Pathway to Japanese Literature

I As Kikuko hurried down the hallway to retrieve Father’s forgotten glasses cloth from the living room bookshelf, the telephone bell clamored. When she picked up the receiver, it was Elder Sister from Azabu’s voice announcing she would arrive before noon. “Father is about to leave now,” she said curtly before hanging up. Taking the glasses cloth, she went to the entrance and found Father standing on the shoe-removal step, his cane planted forward as he chided the maid Fuku about footwear or something. Sensing Kikuko’s approach, he merely reached a hand behind him,

“What are you dawdling for? Hurry up!” he barked. As usual, Kikuko and Fuku saw him off to the gate where the car waited. Whether intending a greeting or not, Father gave a slight nod to the driver—who stood holding the open door—and got in. And then Kikuko, when she called out, “Have a safe trip,” Father neither nodded in response nor turned his face toward her; instead, he leaned one elbow on the cane’s grip, hunched slightly forward, and kept his gaze fixed on the opposite window as the car departed.

Father’s irritable temperament was nothing new. To be sure, even during Mother’s lifetime, though he was irritable, he never actually voiced his complaints by scolding the maids or such—he always seemed to fold whatever dissatisfaction he felt into the vertical creases of his brow. But since Mother’s death, his irritability had grown more pronounced, his nerves frayed to the point where he now displayed oddly agitated mannerisms. The household members would whisper among themselves, "Perhaps Father’s short temper comes with age," but in truth, everyone seemed to think there was more to his recent behavior than just advancing years.

As Kikuko was folding Father’s discarded everyday clothes, Elder Sister’s voice came from the inner entrance, and soon she entered the tea room, chatting amicably with the maids. Having prefaced that she couldn’t stay long today since she’d left her children behind, she peered into the tea cupboard and took out the bowl of yokan herself while,

“What about Ms.Iiō?” she asked. She was the elderly lady who had long lived in the household—a childhood friend of their deceased mother. “She went out early this morning to visit Mother’s grave.” “I see.” “That’s just as well.”

Elder Sister smiled faintly for some reason. For Elder Sister, the talkative Ms. Iiō had always been difficult. Hearing that Ms. Iiō was out seemed to lift her spirits. "How has Father been lately?" Kikuko responded with nothing but a strained smile.

“I do wish he’d improve his mood soon.” Elder Sister’s expression turned serious. “If his mood doesn’t improve, everyone else will suffer! Fuku’s been getting scolded constantly lately—she’s so anxious she can’t even sleep properly at night.” “Now that you mention it, that girl did look pale. She’s timid enough to obsess over every reprimand.” “Father too...”

Just then, Fuku herself came to ask what should be prepared for lunch, so Elder Sister broke off her words. And then, taking a piece of yokan from the bowl to Fuku—who knelt at the threshold with her hands pressed to the floor—

“Here,” she offered it to her. Fuku slightly raised her lusterless, swollen face, “I humbly thank you,” she said. She received the yokan into her cupped palms and immediately bowed her head, but whether this sudden kindness struck her weary, sleep-deprived heart, she suddenly pressed her sleeve to her face and began to cry. “There, there. That’s enough now. That’s enough. You’re just too exhausted. Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” Elder Sister tapped Fuku’s shoulder as if soothing a child.

"I humbly beg your pardon," Fuku said, bowing with the yokan still in her hands pressed against the threshold. When Fuku withdrew, Elder Sister,

“Today I came to discuss a matter.”

With that, she pushed the teacup at her knees aside and drew closer to the brazier. Prompted by this motion, Kikuko edged her own knees forward. "I was thinking of inviting someone to look after Father." "And you, Kikuko?" Elder Sister probed, glancing at her as if seeking agreement, yet continuing immediately without awaiting a response. "I actually broached this with Seinosuke when he came the other day." "This arrangement would suit Father best after all." Though Elder Sister's tone carried a veneer of consultation toward Kikuko, there persisted an undercurrent of obstinate determination to enforce her own solution. In this woman who had always seemed merely gentle and utterly ordinary—her elder sister—Kikuko now detected an unfamiliar edge that left her momentarily flustered.

“Did Brother agree?” Kikuko did not think her brother Seinosuke had earnestly consented to this matter. Yet before she could voice her doubt, she recalled his stiff, complicated expression when confronted with the issue—and suddenly realizing she wore the same expression herself, as if they’d both donned matching masks—she found something faintly ridiculous about them, her cheeks growing oddly ticklish. “Whether he agrees or not, there’s simply no other way to restore Father’s good humor.”

Elder Sister’s tone took on an admonishing quality. To that, something oddly akin to resistance reared its head within Kikuko. “But that isn’t just your unilateral decision—”

“No, that’s just how it is.” “You’ll come to understand in time too.” Kikuko felt momentarily cowed by Elder Sister’s tone of unshakable resolve. Though irritated by her own continued silence—knowing she stood no chance against an argument framed through seniority—she secretly stuck out her tongue, deriving petty satisfaction from this childish act of defiance.

Elder Sister talked about Ms. Okié from Niigata. "If it’s Ms. Okié," she blurted out without thinking—realizing she had revealed Father’s favorite—and flushed slightly. And then, while gazing toward the window, she continued. Father had such an irritable temperament that even when we tried to find someone ourselves，we could hardly come across a suitable person. Elder Sister quietly conveyed that since Ms. Okié was an old acquaintance of the family and had a thorough understanding of Father’s temperament，there could be no more suitable arrangement for our household. Her words were modest，yet one could sense a fervor in them that sprang undeniably from a child’s concern for her aging father. Kikuko was swayed. But after a moment，she realized that what had been swayed was merely her own face.

