 1 IIIKK 4^9

"And I wanted to leave him long ago, and he kept tagging
after me. In debt to him! He has been a nuisance."
"It is not true, then, that you have had a great deal of help
from him? This will annoy you--but have you had money from
him?"
"What a question. Absolutely not."
"Really?"
"I have never needed to. You know perfectly well that I supported
myself, and even put money in the bank."
"So you say. But there are people who might not agree. I have
never once seen your bank book myself, and I have no idea how
much money you have."
"You are quite mistaken if you think Kei-boy is making money.
I might even have to support him."
"Let me ask you this." Yukiko was toying with the chrysanthemum
in the glass vase. Though she avoided her sister's eye, her
voice was calm, her hand was steady, and she showed no sign of
excitement. "The camel's-hair coat last fall--did Kei-boy have it
made for you?"
"I told you that it cost three hundred fifty yen and that I sold
two kimonos and a coat to pay for it. I can even tell you which
kimonos."
"But the old woman says Kei-boy paid for it, and she has the
receipt."
Taeko did not answer.
"And the voile afternoon dress. She has the receipt for that
too."
"You believe everything people like that tell you?"
"I would rather not. But she has evidence for everything she
says. If she is lying, possibly you can show us your accounts to
prove it."
Taeko, as always, was impassive. She stared at Yukiko, and did
not try to answer.
"And she says that it has been going on for years, and that he
has given you more than just clothes. Rings, too, and compacts,
and broaches. She remembers every single item, and she says that
Kei-boy was turned out by his brother because he took jewelry
from the shop for you."
4/1-' inc. iviAKiuis.A ijiair-na

Taeko still did not answer.
"And you have had any number of chances to break with him.
When you were seeing Itakura, for instance."
"What would you have said if I had left him then?"
"It is true that we wanted you to marry him. But we might have
reconsidered if we had known that you were taking money from
him even while you were seeing Itakura."
Sachiko agreed with Yukiko. Koi-san needed a scolding. Unable
to go so far herself, however, she watched with astonishment and
admiration. This was the second time she had seen Yukiko perform
thus. The other attack, some five years before, had been aimed
at Tatsuo. What was it that brought about the transformation?
Sachiko had seen the vacillating Yukiko suddenly become positive
and forceful, and in the end Tatsuo was crying for mercy.
"He was not making money, of course, but can you say you are
not in debt to someone you have had stealing jewels for you?
Someone who had no other way to make money? In case you are
coming to the wrong conclusions, I ought to point out that the
old woman did not say a thing out of bitterness. She only said
that after he had done so much for you we ought to see that you
married him. And now that we know everything, we agree with
her."
Taeko still said nothing.
"You use him as long as you can, and then you say you know
a good place for worthless young men, and try to send him off to
Manchuria. How can you do it, Koisan?"
Whether she had no answer, or thought that to answer would
be a waste of time, Taeko remained silent. Yukiko talked on and
on, until she began to sound repetitious. Presently Taeko was
weeping, though her face was as expressionless as ever. She
seemed not to notice the tears trickling down over her cheeks.
Then, suddenly, she got up and left the room, slamming the door
so hard that the house shook. A moment later they heard the front
door slam.
27

this remarkable scene took place just before lunch. Teinosuke
and Etsuko were away, and 0-haru happened to be out on an
errand. The argument, in the closed dining room, had sounded so
much like an ordinary conversation that the maids suspected nothing.
That slam was far from ordinary, however, and 0-aki ran
startled into the hall. It was already empty. Opening the dining-
room door a crack, she was surprised to see that Taeko had disappeared.
Sachiko and Yukiko were spreading the tablecloth for
lunch.
"What is it?" asked Sachiko.
"Nothing." 0-aki was confused.
"Koi-san has left. There will be only Mrs. Makioka and myself."
said Yukiko. "It does her good to be talked to now and then," she added when 0-aki had left. With that she seemed to
forget the incident, of which the sisters said nothing to Teinosuke
and Etsuko. Etsuko and 0-haru were mildly surprised that Taeko
did not appear the next day. Had Koi-san caught cold, they wondered.
Very strange that she was not at work, answered Sachiko.
She thought they might not see Koi-san for a time, but the next
morning Koi-san was with them, as composed as ever. She greeted
Yukiko as though nothing had happened, and Yukiko answered
pleasantly. Okubata had decided not to go to Manchuria, said
Taeko. Yukiko nodded, and neither had more to say of the incident.

Some days later, Sachiko and Yukiko chanced to meet Itani in
Kobe. They heard unexpected news: Itani was going to sell her
beauty shop and go to America again. Some of her friends pointed
out that the international situation was most unstable, and that
there might be trouble between the United States and Japan.
Should she not wait a little longer? But Itani answered that the
possibility of trouble with America was not likely to vanish overnight,
and that she would hurry off and be back before the trouble
began. It was not easy to get a passport, but Itani had her ways.
She meant to be gone six months or a year. There was really no
______ 47 2 _____________________1 HE IVIAKIOKA SISThKh

need to sell her shop if she was to be back so soon, but she had
long wanted to go into business in Tokyo, and this was her opportunity.
Sachiko and Yukiko were not entirely surprised, since
they vaguely remembered having heard of such plans when Itani's
husband, long abed with palsy, had died the year before. Now that
the first-anniversary memorial services were over, she had decided
to act. It was always her way, once the decision was made, to push
ahead briskly. She had found someone to take the shop, made all
the arrangements for the sale, and even reserved passage to America.
People would want to give her farewell parties and the like,
but parties were inappropriate these days, and besides, she was
leaving in too much of a hurry. She even thought she might have
to be excused from farewell calls.
Whatever she said, Itani was well known in Kobe. It hardly
seemed possible that no one would organize a farewell party. If a
larger party was not in prospect, said Sachiko to Teinosuke that
evening, they themselves must at least invite Itani to dinner--she
had done so much for Yukiko. The next morning, however, they
received a printed announcement which, among other things,
firmly refused farewell parties and similar courtesies. Itani was
leaving the very next evening for Tokyo. She would be at the
Imperial Hotel until she sailed, and she would have no time for
parties. That was that--the three sisters would go around with a
farewell present some time that day or the next. Because they
had great trouble deciding on a present, they did nothing the
first day. Sachiko and Yukiko were deliberating the problem the
next morning when Itani suddenly appeared. How nice of her--
she must be so busy--the three of them had been thinking they
would call on her. But there was no need for them to call, she
answered, and even if they had called they would have found
the shop turned over to someone else, and the house in an uproar;
her brother was moving in. She had decided to say goodbye
to a few choice friends. Since time was so short, she had made it a
policy only to look in at the door, but somehow with the Makiokas
--only the Makiokas--she wanted to stay longer. And there was
something she had to tell them about. "Do come in, please," said
Sachiko. Itani glanced at her watch and went into the parlor--
she could stay ten or twenty minutes at the most.
She would be back in Japan almost before they knew she was
DUUK 1 riTW 473

gone. Still, it made her sad to think she was leaving Kobe for
good. And in particular--she hoped they would forgive her for
saying so--she had grown so fond of them, of Mrs. Makioka, and
Miss Yukiko, and Koi-san. (She talked as rapidly as ever, and allowed
no interruptions.) Each of the Makioka sisters had her own
special qualities: three fine sisters, alike and yet different. The
truth was that she had few regrets at leaving Kobe, but one thing
did make her sad. She would no longer see the Makiokas, who
she had hoped would continue to put up with her presence. It
was a great delight to see two of the sisters today, and it was most
unfortunate that Koi-san was not in. Koi-san would be around
soon, said Sachiko. Should they try calling her? No, said Irani,
standing up as Sachiko started for the telephone. It was unfortunate,
but would they just pass on her regards? She was not sailing
for ten days, she added. Might they be able, all three of them, to
come to Tokyo? Not that she was asking them to see her off, but
there was someone in Tokyo she wanted them to meet.
This is the story Itani told, after stopping to catch her breath:
She wondered about the propriety of saying so to the person
most concerned, but what weighed on her mind, now that she
was moving from Kobe, was that she would have to leave unmade
the match she had hoped to make for Miss Yukiko. Each time she considered--no, she was not trying to Hatter them--how few
girls were as fine as Miss Yukiko and how few had such remarkable
sisters, she felt that she was shirking her duty, and she wanted at
least to make a beginning toward absolving herself. She had a new
candidate. They must have heard the name: Mimaki, an old court
family. Old Viscount Mimaki had figured in the Meiji Restoration.
The present viscount, his son, was well along in years. Once
active in politics (he had served on investigating committees in
the House of Peers), he had retired to the old family seat in Kyoto.
Itani had chanced to meet one Minoru, a Mimaki son by a concubine.
This Mimaki Minoru was a graduate of the Peers School
and had studied physics at the Imperial University, which he left
to go to France. In Paris he studied painting for a time, and
French cooking for a time, and numerous other things, none for
very long. Going on to America, he studied aeronautics in a not-
too-famous state university, and he did finally take a degree, it
seemed. After graduation, he continued to wander about the
474 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA 5IhT.fcK!>

United States, and on to Mexico and South America. With his
allowance from home cut off in the course of these wanderings,
he made a living as a cook and even as a bellboy. He also returned
to painting, and tried his hand at architecture. Following his
whims and relying on his undeniable cleverness, he tried everything.
He abandoned aeronautics when he left school. Though he
had had no regular work since his return to Japan some eight or
nine years before, a house he designed half for the fun of it had
attracted attention and he was known as an architect of some
ability. He had even opened a small office in Tokyo. His houses
cost money, however, being in the latest Western fashion, and
orders fell off as the China Incident began to have its effect. Now
he was a man of leisure again, forced to close his office after but
two years in business. Such was the man's story; and he was looking
for a wife--or rather, the people around him were insisting
that he had to have a wife. He was forty-four, Itani had heard.
He had spent long years abroad, and he was used to the easy informality
of bachelorhood in Japan. It seemed, therefore--not
that they knew much about his life abroad--that he had never
had a wife or a substitute for a wife. Since his return he had frequented
the teahouses. But only until the year before, Itani added
hastily. He no longer had enough money. In his youth he had
received a settlement from his father, and he had been enjoying
himself since. A man who knew how to spend and not how to
earn, he was today in no position to waste money. Though somewhat
late in making a start, he had hoped to earn his living as
an architect, and if the times had been more favorable he would
no doubt have succeeded. Now he faced an impasse. But he was
a sort not uncommon among children of the nobility, sociable,
witty, wide in his interests, thoroughly easygoing and rather inclined
to think of himself as an artist, and his difficulties worried
him not at all. It was because he was too easygoing that people
said he must marry. This life would not do.
Itani met Mimaki through her daughter Mitsuyo, who had
graduated from Japan Women's University the year before and
was now working on the magazine Women's Japan. It seemed that
the president of the publishing company, a Mr. Kunishima, was
extremely fond of Mimaki. The friendship had begun when Mimaki
designed a house for Kunishima, and Mimaki was now a
door i nree 475

frequent visitor at the house, a friend valued as highly by Mrs.
Kunishima as by her husband. The offices of the magazine being
near Mimaki's office, he had been in the habit of calling almost
every day, and he had come to know the whole staff, and especially
Mitsuyo. Mitsuyo was a great favorite of Kunishima
and his wife, almost a member of their family. When, on a
trip to Tokyo, Itani went to pay her respects at the Kunishima
house, she found Mimaki there. He was most amusing even on
first acquaintance, and he and Itani were soon friends. Itani
really had little business there, but, with her daughter doing so
well, she made three trips to Tokyo before the end of the year,
and she visited the Kunishima house each time. Two of the three
times she saw Mimaki. It was Mitsuyo's story that the Kunishimas
were extremely fond of gambling. They would stay up all night
over bridge or mahjong, with Mitsuyo and Mimaki for their
partners. Itani knew she should not boast of her own daughter,
but Mitsuyo was a bright girl, precociously gifted at gambling,
and she could stay up two nights running and still work twice as
hard as anyone else in the office. Hence the Kunishimas liked her.
Itani had been to Tokyo several times recently to arrange for her
trip abroad, and she had had Kunishima's help with her passport.
She had seen Mimaki several more times. Each time she visited
the Kunishima house, the talk, with Mimaki at the very center,
turned noisily to "the question of Mimaki's wife." The Kunishimas
were among the more aggressive advocates of marraige, and Kunishima,
who knew Mimaki's father, said that he himself would
undertake to talk the Viscount into a new settlement if Mimaki
agreed to marry. For the time being, then, the couple need not
worry about money. Kunishima always asked Itani for word of
likely candidates. She must let him know immediately when she
thought of someone.
Itani, who had been talking steadily, glanced at her watch and
said she must hurry through the rest of her story. She had immediately
thought of the Makiokas--this was exactly what they
wanted for Miss Yukiko. But the timing was so bad. If she had
planned to be in Japan herself, she would have said that she knew
exactly the girl, that she would arrange everything, but here she
was going abroad. She finally decided to say nothing, though Miss
Yukiko's name had been on the tip of her tongue. But the prob-
_______ 470 ______________1 HE MAKIOKA SISTERS

lem still troubled her--such an ideal match, if only it could be
arranged.
She must tell them more about Mr. Mimaki. She had already
told them that he was forty-four, probably a year or two younger
than Mr. Makioka. As was so often the case with men long abroad,
he was growing bald. He was also rather swarthy--one could not
call him a handsome man, but one could say that his face told of
his breeding. He was well built, a little stout--a strongly built
man who had never been ill and who boasted that he could go on
working whatever happened. And there was that most important
matter, his finances: he had lived alone from his student days on
a settlement of something over a hundred thousand yen, and one
could say without exaggeration that not a yen was left. He had
several times gone crying to the Viscount, who had given him
money two or three times. That money too was gone. Not one to
keep money when he had it, he would soon be as impoverished
as ever. It was useless to give him money, the Viscount had said.
And indeed no man past forty should be living in aimless bacheorhood,
argued Kunishima. It was only natural that the Viscount
and the world in general should look upon him with suspicion.
The first step was to find steady work, however small an income
it brought. The Viscount would then feel better, and possibly
even help him. Since there had already been so many requests
for money, the help would be of very small proportions, but
Mimaki would not need much. In Kunishima's opinion, Mimaki
was a man of really outstanding talent when it came to designing
Western houses, and there was no doubt that he had a fine future
as an architect. Though Kunishima did not claim that there was
much he himself could do, he meant to back Mimaki to the very
limits of his ability. Mimaki was having trouble because times
were bad, but one need not be gloomy. The crisis would soon
pass. Kunishima would see (and he thought the prospects were
good) whether the Viscount would agree to pay the wedding expenses,
to buy the couple a house, and to give them an allowance
for two or three years. That, then, was the story. Itani thought--
would they not agree?--that while they might have certain misgivings,
Mimaki was the husband they were looking for. He had
many merits: it was his first marriage; though he was the son of a
concubine, his family was descended from the great Fujiwara clan
Uook I tiree _________________ 477 _____

and his relatives without exception were illustrious men; he had no
one to support (she had forgotten to tell them that his mother
died very soon after he was born, and he had no memories of her);
and he was a man with refined and varied tastes, well versed in
the speech and customs of both France and America. Though she
herself had known him but a very short time and it would be
well for the Makiokas to conduct their own investigation, she could
say from what she had seen of him that he was an amiable, likable
man with no apparent defects. He was a great drinker. She had
seen him in his cups two or three times, and she had found that
the more he drank the wittier and more entertaining he became.
Thinking over and over again what a shame it would be to let
this opportunity pass, she had cast about for someone to act as
go-between in her place. Finally she had decided that, since the
man moved so easily in polite society, the business of go-between
need not be complicated. Once an introduction was arranged and
matters began to look promising, Mr. and Mrs. Kunishima would
see that the negotiations went smoothly. And Mitsuyo could help
too. Mitsuyo was young, but she was a bold, forward girl, just the
sort to help with marriage negotiations. They would find her of
considerable use if they chose to make her their messenger.
"Dear, dear." She looked at her watch again, and stood up to
go. "And I meant to stay only fifteen minutes."
And still she talked on. She had said what she had to say. She
hoped they would think everything over. Kunishima was going
to give a little party for her, and if they were at all interested in
her story, would they consider representing Kobe at the party?--
Mrs. Makioka and Miss Yukiko, and, because nothing could be
better than having all three sisters, Koi-san too, if possible. With
the farewell party for their excuse, might they not at least meet
the gentleman? Their answer could wait. She would call from
Tokyo, perhaps the next day, to let them know the exact time of
the farewell party. She barely said good-bye as she flew from the
house.
s^s^s3^INiI^7s^^K^3sysO^JS^s^9^*>3S3s3s^3'

