“But it’s very late.”
“Leave her. She can come back when she pleases.”
A kettle had been steaming on the open stove for some time. Sachiko took it off the flame and began making tea. I watched her for several moments, then asked quietly:
“Did you find your friend?”
“Yes, Etsuko,” she said. “I found him.” She continued with her tea-making, not looking up at me. Then she said: “It was very kind of you to have come here tonight. I do apologize about Mariko.”
I continued to watch her. Eventually, I said: “What are your plans now?”
“My plans?” Sachiko finished filling the teapot, then poured the remaining water on to the flame. “Etsuko, I’ve told you many times, what is of the utmost importance to me is my daughter’s welfare. That must come before everything else. I’m a mother, after all. I’m not some young saloon girl with no regard for decency. I’m a mother, and my daughter’s interests come first.”
“Of course.”
“I intend to write to my uncle. I’ll inform him of my whereabouts and I’ll tell him as much as he has a right to know about my present circumstances. Then if he wishes, I’ll discuss with him the possibilities of our returning to his house.” Sachiko picked up the teapot in both hands and began to shake it gently. “As a matter of fact, Etsuko, I’m rather glad things have turned out like this. Imagine how unsettling it would have been for my daughter, finding herself in a land full of foreigners, a land full of Ame-kos. And suddenly having an Ame-ko for a father, imagine how confusing that would be for her. Do you understand what I’m saying, Etsuko? She’s had enough disturbance in her life already, she deserves to be somewhere settled. It’s just as well things have turned out this way.”
I murmured something in assent.
“Children, Etsuko,” she went on, “mean responsibility. You’ll discover that yourself soon enough. And that’s what he’s really scared of, anyone can see that. He’s scared of Mariko. Well, that’s not acceptable to me, Etsuko. My daughter comes first. It’s just as well things have turned out this way.” She went on rocking the teapot in her hands.
“This must be very distressing for you,” I said, eventually.
“Distressing?” — Sachiko laughed — “Etsuko, do you imagine little things like this distress me? When I was your age, perhaps. But not any more. I’ve gone through too much over the last few years. In any case, I was expecting this to happen. Oh yes, I’m not surprised at all. I expected this. The last time, in Tokyo, it was much the same. He disappeared and spent all our money, drank it all in three days. A lot of it was my money too. Do you know, Etsuko, I actually worked as a maid in a hotel? Yes, as a maid. But I didn’t complain, and we almost had enough, a few more weeks and we could have got a ship to America. But then he drank it all. All those weeks I spent scrubbing floors on my knees and he drank it all up in three days. And now there he is again, in a bar with his worthless saloon girl. How can I place my daughter’s future in the hands of a man like that? I’m a mother, and my daughter comes first.”
We fell silent again. Sachiko put the teapot down in front of her and stared at it.
“I hope your uncle will prove understanding,” I said.
She gave a shrug. “As far as my uncle’s concerned, Etsuko, I’ll discuss the matter with him. I’m willing to do so for Mariko’s sake. If he proves unhelpful, then I’ll just find some alternative course. In any case, I’ve no intention of accompanying some foreign drunkard to America. I’m quite happy he’s found some saloon girl to drink with him, I’m sure they deserve one another. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m going to do what’s best for Mariko, and that’s my decision.”
For some time, Sachiko continued to stare at the teapot. Then she sighed and got to her feet. She went over to the window and peered out into the darkness.
“Should we go and look for her now?” I said.
“No,” Sachiko said, still looking out. “She’ll be back soon. Let her stay out if that’s what she wants.”
I feel only regret now for those attitudes I displayed towards Keiko. In this country, after all, it is not unexpected that a young woman of that age should wish to leave home. All I succeeded in doing, it would seem, was to ensure that when she finally left — now almost six years ago — she did so severing all her ties with me. But then I never imagined she could so quickly vanish beyond my reach; all I saw was that my daughter, unhappy as she was at home, would find the world outside too much for her. It was for her own protection I opposed her so vehemently.
That morning — the fifth day of Niki’s visit — I awoke during the early hours. What occurred to me first was that I could no longer hear the rain as on previous nights and mornings. Then I remembered what had awoken me.
I lay under the covers looking in turn at those objects visible in the pale light. After several minutes, I felt somewhat calmer and closed my eyes again. I did not sleep, however. I thought of the landlady — Keiko’s landlady — and how she had finally opened the door of that room in Manchester.
I opened my eyes and once more looked at the objects in the room. Finally I rose and put on my dressing gown. I made my way to the bathroom, taking care not to arouse Niki, asleep in the spare room next to mine. When I came out of the bathroom, I remained standing on the landing for some time. Beyond the staircase, at the far end of the hallway, I could see the door of Keiko’s room. The door, as usual, was shut. I went on staring at it, then moved a few steps forward. Eventually, I found myself standing before it. Once, as I stood there, I thought I heard a small sound, some movement from within. I listened for a while but the sound did not come again. I reached forward and opened the door.
Keiko’s room looked stark in the greyish light; a bed covered with a single sheet, her white dressing table, and on the floor, several cardboard boxes containing those of her belongings she had not taken with her to Manchester. I stepped further into the room. The curtains had been left open and I could see the orchard below. The sky looked pale and white; it did not appear to be raining. Beneath the window, down on the grass, two birds were pecking at some fallen apples. I started to feel the cold then and returned to my room.
“A friend of mine’s writing a poem about you,” said Niki. We were eating breakfast in the kitchen.
“About me? Why on earth is she doing that?”
“I was telling her about you and she decided she’d write a poem. She’s a brilliant poet.”
“A poem about me? How absurd. What is there to write about? She doesn’t even know me.”
“I just said, Mother. I told her about you. It’s amazing how well she understands people. She’s been through quite a bit herself, you see.”
“I see. And how old is this friend of yours?”
“Mother, you’re always so obsessed about how old people are. It doesn’t matter how old someone is, it’s what they’ve experienced that counts. People can get to be a hundred and not experience a thing.”
“I suppose so.” I gave a laugh and glanced towards the windows. Outside, it had started to drizzle.
“I was telling her about you,” Niki said. “About you and Dad and how you left Japan. She was really impressed. She appreciates what it must have been like, how it wasn’t quite as easy as it sounds.”
For a moment, I went on gazing at the windows. Then I said quickly: “I’m sure your friend will write a marvellous poem.” I took an apple from the fruit basket and Niki watched as I began to peel it with my knife.
“So many women”, she said, “get stuck with kids and lousy husbands and they’re just miserable. But they can’t pluck up the courage to do a thing about it. They’ll just go on like that for the rest of their lives.”