“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, I do 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 hardly saw an outsider the whole time. It’s 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 day’s outing 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 Inasa I 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 one’s 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 quarrel, 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.
“Can I 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.