Elder Sister's reasoning made perfect sense. I couldn't claim not to understand Father's feelings. Yet somehow, I found myself unable to accept this matter unreservedly. Father had wanted Ms. Okié in our household from the beginning. Elder Sister—having discerned his wishes—would inevitably come to win us over. These convictions had hardened within Kikuko ever since her mother's passing.

In her imagination, Father remained perpetually sullen and withdrawn, his irritable indecisiveness etched into every silent gesture.

“With a temperament like mine, I just can’t seem to get along with young people—it’s quite a problem,” he would say. “It seems young folks can’t grasp an old man’s heart,” he would add.

Having grasped Father’s underlying intentions, Elder Sister proposed inviting Ms. Okié. “That’s out of the question,” Father said, exaggerating a scowl as he fidgeted and stared distractedly out the window. His entire bearing seemed to declare, “If you’re so worried about me, why don’t you try convincing them yourself? Go on then”—as though challenging Elder Sister with his gaze.—

For Kikuko, who had been conditioned by these imaginings until now, this was no longer mere imagination. She felt strongly that Elder Sister’s visit had been compelled by Father’s sullen attitude. And with Father appropriating Elder Sister’s voice to press his case, she felt herself being cornered—yet she simply couldn’t bring herself to nod in honest assent.

“Father is getting on in years too, and wants someone quiet to talk to.”

Perhaps because Elder Sister had been speaking with such strained effort, she began to look tired. As she watched this, Elder Sister’s earlier forceful remarks seemed increasingly artificial, and Kikuko felt a bit sorry for her. So, “If you need someone to talk to, Ms. Iiō is here— though she’s a bit lively,” she said with a smile, “If it were Ms. Iiō, Father would be pitiable.” Elder Sister was drawn into laughter. Fuku brought in the sushi bowl.

“I’ll speak to Father about it myself before long.”

Elder Sister finished eating the sushi and left after saying this while checking the clock.

II

Before long, Ms. Iiō returned, saying she had met the mistress of Azabu on the main street there. After placing the cut flowers she held before the Buddhist altar and sitting before it for a long time with her hands pressed together, she settled down beside the brazier with a look of tidy relief that seemed to say her duty was now done. “Did the mistress of Azabu come by for some business? She returned quite early.” Ms. Iiō drank the tea Kikuko had brewed, sipping it as though receiving a modest offering while saying such things. There goes this person’s nosiness again, Kikuko thought, remaining silent.

Then, with an air of being distracted by her clogged kiseru pipe, Ms. Iiō began cleaning its bowl with fire tongs while remarking casually, “Today there happened to be lovely bellflowers at the florist—Mother was fond of bellflowers, so I promptly offered them at the altar,” steering the conversation elsewhere.

“Oh, Mother must be delighted.” As she spoke, Kikuko suddenly felt that it might be all right to let Ms. Iiō hear what Elder Sister had said earlier. It was because she sensed in Ms. Iiō a closeness to the feelings she had held toward her mother. Now that Mother had come up, Kikuko noticed this unexpectedly. Some sort of urge—a childish, dependent urge to tattle to Ms. Iiō about what she had heard from Elder Sister—was stirring within her heart. Hurry, hurry—it urged her on. Since it was something that would come out anyway—thinking this,

“Oh right—I was meaning to tell you, Ms. Iiō, but—”

When she broached the topic, Ms. Iiō—who had been bent over the brazier lighting her tobacco—looked up at Kikuko with a somewhat tense expression, narrowing her eyes slightly. That gaze was one of Mother’s mannerisms. For some reason, since Mother’s death, traits resembling her had begun to emerge in Ms. Iiō. Not only her posture and bearing, but even her hair—which she had previously pulled back tightly into a small bun—was now styled with bangs and arranged into an elegant chignon like Mother’s. Moreover, the way she listened—her hands modestly folded on her lap wearing the ring with a small black diamond, Mother’s keepsake, her head slightly bowed—was exactly like Mother.

“Ms. Iiō’s really dolling herself up ridiculously—don’t tell me she’s got designs on the old man?” Once, when Seinosuke noticed Ms. Iiō—fresh from her bath, her face a bit too pale despite the cream she’d applied—serving Father his late supper, he intercepted Kikuko as she brought the soup course in the back corridor and laughed in amusement like this. Until then, Kikuko had passed days without paying particular attention, but the moment her brother said this, she felt an inexplicable nausea toward Ms. Iiō. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I told my brother dismissively, but it left a distinctly unpleasant aftertaste. From then on, she found herself fixating strangely on Ms. Iiō. And even now, seeing Ms. Iiō’s gaze that bore Mother’s mannerisms, Kikuko felt a wave of disgust. Talking became a burden. Moreover, if she brought it up, she would inevitably be subjected to hearing criticisms of Ms. Okié. Ever since Mother’s death, whenever Ms. Okié was mentioned, Ms. Iiō had grown even more vehement.

At such times, Ms. Iiō’s expression would grow hysterically tense, and the way she droned on in that strangely parched voice made one sense the depth of her obsession. It did not stem from a simple heart that felt obligated to her deceased mother and thus disparaged Father’s mistress, but rather from something personal and deep-seated lurking within her—or so it seemed. Suddenly picturing the lightly made-up Ms. Iiō putting on airs as she served Father his meal, Kikuko felt a surge of heat well up within her as though it were her own affair. Only the repulsion that made her want to cover her eyes came over her. Yet when she looked at Ms. Iiō before her eyes, she found herself strangely amused by this old woman—and imagining what it would be like if this face were to take on a coquettish air, picturing it this way and that, she felt an unwitting curiosity being stirred. With her thoughts thus diverted, Kikuko found speaking all the more burdensome. And then, with a hurried air as though she had just thought of an errand, she suddenly rose from her seat.

