第 11 页

In particular, I became curious about the uncle’s daughter, who I gathered to be an unmarried woman of roughly Sachiko’s age. Sachiko would say little about her cousin, but then I do recall one conversation we had around that time. I had by then formed an idea that Sachiko’s slowness in returning to her uncle had to do with some tension which existed between herself and the cousin. I must have tentatively put this to Sachiko that morning, for it provoked one of the few occasions upon which she talked explicitly about the time she had spent at her uncle’s house. The conversation comes back to me quite vividly; it was one of those dry windless mornings of mid-August, and we were standing on the bridge at the top of our hill, waiting for a tram to take us into the city. I cannot remember where it was we were going that day, or where we had left Mariko—for I recall the child was not with us. Sachiko was gazing out at the view from the bridge, holding up a hand to shield her face from the sun.

“It puzzles me, Etsuko,” she said, “how you ever managed to get hold of such an idea. On the contrary, Yasuko and I were the best of friends, and I’m greatly looking forward to seeing her again. I really don’t understand how you could have thought otherwise, Etsuko.”

“I’m sorry, I must have been mistaken,” I said. “For some reason, I supposed you had some reservations about returning there.”

“Not at all, Etsuko: When you first met me, it’s quite true, I was in the process of considering certain other possibilities. But a mother can’t be blamed for considering the different options that arise for her child, can she? It just so happened that for a while there seemed an interesting option open to us. But having given it further consideration, I’ve now rejected it. That’s all there is to it, Etsuko, I’ve no further interest in these other plans that were suggested to me. I’m glad everything has turned out for the best, and I’m looking forward to returning to my uncle’s house. As for Yasuko-San, we have the highest regard for each other. I don’t understand what could have made you suppose otherwise, Etsuko.”

“I do apologize. It’s just that I thought you once mentioned a quarrel of some kind."

“A quarrel?” She looked at me for a second and then a smile spread over her face. “Oh, now I understand what you’re referring to. No Etsuko, that was no quarrel. That was just some trivial tiff we had. What was it about now? You see, I don’t even remember, it was so trivial. Oh yes, that’s right, we were arguing about which of us should prepare the supper. Yes, really, that’s all it was. You see, Etsuko, we used to take it in turns. The housemaid would cook one night, my cousin the next then it would be my turn. The housemaid was taken ill on one of her nights, and Yasuko and I both wanted to cook. Now you mustn’t misunderstand, Etsuko, we generally got on very well. It’s just that when you see so much of one person and no one else, things can get out of proportion at times,”

“Yes, Edo understand. I’m sorry, I was quite mistaken.”

“You see, Etsuko, when you have a housemaid to do all the little jobs for you, it’s surprising how slowly the time goes by. Yasuko and I, we tried to occupy ourselves one way or another, but really there was little to do other than sit and talk all day. All those months we sat in that house together, we hardiy saw an outsider the whole time. Its a wonder we didn’t really quarrel. Properly, I mean."

“Yes, it certainly is. I obviously misunderstood you before.”

“Yes, Etsuko, I’m afraid you did. I only happen to remember the incident because it occurred just before we left and I haven’t seen my cousin since. But it’s absurd to call it a quarrel.” She gave a laugh. “In fact, I expect yasuko’s thinking of it and laughing too.”

Perhaps it was that same morning, we decided that before Sachiko went away, we would go together on a days somewhere. And indeed, one hot afternoon not long afterwards, I accompanied Sachiko and her daughter to Inasa. Inasa is the hilly area of Nagasaki overlooking the harbour, renowned for its mountain Scenery; it was not so far from where we lived in fact it was the hills of Inasal could see from my apartment window but in those days, outings of any sort were rare for me, and the trip to Inasa seemed like a major excursion. I remember I looked forward to it for days; it is, I suppose, one of the better memories I have from those times.

We crossed to Inasa by ferry at the height of the afternoon. Noises from the harbour followed us across the water—the clang of hammers, the whine of machinery, the occasional deep sound from a ship’s horn—but in those days, in Nagasaki, such sounds were not unpleasing; they were the sounds of recovery and they were still capable then of bringing a certain uplifting feeling to ones spirits.