28

itani had been in too much of a hurry to tell them her train time.
Sachiko called the house, only to find that she was out. The
person at the telephone was most secretive. Itani had left strict
instructions that no one was to see her off. In the evening, Sachiko
managed to catch Itani herself. After all that Itani had told them,
said Sachiko, they wanted to see her at least once more--and
finally Itani let it be known that she was taking the nine-thirty
express from Sannomiya Station. The whole family went to the
station, and for the first time since the memorial services the
autumn before, Teinosuke found himself escorting the three
sisters, all in their most elaborate dress.
"Why does Koi-san have on a kimono?" Fascinated, Etsuko
stared across the dinner table. Taeko was wearing a silk print,
large white camellias on a green background. Surrounded by all
this finery, Etsuko was as excited as at the annual cherry-viewing.
"And how do I look in my kimono, Etsuko?"
"You look better in foreign clothes."
"A kimono makes you look fat, Koi-san," said Sachiko.
Taeko was beginning to wear Japanese dress even around the
house. She had good legs, and when she wore Western clothes
there was something of the pretty little girl about her. In kimono,
with her legs hidden, she looked dumpy. In her efforts to gain
weight, she was perhaps eating too much. Though she had always
had rather good circulation, Taeko explained, her feet and legs
had been unbearably cold in foreign clothes ever since her illness.
"When women are young they like foreign clothes," said Teinosuke,
"but when they get older they turn back to kimono. Koisan
is getting old."
"Look at Itani. She has been to America, and in her business
she ought to wear foreign clothes. But do you ever see her in anything
except kimono?"
"Never," said Sachiko. "But then she is really old. What answer
shall we give her, by the way?"
"Suppose we do this: there is no need to talk much about hus-
Book Three ______ 479 _____

bands, but you ought to see her in Tokyo. You would have had
to even if the other matter had not come up at all."
"I quite agree with you."
"I ought to go myself, but I am too busy. You and Yukiko go,
and if Koi-san can go too that will be even better."
"I would like to go," said Taeko. "When was I last in Tokyo?
I wonder. And this is such a good time of the year, and I have to
make up for the cherry blossoms."
Unlike her sisters, Taeko was not in debt to Itani. She was a
steady customer at the beauty shop, but she complained that Itani
was too expensive, and occasionally went elsewhere. Even so, she
liked Itani's free and open manner, that touch of bravodo so unusual
in women. Turned out of the Makioka family the year before,
Taeko had come to feel that the world was harsh, and that
people with whom she had once been friendly were looking coldly
on her. Only Itani was unchanged, as motherly and sympathetic
as ever. There could be no doubt that Itani, whose shop was a
rumor mart, knew all the details of Taeko's misbehavior, and yet
she chose to concentrate on what was good in the girl. Taeko was
thoroughly delighted, then, when she heard that Itani had especially
asked for "Koi-san" and urged that she too go to Tokyo.
Each time a prospective husband appeared for Yukiko, Taeko felt
like the skeleton in the family closet, and she read into Itani's invitation
the implication that the youngest sister was no discredit
to the Makioka name, that the family should see her virtues and
set her out on display. Taeko really must go to Tokyo.
"You go too, then, Koi-san. The more the better."
"But the most important person of all . . ." Sachiko looked at
Yukiko, who was smiling quietly. "The most important person of
all seems unenthusiastic."
"Oh?"
"She says that if all three of us go, Etsuko will be left alone."
"But Yukiko has to go if anyone does. Etsuko can stay and take
care of the house for two or three days," said Teinosuke.
"Oh, no need to worry about me." Etsuko was quite the adult.
"I can watch the house. And 0-haru will be here."
"Yukiko has one reservation, though."
"What is that?"
Yukiko only laughed, and Sachiko went ahead for her. "She
____ 480 ____________the makioka sisters

says she has to go for Itani's sake, but she is not to be left behind
afterwards."
"There is that problem, of course."
"Suppose we stay away from the Tokyo house," said Taeko.
"No, that will never do," objected Teinosuke. "There will be
trouble when they find out."
"Yukiko says we are to tell them that she will be sent to Tokyo
later, but that this time I am bringing her back with me."
"But if you hate Tokyo so," put in Taeko, "what chance is
there that you will be interested in this man of Itani's?"
"Yes, what about that?" Etsuko agreed with Taeko. "Maybe
you have to get married, but why to someone in Tokyo?"
"You understand such things, do you, Etsuko?"
"But will Yukiko like Tokyo? Will you, Yukiko?"
"Possibly you should be quiet, Etsuko," said Sachiko. "But I
feel this way myself: Mr. Mimaki comes from a court family and
Kyoto is in his blood. I imagine he might be willing to move west.
After all, he only has a rented room in Tokyo."
"Especially if we find him work in Osaka. There is that Kyoto
blood."
"But even coming from the same part of the country," continued
Sachiko, "Kyoto people and Osaka people are so different.
Kyoto women are all right, but I have never found much to say
for Kyoto men."
"This is no time to go looking for faults," said Teinosuke.
"Maybe he was born in Tokyo. And he has spent so much time
in France and America. Maybe he is different from most Kyoto
men."
"I never have liked Tokyo," said Yukiko. "But I imagine Tokyo
people have their good points."
They could wait until the Tokyo meeting to give Itani her farewell
present. Upon Teinosuke's suggestion, the five of them set
out after dinner to buy a bouquet in Kobe. Etsuko was to present
it. Though one would have expected the station to be alive with
well-wishers, it was in fact rather lonely, the departure time having
been kept secret. Even so there were twenty or thirty people at
the train, including Itani's brothers and their wives. The Makioka
sisters, noting the rather sombre nature of the assembly, felt constrained
to keep their cloaks on, and in the end they had no opBoofe Three _____________________ 481 _____

portunity to display their carefully chosen kimonos. Sachiko managed
to have a few words with Itani. They were most grateful for
the visit that morning, she said. She had told Teinosuke of it, and
they agreed that there was no way to thank Itani enough for
worrying over the sisters to the very end, and now, more than
ever, they felt that all three of them must be at her farewell party.
Teinosuke added his thanks to Sachiko's. How splendid, said
Itani. All three of them! She would be waiting, and they could
be sure that she would telephone the details the next day. She
leaned out the window to repeat her assurances as the train pulled
out of the station.
There was a telephone call the next evening from the Imperial
Hotel. The farewell party, said Itani, was to be three evenings
later, at five o'clock, at the Imperial Hotel. There would be nine
guests in all: Itani and her daughter Mitsuyo; Mr. and Mrs. Kunishima
and their daughter; Mr. Mimaki, and, representing Kobe,
the Makioka sisters. And where, asked Itani, would they stay?
Possibly at the main house in Shibuya--but since it would be so
much more convenient, suppose they too stay at the Imperial.
With a festival in progress to celebrate the twenty-six-hundredth
anniversary of the founding of the Empire, every hotel in Tokyo
was crowded. Fortunately, relatives of Mr. Kunishima's had taken
a room and had suggested that they might let the Makiokas have
it and go themselves to stay with the Kunishimas. Taeko would
be going and Yukiko did so particularly want to avoid the Tokyo
house and to conceal the reason for the visit. Sachiko therefore
felt that, selfish though it was of her, she must ask Itani to arrange
for a hotel room. They would leave for Tokyo either the next
evening or two mornings later. Although they would like to see
Itani off from Yokohama, they could not be away from Ashiya
for very long, and they must ask her to forgive them for going
only to the farewell party. They would stay two nights, including
the night of the farewell party. But they would want to see the
Kabuki and it was just possible that they would stay a third night.
Itani answered that she might want to see the Kabuki herself.
Should she reserve seats?
They were able to get berths for the next evening, and all that
day they were busy getting ready. Sachiko and Yukiko needed
permanent waves. They did not know where to go, however, with
482 the makioka sisters

Itani no longer in business. If Koi-san were there she could recommend
a place. Why was she so late? And so the morning passed,
and at two in the afternoon Taeko appeared, her hair neatly
waved. Always one to lay her plans carefully, she had gone off to a
beauty shop by herself. How nasty of her. They had wanted her to
take them along. But Taeko was not disturbed: there would be a
beauty shop in the Imperial Hotel. Quite true--consoled, they
turned to decide what clothes they would take, and packed a large
and a small suitcase and a bag. When they had finished dressing,
it was nearly train time.

Ū5!S<3St5!SŪS!SŪSSSSŪ3ŪSŪŪS<3!S!Si

29

"mrs. makioka?" In Tokyo Station the following morning, a
small young woman in Western clothes came briskly up and attached
herself to Sachiko. "I'm Mitsuyo."
"Oh, Mrs. Itani's . . ."
"It's been a long time. Mother should have come to meet you,
but she had all sorts of things to do." Mitsuyo glanced at the baggage.
"Shall I call a redcap?" She pounced on a redcap. "And
this will be Miss Yukiko, and this Koi-san. How long has it been,
I wonder. You've all been so good to Mother. Thank you for coming--just
think, all three of you. Mother was so happy when she
spoke of you last night."
Two or three miscellaneous pieces--cosmetic cases and the like
--were left when the redcap had taken the larger baggage. "Let
me have them. Come on, let me have them." Mitsuyo seized the
pieces the sisters were carrying and darted off into the crowd.
Sachiko and the others had seen the girl once or twice when
she was in a Kobe high school. There was no sign now of the old
provincial manner, and they would never have recognized her if
she had not announced herself. Itani was tall, though rather
slender. Mitsuyo on the other hand had been small as a child, and
she had hardly grown at all. Sachiko remembered her as swarthy
and round-faced, and just a little plump. Now the face seemed
Book Three 483

much fairer, and Sachiko would have said that the body had even
shrunk. The hands were no larger than those of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old.
Mitsuyo was only an inch or so shorter than Taeko,
but by contrast with Taeko, heavy in kimono and cloak, she
seemed tiny and bird-like. And, as her mother had said, she was
just a little "forward." Her speech was almost laughably like her
mother's. The glib flow suggested a too-knowing child. Yukiko
squirmed each time this girl ten years her junior called her "Miss
Yukiko."
"How nice of you to come to the station. You must be so busy."
"It's nothing, nothing. But as a matter of fact we are rather
busy this month, with the celebrations and all. And then along
comes Mother."
"I understand there was a naval review the other day."
"And the day after that a meeting to organize the Rule Assistance
Association. And the festival at the Yasukuni Shrine is going
on, and on the twenty-first there is a parade. Oh, Tokyo is just
full of excitement. All the hotels are overflowing. That reminds
me--the Imperial Hotel has twice as many people as it can handle.
We got you a room, but not much of a room."
"Anything will do."
"It's a tiny little closet of a room, but it's all they have. We did
complain when we saw that there were only two single beds, and
we got one changed for a double."
Mitsuyo told them all this as they drove through the city, and
much besides: that she had tried to find Kabuki tickets for that
day, but, with Tokyo in such a stir, tickets were not to be had by
ordinary means for a full ten days ahead; that, through her magazine,
she thought she had tickets for two days later; that she and
her mother and Mr. Mimaki, whom she believed her mother had
described to them, would ask to go along; and that it would
probably be impossible to have six seats together.
"Well, here it is. Hardly any sunlight--but try not to mind too
much." Mitsuyo saw them to the room, put down the baggage,
and started for the door. "Mother should be back any time now.
She said to tell you she would call. If you'll excuse me, then, I do
have to go to the office. I'll stop by later. Is there shopping I can
do for you? Just let me know--here is my number." Mitsuyo
reached into her purse for a calling card. The fingernails on the
484 the makioka sisters

tiny hand were as bright a red as one could hope to End anywhere.