“Um, Elder Sister said to ask you to handle the dyeing matter, Ms. Iiō.” “Ah, if it’s about that matter, I already heard about it earlier on the street.”

Ms. Iiō’s face took on a somewhat deflated look. To Kikuko, who was leaving the tea room while scratching her cheek with the kiseru,

“If it’s Master’s travel preparations, may I assist you?” she asked. And so, remembering Father’s departure for Niigata the next morning, Kikuko paused mid-step as she had started toward the annex. And then,

“It’s the usual routine, so I can manage alone.”

With that, she called out from the hallway, entered Father’s study, and took down the suitcase from the closet. To inspect the ironworks in Niigata, Father would go out like this two or three times a month. Though it was called a trip, there was little need for elaborate preparations—all that was required was to set aside two or three extra towels and handkerchiefs for use on the train. This had been the custom since Mother’s time. “If Father doesn’t bring a change of clothes for his long journey, wouldn’t he be inconvenienced?”

Kikuko had once asked her mother, who was preparing Father’s travel arrangements as usual. “Far from being inconvenienced—at his lodgings in Niigata, everything from Father’s undergarments to his tabi socks has been fully prepared.” Having said this, Mother looked up from the suitcase and cast a casual glance toward the garden, but whether imagined or not, a hint of sarcasm could be seen in those narrowed eyes. “It’s just like a second home.” “In that case, Father should be able to take his time and rest comfortably.”

When Kikuko responded guilelessly to Mother’s words, she noticed Mother’s previously relaxed face suddenly tense with irritation, and her own hands folded on her lap grew strangely restless. Then Mother sharply called out to stop Fuku—who had been passing through the hallway on some errand—and pointing to where the tabi’s fasteners had come undone to reveal a sliver of red skin at her heel, reprimanded her in a shrill voice: “What do you think you’re doing with those tabi?”

Fuku hurriedly knelt in the hallway, fastened the clasps, and with her hands pressed to the floor, said, “I deeply apologize.”

Having always known Mother as quiet, Kikuko was stunned by her abrupt behavior at that moment; yet after a short while, a strange curiosity stirred within her, and she began stealing repeated furtive glances at Mother’s face. It was only much later, when Elder Sister had told her about Ms. Okié, that Mother’s raw nerves from that time pierced her chest—that Mother’s anguish felt transplanted directly into her own being—and rather than hating Okié, she seethed with fury at herself for having made such careless, needless remarks.

The first time Kikuko saw Ms. Okié was around her fourth year of girls’ school—during spring break—when she encountered Mother at the gate after seeing Father off on his morning departure to Niigata and returning from requesting flower arrangements at a nearby florist. Mother stood clutching a purple furoshiki-wrapped bundle in her outdoor clothes. With one foot already in the waiting car, Mother seemed to reconsider and called out to Kikuko. “Father has forgotten something important.” “Since you can get there faster than I could return home first—please deliver this.”

Mother pressed the furoshiki-wrapped bundle into Kikuko’s hands, then emphasized to the driver, “Since it’s the nine o’clock express, please hurry.” While self-conscious about still being in her everyday clothes, she got into the car regardless. When she looked back through the rear window, she saw Mother’s retreating figure entering the gate—the small drum-shaped knot of her obi sat crookedly, tied in evident haste. Upon arriving at the station and rushing to the platform, she immediately spotted Father in the rear second-class car. “Father, you forgot something!” she called out—then gasped and instinctively held her breath. An unfamiliar woman with a fringed hairstyle sat beside him. At a glance, Kikuko knew this was Ms. Okié, whom her elder sister had mentioned.

Father turned around and, “You needn’t have brought it all this way—having it sent would have sufficed,” he said. Father’s eyes did not look at Kikuko’s face; they seemed to be gazing somewhere near her shoulders. The train still had a minute or two before it would depart. Kikuko wavered, uncertain whether she ought to leave the place immediately. Wouldn’t departing as quickly as possible spare Father’s feelings? As this vague notion made her begin shifting her feet, Father—who had been reading a newspaper spread wide across his chest—turned only his face toward her,

“You may leave,” he said. At these words, Kikuko’s heart unexpectedly recoiled. Like hell I’d go back. And then, standing close by the train window, she began to watch Ms. Okié. Ms. Okié had turned her back toward this side. The smooth nape of her collar—pulled back in formal kimono style and edged with a navy half-collar—lay right before her eyes. The haori over her ochre-striped omeshi robe displayed an elegant crest on its black brocade back, embroidered with indigo-gradient thread—but when Kikuko suddenly recognized it as her family’s hemp leaf wheel crest, her face paled from a surge of humiliation. She felt an impulse to reach out and tear away that emblem. Amidst this turmoil, Father’s calm profile as he stared at the newspaper struck her as brazenly defiant, and seeing him seated beside Ms. Okié with that hemp leaf wheel crest fanned an inexplicable jealousy within her.

When the train began to move, Ms. Okié made a show of adjusting her posture and glanced toward Kikuko. When their eyes met, Ms. Okié pressed a handkerchief to one cheek as if troubled and looked down, but her gesture somehow seemed like a bow, so Kikuko gave a slight nod in return.

In the car on the way back, Kikuko was thinking aimlessly about Ms. Okié. The hemp leaf crest kept flickering before her eyes, tormenting her. Suddenly, merely imagining what Mother would have thought upon seeing it sent a pang through her chest. "It’s better that it wasn’t Mother"—as this thought brought relief, she suddenly felt drained of strength and slumped limply.