Once we had crossed the water, the sea-winds seemed to blow more freely and the day no longer felt so stifling. The sounds of the harbour, carried in the wind, still reached us as we sat on a bench in the forecourt of the cable-car station. We were all the more grateful for the breeze, for the forecourt offered scant shelter from the sun; it was simply an open area of concrete which—being peopled that day largely by children and their mothers—resembled a school playground. Over to one side, behind a set of turnstiles, we could see the wooden platforms where the cable-cars came to rest. For some moments we sat mesmerized by the sight of the cable-cars climbing and falling; one car would go rising away into the trees, gradually turning into a small dot against the sky, while its companion came lower, growing larger, until it heaved itself to a halt at the platform. Inside a small hut beside the turnstiles, a man was operating some levers; he wore a cap, and after each car had come down safely, he would lean out and chat to a group of children who had gathered to watch.

The first of our encounters that day with the American woman occurred as a result of our deciding to take the cable-car to the hilltop. Sachiko and her daughter had gone to buy the tickets and for a moment I was left sitting alone on the bench. Then I noticed at the far end of the forecourt a small stall selling sweets and toys. Thinking I would perhaps buy some candy for Mariko, I got to my feet and walked over to it. Two children were there before me arguing about what to buy. While I waited for them, I noticed among the toys a pair of plastic binoculars. The children continued to quanel, and I glanced back across the forecourt. Sachiko and Mariko were still standing by the turnstiles; Sachiko seemed to be in conversation with two women.

“Cant be of service, madam?"

The children had gone. Behind the stall was a young man in a neat summer uniform.

“May I try these?” I pointed to the binoculars.

“Certainly, madam. It’s just a toy, but quite effective.”

I put the binoculars to my face and looked towards the hill-slope; they were surprisingly powerful. I turned to the forecourt and found Sachiko and her daughter in the lenses. Sachiko had dressed for the day in a light-coloured kimono tied with an elegant sash—a costume, I suspected, reserved only for special occasions—and she cut a graceful figure amidst the crowd. She was still talking to the two women, one of whom looked like a foreigner.

“A hot day again, madam,” the young man said, as I handed him the money. “Are you riding on the cable-car?”

“We’re just about to.”

“It’s a magnificent view. That’s a television tower we’re building on the top. By next year, the cable-car will go right up to it, right to the top.”

“How splendid. Have a nice day, won’t you.”

“Thank you, madam.”

I made my way back across the forecourt with the binoculars. Although at that time I did not understand English, I guessed at once that the foreign woman was American. She was tall, with red wavy hair and glasses which pointed up at the corners. She was addressing Sachiko in a loud voice, and I noted with surprise the ease with which Sachiko replied in English. The other woman was Japanese; she had noticeably plump features, and appeared to be around forty or so. Beside her was a tubby little boy of about eight or nine. I bowed to them as I arrived, wished them a pleasant day, then handed Mariko the binoculars.

“It’s just a toy,” I said. “But you might be able to see a few things.”

Mariko opened the wrapping and examined the binoculars with a serious expression. She looked through them, first around the forecourt, then up at the hill-slope.

“Say thank you, Mariko,” Sachiko said.

Mariko continued to look through the binoculars. Then she brought them away from her face and put the plastic strap over her head.

“Thank you, Etsuko-San,” she said, a little grudgingly.

The American woman pointed to the binoculars, said something in English and laughed. The binoculars had also attracted the attention of the tubby boy, who previously had been watching the hill-slope and the descending cablecar. He took a few steps towards Mariko, his eyes on the binoculars.

“That was very kind of you, Etsuko,” said Sachiko.

“Not at all. It’s just a toy.”

The cable-car arrived and we went through the turnstiles, on to the hoflow wooden boards. The two women and the tubby boy, it seemed, were to be the only other passengers. The man with the cap came out of his hut and ushered us one by one into the car. The interior looked stark and metallic. There were large windows on all sides and benches ran along the two larger walls.

The car remained at the platform for several more minutes and the tubby boy began to walk around impatiently. Beside me, Mariko was looking out of the window, her knees up on the bench. From our side of the car, we could see the forecourt and the gathering of young spectators at the turnstiles. Mariko seemed to be testing the effectiveness of her binoculars, holding them to her eyes one moment, taking them away the next. Then the tubby boy came and knelt on the bench beside her. For a little while, the two children ignored each other. Finally, the boy said:

“I want to have a look now.” He held out his hand for the binoculars. Mariko looked at him coldly.