Sachiko wanted if possible to have her hair taken care of that
day, but they ought to rest. With Itani about to call, they could
not expect to catch up on their sleep. Even so, they might loosen
their obis and lie down for a while. Sachiko was less worried
about herself than about Yukiko. Possibly because of the injections,
the spot over Yukiko's eye was much less conspicuous,
though it had not entirely disappeared. The dangerous time of the
month was coming, however, and the spot tended to be darker
when she was tired. Sachiko looked at the worn face and concluded
that the most important thing was to let her sister rest.
"Shall we wait until tomorrow, Yukiko? You must be tired."
"Today will be all right."
"But the party is at five, and we can always find time tomorrow.
Suppose we rest a little and go out to the Ginza. We have our
shopping to do."
"I am going to lie down." Taeko was sprawled in the armchair
that was clearly the most comfortable in the room. She had occupied
it as soon as they came in. While her sisters were talking, she
undid her obi, and, with only a narrow sash holding her kimono
together, threw herself down on the double bed. She would once
have been the last to show her exhaustion. She would have left her
less energetic sisters behind and set off on her business; but the old
liveliness had disappeared. On the slightest pretext she would fall
into a chair and fling her feet out before her, or lean heavily on
an elbow and yawn and sigh, and otherwise show that her manners,
never good, had become worse of late. Not quite over her
illness, she had perhaps fattened herself too indulgently.
"You lie down too, Yukiko." Yukiko nodded and, putting aside
the cloak and obi Taeko had thrown across the armchair, sat down
without undoing her obi. She would have to sleep with Taeko,
but she did not feel in the mood to lie down beside her sister
now. The bed, though double, was smaller than most double beds,
and she meant to leave the single bed for Sachiko. It was nonetheless
Yukiko and not Taeko who was presently asleep.
Whether or not she noticed this evidence of Yukiko's thoughtfulness,
Sachiko lay down on the single bed. Yukiko slept happily
in her chair, and Sachiko and Taeko lav awake on the beds.
Book Three_____________________485_____

"Suppose we have our baths, Koi-san." Yukiko slept on while
they had their turns at the bath. They woke her for lunch, and
there was still no sign of Itani. At about three they decided to go
shopping. They absolutely had to find that farewell present. Nothing
Western seemed appropriate--they must find something
uniquely Japanese that would please foreigners. After much perplexed
searching they decided on a mother-of-pearl jewel box that
could be Sachiko's present, and a tortoise-shell broach set with
pearls, from Yukiko and Taeko. The search left them exhausted.
"No more, no more." Taeko headed for the hotel after tea at
the Colombin, though they still had shopping to do. In the hotel
room (it was by then four-thirty) they found an orchid, and beside
it a note on Itani's calling card: "Telephone me when you
come in. We can have tea together."
"No more tea!" Taeko was not to be pried from the armchair,
which she had occupied again. The other two sat on the beds.
Not ten minutes later the telephone rang.
"It must be Itani," said Sachiko as she picked up the receiver.
Itani had been out since early that morning, and she hoped they
would forgive her. She had come back a few minutes before. She
would order tea, and they were to meet her in the lobby.
"Thank you, thank you. I was about to call you. Thank you.
We will be right down."
"Leave me here," said Taeko. "The two of you can have tea
with her."
But they must not be rude to Itani, said Sachiko. The others
were just as tired as Koi-san. Soon all three went down to the
lobby.

a<tf.,:7sy.y,yS)<3<S?a<,3i2S^^

3°

itani immediately began talking, and while they were having tea
she managed to tell them everything. She had just been informed
by telephone that she had Kabuki tickets for the day after tomorrow.
Only the three Makiokas would be able to sit together.
486 __ ____the makioka sisters

She herself would sit with Mitsuyo, and Mimaki would have to
sit by himself. In the course of what seemed the most idle chatter,
they learned many important details: Itani had not only spoken of
Yukiko to the Kunishimas and Mimaki, she had even shown them
the mica. photograph Sachiko had left with her; the photograph had
been extremely well received; at Kunishimas' the evening before,
everyone had agreed that Yukiko looked far younger than she
was; already Mimaki was convinced that she was the wife for him;
if the Makiokas had no objections, he was prepared to marry her
whenever she said; since Itani wanted to hide nothing, she had
told them all she knew of the Makioka family, of relations between
the Shibuya house and the Ashiya house, and the unpleasantness
between Yukiko and Taeko on the one hand and Tatsuo on the
other; Mimaki seemed quite undisturbed, and there was no sign
that this new information had weakened his decision; a man who
enjoyed life, he was more reasonable than most, and perhaps he
was above fussing over small family matters--in any case, she
found him extremely easy to talk to. Yukiko and Taeko, sensing
that the conversation was moving toward more delicate topics,
left as soon as they had finished their tea.
"I told him about that spot." Itani lowered her voice and
glanced at Yukiko's retreating figure. "I told him everything. It
would not do to have him find out later."
"Quite right of you. We will all feel more comfortable. Of
course Yukiko has been having injections, and, as you see, the spot
hardly shows any more. And it will go away entirely once she is
married. Could you explain that too?"
"Oh, I've already explained. He said he'd enjoy watching it go."
"Did he really!"
"And then--about Koi-san. I don't know how much you've
heard, but there are all sorts of rumors. But even if they're true,
we needn't worry. Someone in every family is a little different,
and I think myself it's better that way. Mr. Mimaki says it makes
no difference at all. He says he's not marrying the sister."
"That seems very reasonable of him."
"Oh, you know, people who've had their fun always understand.
He said he had nothing to do with the sister, and that I
could tell him everything. Not that he wanted to hear everything
if I would rather not tell him." Noting the relief on Sachiko's
Boofe Three 487

face, Itani plunged on. "But what is Miss Yukiko thinking? That
is the real problem."
"Yes. As a matter of fact. . . ."
As a matter of fact, Sachiko was for the first time really interested.
Until then she had been most emphatic in making the farewell
party the chief reason for the trip. Her rather tepid attitude
toward the miai itself--though it had not been entirely out of her
mind, she was determined to take it seriously only after they had
met the man--was owing to a fear that they might once again go
too far and be disappointed. She had not really talked to Yukiko.
Assuming that conditions were otherwise good, one thing was sure
to make Yukiko hesitate: the fact, touched upon earlier, that the
man lived in Tokyo. Or rather, to be quite honest, they could no
longer let Yukiko have her way, and Yukiko was not likely to be
stubborn; and it was Sachiko who secretly hoped that they could
find Yukiko a home somewhere in Osaka or Kobe. She hated the
thought of sending her sister off to Tokyo. Just for her own information,
said Sachiko, she wondered where Mr. Mimaki meant
to live. She had heard that his father in Kyoto would buy him a
house, and where was it likely to be? Though she was in no sense
raising objections, she wondered if it must be in Tokyo. Might he
not live farther west? That was a point, answered Itani. She had
not thought to ask, but she certainly would now. She suspected
that it would be Tokyo. Did they dislike Tokyo?
"No, not really." Sachiko hastily revised her answer: "No, not
at all."
She would see them later, then, said Itani. It was possible that
Mitsuyo would be around with Mr. Mimaki after dinner, and
Itani hoped they would all come to her room. At about eight
there was a telephone call: Itani knew they would be tired, but
Mr. Mimaki had just arrived, and she hoped all three sisters would
come to meet him. Sachiko helped Yukiko change. While she and
Taeko were dressing, Itani called to hurry them.
"Come in." Mitsuyo opened the door. "The place is in a terrible
clutter, I'm afraid. You'll have to forgive us."
The room was overflowing--five or six suitcases and trunks, cardboard
dress boxes, farewell presents, supplies to be taken to America.

"Please, please. This will be fine for me." Mimaki sat down on
_____ 4 8 8 _____________the makioka sisters

a steamer trunk when the introductions were Snished. There were
but four chairs in the room, and they were assigned to Itani and
the Makioka sisters. Mitsuyo sat on the bed.
"Now you have a real audience." Mimaki picked up the conversation
the sisters had interrupted. "Suppose you give us a
demonstration."
"No, sir."
"Oh, but I'm going to see you aboard ship, and you'll have to
show me then."
"I will not. I'm wearing kimono the day I sail."
"Come, now. All the way across?"
"Maybe not all the way. But I don't mean to wear foreign
clothes if I can help it."
"A very bad idea. Why did you have them made?" Mimaki
turned to the sisters. "We've been talking about how Mrs. Itani
dresses. Have you ever seen her in foreign clothes?"
"Never," said Sachiko. "She has never given us even a glimpse.
We have often wondered why."
"We all have. Even Mitsuyo here says she's never seen her
mother in foreign clothes. We have to see her at least once." He
turned to Itani again. "Don't you think you should have a trial
run, with all of us here to watch you?"
"I am to strip down right in front of you?"
"Yes, please do. Or maybe we could wait in the hall."
"You must stop teasing Mother, Mr. Mimaki. You don't really
care what she wears."
Itani saw her opportunity to squirm loose. "I've noticed that
Koi-san is wearing kimono these days."
"Don't change the subject."
"Yes, Koi-san has been wearing kimono a great deal. Oftener
than foreign clothes, even."
"They tell me it is a sign of age." Like Sachiko, Taeko was quite
unashamed of her Osaka accent.
"I hope you'll forgive me for saying so." Mitsuyo inspected the
bright kimono from top to bottom. "But I think Koi-san would
look better in foreign clothes. Not that she doesn't look good in
kimono, of course."
"I thought the lady's name was Taeko. What is this 'Koi-san?' "
Book Three 489

"Really! You're from Kyoto, and you don't know what 'Koisan'
means!"
"But 'Koi-san' is an Osaka word," explained Sachiko. "I doubt
if it is used in Kyoto."
Itani brought out a box of chocolates, evidently a present from
someone, but they had just had dinner and wanted only tea.
"Mother, we must order something for Mr. Mimaki." Mitsuyo
had her mother ring for whisky. Mimaki was not reluctant to
drink. "Just leave the bottle here," he said to the bellboy. As he
talked he poured happily from the bottle of Scotch at his elbow.
Itani guided the conversation smoothly. She asked, among other
things, whether his new house had to be in Tokyo, and he told
them much about himself and his future. Mitsuyo had said that
he was a Kyoto man, but as a matter of fact the family had lived in
Tokyo since his grandfather's time, and he himself had been born
in Tokyo. Though his father was of pure Kyoto blood, his mother
was from the old downtown section of Tokyo, and he was therefore
half the child of Kyoto and half the child of old Edo. He had
in his youth been quite indifferent to Kyoto. He had been drawn
to Europe and America, but he had recently begun to feel something
like nostalgia for the city of his ancestors. Perhaps that was
inevitable: his father too had come to love Kyoto, and had left
the Tokyo house and retired to Saga, on the outskirts of Kyoto.
Mimaki's own tastes were turning toward the Japanese. He
was beginning to recognize the beauty of old Japanese architecture,
and he meant, before he became an architect, to study what was
uniquely Japanese, and later to give his designs a strongly Japanese
flavor. He had begun to wonder whether, for his studies, he
might not do better to seek work in the Kyoto region and to live
there for a time. And it had also occurred to him that the KobeOsaka
area would be more congenial to the sort of house he
hoped to build. With but a little exaggeration, then, one might
say that his future lay in Osaka and Kobe. What part of Kyoto
would they recommend? Sachiko gave her opinion, and asked
where his father was living, and it was concluded that the only
parts of Kyoto to be recommended were the Saga plains to the
west and the eastern hills around the Nanzenji Temple. Thus they
talked on into the night. Even after a third of a bottle of whisky,
___ 49° the makioka sisters

Mimaki was completely in control of himself. He only became
wittier as he drank. Mitsuyo was a good adversary, and the two of
them happily threw barbs back and forth. The entertainment was
almost professional, so good that the Makiokas quite forgot
their weariness. It was nearly eleven when Mimaki suddenly
jumped up. Terrible--he was about to miss the last streetcar.
Mitsuyo said that she too must go.
The sisters slept until nine-thirty the next morning. Unable to
wait for the dining room to open, Sachiko had toast in her room,
and afterwards set out with Yukiko for the Shiseido beauty shop.
Though there was a beauty shop in the basement of the Imperial
Hotel, Mitsuyo had suggested the night before that they go to the
Shiseido, where they could have the Zotos cold wave and avoid
scorching their hair. There were some twelve or thirteen customers
ahead of them, and it was impossible to know how long they
would have to wait. In Itani's shop they could have had their
way--the waiting list could always be juggled--but here such
stratagems were impossible. The waiting room was full of strangers,
women of the Tokyo breed, none of whom seemed ready to strike
up a conversation. Ashamed, even when they talked in hushed
voices, to have their west-country accents overheard, the sisters
felt as if they were in the heart of the enemy country. They could
only sit and listen timidly to the brisk Tokyo speech around them.
Wasn't it crowded, said one woman. Of course, answered another--it
was a lucky day for weddings, and every beauty shop in
town was full. The horoscope was good today, Sachiko remembered.
Perhaps Itani had deliberately chosen the day to bring
Yukiko luck. More and more customers poured in, and two or
three managed to move ahead in the line. They were very sorry,
but they simply had to be ready at a certain hour. It was two, and
the sisters had come before noon, and they began to wonder
whether they would be ready by five. She would never again come
to the Shiseido, thought Sachiko. Though she managed to hold
back her anger, it was now clear that she had not had enough
breakfast. She was ravenously hungry. And it was even worse for
Yukiko. Yukiko liked to say that she had "a smaller stomach than
most people," and it was true that she ate little at any one time,
but it was also true that she was hungry again sooner than most.
Sachiko looked nervously at her sister, silent and dispirited. Might
Book Three 491

Yukiko faint with hunger? Would she be able to stand the ordeal
of a permanent wave? Finally their turns came, and Yukiko went
first, and it was nearly five when Sachiko was finished. As they were
about to leave, there was a telephone call for "Mrs. Makioka."
Not ready yet? But it was already five. Taeko was calling from the
hotel. "Yes, yes, we are on our way," Sachiko slipped into the
Osaka dialect in spite of herself. The two sisters ran for the door.
"Remember, Yukiko, never to go to a strange beauty shop on a
lucky day."
As she hurried through the hotel to the farewell party, she
passed at least five women, all in formal dress, whom she had seen
at the Shiseido that afternoon.
"Never go to a strange beauty shop on a lucky day," she said
to Itani.

S<5s5iSSS?a^ pounds >a^S?Ģ>Ūs:s5>S<S>S<5<S~S^

31

on the third day, their last in Tokyo, they were busy all morning
and into the afternoon.
Sachiko had at first planned to leave this day open for the theater,
and, visiting the Shibuya house the next morning and finishing
her shopping in the afternoon, to go home on the night train.
She had had enough of night trains, however, and the lack of
sleep was beginning to tell. She wanted only to be back in her own
bed as soon as possible. It was Taeko who said so first, and Yukiko
immediately agreed. And they wanted to make the visit to the
Shibuya house as short as possible. It seemed, then, that they
would take the Swallow Express back the next morning, and,
between shopping in the morning and the Kabuki in the afternoon,
they would dash out to Shibuya and keep the cab waiting
no more than five or six minutes. Sachiko knew how her sisters
felt. Taeko had always disliked the main house, and Yukiko had
been back in Ashiya now for more than a year. The autumn before,
when the order came from the main house that Taeko must
decide whether to come to Tokyo or to leave the Makioka family,
_____ 49 ^ ______ __ the makioka sisters

very much the same choice had been presented to Yukiko, but
the order was not clear in Yukiko's case, and, remarking that she
could not know how serious they were, she had chosen to ignore
it. No word had come since to remind her. Possibly Tatsuo,
who had had trouble with Yukiko before, had decided not to risk
angering her, or possibly he considered her disinherited along
with Taeko. In any case, Tsuruko was likely to mention the problem,
and Sachiko was therefore as reluctant as Yukiko to go to the
Shibuya house. On her trip to the Fuji Lakes, she had only telephoned
her sister, partly because she was having trouble with her
eye, but very largely because she feared being caught in a cross
fire. Tsuruko might transmit an order from Tatsuo, and Yukiko
might well ignore it again. And Sachiko had her own reasons for
staying away from her sister. Though she may not have been entirely
conscious of the fact herself, she had been chilled by the
reply to her letter about Taeko's illness. For all these reasons,
she would as soon have gone back to Ashiya without seeing the
people in the main house at all, but Teinosuke had said that there
would be trouble if they learned of the visit later. And it was just
possible this time that Yukiko's marriage talks--the people at the
main house should be given some slight preparation. The truth
was that Sachiko herself had not been particularly hopeful.
Now she had had an evening with Mimaki, and she had met the
Kunishimas, who seemed happy to act as intermediaries, and had
seen what sort of atmosphere they moved in. The old feeling
that the Makiokas must not venture too far had left her. She had
a distinct impression that, quite without their having planned it
so, the meeting the night before had been a true miai, and the
results had been pleasing to both sides. What delighted her most
was the civility with which both Mimaki and Kunishima treated
Taeko. They took the greatest pains, almost by turns, to talk to
her in a most agreeable and unchallenging manner. They seemed
prepared to overlook her faults, and they even seemed to be
sympathizing with her, and, since nothing in their manner suggested
condescension, Taeko too was completely open and relaxed,
and quite ready to entertain them with the witty remarks and imitations
that were her speciality. Sachiko felt her eyes growing
moist at the thought of the affection for Yukiko that made Taeko
thus play the comedian. It seemed that Yukiko too noticed. For