III According to Elder Sister’s account, Ms. Okié was a quintessential Niigata beauty who had been bought out of her geisha contract by Father during her time working in the old district’s pleasure quarters. After establishing her home in the quiet coastal town of Futaba, she began teaching nagauta ballads to local girls—though this was merely a diversion against boredom rather than serious instruction—and would freely cancel lessons whenever Father visited. When Father lay bedridden for weeks at his Niigata mistress residence with stomach ulcers, Elder Sister had gone there in Mother’s stead—who publicly claimed rheumatism prevented her from traveling—and stayed over ten days. It was then that Elder Sister and Ms. Okié’s relationship began softening. Whenever Ms. Okié accompanied Father to Tokyo thereafter, she customarily visited Elder Sister’s home bearing gifts, while Elder Sister reciprocated with discreet considerations kept hidden from Mother. Yet these gestures stemmed less from regard for Ms. Okié than obligation toward Father. To Father—estranged from Mother—the gentle Elder Sister raised as his favorite child remained his most trusted confidant, a fact she keenly understood. Thus her determination to uphold Father’s trust had transformed into this dutiful “service” toward Ms. Okié.

One day, when Kikuko stopped by Elder Sister’s house on her way home from school, Elder Sister—who was preparing to go out—seemed oddly uncomfortable and invited her: “I’m going to Kabuki now—I’ll manage seats somehow, so why don’t you come too?” But the strained invitation struck Kikuko as a veiled rejection, so she declined, saying it would be too much trouble to go home and change.

“Well, let’s make it next time, okay? Besides, today I’m accompanying Ms. Okié,” Elder Sister said as if making an excuse, her tone tinged with forced consideration. And as Kikuko turned to leave, she urgently pressed, “Keep this a secret from Mother.” Elder Sister would tell Kikuko everything about Ms. Okié without reservation, but afterward, as a matter of routine, she would press the point: “Keep this a secret from Mother.” This could be interpreted as stemming from Elder Sister’s simple, kind-hearted consideration for Mother, or alternatively, as cautious words meant to prevent the matter from reaching Mother due to her customary loyalty toward Father. Kikuko had doubted Elder Sister’s ambiguous state of mind each time she was told this. And before she knew it, she realized that she too had been constantly gauging Father and Mother with an ambiguous, vacillating heart. Suddenly, she wondered if this hadn’t been a long-ingrained habit since first becoming aware of the world. The siblings, raised in the dark, cold air saturated with Father and Mother’s discord, shared this habit of gauging their parents—a habit that had perhaps ingrained itself into their very temperaments by now. As she dwelled on this, the bond between parent and child began to feel inescapably fated, and she was overcome by dark despair.

The discord between Father and Mother seemed to stem primarily from their close blood relation as cousins. That discord had smoldered unceasingly under the old custom of "for the sake of the family." Where Mother was present, Father would fall silent. Before Father, Mother would say little. Attending to Father’s personal needs had become Kikuko’s established duty.

While Father was home, Mother would usually retire early under the pretext of her rheumatism, but once Mother had retired, an oddly relaxed mood would settle over the tea room, and conversation would flow animatedly for a time. Father, who had been writing in the living room, would occasionally make a face as if wanting tea, “It’s awfully lively in here,” he would say as he entered. There were times when Father—unusually picking at rakugan sweets—would let out laughter at elder brother’s foolish stories; but seeing his carefree demeanor in such moments, the figure of his ordinarily irritable, solitary self would press upon me with such sorrowful vividness that Mother’s face—her eyes averted in the shadows—seemed spitefully cold.

One night when conversation was flowing in the tea room like this, Kikuko—on her way to the kitchen to fetch fruit or something—noticed Mother standing in the corridor of the annex. When she tried to call out to her, Mother made a flustered gesture as if to stop her and went into the kitchen. Mother’s figure was not clearly visible in the dim light of the corridor, but there was an air about her that suggested she had been leaning forward, peering in this direction.

That night, late into the evening, Kikuko entered the bedroom in the annex. Worried about Mother’s increasingly frail body, Kikuko rested beside her all along, waking multiple times during the night to check on her condition.

Mother, seeming to have grown tired of sleeping, sat up on the futon and was rubbing her legs.

“If it’s this cold, I’ll need to relieve myself even more often.” Mother muttered as if to herself. Kikuko, who had gone around to the futon hem to check the hot-water bottle’s warmth, responded, “Huh?”

“No—at this rate, Mother won’t last much longer.”

Mother said this in a lifeless voice and then lay down wearily, using Kikuko’s hand for support.

Mother often used to say such things when she seemed to take offense over something. That sounded so much like Mother herself being imposed upon her that Kikuko would grow oddly spiteful and make a habit of dismissively brushing them off. Even now, as Kikuko stayed silent, Mother—as if with some intent—repeatedly smoothed her wrinkled face with her hand while, “When Mother is gone, everyone in the household will finally be able to make merry without restraint.” “Truly, I’m sorry for having made you feel constrained all this time.”

She said to no one in particular. Her voice had taken on an odd moistness, so when she stole a glance at her face, a veined hand was covering her eyes. "What should I say?" Kikuko was slightly perplexed. And before she knew it, she said in a comforting tone, “That’s just you overthinking things, Mother,” only to realize this wouldn’t do. Mother was waiting for a different response. When she realized this, speaking grew increasingly burdensome. As usual, when she sat at Mother’s bedside and gently combed her hair, Mother soon let her hands fall from her face and began breathing quietly in sleep. As she looked at the white, glistening teardrop pooled in the hollow of Mother’s inner eye, an indescribable sadness welled up within her. She felt like crying. But within that emotion was mingled something dry and parched, which was preventing Kikuko’s heart from crying out. And gazing fixedly at Mother’s white, glistening tear, she thought it enviable.