“Akira, don’t ask like that,” said his mother. “Ask the little lady nicely.”

The boy took his hand away and looked at Mariko. The little girl stared back. The boy turned and went to another window.

The children at the turnstiles waved as the car began to pull away. I instinctively reached for the metal bar running along the window, and the American woman made a nervous noise and laughed. The forecourt was growing smaller and then the hillside began to move beneath us; the cable-car swayed gently as we climbed higher; for a moment, the treetops seemed to brush against the windows, then suddenly a large dip opened beneath us and we were hanging in the sky. Sachiko laughed softly and pointed to something out of the window. Mariko continued to look through her binoculars.

The cable-car finished its climb and we filed out cautiously as if uncertain we had arrived on solid ground. The higher station had no concrete forecourt, and we stepped off the wooden boards into a small grass clearing. Other than the uniformed man who ushered us out, there were no other people in sight. At the back of the clearing, almost amidst the pine trees, stood several wooden picnic tables. The near edge of the clearing where we had disembarked was marked by a metal fence, which separated us from a cliff-edge. When we had regained our bearings a little, we wandered over to the fence and looked out over the falling mountainside. After a moment, the two women and the boy joined us.

“Quite breathtaking, isn’t it?” the Japanese woman said to me. “I’m just showing my friend all the interesting sights. She’s never been in Japan before.”

“I see. I hope she’s enjoying it here.”

“I hope so. Unfortunately, I don’t understand English so well. Your friend seems to speak it much better than I do."

“Yes, she speaks it very well.”

We both glanced towards Sachiko. She and the American woman were again exchanging remarks in English.

“How nice to be so well educated,” the woman said to me. “Well, I hope you all have a nice day.”

We exchanged bows, then the woman made gestures to her American guest, suggesting they move off.

“Please may I look,” the tubby boy said, in an angry voice. Again, he was holding out his hand. Mariko stared at him, as she had done in the cable-car.

“I want to see it,” the boy said, more fiercely.

“Akira, remember to ask the little lady nicely.”

“Please! I want to see it."

Mariko continued to look at him for a second, then took the plastic strap from around her neck and handed the boy the binoculars. The boy put them to his face and for some moments gazed over the fence.

“These aren’t any good,” he said finally, turning to his mother. “They aren’t nearly as good as mine. Mother, look, you can’t even see those trees over there properly. Take a look.”

He held the binoculars towards his mother. Mariko reached for them but the boy snatched them away and again offered them to the woman.

“Take a look, Mother. You can’t even see those trees the near ones.”

“Akira, give them back to the little lady now.”

“They aren’t nearly as good as mine.”

“Now Akira, that’s not a nice thing to say. You know everyone isn't as lucky as you."

Mariko reached for the binoculars and this time the boy let go.

“Say thank you to the little lady,” said his mother. The boy said nothing and started to walk away. The mother laughed a little.

“Thank you very much,” she said to Mariko. “You were vety kind.” Then she smiled in turn towards Sachiko and myself. “Splendid scenery, isn’t it?” she said. “I do hope you have a nice day.?

The path was covered with pine needles and rose up the side of the mountain in zig-zags. We walked at an easy pace, often stopping to rest. Mariko was quiet and—rather to my surprise—showed no signs of wishing to misbehave. She did however display a curious reluctance to walk alongside her mother and myself. One moment she would be lagging behind, causing us to cast anxious glances over our shoulders; the next moment, she would go running past us and walk on ahead.

We met the American woman for the second time an hour or so after we had disembarked from the cable-car. She and her companion were coming back down the path and, recognizing us, gave cheerful greetings. The tubby boy, coming behind them, ignored us. As she passed, the American woman said something to Sachiko in English, and when Sachiko replied, gave a loud laugh. She seemed to want to stop and talk, but the Japanese woman and her son did not break their step; the American woman waved and walked on.

When I complimented Sachiko on her command of English, she laughed and said nothing. The encounter, I noticed, had had a curious effect upon her. She became quiet, and walked on beside me as if lost in thought. Then, when Mariko had once more rushed on ahead, she said to me: “My father was a highly respected man, Etsuko. Highly respected indeed. But his foreign connections almost resulted in my marriage proposal being withdrawn." She smiled slightly and shook her head. “How odd, Etsuko. That all seems like another age now.”