Book Three ___________________ 493 _____

Yukiko, she was remarkably lively. Though Mimaki said several
times that he would buy a house in Kyoto or Osaka, Sachiko now
felt that with such a husband it would make no difference where
Yukiko lived, in Tokyo or in Osaka.
Waiting until she was sure Tatsuo would have left for work,
Sachiko called Tsuruko and gave her a summary of all that had
happened: these were Itani's plans, and the three of them had
come to Tokyo for her farewell party; they would leave on the express
the following morning; they were going to the Kabuki with
Itani, and, because the)' would have only that time open, they
would like to stop by the Shibuya house for just a few minutes
before the theater; and there had been mention at the farewell
party of a possible husband for Yukiko, though Sachiko still had
little concrete information to report.
The sisters wandered about the Ginza all morning. After they
had passed the main Ginza intersection some three or four times
and had lunch at the Hamasaku, they hailed a cab. Taeko had
been complaining of fatigue all the while. In their private dining
room at the Hamasaku, she lay down on the straw matting with
a cushion for her pillow, and as her sisters got into the cab she
said she thought she would not go after all. The family had
thrown her out, and Tsuruko would only be embarrassed, and
she herself had no desire to see Tsuruko. Possibly so, answered
Sachiko, but it would be a little insulting if Koi-san alone were to
stay behind. However Tatsuo might feel, Tsuruko at least would
not be fussy about the matter of the "disinheritance." She would
be delighted to see Koi-san, especially since the latter had been so
ill. Koi-san must go with them. But Taeko answered that it was
far too much trouble, that she would have a cup of coffee somewhere
and go on ahead of them to the Kabuki Theater. Presently
they left without her.
He would rather not wait, said the driver when they arrived at
the house. They had to plead with him--it would be no more
than fifteen or twenty minutes, and they would of course pay for
his time. They went up to the second-floor parlor. The vermilion
table, the Rai Shunsui motto over the door, the decorated-lacquer
shelves--everything was as it had been. Since all of the children
except Umeko, now five, were in school, the house was much
quieter than Sachiko remembered it.
494 the makioka sisters

"But you could at least send the taxi back."
"Would we be able to find another?"
"There used to be all sorts of taxis. But you can take the subway.
It is no walk at all from the subway to the Kabuki Theater."
"Next time we can stay longer. We will be coming again soon,
I am sure."
"What is at the Kabuki Theater this month?" The question
was a little unexpected.
" 'Briar' and 'Chrysanthemums' and--what else, I wonder."
Umeko had come upstairs. Yukiko took the child downstairs
to play, leaving her two sisters alone.
"And Koisan?"
"She was with us till just now, but she said she thought it
would be best if she stayed away."
"Why? She should have come."
"I thought so too. But we have been so busy these last two or
three days, and she seems terribly tired. She is not really well yet,
you know."
From the moment Sachiko began talking to her sister, her vague
resentment left. One could be displeased with Tsuruko from afar,
but face to face one found her the same genial Tsuruko. Suddenly
asked what was playing at the Kabuki Theater, Sachiko thought
it somehow malicious to leave only one of her sisters out of the
theater party. She would not have worried if she had thought
Tsuruko was her usual impassive self, but Tsuruko, in some ways
rather childlike even now, had very probably wanted to go along
as soon as she heard the word "Kabuki." And did it not seem likely
too that, since the carefully guarded property of the main house
had almost vanished with the collapse of the stock market, Tsuruko
could go to the theater only on very special occasions--occasions
like today, for instance? To console her sister, Sachiko exaggerated
Yukiko's prospects a little. Mimaki was most enthusiastic, she said,
and only waited to know what the Makiokas thought. If they were
willing, there could be no doubt that a marriage would be arranged.
This time surely they would have good news for Tatsuo
and Tsuruko. In any case, Sachiko would have more to say after
Teinosuke had met the man.
"Mr. Mimaki and Itani and her daughter are going to the Ka-
Uook 1 hree 495

buki with us." Sachiko stood up to leave. "We will see you again
soon, I am sure."
Tsuruko followed her downstairs. "Yukiko really must try to
be more entertaining."
"She was different this time, very lively. She talked and talked.
I know everything will be all right."
"I do hope so. Here she is thirty-three."
"Goodbye, then. We will see you soon." Yukiko, waiting downstairs,
flew out ahead of her sister.
"Goodbye. Say hello to Koi-san." Tsuruko saw them to the
gate, and talked on after they were in the cab. "So Mrs. Itani is
going abroad. I wonder if I should see her."
"You hardly need to. After all, you have never met her."
"But should I at least introduce myself, now that I know she is
here? When does she sail?"
"The twenty-third. But she says no one is to see her off."
"Shall I go around to the hotel?"
"It hardly seems necessary."
As the driver stepped on the starter, Sachiko noticed that her
sister was in tears. Very odd--why should she weep for Itani?
The tears flowed steadily, and the cab moved off.
"She was crying," said Yukiko. "Why should she cry over Itani?"
"It must have been something else. Itani was an excuse."
"Do you suppose she wanted us to invite her to the Kabuki?"
"That must have been it. She wanted to see the Kabuki."
Though ashamed to have them catch her crying over the Kabuki,
it would seem, Tsuruko had in the end been unable to control
herself.
"Did she say I was to come back?"
"Neither of us said a word about it. She was too full of the Kabuki."

Yukiko was relieved.
Their seats at the Kabuki being separated, the sisters and Mimaki
had little chance to become better acquainted. He was with them
in the dining room, however, and during the five- and ten-minute
intermissions he would ask if they might not like to step out into
the lobby. Well-versed though he was in things foreign, he confessed
that he knew absolutely nothing about the old Japanese
496 the makioka sisters

theater. They did not find it hard to believe him. Mitsuyo was
most scornful when it became apparent that he could not even
distinguish the two main styles of singing.
This would be goodbye, then, said Itani when she heard that
they were taking the morning express. She was delighted at having
been able to leave behind such a "present," and, though there
were numerous details she would have liked to tend to herself, she
was sure Mitsuyo would soon be writing to them. Mimaki suggested
that they walk back toward the hotel together. Itani called
Sachiko apart from the others, and as always said a great deal in
a very short time: as Sachiko could see, Mimaki was most enthusiastic;
the Kunishimas, after having met Yukiko the evening before,
were if anything more in love with her than Mimaki himself
was; Mimaki hoped to visit Ashiya some time during the following
month, and to meet Teinosuke; and Mr. Kunishima, once he had
the informal permission of the Makiokas, would arrange an interview
with Viscount Mimaki. Promising to be at the train the
next morning, Mimaki and Mitsuyo left the others after tea at the
Colombin. The three sisters and Itani walked back to the hotel.
Itani, talking all the way, had seen them to their room, Sachiko
had had her bath and Yukiko had gone in for hers. Still in her
theater clothes, Taeko lay sprawled against an arm of the chair,
a newspaper spread on the floor below her. The walk back had
been a strain, but this exhaustion was a little too extreme.
"I know you are not really well yet, Koi-san, but might something
else be wrong with you? Suppose you see Dr. Kushida when
we get back."
Taeko nodded apathetically. "I know what is wrong without
calling a doctor."
"Oh? What is it, then?"
Her face against the chair, Taeko looked sluggishly up at her
sister. "It looks as though I am three or four months pregnant."
She spoke with the usual calm.
Sachiko gasped, and stared as though to bore a hole through
her sister's face. It was a moment or two before she could ask the
question: "Is it Kei-boy's?"
"Miyoshi's. I think Yukiko heard about Miyoshi from the old
woman."
"The bartender?"
jhook i nree 497

Taeko nodded. "I am sure that is my trouble."
As always, after a shock, Sachiko felt the blood recede from her
fingers. She was trembling violently. Thinking that the most urgent
business was to quiet the pounding of her heart, she said no
more to Taeko. She staggered over to turn out the ceiling light,
switched on the bed lamp, and crawled into bed. She pretended
to be asleep when Yukiko came out of the bathroom. Taeko at
length picked herself up and went for her bath.

iS!S!SiŪSŪSt5ŪS!S!SŪSŪSŪS!SŪ?3S!Si

32

yukiko, who had heard nothing, soon went off to sleep, and Taeko
apparently followed her. Sachiko lay awake all night with her
new problem. Now and then she dabbed at her eyes with the
edge of the blanket. She had sleeping medicine and brandy in
her bag, but she knew they would do no good.
Something happened every time she came to Tokyo. Was it
simply that she and Tokyo did not go together? Two autumns
before, on that first trip to Tokyo since her honeymoon, she had
been startled by the letter from Okubata telling of Itakura, and
she had passed just such a night as this, and again, early in spring
the year before--it was true that the incident had not directly
concerned her--they had been paged at the Kabuki Theater and
told of Itakura's illness. Something always went wrong in any
case when Yukiko had a miai, and Sachiko had been uneasy at
having a miai in Tokyo. Tokyo boded ill. Since it had been unlucky
twice, it must be unlucky three times. She had tried to tell
herself, when her third trip to Tokyo had been such a success--indeed
her first really happy trip with her husband in years--that
the bad luck was broken. And then she had tended to shrug Itani's
proposal off as hopeless in any case, and it had seemed foolish to
worry about omens and oracles. Now she knew again that, for
her, Tokyo was the devil's corner. Nothing more was needed to
ruin Yukiko's prospects. Such an interesting proposal too--what
wretched luck that they had had to pick Tokyo for the midi!
498 1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

Sadder and sadder for Yukiko, and angrier and angrier with Taeko, Sachiko wept tears of sorrow and resentment.
Again--it had happened again--again she had been hurt by
this sister. But again, did the blame not rest rather with those who
should have been watching her? If she was "three or four months
pregnant," then it had happened perhaps in June, after she recovered
from dysentery, and there must have been a period of
morning sickness. Had pure carelessness kept the others from
noticing? Was it obtuseness on Sachiko's part that with this sister
before her for three or four days now, hardly able to lift a fork,
tired at the slightest motion--that with all this she had not even
suspected the truth? She saw now why Koi-san had given up Western
clothes. No doubt Sachiko seemed ridiculously simple to Koisan,
and did Koi-san's conscience then not bother her at all? From
those remarks earlier in the evening, Sachiko was left to suspect
that the pregnancy was not accidental, that Taeko and this man
Miyoshi or whatever his name was had planned it carefully. Had
they not planned it so that they could present an accomplished
fact to both Okubata and the Makioka family--to make Okubata
accept the inevitable and to wring permission to marry from the
Makiokas? That had been very clever of Koi-san. For Koi-san, that
was the only course possible. But should they forgive her? After
all Sachiko herself, her husband, and Yukiko had done to protect
her from the main house and its commands, did it please her
to shame them before the world? Sachiko could bear the damage
to her own name and to Teinosuke's, but was Yukiko's future
to be ruined? Why did Koi-san make them all suffer, time after
time? How completely devoted Yukiko had been during that illness!
Did Koi-san not see that it was really Yukiko who had saved
her? It was to repay the debt in some measure, Sachiko had
thought, that Koi-san had performed so well at the miai the
evening before. She had judged her sister too generously; Koisan
had been gay only because she was drunk. She thought of no one
but herself.
The cold determination of the girl, prepared to take whatever
extraordinary measures served her interests! Probably she had considered
the fact. that Sachiko would be angry, and the fact that
she would again alienate Teinosuke, and the fact that for Yukiko
the damage would be incalculable. Given Koi-san's view of life,
joook i nree 499

one had to accept the extraordinary measures as inevitable, but
why did she have to choose a time when Yukiko's fate hung in
the balance? True, it could not have been part of her plan to make
her pregnancy known at the moment Yukiko was having a miai,
but if she was sincere in saying that she would wait until Yukiko
was married, that she would do nothing that might embroil Yukiko,
then could she not have waited until Yukiko's future was secure?
Why had she not been tactful enough to stay behind in Ashiya?
In her delight at once again being accepted as a Makioka daughter
and in her gratitude to Itani, who had given her the opportunity
to step forth in the role, she had forgotten how easily she tired and,
with her usual confidence, had told herself that she could stand
the trip. Finally the exhaustion had gotten the better of her, and
she had seen her chance to confess. Be that as it might, a woman
three or four months pregnant was very likely to attract the attention
of the outsider, even though people who saw her every day
noticed nothing, and it had taken great confidence indeed for her
to go out nonchalantly to a dinner party and even to the theater,
where great crowds of people would see her. And this was
the most dangerous time of all. What had she meant to do if,
shaken by the train ride, she had had a miscarriage? Koi-san herself
would not have minded, but what of the confusion and the
shame for Sachiko and Yukiko? Sachiko's heart went cold at the
very thought of such a possibility. Someone must have noticed
Taeko, perhaps at Itani's party, and without their even knowing it,
they had already been disgraced.
There was nothing to do now; Sachiko had been made a fool
of. Having kept the secret so long, however, could Koi-san not have
chosen a more appropriate time and place to make her confession?
Here Sachiko was, off on a trip, in a cluttered hotel room,
thoroughly exhausted and wanting only to rest. Was it not cruel
to choose such a time for a disclosure that might be said to have
turned her world upside down? Koi-san was lucky that Sachiko
had not fainted. What a complete lack of consideration, what
thorough heartlessness! Pregnancy could not be concealed forever,
and Sachiko was grateful to be told so soon, but what a moment
Koi-san had chosen! A moment when Sachiko was quite
defenseless, when, with the three of them in one small room in
the dead of night, she could neither weep nor rage nor even run
500 1 HE IVIAKIOKA listers

away. Was this the way to treat a sister who had done her best,
small though it was, over the months and years? The slightest consideration
should have made Koi-san endure the discomfort and
wait until they were back in Ashiya. There, after a good rest,
Sachiko would have been calmer. Sachiko asked little of her sister,
but was it unreasonable to ask this much?
She heard the early streetcars and saw daylight through the
opening in the curtain, and she was as wide awake as ever. She
kept turning the problem over in her mind. Soon Koi-san's condition
would be clear to everyone, and something would have to
be done. What, then? They might move in darkness from one
secret to another and tell no one, but it seemed, from Taeko's
earlier remarks, that she would never agree. It might not be wholly
impossible for someone to make her see the evil of her selfish ways,
to make her agree, for the Makioka name and for Yukiko's future,
to sacrifice the child, and it might not be impossible to force
her into an abortion even against her will. But someone as weak-
willed as Sachiko could not hope to move her sister. And there
was another difficulty: until two or three years before, any doctor
would have operated without hesitation. There were now strong
social pressures to be considered, and even with Taeko's consent
it would not be easy to carry the plan out. They would have to
send Taeko away, and let her have the child in secret. She would
be forbidden to see the man, and she would be under the strict
supervision of the Makiokas, who would pay all expenses, and in
the meantime Yukiko would be married. At the thought that she
must tell her husband--she would have to have his help--Sachiko
was wearier than ever. Much though her husband loved her and
trusted her, could she tell of this new misstep without the deepest
shame? As she thought how Teinosuke--only a brother-in-law,
after all, and at that a brother-in-law in an entirely different position
from Tatsuo--had looked after Yukiko and Taeko as a real
brother might have, and how this devotion was, in the final analysis,--she
knew she could be accused of conceit when she said so--
a product of his affection for Sachiko herself, she felt both grateful
and apologetic. Teinosuke too had been made unhappy, and
Taeko's affairs had brought discord to their otherwise peaceful
home. And now, just when he was feeling friendlier toward Taeko,
and had allowed her back in the house--and when Sachiko herJDUUK 1 IIIKV 501