Mother, who knew of the bond between Father and Elder Sister, could not have failed to notice Elder Sister’s dealings with Ms. Okié. Elder Sister was hiding something. That dissatisfaction naturally spilled over to Ms. Iiō. After Elder Sister returned, Mother and Ms. Iiō would often huddle together over the brazier, their foreheads nearly touching, and whisper to each other. Even Mother, who was usually quiet, seemed particularly irritated when it came to Ms. Okié—one could tell her voice was taking on an edge. On Ms. Iiō’s plausible expression as she listened, a smile that seemed to pity Mother while bestowing benevolence drifted gently.

“She’s merely an upstart woman, isn’t she? Don’t engage with her,” she said, waving one hand in a gesture that seemed to brush aside Mother’s concerns. Mother’s agitation gradually subsided. So to speak, Mother and Ms. Iiō were a kind of strange married couple, with Ms. Iiō gently attending to the grief-stricken Mother. This relationship between the two had been maintained for nearly twenty years. Ms. Iiō was from Fukushima, Mother’s hometown, and had lived alone since being widowed; but after losing her parents and having no relatives, Father had taken her in out of pity, or so it was said. Nowadays, everything from the storehouse to the kitchen had been left entirely to Ms. Iiō, so there were times when her absence made finding things somewhat difficult.

On nights when Father went to Niigata, Mother would sit in the tea room with a face as if she had forgotten, even when her usual bedtime came. Beside her, Ms. Iiō began reminiscing about Mother’s childhood—demonstrating how “Ms. Onobu also used to let her bangs hang down and tie them in a ring shape back then” by forming something like glasses with her thumbs and index fingers and placing them on top of her head to show.

“Oh, Ms. Iiō!” Mother said with an embarrassed gesture, giving her a gentle poke. After that, as Ms. Iiō’s animated gestures brought forth gossip about childhood friends for a while, Mother grew lively as though returning to those days. As she watched the two of them like this, it began to seem as though Father had assigned Ms. Iiō to comfort Mother’s loneliness—and even the thought arose that this might be Father’s characteristic solicitude toward Mother. And after Mother’s death, whenever she saw Ms. Iiō sitting idly by the brazier as if at a loss for something to do, that feeling would grow even stronger.

IV

A short while after Mother’s first anniversary had passed, Elder Sister departed for Niigata to bring Ms. Okié back. Though Elder Sister had already coordinated with Kikuko numerous times about the private commemorations, on the eve of her departure she called Kikuko to the phone again to stress that outwardly they were merely welcoming someone to attend to Father’s needs, and that preparations should remain strictly within the family accordingly. It was not a formal enrollment into the family register; Ms. Okié would apparently be received into the household with her existing status as Father’s mistress unchanged. Finding this arrangement to carry an air of indecent presumption she disliked, when Kikuko tentatively suggested to Elder Sister, “Why not welcome her properly as Mother instead,”

“That’s absurd.” “Ms. Okié suits being a mistress, so that’s just fine as it is.” She laughed and refused to engage. Elder Sister’s laughter seemed to implicitly convey that if they were to welcome someone as Mother, there were other splendid people for that role. Though there was the matter of social appearances, Kikuko had come to faintly understand Father’s reluctance to formally register her, and she had begun to see Ms. Okié’s position as pitiable—but when she suddenly became aware of her own primly detached self observing these feelings, she felt a twinge of disgust.

On the night Ms. Okié arrived, they settled for a modest family dinner with dishes ordered from their regular caterer. There was talk of inviting even the closest relatives to mark the occasion formally, but Father uncharacteristically raised his voice, declaring he wanted no part in such grand gestures. Afterward, though they would rise rather awkwardly from their seats—later on, whenever Father’s carefree figure could be seen squatting by the sunny living room’s edge and poking at the caged canary with his index finger as if to startle it—Elder Sister and Kikuko in the tea room would inadvertently exchange wry smiles.

Since welcoming Ms. Okié, Father’s irritability appeared to have transformed in nature. The heightened irritability that had once vexed him vanished as though sucked away into nothingness, leaving only the habitual vertical wrinkle etched between his eyebrows. At times, this vertical wrinkle would open by itself, and around his cheeks—now noticeably more lustrous—a bright smile would quiver. Whenever Kikuko noticed her father like this, a certain thought would always surface within her. As she kept watching this content-looking Father, the figure of her deceased mother—appearing so forlorn—would emerge from that sight, and she felt certain hatred toward Father must now be welling up in her chest. Yet even when she waited intently, the figure of Mother she finally managed to recall carried no pang of sorrow; not only did no hatred toward Father well up within her—instead, from that softened brightness of his face, she found herself slipping into a strangely relieved and tranquil mood. When she realized it, this sense of relief had persisted ever since Mother’s death. It was a feeling as if her nerves had slackened.

The two-room detached quarters that Mother had been using until now were assigned as Ms. Okié’s living space.

“Sudō has been focused solely on the arts until now, so household matters must be beyond her.”

After finishing his morning bath and stepping out onto the veranda, Father leaned against the detached quarters' railing and muttered these words while watching Ms. Okié toss fu to the carp in the pond—an act Kikuko had once overheard from nearby. Father always called Ms. Okié "Sudō." These muttered words meant for Kikuko’s ears seemed both a defense of Ms. Okié’s un-domestic nature and a covert attempt to impose acceptance—not only of Ms. Okié’s position as something natural but also a demand that you all must acknowledge her—an implication she discerned.