self was looking forward to taking home the present that would
make him happiest of all, news of the successful miai--to have unpleasant
news again! Being the man he was, Teinosuke would
contrive not to add to the humiliation. He would seek to console
his wife, but Sachiko would only be unhappier, knowing that he
was restraining his own feelings.
The inescapable conclusion was that Sachiko would have to tell
her husband and trust his tact and understanding. What upset her
most was the thought that Yukiko might once again miss her
chance. Always it was the same: negotiations would progress
smoothly, and at the very last minute difficulties would arise. Even
if they sent Taeko off to some mountain resort, would they be
able to avoid notice? Might not Mimaki learn the truth? If, as
their negotiations with Mimaki became more active, Taeko vanished
from the scene, could they keep him from having suspicions,
however they sought to cloud the issue? And might they not expect opposition from Okubata? He could hardly be angry with
Sachiko and Yukiko and yet, in his chagrin, might he not consider
the whole Makioka family his enemy? Not above having his revenge,
he might take steps to let Mimaki know everything. Would
it be better to tell the truth, and hope Mimaki would understand?
He had said that Taeko's affairs were no concern of his, and a confession
might be better than a clumsy attempt at concealment that
would later be exposed. He might be surprisingly liberal when he
heard. No, no. Mimaki himself would perhaps be indifferent to
the ugliest facts about Taeko, but what of his friends and relatives?
What of the Viscount and the Kunishimas? Could they help
frowning upon the proposal once they knew the truth? The Viscount
in particular--could he possibly consider an alliance with a
family that had produced such a woman?
Again, again, it would come to nothing. Sad for Yukiko,
but ...
Sachiko heaved a sigh and turned over in bed. When she
opened her eyes the room was bright. In the next bed, Taeko and
Yukiko lay back to back, as when they were children. Yukiko, still
asleep, faced Sachiko. Sachiko gazed on and on at the white
face, and wondered what her sister was dreaming.
33

teinosuke heard the news when his wife returned from Tokyo.
The moment she saw his face, she knew she could no longer keep
it to herself. (She had told Yukiko that morning, when Taeko
was out of the room for a short time.) Calling him upstairs before
dinner, she told him everything, from Yukiko's miai to Taeko's
pregnancy.
"I wanted to bring back good news this time. And now I have
to upset you again."
Sachiko was in tears, and Teinosuke sought to comfort her. It
was a pity, he said, that the troublesome matter should have come
up just when they were ready to congratulate Yukiko. Even so, he
could not believe that because of it Yukiko's hopes would be destroyed.
Sachiko need not trouble herself; she should leave
everything to him. He wanted two or three days to deliberate.
He said no more, and some days later he called her into his study.
How would it be, he asked, if they did this:
No doubt Taeko was, as she said, three or four months pregnant.
Still, the first thing was to have her see a specialist and learn exactly
when the child would be born. They would then have to
move her, and on the whole Arima Springs seemed most convenient.
Since she was living in a room of her own, they could,
for the time being, forbid the man Miyoshi to see her; and they
would send her off to Arima Springs some night in a cab. It was
not easy to decide who should attend her, but he thought they
might send 0-haru, after giving her very strict instructions. At
Arima Springs they would not use the Makioka name. They
would say that Taeko was a housewife away for her health. She
would stay until her time approached, and she could have the
child at Arima or, if there seemed no danger of having the news
leak out, she could be moved to a hospital in Kobe. It would be
necessary to have the consent of both Taeko and Miyoshi.
Teinosuke would see them and persuade them to agree. He felt
that Taeko must in the course of time marry the man, and he had
no objections to the match himself. They could not let it be
known, however, that without the consent of her family she had
become pregnant, and for the time being the two should not see
each other. Taking full responsibility for Taeko's safety, Teinosuke
and his wife would see that the delivery went smoothly. Afterwards
they would send Taeko and the child off to Miyoshi and do their
best to win the approval of the main house. The marriage need
not be postponed long, only until Yukiko's fate was decided one
way or the other. In general, that was the plan he would present to
the two. Taeko would stay out of sight, and everything possible
would be done to keep the affair secret. According to Taeko, only
Miyoshi, Okubata, and Taeko herself knew or had guessed the
truth, and there were also Teinosuke and his wife and Yukiko,
and it would be impossible to keep the news from 0-haru and
the other maids. But they should make absolutely sure that it
spread no farther.
Because Sachiko was still worried about Okubata, Teinosuke
said he would talk to the man. If Okubata decided that he did
not mind sacrificing his own good name, said Sachiko, there was
nothing he could not do. He might even resort to violence—to
swordplay, so to speak—and he might give damaging information
to the newspapers. Teinosuke laughed at these fears. She was
imagining things. It was true that Okubata had a criminal streak
in his nature, but he was nonetheless the pampered son of a good
family, and he would not be capable of "swordplay." Whatever
extravagant ideas he might have, his courage would in the end fail
him. And had the Okubata family or the Makioka family ever
approved of his relations with Taeko? He was in no position to
make demands. Since Taeko had lost her affection for him,
Teinosuke would say in the friendliest way, and since she had be
come pregnant by another man, there was nothing for him to do
but break with her cleanly. Sad though it was, he would have to
resign himself to the inevitable. He would surely understand,
thought Teinosuke.
The next day Teinosuke went into action. He visited Taeko in
her room, and Miyoshi in a Kobe rooming house. What sort
of person was he, asked Sachiko. A young man who made a sur
prisingly good impression, said Teinosuke. They had talked for
less than an hour, and Teinosuke had not been able to study
_______5°4___________________1 HE MAKIOKA bISTERS

him in any detail, but on the whole he seemed more honest and
sincere than Itakura. Quite of his own accord he admitted his responsibility,
and he apologized most politely. Teinosuke suspected
that Miyoshi had not taken the initiative, but had been seduced
by Taeko. Though it would seem cowardly of him to be making
excuses, said Miyoshi, and he should certainly have had more
will power, he hoped Teinosuke would understand that he had not
gone out aggressively after Koi-san, but had found himself in a
position from which he could not retreat, and so the mistake had
been made. If Teinosuke were to ask Koi-san, he would find that
Miyoshi was not lying. Teinosuke added that he believed the story.
The man accepted Teinosuke's proposal, and even seemed grateful.
He was not qualified to take Koi-san for his bride, he said, but
if the Makiokas would agree to the marriage he could swear to
make her happy. Aware of his responsibilities, he had been wondering
what to do if they should indeed give their consent, and
he had saved a little money. He meant to open a bar of his own,
even a tiny bar--a not-too-vulgar bar catering to foreigners. Koisan
would go on with her sewing, and they would not be a burden
to the Makioka family. All of this Miyoshi said, and Teinosuke
passed on to his wife.
The next day Taeko went to an obstetrics clinic in Kobe, and
learned that she was not yet five months pregnant and that the
child would be born early in April. Because she would soon be
attracting attention, she was sent off to Arima Springs with 0-haru
one evening late in October. Sachiko purposely called a cab
from a stand some distance away, and had her sister change to
another cab in Kobe for the trip across the mountains. She gave
0-haru detailed instructions: Taeko was to be in Arima for several
months, under the name Abe; 0-haru was to call her Mrs. Abe
and not Koi-san; for liaison a messenger would be sent from
Ashiya, or 0-haru herself would come back, and no one was to use
the telephone; 0-haru was to understand that Miyoshi and Taeko
were not to see each other and that Miyoshi was not to be told
where Taeko was staying; and 0-haru was moreover to watch for
strange letters, or telephone calls or visitors. When she had finished,
Sachiko received a shock: she supposed it was all right to say now,
remarked 0-haru, that they had known about Koi-san since before
the trip to Tokyo. How had they found out? 0-teru had been the
t5ook 1 tiree 505

first to suspect; there was something strange about Koi-san, she
said. Might it not be that? Only the maids knew. They had told
no one else.
Some time after Taeko left for Arima, Teinosuke came home to
report that he had seen Okubata. He had heard that Okubata
was living near the "Lone Pine" in Nishinomiya, but had not
found him there. Someone in the neighborhood remembered that
he had moved to a place called the Pinecrest Hotel. At the
Pinecrest Hotel, Teinosuke was told that Okubata had been there
for only a week and had moved on to the Eiraku Apartments.
There Teinosuke finally found him. Although the talk did not go
as smoothly as Teinosuke had hoped, the results were in general
satisfactory. It was a disgrace to the Makioka name, Teinosuke
began, to have so wanton a sister, and he could only sympathize
with Okubata, whose great misfortune it was to have become
entangled with her. Okubata at first seemed most agreeable.
Where was Koi-san, then? Was 0-haru with her? With a show of
indifference, he probed for news of Taeko. He was not to ask,
said Teinosuke--they had not even told Miyoshi. Okubata fell
silent. Would it be unreasonable to expect him, continued Teinosuke,
to take the view that Koi-san's whereabouts was no concern
of his? With that, Okubata was openly annoyed. He had given
up in any case, he said, but did they really mean to let her marry
such a man? He had heard that the man was a bartender on some
foreign steamer before he found his present job, and beyond that
no one knew a thing about him. In Itakura's case they had at
least known where his home was. Okubata could not remember
having heard anything about Miyoshi's family. Who could guess,
seeing that the man had been a sailor, what sort of past he had?
They were most grateful for this kind advice, said Teinosuke,
and they would give it careful attention. He must make bold to
ask a favor: Okubata had every right to be angry with Koisan,
but her sisters had committed no crime, and might Teinosuke not
ask, for the sake of the sisters and of the Makioka name, that he
keep the matter of Taeko's pregnancy secret? If it should become
known abroad, the most seriously injured would be Yukiko, for
whom as he knew they had not yet found a husband. Would he
agree, then, to tell no one? There was no cause for concern--
Okubata seemed a little hesitant, but his answer was clear and
1 HE 1V1AKIOKA SISTERS

positive. Since he had no grudge, even against Koi-san, he had no
intention whatsoever of troubling the sisters.
There the matter seemed to rest, and Teinosuke, much relieved,
set out for his office in Osaka. Soon there was a call from Okubata.
Okubata had a favor of his own to ask, and he would like to call
on Teinosuke. Almost immediately he was in the waiting room.
He fidgeted for a time; then, his face suddenly doleful, he began
to speak. He knew that there was nothing for him to do but accept
the facts that Teinosuke had described that morning, and
yet he hoped that Teinosuke would try to imagine the inexpressible
sorrow of losing one's love of ten years. And that was not all:
as Teinosuke perhaps knew, it was because of Koi-san that he had
been turned out by his family, and, as Teinosuke had seen, he had
given up his pretty house in Nishinomiya and moved into a
shabby room, where he lived all by himself. If he was now to be
cast out by Koi-san, he had literally no one on earth he could call
a friend. All of this he said with tragic intensity. Then he broke
into a half-smile. He was rather troubled for money, embarrassing
though it was to make that admission, and--this really would be
very hard to say--he had in the past been of some service to Koisan,
and he wondered if he might have the money returned to
him. Not that he had meant at the time for her to pay it back--at
this point even Okubata flushed a little--and if he had not been
so hard pressed he would never have thought of asking for it now.
He should of course be paid back all the money he had lent Koisan,
said Teinosuke. How much had it been? He hardly knew,
answered Okubata, and if Teinosuke were to ask Koisan--but
suppose they say two thousand yen. Teinosuke thought he might
indeed ask Koi-san. He concluded, however, that two thousand
yen was not a high price for silencing Okubata and warding off
future trouble. Suppose I pay you now, he said, and wrote out a
check. And you will remember your promise, of course--we will
be most grateful if you say nothing about Koi-san's condition.
Okubata replied that he understood, and that they need fear
nothing from him, and left. And so it seemed that Taeko's affairs
were at last under control.
In the midst of this excitement, a letter came from Itani's daughter
Mitsuyo. After thanking the three sisters for coming so far to
the farewell party, Mitsuyo reported that her mother had sailed
Book Three $07

in the best of spirits, that Mimaki planned to go to Osaka about
the middle of November, that, since he meant to visit Ashiya,
she hoped Teinosuke would find time to inspect him, and that
Mr. and Mrs. Kunishima sent their warmest regards.
About a week later, a note came from Tsuruko. Tsuruko wrote
only when there was something important on her mind, and
Sachiko wondered what it would be now, but, strangely, the note
was a random assortment of inconsequentialities:

November 5
dear sachiko,
J hoped to have a good talk with you for a change, and I
am sorry you were in such a hurry. I know you enjoyed the Kabuki.
Take me with you next time.
What has happened to Mr. Mimaki? It has seemed too
early to say anything to Tatsuo, but I do hope everything goes
well. Though there can hardly be any need to investigate a man
from such a good family, we will do whatever you suggest. I always
feel guilty about leaving the hard work to you and Teinosuke.
With the children growing up, I find I have time to write
letters for a change, and now and then I practice my calligraphy.
Are you and Yukiko still taking lessons? I am rather hard up for a
practice book, though, and I am wondering if you have an old one
you could send me. I would be especially grateful for one with the
teacher's notes in it.
And while I am begging, I wonder if you would mind sending
underclothes you no longer need. I can always find a way to
use things you might not want yourself, and I would be grateful
for clothes you are thinking of throwing away or giving to the
maids. And Yukiko and Koi-san too--underclothes, bloomers,
whatever you have. I have more spare time as the children grow
up, but they take more and more money. I have to pile economy
on economy. It is not easy to be poor, and I often wonder when
life will be more comfortable.
Somehow I wanted to write today, but I see I am complaining.
I had best stop. I will be waiting for good news about
Yukiko. My regards to Teinosuke, Etsuko, and Yukiko.
As always,
tsuruko
_____508_____________the makioka sisters

As she read the letter, Sachiko thought of the tears streaming
down Tsuruko's face outside the cab window. Probably Tsuruko
had felt like writing, and then she had things to ask for; but it
seemed too that she had not forgotten the theater party. Perhaps
she was subtly making known her resentment at having been left
out. Tsuruko's letters in the past had been in the nature of magisterial
pronouncements, and Sachiko was always impressed at
how this sister, so gentle when one was talking to her, had to censure
one or another of them whenever she took up her writing
brush. It was odd that she should now be writing this sort of letter.
Sachiko immediately sent off a package to Tokyo, but she did not
answer the letter for a time.
Mrs. Hening's daughter Friedl was to go to Berlin with her
father, it appeared, and in mid-November Mrs. Hening called on
Sachiko. Though Mrs. Hening had great misgivings about sending
her daughter off to a Europe at war, Friedl, intent on studying
the dance, quite refused to listen, and Mrs. Hening had finally
given up when her husband said that he would take the girl if she
was so set on going. They had found traveling companions, and
there seemed nothing to worry about on the road at least. The
father and daughter would be visiting the Stolz family in Hamburg.
They would be glad to pass on any messages. Sachiko had had
Mrs. Hening write a letter in German and had sent it to Hamburg
with a dancing fan and a piece of white silk, and she was
uneasy that there had been no reply. This would be her chance to
send something more. She would be around with a gift for the
Stolzes before the daughter sailed, she replied. Some days later
she selected a pearl ring for Rosemarie and delivered it to the
Hening house with a letter for Mrs. Stolz.
As Mitsuyo had led them to expect, one evening toward the
twentieth there was a call from Mimaki, who was at the Viscount's
house in Saga. He had come from Tokyo the day before, he said,
and he meant to stay two or three days. He would like if possible
to visit them and meet Teinosuke. Any evening, at his convenience,
answered Sachiko. He suggested the next evening, and
appeared at about four. Teinosuke, who had come home early,
talked with him for the better part of an hour, and afterwards the
two went with Sachiko, Etsuko, and Yukiko to the Oriental
Hotel for dinner. Mimaki was much as he had been in Tokyo,
Book Three 509

open, expansive, and witty--in general an easy man to talk to.
He drank even more than before, refilling his whiskey glass time
after time. His drollery was inexhaustible. Etsuko was more delighted
than anyone, and took his hand as they walked to the
station. He would make a good husband for Yukiko, she whispered
to her mother. And what had Teinosuke thought of him? He had
certainly not disliked the man, Teinosuke answered after a moment's
thought. Indeed the first impression had been entirely
favorable. The man was most engaging. But genial, polished gentlemen
could often be difficult, and it was their wives who suffered.
The type of which he was thinking was particularly common
among pampered sons of the aristocracy. It would not do to
fall recklessly in love with the man. In short, Teinosuke was
cautious. He did not think it necessary to investigate the family,
but it might be well to investigate the man himself--his character,
his behavior, the reasons why he had not married sooner.

SŪSiSSS!S<5SS!S!SSSt5<5!SiS!S!SŪS!SŪSSS!

34

aware that he was being tested, Mimaki did not mention the
marriage proposal. He talked about many other things: architecture
and painting, the old gardens and temples of Kyoto, the
grounds of the Viscount's mansion, foreign food, liquor,
stories his father had heard from his grandfather about the Emperor
Meiji and the Dowager Empress Shoken. On a Sunday
morning some ten days later, Mitsuyo suddenly appeared. She had
business in Osaka, and she had been asked by Mr. Kunishima and
by Mimaki himself to see whether Mimaki had "passed the test."
Sachiko answered that upon Teinosuke's suggestion they were
investigating the man. Teinosuke planned a trip to Tokyo in
December, at which time he would talk to the people in the main
house, and call on the Kunishimas. And on what points were they
in doubt, asked Mitsuyo, as aggressive as her mother. There was
no one she saw oftener than Mimaki, and since she knew all his
merits and faults, Sachiko could ask whatever questions came to

510 the makioka sisters

her. Unable to manage the girl by herself, Sachiko summoned
Teinosuke. Mitsuyo's manner invited questions, and Teinosuke
was quite unreserved. These facts became clear: though Mimaki
was on the surface a very polished gentleman, he was surprisingly
touchy, and sometimes very irritable; his relations with his
half-brother, the Viscount's heir, were particularly bad and they
often quarreled; Mitsuyo could not claim to have witnessed such
violence, but it was said that he had even struck the half-brother;
he was too fond of his liquor, and drink sometimes made him
pugnacious; now that he was older, however, he rarely drank too
much; and because he had lived in America and was exceedingly
polite to women, Mitsuyo could assure them that, however
drunk, he never raised his hand against a woman. Without being
asked, Mitsuyo volunteered another fault or two: though the
man was extremely knowledgeable, he had not been able to
pursue any one thing to the end; he was fond of entertaining
people and otherwise doing favors, and good at spending money,
but unfortunately he was not much of a hand at making money.
Teinosuke replied that he could guess, from all he had heard, what
sort of man Mimaki was. To be quite frank, he was worried
about money: how would the couple live after they were married?
He hoped she would forgive him for saying so, but the man
seemed to have lived as he pleased on money he begged from his
father. He had done nothing for himself. Teinosuke could not
help being uneasy, then, as he asked himself whether even with
Mr. Kunishima's backing Mimaki would be a success as an architect.
There was no place these days for the sort of architect Mimaki
hoped to become, and it seemed unlikely that conditions would improve
in say the next three or four years. How would they live in
the meantime? Through the good offices of Mr. Kunishima, he
understood, the Viscount would help them for a time, but they
could hardly expect him to go on helping them indefinitely. The
crisis might last five or six or even ten years. Or perhaps they
would in fact be dependent on the Viscount to the end, and that
prospect was far from pleasant. He knew he was sounding a little
petulant, but to be quite frank the Makiokas were interested in the
proposal and had almost decided that they would ask Mimaki to
marry Yukiko. In any case, Teinosuke meant to go to Tokyo the
following month, and he could discuss the problem with Mr.
Book Three 511

Kunishima then. She understood, said Mitsuyo, and she thought
it quite right of Teinosuke to have these misgivings. Since she
could not give him an answer herself, she would tell Mr. Kunishima
everything and see if Mimaki's future could not be guaranteed
to the satisfaction of the Makioka family. And she would be
waiting for the visit in December. She had to take the evening
train to Tokyo, she said, declining Sachiko's invitation to stay
for dinner.
Early in December, Sachiko and Yukiko bought an amulet at
the Kiyomizu Temple in Kyoto. As if by prearrangement, Miyoshi
sent an amulet from the Nakayama Temple to Teinosuke's
office, with instructions that it was to be delivered to Taeko. The
two amulets were entrusted to 0-haru, who came to Ashiya at just
the right time and brought Sachiko and the others their first word
of Taeko in a very long while: except for a morning walk she
stayed quietly in her room; when she went out she avoided the
main part of town and chose mountain paths where she was not
likely to meet anyone; in her room she read novels, or worked again
at the dolls she had once given up, or made clothes for the baby.
There had been no suspicious calls, and not a single letter.
"I saw Mr. Kyrilenko today," said 0-haru.
Kyrilenko was standing at the gate when she got off the train in
Kobe. He remembered her and smiled, though she had met him
no more than once or twice, and she nodded back. Was she alone,
he asked. She was--she had just been up to Bluebell Hill. And
how were all the Makiokas, and what had happened to Taeko?
They were all very well--0-haru thanked him for asking. He must
apologize for his remissness, he continued. He hoped 0-haru would
pass on his regards. Adding that he was on his way to Arima, he
started for the tracks. Had he heard from Katharina, asked 0-haru.
London seemed to be suffering terribly from German air raids,
and they were worried about Katharina. That was very kind of
them, he answered, but there was nothing to fear. Only the
other day he had received a letter posted in September. Though
her house in the suburbs was on the bombing route and every day
and every night fleets of bombers flew over, Katharina herself found
the war rather enjoyable. She had a deep and luxurious air-raid
shelter, and they turned on the bright lights and put records on
the phonograph, and danced and drank cocktails. As 0-haru could
512 the makioka sisters

see, there was nothing to worry about. How like Katharina,
thought Sachiko. She was both amused and distressed, however:
the talkative 0-haru might have let the secret slip out. Did
Kyrilenko say anything else about Koi-san? No, nothing more.
You are quite sure, 0-haru? You are sure you said nothing you did
not have to say? And did it seem that he knew about Koisan?
Not at all--0-haru was emphatic, and in the end Sachiko was
satisfied. She sent 0-haru back with careful instructions not to
let anyone see her. It would be bad enough if she happened to be
alone, but when she went out walking with Taeko she must heap
precaution upon precaution to be sure that they were not seen.
Who could know when they might run into someone?
December was nearly over. It was the twenty-second when
Teinosuke set out on a business trip to Tokyo. Having made inquiries
about Mimaki's character and behavior, and his relations
with the Viscount and his half brothers, Teinosuke was by now
sure that Mitsuyo had not lied to him, but on the problem of
Mimaki's livelihood, not even the visit to Kunishima resulted in
what he could call concrete guarantees. Kunishima had not yet
seen the Viscount, and there was little he could say definitely,
though he did think he could promise that the Viscount would
buy the house and give Mimaki a certain amount of help for the
time being, and that, to see that the money was not spent recklessly,
he himself would take it in charge and give Mimaki a
monthly allowance. And as for what was to happen later, might
he not ask Teinosuke to have faith in him? He would see that
Mimaki was never in serious financial trouble. He had great confidence
in Mimaki's talents as an architect, and he would do everything
possible when times were better to see that lost ground
was recovered. Everyone had his own pet theories, of course, but
Kunishima could not believe that the crisis would last much
longer. Even if it did, Mimaki's friends should at least be able to
piece together a livelihood for him. Kunishima said in effect that
he stood behind Mimaki, whatever that fact might be worth.
Teinosuke was shown through the Kunishima house, said to have
been designed by Mimaki, but, knowing almost nothing about
architecture, he could not really say how much talent it revealed.
But if so well-placed a man as Kunishima was prepared to guarantee
the man's future, there was nothing to do but trust him. It
jBooft l hree 513

was clear, moreover, that Sachiko was even more enthusiastic about
the proposal than Kunishima himself. There could be no doubt
that she found Mimaki most engaging and that, though she had
not actually said so, she was delighted at the prospect of an
alliance with a noble family, and Teinosuke could imagine her
disappointment if he were to step in and break off the negotiations.
He too was beginning to think that this was the very best match
they could hope for. He would leave everything to Kunishima,
then, he said, but since in the natural order of things he must
have the permission of the main house, and he ought to make
very sure how Yukiko felt--he knew that she would have no objections--he
hoped Kunishima would wait a little longer before
telling Mimaki that they meant to accept his proposal. He would
send his answer (the merest formality) early in the New Year.
Kunishima might for practical purposes consider the negotiations
concluded today. Kunishima answered that he would call upon
Viscount Mimaki when he had Teinosuke's formal answer. Teinosuke
went directly from 'Kunishima's to the Shibuya house, told
Tsuruko in detail of the talks, and asked her to tell him about
Tatsuo's views as soon as possible.
On January 3, Mitsuyo again appeared in Ashiya. She was
spending the holidays with her uncle in Okamoto, and she had
been asked by Mr. Kunishima to deliver a message. Kunishima,
who had come to Osaka the day before on business, was now at
the Miyako Hotel in Kyoto. He hoped that he might have the
promised answer before his return to Tokyo. He would then
call upon the Viscount and ask him to invite the Makioka family
to Saga. Mitsuyo was to visit Ashiya and if possible to give Kunishima
an answer the following day. The Makiokas might think
Mr. Kunishima a little hasty, said Mitsuyo, but he seemed to
feel that the permission of the main house and the assent of
Yukiko herself were only formalities. Perhaps Mitsuyo could have
her answer that very day. Though Teinosuke had, it was true,
promised an answer early in the New Year, he had not thought
of taking action before the holidays were over, and he had not
yet had word from Tokyo. But Tsuruko had seemed thoroughly
delighted at the news--so Yukiko was finally to be married,
and to a member of such a fine family--the Makiokas were
rising in the world--no one could look down on Tatsuo now--
514 the makioka sisters

and all because of Teinosuke. The years of waiting had not been
in vain. Sure that Tatsuo would have no objections at this late
date and that the answer had been delayed only by yearend
business, Teinosuke decided to act on his own initiative. But
he did have to talk to Yukiko. Yukiko's feelings were not hard
to read, and yet she might be hurt if it seemed that she was
being ignored. With many apologies, then, Teinosuke said that
he would call Tokyo for Tatsuo's views, and that he would have
to trouble Mitsuyo to come again the following day. They would
have an answer for her by then. The "telephone call to Tokyo" was
only an excuse. Still, because he did have time, it seemed a
good idea to call. Tsuruko came to the telephone and said that
Tatsuo was out making New Year calls. Had he sent off his
answer, asked Teinosuke. She thought not, what with the yearend
confusion and all, but she had told him Teinosuke's story in
the greatest detail. And what had he said? Well--Tsuruko hesitated--there
was no possible fault to find with the man's family,
but Tatsuo was worried about the fact that he did not have
regular work. Tsuruko had replied that they could no longer
worry about such trivialities, and Tatsuo, having admitted that
she was right, seemed now to approve of the match. Mr. Kunishima's
messenger was waiting, said Teinosuke, and he would
answer that there were no objections from Tokyo. But to make
quite sure that the negotiations went smoothly, Tsuruko should
have Tatsuo send off his formal permission with the greatest
possible haste.
Confident that Yukiko would be satisfied if they but made a
show of respecting her wishes, Teinosuke and Sachiko spoke to
her that evening. Her answer did not come as easily as they
had hoped. She wanted to know how much time she was being
given to consider the proposal. Mitsuyo would be coming again
the next morning, said Teinosuke. Yukiko frowned. He meant
that she was ordered to give her answer overnight? But it had
seemed clear, said Sachiko, that Yukiko was not displeased with
the man. Yukiko replied that she meant to marry whomever
Teinosuke and Sachiko told her to marry, but she thought a
person ought to be allowed two or three days' thought about
what was after all her whole future. They knew even so that
her mind was made up, and the next morning they at length
t5ook I nree 515 ____

extracted her assent. She gave it only because Teinosuke had
ordered her to make up her mind overnight, she announced
peevishly. She took care not to show the slightest pleasure, and
above all not to let slip a word of thanks to those who had
worked so hard for her.