After seeing Father off in the morning, Ms. Okié would spend a long time attending to her appearance before sitting vacantly by the long brazier in the detached quarters through idle afternoons until his evening return, gazing at the garden. Elder Sister would occasionally invite Ms. Okié out shopping. On such occasions she invariably layered a black striped haori bearing embroidered crests over persimmon-dyed underrobes. She kept her collar shallowly draped and pulled her bangs back tighter than I’d seen before—a styling that made her thirty-eight years appear far more advanced.

“From every angle, she might as well be a fine lady from a good family.”

While watching Ms. Okié’s retreating figure pass through the gate, Ms. Iiō remarked with such sarcasm. And if Kikuko continued to ignore her, “No matter how much she tries to act like a proper lady, her roots are what they are.” Lowering her voice, she persisted in speaking to Kikuko. It was as though she were being relentlessly hounded by something nesting within her heart, yet her limbs refused to follow suit—a frustration that seemed to radiate from her very demeanor. Unable to bear it any longer, Kikuko—

“If Father were to hear such things, it would be disastrous.”

When admonished, she immediately withdrew into sulky silence; then after a while,

“If only Mother were here…” Ms. Iiō would break into a tearful voice. Finding this unbearable to watch, whenever Ms. Iiō began badmouthing Ms. Okié, Kikuko made a point of pretending not to listen while actually hearing every word. When Ms. Okié went out, she grew accustomed to bringing back souvenirs for Kikuko. These included beautifully boxed chocolates adorned with ribbons, vermilion-lacquered hand mirrors, and small ring cases decorated with maki-e lacquerwork.

“To think she gives such childish trinkets...” In private, Kikuko would often mock them with a scornful little laugh—though this was largely for the benefit of Ms. Iiō, who eyed them with barely concealed desire—but in truth, Ms. Okié’s thoughtfulness had begun to stir something pitiable yet endearing within her. At times, she would absently pick up the hand mirror on her vanity and catch herself reflecting a faint smile that had formed without her realizing. One day, Ms. Okié, having returned from shopping as usual, peered apprehensively into Kikuko’s room,

“Excuse me, do you have a moment?” she called out. The way she slowly elongated the “no” syllable carried a faintly coquettish undertone.

Kikuko, who had been knitting by the window, began rising with a “Please, come in” while hurriedly finishing the last two stitches of her row. The white yarn ball that had tumbled from her angled knee came to rest against Ms. Okié’s bare foot as she entered. The delicate arch of her big toe against that glossy skin—apparently tended with meticulous care—held an inexpressible beauty. Seeing how Ms. Okié went without tabi socks even indoors during winter made it clear she fully understood this beauty and took pride in displaying it to others’ eyes. Kikuko cast a fleeting glance at those bare feet and turned these thoughts over in her mind.

Ms. Okié knelt down to pick up the ball of yarn, then sat at the edge of the lower seat with a faint smile. “You’re so diligent,” she said. Even in front of Elder Sister and Brother, Ms. Okié always chose the lower seat.

“I have something I’d like you to take a look at.”

Having said this, she began to untie the package she had placed down. It appeared to be bolts of cloth she had sent from her usual department store. “Um, do you think you might like this pattern?”

Smoothly unfolding a brocade of deep purple scattered with maple leaves, she draped it over her knees. “I’ve been trying for some time now, but I couldn’t find any good patterns. Um, this is just a small token of my gratitude for your constant kindness, so please accept it.” Even saying just this much made her cheeks flush crimson—perhaps from timidity—as she blinked her wide, tense eyes repeatedly while looking up at Kikuko. Then hesitatingly adding “And also…”, she pulled out two bolts of cloth from the package.

“This one I’d like to make into my everyday wear, but I thought I would ask you to decide which would be better.”

One was a persimmon-tanned ground with small crimson accents, and the other was black and mouse-gray with fine horizontal stripes. Since both were overly plain patterns lacking distinction, when she suggested selecting something more vibrant, “Um, I already consider these rather showy myself. From now on, I must keep my appearance as modest as possible.”

Ms. Okié bowed her head and slowly stroked her knee with slender hands. It truly seemed as though she were repeating those words to herself. Clumsy as it was, the earnestness with which she tried to cling to us somehow began to seem pitiable. For her part, she was doing the best she could. Why is it that I cannot accept this straightforwardly? Ms. Okié was still stroking her knee, her head bowed. As I watched that, an unexpected excitement welled up in my chest. Is this affection toward Ms. Okié? Was it something holding back affection? Why does Mother’s face keep flickering through my mind? ――Kikuko’s thoughts vacillated back and forth in this manner.

Five

Father, who had previously been reluctant and rarely went out at night, had recently begun frequently attending vaudeville theaters with Ms. Okié in tow. Occasionally, Ms. Iiō would also receive invitations. At such times, Ms. Iiō—her usual restraint dissolved in delight—would attempt jokes in an oddly buoyant tone toward Kikuko and the maids. Then, walking behind Father alongside Ms. Okié, she would prattle on to herself—observing how the kimono patterns were too subdued and ought to be more flamboyant, or how the pale colors would pair better with lavender collars—only to then marvel at her own remarks. Though this trailing presence carried persistent annoyance, whenever vaudeville was mentioned, Ms. Okié developed an inexplicable fixation on including Ms. Iiō and would entreat Father through meaningful glances: "Might we invite her along?" These interactions gradually eased tensions until shopping excursions became frequent joint affairs for Ms. Okié and Ms. Iiō.

“Ms. Okié truly is someone who has had her share of hardships—I must say she notices the smallest details.” “She said I must be short on spending money and kindly gave me this much.”