3<Ss;%SS<5.SS5>SS}5iS'S^S)<S.;SaS&iSy^^

35

mitsuyo came for her answer on the morning of the fourth,
and called again on the evening of the sixth. She had expected
to leave for Tokyo after telephoning her reply to the Miyako
Hotel on the fourth, she said, but Kunishima had ordered her
to put off her return. She would have to act as go-between in
her mother's place. She was now able to report that Kunishima's
talk with Viscount Mimaki had gone splendidly, and that the
Viscount would like to have Yukiko and her family come to
Saga, if possible at three o'clock on the afternoon of the eighth.
The Viscount himself would be present, and Mimaki, who would
come from Tokyo, and Kunishima and Mitsuyo, and probably
two or three Mimaki relatives from the Kyoto-Osaka region.
Kunishima was most apologetic for rushing them so, said Mitsuyo,
but, busy as he was, he hoped to arrange everything immediately.
Viscount Mimaki would like to have Etsuko and Koi-san come
too, if they were free. Unfortunately the main house would not
approve of Koi-san's being present, answered Sachiko. It was
decided that Etsuko would come home early from school, and
that the four of them would go to Saga.
They changed trains at the Katsura Palace, and at Storm Hill
they crossed the river by a footbridge. This was a district they
knew well from their annual cherry-viewing expeditions, but now,
in the dead of winter--and the Kyoto winter is harsh--even
the color of the water made them shiver. Walking west along
the river to the wharf from which excursion boats leave, they
turned in toward the Temple of the Heavenly Dragon and soon
came upon the sign they had been told to look for: "Hermitage
_______510___________________1 HE MAKIOKA listers

of the Sounding Rains." The house, one-storeyed and thatched
in the classical manner, did not seem especially large, but the
garden, with Storm Hill in the background, was magnificent. When
Kunishima had finished the introductions, Mimaki suggested that
they go for a stroll about the grounds. His father would be
pleased, and, cold though it was, there was no wind. His father,
he said, was especially proud of the fact that the garden seemed
to give directly on Storm Hill. One would never guess that a
road and a river lay between. Even in spring, when cherry-viewers
came in such crowds, the place was as secluded as a mountain
hermitage. One wondered where the noise could possibly be
coming from. The Viscount had purposely refrained from planting
cherry trees. He preferred to enjoy the distant cloud of blossoms
up the side of Storm Hill. They must see it themselves this year,
said Mimaki. They could have lunch here and look out at the
hill. His father would be thoroughly delighted. Presently they
were called in for tea, served by a lady who appeared to be
Mimaki's sister, and who had married into a wealthy Osaka
family. It was growing dark when they moved on to the dining
room. The food had been prepared with the utmost care--it
would be from a well-known caterer, thought Sachiko, who knew
all about Kyoto food. The old Viscount, with his long, thin
face and an ivory skin that reminded one of a No actor, was
exactly what a nobleman should be. His swarthy, full-faced son
seemed not to resemble him at all, and yet, upon looking closely,
one could see a trace of a resemblance about the eyes and the
nose. Their dispositions were more completely opposed than their
faces. The son was gay and lively, the father stern and withdrawn,
the true "Kyoto gentleman." The Viscount was worried about
catching cold. Apologizing for his rudeness, he wore a gray silk
muffler through dinner and sat on an electric pad with an electric
stove at his back. Well preserved for his more than seventy years,
he spoke from time to time with quiet dignity, and it seemed
that he was at some pains to be cordial to both Kunishima and
the Makiokas. At first the party was rather stiff. As the sake began
to have its effect, Mimaki, beside his father, brought their two
faces up for discussion. It was said that they did not look in
the least alike, and he wondered what the opinion of this audience
might be. There was some laughter, and everyone felt a little

Book Three 517

more at ease. Teinosuke exchanged cups with the Viscount, as
courtesy demanded, and moved on to exchange cups with Kunishima.
Meanwhile Mitsuyo, in foreign dress, sat shivering, her
legs and feet next to naked. (Of the others, only Etsuko was
not in kimono.) Today, for a change, she was quiet and respectful.
Isn't Mitsuyo behaving like a lady--Mimaki pressed sake on her.
Protesting all the while that today at least he was not to tease
her, Mitsuyo was soon a little drunk and talking as fast as ever.
He could offer no white wine, but he knew how well they drank,
said Mimaki, pouring sake for Sachiko and Yukiko. Neither
refused. Yukiko managed to have her share and still be poised
and proper. Though she smiled and said nothing, Sachiko saw
in her eyes an excitement not usually to be detected there.
Mimaki occasionally spoke to Etsuko, who seemed lost among
all the adults. As a matter of fact, she was far from bored. She
was a high-strung child, but at such times she would be turning
an innocent gaze on the adults around her and studying in
detail their gestures, speech, and expressions, and their clothes
down to the smallest accessory.
Dinner was over at eight. The Makiokas were the first to
take their leave, and the Viscount called a cab to see them to
Kyoto Station. Perhaps she would go too, then, said Mitsuyo,
who was returning to her uncle's, and Mimaki climbed in beside
the driver and insisted on seeing them to the station. In great
good spirits, he talked on and on and puffed away at a cigar.
Etsuko had already accepted him as an uncle. His name was
Mimaki and hers was Makioka--funny that both names should
have the syllables "maki" in them. Very clever of her to notice--
Mimaki was delighted. What more proof did they need that
there was a bond between Etsuko's family and his? And, put
in Mitsuyo, Yukiko would not have to change the initials on her
baggage. Yukiko laughed with the rest.
The next day Kunishima telephoned from Kyoto. The party
had been a complete success, and he could not tell them how
pleased he was that both families were satisfied. He would be
returning to Tokyo that night with Mr. Mimaki, and they would
soon be making arrangements through Miss Itani for the formal
betrothal. The Viscount had said the evening before that the
Sonomura family, into which his daughter had married, was pre518 _____the makioka sisters

pared to sell him a house near Osaka for the bride and groom.
Everything was as the Makiokas had hoped, then--Mimaki would
be working in Osaka or Kobe, and Yukiko would be near Ashiya.
Though the house was at the moment rented out, the Sonomuras
would take steps to have it vacated.
Teinosuke was disturbed that he still had no answer from the
main house. Possibly Tatsuo did not approve of the proposed
marriage. Or might there be other reasons for the delay? After
some days he sent off a letter. No doubt Tatsuo had heard all
the details from Tsuruko, he began. The fact was that Teinosuke
himself did not consider the match ideal, but, since they were
in a weak position and could expect nothing better for the time
being, it had seemed to him that he must leave everything to
Mr. Kunishima. The Ashiya family had gone to Saga and met the
Viscount (Teinosuke believed he had said over the telephone that
they might soon be meeting him) and was now ready to consider
plans for a formal betrothal. It worried Teinosuke to think that
Tatsuo might be offended at having been left out of the negotiations.
Though it was too late now, what he really must apologize
for was a matter left over from the year before--no, from even
longer: he had been unable to send Yukiko back to Tokyo in
spite of repeated hints from the main house. He had not meant
to cross Tatsuo--the problem had been a constant worry to
him--but there were all sorts of reasons. In brief, Yukiko hated
being in Tokyo and Sachiko seemed to sympathize with her,
and, short of very strong measures, it would have been impossible
to carry out Tatsuo's instructions. Even so, the final responsibility
was Teinosuke's, and because he felt it so keenly he had been
determined to do what he could to find Yukiko a husband. Was
it not natural that Tatsuo himself could do little for a sister who
went against his orders, and did it not follow that responsibility
for looking after her lay with Teinosuke? If Tatsuo accused him
of meddling, he would have no answer. These had long been
his views, however, and if he could but have Tatsuo's consent to
the.match, he thought he should take care of the wedding expenses
himself. But he must make it quite clear that he did not mean
to have Yukiko marry from his house. She belonged to the main
house. What he had said was entirely confidential, and all the
forms would be observed: Yukiko would go forth as the daughter
Book Three 519

of the main Makioka family. He would be most grateful, then,
if he might have Tatsuo's consent. He had not expressed himself
well, but he hoped Tatsuo would understand his motives and
give him an answer soon. Though he hated to seem importunate,
there really was very little time left.
Tatsuo apparently understood. Four or five days later a most
agreeable answer came. He thanked Teinosuke for his letter, and
he was delighted with all the arrangements. He had through the
years grown away from his sisters-in-law, and, though it had never
been his intention to abandon them, he had done little for
them. He could only apologize for having let them become a
burden to Teinosuke--they were so fond of Teinosuke and
Sachiko. There had been no particular reason for the delay in
his answer. It worried him that Teinosuke should time after time
be inconvenienced, however, and he had not known what to say.
He had never thought of blaming Teinosuke for not sending
Yukko back, and he certainly did not think it Teinosuke's responsibility
to pay the wedding expenses. If anyone was to blame
for anything, it was Tatsuo himself, but what good would it do
to go blaming people at this late date? Since Mimaki came from
such an illustrious a family, since so eminent a person as Kunishima
was willing to act as intermediary, and since Teinosuke
himself was enthusiastic, Tatsuo did not think it his place to
raise objections. He would leave everything to Teinosuke. He
hoped Teinosuke would proceed with arrangements for the betrothal.
As for the wedding expenses, he meant to do what he
could, but, because Teinosuke's kind offer came at a time when he
was rather hard pressed, he thought he might ask Teinosuke for
help, provided of course that the latter did not think it his duty
to help. They could discuss the details when they met.
Teinosuke was much relieved. Now he had only Taeko to worry
about. Not trusting Okubata in spite of those promises, he wanted
to hurry through at least the formal betrothal. Unfortunately
there would have to be a delay: Mrs. Kunishima was seriously
ill, Mitsuyo reported. A severe cold had turned into pneumonia.
There was also a very polite letter of explanation from Kunishima.
The Viscount had bought the house, and the deed had
been turned over to Mimaki--this last fact they learned from
Mimaki himself. Though the tenants had not yet moved, they
520 ___ 1 HE makioka listers

would move very shortly. Mimaki hoped, when the house was
vacant, to have a look at it, and he hoped too that Sachiko and
Yukiko would join him. His father had offered to send a maid
who would stay on after the wedding.
Mrs. Kunishima's condition was critical for a time, but by the
end of February she was out of bed and off for a two-week
change of air. She had worried over the betrothal and even talked
of it in her delirium, said Mitsuyo, who in mid-March appeared
in Ashiya to discuss plans for the ceremony. There was, first of
all, the question of whether the betrothal and the wedding should
be in Kyoto or in Tokyo. It was Kunishima's view that, since
the Viscount's main house was in Tokyo and since the main
Makioka family was living in Tokyo, both ceremonies should
take place there, the betrothal if possible on March 25, the
wedding in mid-April. Teinosuke, who had no objections, telephoned
the news to Tsuruko. The main house was thrown into
consternation: the children had made the place a pigpen, and
doors had to be repaired and floors refinished and walls replastered.
Sachiko again had misgivings about Tokyo. She could think of
no reason to object, however, and on March 23 she left with
Yukiko. Teinosuke had to stay behind on business. The betrothal
ceremony took place two days later, and Kunishima sent off a
cable to Itani in Los Angeles. Leaving Yukiko to take her leave
of the main house, Sachiko returned to Ashiya alone on the
morning of the twenty-seventh. It was about noon, and both
Etsuko and Teinosuke were out. In the bedroom she found two
letters, already opened, that had come by Trans-Siberian Railroad.
Beside them were several pages of Japanese and a pencilled
note from Teinosuke: "We were surprised by letters from Mrs.
Stolz and the Hening girl. Etsuko was in a great hurry and I
opened them. Mrs. Stoiz's is in German. I had a friend in Osaka
translate it."
36

Hamburg
February 9, 1941
dear mrs. makioka,
I have been telling myself for a great while that I should
write you a good, long letter. We often think of you and dear
Etsuko. She must be a big girl by now. Unfortunately I hardly
have time to lift a pen. As you know, there is a shortage of
manpower in Germany, and it is very difficult to find a maid.
Since last May we have had a girl who comes in three morning
a week to clean, and beyond that the lady of the house does
everything for herself: cooking, buying, sewing, mending, and so
on. Once I had time to write letters in the evening. Now I must
get out a basket of stockings, all with big holes and little holes in
them. In the old days I would have thrown away worn-out
stockings, but now we must economize. We must work together
to win through, and each of us must do his part, however small
it may be. I understand that life is harder in Japan too. A friend
from Japan was here on vacation not long ago, and he told us
about all the changes. But we must bear the burden. We are
both young nations fighting our way up, and it is not easy to
win a place in the sun. And yet I do believe that we will win
in the end.
I was delighted and deeply grateful that you wrote your
letter of last June in German. I suppose you can have some good
friend translate this for you, and I hope he can read my writing;
perhaps next time I can use a typewriter. It is too bad that the
silk and fan never arrived, but my Rosemarie was overjoyed when
she received the beautiful ring. We had a letter from Miss Hening
saying that she had the ring, but that she did not know when she
would be able to visit Hamburg. The other day a friend brought
it back from Berlin. It is lovely. In Rosemarie's place, I want to
tell you how very grateful we are. We are not letting her wear
it for the time being, however. We mean to keep it until she
522 the makioka sisters

is a little older. A person we knew in Japan is going back in
April, and we will send something with him for Etsuko. It will
be the merest trifle, but each of the girls will have something to
wear in memory of their friendship. When we win our victory
and everything is normal again, you can visit Germany. I am sure
that Etsuko will want to know the new Germany. It would be a
very great pleasure to have you as honored guests in our house.
You will want to hear about the children. They are as
healthy as ever. Peter has been in Upper Bavaria with his class
since November, and seems to like it very much. Rosemarie
has been taking piano lessons since October. She is very good.
Frits plays the violin, and he is now the largest of the children.
He is a very entertaining lad. He too is in school, and doing
very well. During his first year he thought of it half as a game,
but now he has learned to take it seriously. The children all
have to help in the house. Each has his own little job. Fritz.
must polish the shoes every night and Rosemarie must dry the
dishes and polish the silver. They are all doing their very best.
Just today I had a long letter from Peter, and it seems that there
is polishing and mending in his camp too, and that each of the
boys must take care of his own clothes and socks. Young people
need that sort of training. But I am afraid that when he comes
home he will leave everything to Mother again. My husband has
taken over an import house and seems to be at home in the
new work. He imports from Japan and China, though there
are all sorts of war-time restrictions. This has been a long winter,
but not as cold as last year. There are few sunny days here--the
sun has hardly shown its face since November. But soon it will
be spring. How warm it always was in Japan! We often long for
that pleasant climate.
It will be a great delight to hear from you again. Tell
me everything you are doing. How sad that we are not allowed
to send photographs. Rosemarie will soon be writing to Etsuko.
On week days she has a heavy load of homework, and letter
writing must wait until Sunday. I believe Peter will write from
Bavaria. They seem to be enjoying nature there, and they spend
little time indoors. That is very fine. Here in the city we all
live in caves.
Give Etsuko our love, and especially the children's. And
t5ooR i nres
)')



please, Mrs. Makioka, accept assurances of my warmest regards
for you and your husband. Thank you for continuing to think
of us.
Sincerely yours,
hilda stolz

The letter from the Hening girl was in English, so simple
that even Sachiko could puzzle it out.

Berlin
February 2, 1041
dear mks. makioka,
Please forgive me for not having written sooner. I was
busy finding a place to live, and I had absolutely no time to
write. We have finally moved in with an old gentleman we know.
We were friendly with his son in Japan. He is sixty-three years
old, all by himself in a big apartment, and, being very lonely,
he said he thought we might want to live with him. And so we
moved in, and we are very happy.
We reached Germany on January 5;, after a long but
pleasant trip. The quarantine in Russia was not pleasant, but
I am sure that the Russians were doing their best. The food was
very bad. Every day we had black bread, cheese, butter, and a
vegetable soup called borsch. We spent our time playing cards
and chess, and on Christmas Eve we lit candles and ate our
usual bread and butter. You cannot imagine how I longed for
Japan and my mother and brothers. Finally the six days were
over, and we were taken to our train. Father and I had a large
new seat all to ourselves. In the next seat were some boys from.
the Hitlerjugend on their way back from Japan. We had many
interesting things to talk about and forgot what a long trip it was.
Here in Berlin, we hardly feel that there is a war on.
The restaurants and theaters are full, and there is plenty of good
food. When we go to a hotel or restaurant, there is usually more
food than we can eat. The change in climate has given me a
great appetite, and I am in danger of getting fat. We have been
surprised only at the great number of soldiers in the streets. How
handsome they all are in their uniforms!
This month I started Russian ballet at a school only ten
$24 the makioka sisters

minutes from where we live. The teacher studied in Petersburg and is very kind. She is always giving recitals. I practice from
eleven in the morning to twelve-thirty, and from three to four-
thirty in the afternoon. I hope I shall make much progress. Her older and more talented pupils have just come back from a goodwill
mission to Romania, and soon they will be going to Poland.
I hope that in two or three years I shall be a member of the
troupe myself.
I was able to have the ring delivered to Rosemarie. I
was afraid to mail it, and two or three days ago a friend of
Father's came from Hamburg, and I asked him to take it back
with him. Today I had a card from Mrs. Stolz saying that they
had received it, and that Rosemarie was most grateful. I enclose
the card.
It has been very cold, but from now on it will be warmer,
they say. In January it went down to zero. You can imagine how
we suffered. We have steam heat, however, and it is pleasant
and warm indoors. German houses have double windows and are
far better built than Japanese houses. We are not bothered by
wind through the cracks!
It is time for my practice, and I must close. Please write.
Sincerely,
fkiedl hening

In the envelope was a card from Mrs. Stolz saying that the
ring had arrived.

ISŪSŪSSSSŪSŪŪ3SŪŪS!S!SŪS!SŪSS1

37

yukiko was in Tokyo until the end of March. She could have
stayed on until her wedding day, but she wanted a leisurely
farewell to Sachiko and the Ashiya family. She slipped away
toward the end of the month, bringing word from Kunishima
that the wedding had been set for April 29, the Emperor's

Boofe Three _____________________525_____

birthday; that it would be in the Imperial Hotel; and that Viscount
Mimaki, too old to make the trip, would probably be represented
by his heir and the latter's wife. Though the Mimakis wanted to
avoid ostentation, the reception at least was to be in keeping with
their high position. Besides friends and relatives from Tokyo, there
would be many guests from the Osaka-Kobe region. It was but
natural, then, that all the Makiokas from Osaka, and Tatsuo's
family from Nagoya, and even his sister, Mrs. Sugano, from Ogaki,
should also be present. The reception would be a most elaborate
one for the times. Mimaki, in Osaka for a visit, invited Sachiko
and Yukiko to go with him for a look at his house. It was a
fairly new one-storey house some blocks north of the electric
line, just the right size for a married couple with one maid.
What particularly pleased them was the large garden. After discussing
the furniture and decorations, Mimaki described his plans
for the honeymoon: they would spend the wedding night in the
Imperial Hotel and leave the next morning for Kyoto; they would
stay in Kyoto only long enough to pay their respects to his
father; and, going on to Nara, they would spend two or three
days enjoying spring in Yamato.1 But if Yukiko thought she already
knew Yamato well enough, they could choose a place near
Tokyo. Sachiko knew Yukiko's answer without asking: Yukiko
had had enough of the east-country; Mimaki should take her to
Nara. Near though they were, they knew little of the Yamato
ruins and monuments. Yukiko had never seen the wall paintings
at the Horyuji Temple, for instance. Sachiko remembered those
bedbugs, and would have recommended a Japanese inn if Mimaki
had not made the suggestion first. Mimaki also told them that
Kunishima had found him a job in the East Asia Aircraft Corporation,
which had a factory near Osaka; that his diploma in
aeronautics had been his chief recommendation; that he was a
little worried because he had done no work in aeronautics since
his graduation; and that he was even more uneasy at having
been offered a rather high salary, again thanks to Kunishima. To
see his way through these difficult times, however, he meant to
hang on. He would go to work as soon as he returned from the

1 The present Nara Prefecture. Yamato was the center of Japanese culture
until the late eighth century.
526 the makioka sisters

honeymoon, and he would study traditional architecture in his
spare time and one day re-establish himself as an architect.
When he asked about Koi-san Sachiko started up in alarm.
She managed to answer with a show of indifference that Koisan
was not in at the moment, but that she was well. Whether or not
he knew the truth, he asked no more. He stayed but half a day.
Taeko had come in from Arima with 0-haru, and was in a
Kobe maternity hospital. Afraid of attracting attention, Sachiko
had not gone to the hospital, and had not once telephoned to
ask how her sister was. Late one evening a day or so after
Taeko entered the hospital, 0-haru suddenly appeared. The child
was in an abnormal head-up position, she reported. The chief
obstetrician said that the position had definitely been normal when
Taeko left for Arima. Possibly the automobile trip over the mountains
had done the damage. Had he known sooner he might have
corrected it, but now, with the birth so near, the child had settled
into the pelvic basin and there was nothing to be done. He added,
however, that they were not to worry. He would guarantee a safe
delivery. There appeared to be little cause for alarm, said 0-haru,
who returned to the hospital after telling her news. Sachiko had
no word through early April, when the child should have been
born--Erst births are often late. Time passed; the cherry blossoms
were beginning to fall. With Yukiko to be married in another
fortnight or so, they regretted the passing of each busy spring
day. They considered the possibility of a special celebration by
which to remember these last days, but celebrations were harder
and harder to arrange. Caught by the austerity edicts, they were
unable to have new wedding kimonos dyed, and finally had to
have the Kozuchiya hunt up old ones. That month rice rationing
began. Kikugoro was not making his usual spring visit to Osaka,
and they had to be satisfied with an even quieter cherry viewing
than the year before. But it was an annual rite, and summoning
up their determination and taking care to dress as unobtrusively
as possibly, they made a one-day trip to Kyoto on Sunday the
thirteenth. After a look at the weeping cherries in the Heian
Shrine, they rushed out to the western suburbs and went through
the form of seeing the cherries there. This year they did without
their party at the Gourd Restaurant. Taeko again was missing.
The four of them spread a sad little lunch by Ozawa Pond and
Book Three 527

had a rather solemn drink of cold sake from the lacquer cups,
and when the excursion was over they hardly knew what they
had seen.
A day later Bell had kittens. Already eleven or twelve years
old. Bell had had trouble the year before, and the veterinary
had given her injections to induce labor pains. This year again
she had been trying all night to have her kittens. Making a nest
in a downstairs closet, Sachiko called the veterinary. When, with
great difficulty, a head appeared, Yukiko and Sachiko took turns
tugging at it. They said nothing, but they were doing their best
for Bell to bring good luck to Taeko. From time to time Etsuko,
pretending to be on her way to the bathroom, would peer in at
them. Go away, they would say; it was no place for a child. By
about four in the morning they had succeeded in delivering
three kittens. They washed their bloody hands with alcohol and
changed from their smelly kimonos, and just as they were ready
for bed the telephone rang. Sachiko rushed for it in alarm. The
call was from 0-haru. What had happened? Was it all over? Not
yet, said 0-haru. It seemed to be an extremely difficult birth,
and Taeko had been in labor for something like twenty hours
already. The chief obstetrician had said that the pains were too
light and was giving injections, but, perhaps because he was out
of German medicine and had to use Japanese instead, the results
were unsatisfactory. Koi-san only writhed and groaned. She had
eaten nothing since the evening before, and she was vomiting a
strange substance, dark and bilious. She knew they could not
save her, she would say. This time she was going to die. Though
the doctor was reassuring, the nurse was worried about Taeko's
heart. Even to the layman it was obvious that a crisis was approaching,
and 0-haru had determined to telephone in spite of Sachiko's
injunctions. The situation was not entirely clear to Sachiko. She
concluded nonetheless that Koi-san needed German medicine,
and she was sure there would be a way to find it. Every hospital
had a supply hidden away for very special patients. If she were
to plead with the chief obstetrician . . . Yukiko was beside her,
urging her to go to the hospital. This was no time to worry
about gossip. Teinosuke, who had gotten up, agreed with Yukiko.
Since they had assured Miyoshi that they would be responsible
for Taeko and the child, they had to do something. He bundled
528 the makioka sisters

Sachiko off to the hospital and set about notifying Miyoshi.
The head obstetrician was said to be well trained and thoroughly
conscientious. It was Sachiko who had recommended him
to her sister, but Sachiko did not know him personally. She took
along certain medicines, prontosil and betaxin and coramine
and the like, that were by then becoming rare. Miyoshi was
already at the hospital. It was good of her to come, said Taeko,
her eyes filling with tears. The two sisters had not seen each
other in six months, not since the autumn before. She hardly
thought she would pull through this time--Taeko was weeping
quite openly, and she seemed to be in great pain. From time to
time she vomitted an indescribable substance, horribly thick and
muddy. Miyoshi had been told by the nurse that poisons from
the child were coming out through the mother's mouth. To
Sachiko it did look very much like a child's first stool or like the
offal one finds in a crab shell.
Sachiko immediately went to see the chief obstetrician. Presenting
Teinosuke's card and bringing out her medicine, she
assaulted him in a carefully shrill voice. She had finally gathered
this medicine, but she had been unable to find the particular
German medicine they needed. She wanted him to search through
the whole of Kobe for it, whatever the price. Somewhere, someone . . .
The good-natured doctor soon surrendered. They had
one injection left, literally one injection, he said, bringing the
medicine out with great reluctance. Strong labor pangs set in not
five minutes after the injection, and Sachiko had a demonstration
of the relative merits of German and Japanese medicine. Taeko
was taken to the delivery room. Sachiko, Miyoshi, and 0-haru,
on a bench outside, heard her moan once or twice. The doctor
ran to the surgery room with the child in his hands. From time
to time during the next half hour they heard a determined
slapping, but that first cry failed to come.
Taeko was taken back to her room, and the three of them
sat tensely around the bed. They could still hear the slapping,
and they could imagine the doctor at work. After a time the
nurse came in. It was a great pity--the child had been alive,
and had died at the moment of birth. They had done everything
possible to revive it--they had even given an injection of the
German medicine Sachiko had brought--and all to no avail. The
Book Three __ $ 29

doctor would tell them the details. He wanted to dress the child
in the clothes the mother had made, said the nurse, taking a
dress Taeko had brought from Arima. Almost immediately the
doctor came in with the dead child. He had no excuses to offer.
It had been entirely his fault. Since the position of the child
was abnormal, he had pulled at the feet and--how could it have
happened?--his hand had slipped, and the child was strangled.
He had promised them a safe delivery, and now to have blundered.
He had no excuses, he said again, wiping the sweat from his
forehead. Sachiko could not feel angry at a doctor who confessed
his responsibility and went on with apologies he could as well
have avoided. He talked on, and showed them the child. A
girl, he said. And what a pretty girl. He had delivered many
children, but he could say with no exaggeration that he had
never seen a sweeter, prettier little girl. It made him sad to think
what a beauty she would have become. The hair was brushed
to a gloss, and the child had on the dress the nurse had taken,
and almost anyone would have cried out in sorrow at the rich,
black hair, the fair skin, the cheeks with a rosy flush still on them.
The three took it up by turns, and suddenly Taeko was weeping
bitterly, and the others with her, Sachiko and Miyoshi and 0-haru.
Just like a doll, said Sachiko. But as she looked at the clear,
waxen skin, almost weirdly beautiful, she wondered if the child
did not bear the curses of Okubata and Itakura.
Taeko left the hospital a week later. Teinosuke said that he
had no objections provided she stayed out of sight for a time,
and she immediately went to live with Miyoshi in second-floor
rooms they had rented in Kobe. She came quietly on the evening
of the twenty-fifth to take her leave of the Ashiya family and of
Yukiko, and to gather her things. The room that had once
been hers was gay with Yukiko's trousseau. The alcove was jammed
with presents from Osaka relatives and acquaintances. No one
would have dreamed that Taeko would be the first of the two
sisters to have her own home. After rummaging through the
belongings she had left with Sachiko, she packed what she would
need, talked to the family for a half hour or so, and was off to
Kobe.
0-haru returned to Ashiya when Taeko left the hospital. It
appeared that her family had found her a prospective husband.
530 the makioka sisters

She would like two or three days off, she said, after Miss Yukiko
was married.
Thus the future was settled. At the thought of how still the
house would be, Sachiko felt like a mother who had just seen her
daughter married. She went about sunk in thought, and Yukiko,
once it had been decided that she and Teinosuke and Sachiko
would take the night train to Tokyo on the twenty-sixth, had
even more regrets than her sister at the passing of each day. Her
stomach had for some time been upset, and even after repeated
doses of wakamatsu and arsilin, she was troubled with diarrhea
on the twenty-sixth. The wig they had ordered in Osaka arrived
on schedule that morning. Yukiko put it in the alcove after
trying it on, and Etsuko, back from school, promptly tried it on
too. "See what a small head Yukiko has," she said, going down
to entertain the maids in the kitchen. The wedding kimonos
arrived the same day. Yukiko looked at them and sighed--if only
they were not for her wedding. Sachiko remembered how glum
she had been when she was married herself. Her sisters had asked
for an explanation, and she had retorted with a verse:

"On clothes I've wasted
Another good day.
Weddings, I find,
Are not always gay."

Yukiko's diarrhea persisted through the twenty-sixth, and was
a problem on the train to Tokyo.

J u n i c h i r o Ta n i z a k i

"Tanizaki is meticulous in language, scandalously curious
about sexual politics, masterful in story telling."
--The Nation

SOME PREFER NETTLES

In this ethereally suggestive masterpiece of eros, character, and
culture, a rootless Tokyo sophisticate marooned in a sexless parody
of a Western marriage attempts to break free and reconnect
with his discarded past.

Fiction/Literature/o-679-75269-2

QUICKSAND

Quicksand is the story of Sonoko Kakiuchi, a cultured Osaka
lady who succumbs to the hypnotic charms of the beautiful art
student Mitsuko, one of the most seductive and corrupt
femmes fatales in the history of fiction, who changes--and
destroys--all who come close to her.

Fiction/Literature/o67976o22-9

THE REED CUTTER
and CAPTAIN SHIGEMOTO'S MOTHER
Two Novellas

Whether he is writing about a bizarre--and entirely sexless--
menage-a-trois The Reed Cutter) or philandering aristocrats in
the tenth century (Captain Shigemoto's Mother), Tanizaki
makes us experience passion as aesthetic pursuit, idealized
yearning, and humiliating affliction.

Fiction/Literature/o-679-75791-0
THE KEY

In this story of a dying marriage, told in the form of parallel
diaries, a husband and wife begin to suspect each other of
peeping into their respective diaries--unclear whether each
spouse's confessions might not be intended for the other's eyes.



Fiction/Literature/o-679-73023
lo


DIARY OF A MAD OLD MAN

Diary of a Mad Old Man is the journal of a seventy-seven-year-
old man recovering from a stroke, who discovers that, while his
body is decaying, his libido still rages on--unwittingly sparked
by the gentle, kindly attentions of his daughter-in-law, a chic,
flashy dancer with a shady past.

Fiction/Literature/o-679-73024-9

Available at your local bookstore, or call toll-free to order:
1-800-793-2665 (credit cards only).