Near the end of the month one night, as Kikuko—entrusted by Father with managing the household finances—was reviewing the ledger, Ms. Iiō entered with restless energy. She produced bills that had been tucked into her obi, made a prayer-like gesture with her hands, then neatly folded them into quarters before tucking them into her gamaguchi pouch. During Mother’s time, it had been customary for her to give Ms. Iiō a portion from her monthly allowance, but since Ms. Iiō had originally possessed a substantial sum when closing her household, Mother had declared that simply ensuring she lacked no necessities was more than sufficient. Thus, since Kikuko had taken charge of domestic affairs, she had never provided Ms. Iiō with anything resembling an allowance. This stemmed not merely from adhering to Mother’s words, but also from Kikuko’s awareness of Ms. Iiō’s habit of skimming coins during shopping errands—leading her to spitefully assume the woman couldn’t possibly want for daily funds—compounded by her distaste for Ms. Iiō’s pettiness: never dipping into her savings yet perpetually snooping greedily into others’ purses.

In Kikuko’s household, it had become customary over the past five or six years that on New Year’s Day, Elder Sister and her husband, Brother, and Kikuko would be summoned to Father’s living room to hear him speak of matters resembling a will for property distribution. This was considered Father’s preparation for any eventuality, prompted by his awareness of advancing age. Over the past year or two, with wartime prosperity boosting Father’s ironworks performance, the amounts allocated to the children had gradually increased. Father had long seemed to confide in Elder Sister his wish to leave thirty thousand yen to whoever cared for him, but this year Ms.Okié too was summoned alongside the children and heard this matter directly from Father anew. How it reached Ms.Iiō’s ears remained unclear, but she began approaching Elder Sister and Kikuko with remarks like “Ms.Okié is such a fortunate soul,” her tone probing. Even without that development, this New Year’s moment appeared to mark Ms.Iiō’s peak of annual tension. She grew oddly restless, shuttling between tea room and kitchen with feigned purpose while eavesdropping on the living room. Her eyes darted questioning glances at Elder Sister and Kikuko whenever they emerged from Father’s quarters. From Ms.Iiō’s perspective—she who considered herself practically family—it seemed only natural to anticipate some recognition through formal notice. Kikuko understood how Ms.Iiō’s deepening loneliness with age fueled this monetary obsession, yet found herself powerless to muster sympathy. Thus even now, faced with Ms.Iiō flaunting spending money supposedly from Ms.Okié, Kikuko couldn’t rejoice sincerely—interpreting such displays as veiled challenges against herself.

“Even though you must understand Ms. Okié’s feelings, Kikuko-chan, you’re not making nearly enough effort.” Some time ago, Elder Sister had once admonished Kikuko in that manner. It seemed Ms. Okié had overheard Kikuko repeatedly disparaging the gifts she gave her—calling them “childish trinkets” or “country-style patterns”—and had tearfully explained to Elder Sister that she had only been trying to please Kikuko, never realizing how deeply her feelings had been hurt. Though Kikuko knew this information had leaked from Ms. Iiō, she remained silent, seeing no need to explain herself to Elder Sister. Lately, she found herself pitying Ms. Okié’s desolate state—how the woman no longer brought back souvenirs when going out as she once had.

And so, as Ms. Iiō grew closer to Ms. Okié, Ms. Okié seemed to gradually drift away from Kikuko. From this feeling, she would imagine the two of them whispering where her eyes couldn’t reach, and then catch herself watching them with a gaze that was strangely agitated and watchful.

One day, when Kikuko returned from outside, Ms. Iiō—who usually sat in the tea room—was nowhere to be seen. Upon asking Fuku, she went to the storehouse only to find Ms. Okié and her organizing items in a trunk together. There was no need to deliberately wait until I was away to do such a thing, she thought. When she showed a somewhat bitter expression, Ms. Okié looked apologetically— “I thought I might put a few of my belongings inside,” she said imploringly, giving a slight bow. Although the storehouse key had been entrusted to Ms. Iiō, whenever someone needed to enter the storehouse for any reason, a family member always accompanied them. This had been the custom since Mother’s time. Ms. Iiō was using the key without permission. She seemed to be getting carried away and overstepping her bounds—I couldn’t stand it. From Ms. Iiō’s perspective—since Ms. Okié was now a member of the household—she likely saw nothing amiss in entering the storehouse as her companion; there she was, tending to the luggage with her usual expression and efficient diligence.

That night, Kikuko was summoned to Father’s living room.

“Kikuko is nearing marriageable age, and since she will likely become busy with various preparations from now on, how about entrusting household matters to Sudō?” “Besides, Sudō can’t remain in her current state indefinitely, and she must gradually learn household matters.”

It was an unexpected statement. As Kikuko hesitated and failed to respond, Father added as if recalling something: “I’ve been thinking about this for a while...” That somehow sounded as if he were explaining his earlier words. “As you say, Father.”

After a moment, Kikuko spoke, yet she found herself absently wondering why the figure of Father before her eyes felt so distant and aloof.

When the figures of Father, Ms. Okié, and Ms. Iiō began to coalesce into a distant mass, Kikuko found herself yearning intensely for her brother. I think my brother is the only person close to me in this world. It felt heartbreaking when I noticed myself straining to believe this truth while clinging to him. Perhaps he is a brother even more distant from me than Father. At times, this sorrow would clench painfully around my heart.

One evening, when Kikuko went to the second-floor room, her brother was reclining in a rattan chair by the dim, unlit window. “Brother!” she called out. “Yeah,” he replied listlessly, not turning around. When she approached the window and peered at his face, his eyes seemed fixedly trained on something in the distance. Following his gaze led beyond the garden to the window of the detached room. Through that window, Ms. Okié—appearing fresh from her bath—could be seen baring her skin before a mirror stand. Her brother’s eyes seemed riveted there. Under the bright electric light, Ms. Okié’s ample white skin glowed with vivid clarity. Perhaps having finished her makeup, she raised a hand high to comb through her hair. With each movement of her arms, her voluptuous breasts stirred an almost primal sensation.

“Ms. Sudō is beautiful…” Brother murmured as if to himself—the words seeming to slip out unintentionally. “Oh Brother,” she said with unintended sharpness, “you’ve always been gazing at her from here.” “You fool.”

With that, Brother lightly sat up and turned on the light. Brother's face—flushed, with an irritable vertical wrinkle carved between his brows—suddenly reminded Kikuko of Father from that time.

When Kikuko got up to use the restroom late at night and was about to return to her room after finishing her business, she encountered Ms. Okié—who had also risen to use the facilities—in the corridor of the detached wing. Ms. Okié’s figure—clad in a yuzen-dyed underkimono with red shibori-spotted ground and large peony motifs, fastened with a single datemaki sash—appeared alluringly graceful, utterly unlike her daytime self. Her disheveled hair clung to her pale neckline, and her face looked oddly swollen. Flusteredly gathering her hemline, she bowed slightly toward Kikuko before entering the restroom. Kikuko’s eyes followed those vivid hues like a magnet until they halted at the restroom door; holding her breath there for a moment, she peered toward the detached room beyond. She thought she faintly heard Father’s sleeping breaths escaping from within. But perhaps that was merely the sound of her own labored breathing. Compelled by the chill creeping up from her soles, Kikuko entered her room. Suddenly it struck her—Father and Ms. Okié were resting in what until recently had been her own bedroom. —Strange how this thought gripped her, making sleep utterly impossible. Imaginations came surging one after another from the leaden depths of her mind. And though she found herself detestable for surrendering to this rampant fancy, she remained helplessly ensnared within it.

The next morning, she felt an odd urge to avoid Father. Yet simultaneously, she wanted to stare at him unabashedly—without proper decorum. She was preparing for Father’s outing as usual when he entered after his morning bath and demanded, “Where’s the newspaper?” Her tongue stiffened, rendering her momentarily speechless as she stood silent, staring at Father. “What?” Father’s face assumed its customary irritable expression, the vertical wrinkle between his brows deepening. That day, however, she detected none of Father’s usual severity in that furrow—instead, she thought she glimpsed something lewd in its quiver. Father stalked off displeased, but Kikuko—suddenly noticing her own narrowed eyes watching him—was seized by revulsion. For she believed she had seen her mother within herself. And she came to think this mother had dwelled within her since time immemorial. Then arose the suspicion that Father might have recognized the mother within her before she herself had.

Because there was to be a small banquet combining Father’s birthday with Ms. Okié’s formal introduction, Elder Sister began busily coming and going to the house again. This time, she worried they couldn’t afford to make it too crude. She called a caterer and consulted about the food. Having been entrusted with the shopping, Ms. Iiō went out. Since Ms. Okié began handling household matters, Ms. Iiō had taken on the role of advisor in all things. An eager, almost cheerful energy radiated continuously across Ms. Iiō’s face.

When Kikuko, who had been asked to tidy up the tatami room, took Fuku into the storehouse to retrieve the gold-leaf folding screen, the dim lighting must have obscured their footing, for Fuku tripped over the brazier and fell. Kikuko, who had climbed halfway up the narrow stairs, called out "Are you all right?" and rushed down. Fuku—who seemed to have scraped her knee—had turned away and was dabbing it with spit, but at Kikuko's voice, she suddenly pressed her sleeve to her face and began to cry. "Oh my—and here you are crying," said Kikuko as she squatted down and began helping her up,

“What’s wrong? It’s just… I was reminded of the late Mistress…” Fuku hunched her shoulders and wept even more violently. That quavering voice suddenly struck her heart. The teardrops that had pooled in Mother’s sunken eyes were remembered sadly for the first time. Why hadn’t she been able to cry until now? While finding that strange, she could now cry without reason, simply by thinking of her mother.

The day of Father’s birthday arrived. More than a dozen relatives had been invited. Father in his crested haori and hakama sat formally beside Ms. Okié, who was resplendent in a kimono with vivid hem patterns, both arranged in proper seiza. Brother introduced Ms. Okié succinctly as the new mother. Kikuko thought this was odd. She nudged her Elder Sister sitting beside her and whispered, “Well... It seems Father wants to register Ms. Okié in the family records.” Elder Sister too wore an uncharacteristically somber expression.

As the sake flowed, the gathering gradually grew increasingly boisterous. Ms. Okié, holding the sake decanter, went around pouring for each person with practiced hands. Whether it was the drink taking effect, Ms. Okié—her ears suddenly flushed—appeared innocent for the first time. When she came before Kikuko, "Now, have one," urged Ms. Okié as she took up the sake cup, but after hesitating slightly and setting the decanter down, she leaned her upper body across the tray toward Kikuko, “Um, I want you to please point out any of my faults without hesitation.” “I will listen to anything you tell me to do, Ms. Kikuko.”

she said, lowering her eyes. Her voice trembled slightly. Eventually raising her eyes slowly to look at Kikuko—who thought she saw tears within them—Kikuko was struck by an unexpected feeling.

“Madam, the sake! The sake!”

When an elderly relative called out loudly from across the seats, Ms. Okié bowed courteously to Kikuko and rose to leave. That bow contained something like an entreaty for compassion—a longing for affection. “Aren’t we having any entertainment?”

Amid the commotion, someone who was drunk shouted from across the room.

“How about it, Father? Shall we hear Ms. Sudō’s singing?” Brother leaned toward Father beside him and started to speak. Father pushed Brother back with his elbow,

“Fool!” he rebuked in a low voice.