I had never been inside the cottage prior to that afternoon, and I had been rather surprised when Sachiko had asked me in. In fact, I had sensed immediately that she had done so with something in mind, and as it turned out, I was not mistaken.
The cottage was tidy, but I remember a kind of stark shabbiness about the place; the wooden beams that crossed the ceiling looked old and insecure, and a faint odour of dampness lingered everywhere. At the front of the cottage, the main partitions had been left wide open to allow the sunlight in across the veranda. For all that, much of the place remained in shadow.
Mariko was lying in the corner furthest from the sunlight. I could see something moving beside her in the shade, and when I came closer, saw a large cat curled up on the tatami.
“Hello, Mariko-San,” I said. “Don’t you remember me?”
She stopped stroking the cat and looked up.
“We met the other day,” I went on. “Don’t you remember? You were by the river.”
The little girl showed no signs of recognition. She looked at me for a while, then began to stroke her cat again. Behind me, I could hear Sachiko preparing the tea on the open stove at the centre of the room. I was about to go over to her, when Mariko said suddenly: “She’s going to have kittens.”
“Oh really? How nice.”
“Do you want a kitten?”
“That’s very kind of you, Mariko-San. We’ll see. But I’m sure they’ll all find nice homes.”
“Why don’t you take a kitten?” the child said. “The other woman said she’d take one.”
“We’ll see, Mariko-San. Which other lady was this?”
“The other woman. The woman from across the river. She said she’d take one.”
“But I don’t think anyone lives over there, Mariko-San. It’s just trees and forest over there.”
“She said she’d take me to her house. She lives across the river. I didn’t go with her.”
I looked at the child for a second. Then a thought struck me and I laughed.
“But that was me, Mariko-San. Don’t you remember? I asked you to come to my house while your mother was away in the town.”
Mariko looked up at me again. “Not you,” she said. “The other woman. The woman from across the river. She was here last night. While Mother was away.”
“Last night? While your mother was away?”
“She said she’d take me to her house, but I didn’t go with her. Because it was dark. She said we could take the lantern with us” — she gestured towards a lantern hung on the wall — “but I didn’t go with her. Because it was dark.”
Behind me, Sachiko had got to her feet and was looking at her daughter. Mariko became silent, then turned away and began once more to stroke her cat.
“Let’s go out on the veranda,” Sachiko said to me. She was holding the tea things on a tray. “It’s cooler out there.”
We did as she suggested, leaving Mariko in her corner. From the veranda, the river itself was hidden from view, but I could see where the ground sloped down and the mud became wetter as it approached the water. Sachiko seated herself on a cushion and began to pour the tea.
“The place is alive with stray cats,” she said. “I’m not so optimistic about these kittens.”
“Yes, there are so many strays,” I said. “It’s such a shame. Did Mariko find her cat around here somewhere?”
“No, we brought that creature with us. I’d have preferred to leave it behind myself, but Mariko wouldn’t hear of it.”
“You brought it all the way from Tokyo?”
“Oh no. We’ve been living in Nagasaki for almost a year now. On the other side of the city.”
“Oh really? I didn’t realize that. You lived there with … with friends?”
Sachiko stopped pouring and looked at me, the teapot held in both hands. I saw in her gaze something of that amused expression with which she had observed me on that earlier occasion.
“I’m afraid you’re quite wrong, Etsuko,” she said, eventually. Then she began to pour the tea again. “We were staying at my uncle’s house.”
“I assure you, I was merely …”
“Yes, of course. So there’s no need to get embarrassed, is there?” She laughed and passed me my teacup. “I’m sorry, Etsuko, I don’t mean to tease you. As a matter of fact, I did have something to ask you. A little favour.” Sachiko began to pour tea into her own cup, and as she did so, a more serious air seemed to enter her manner. Then she put down the teapot and looked at me. “You see, Etsuko, certain arrangements I made have not gone as planned. As a result, I find myself in need of money. Not a great deal, you understand. Just a small amount.”
“I quite understand,” I said, lowering my voice. “It must be very difficult for you, with Mariko-San to think of.”
“Etsuko, may I ask a favour of you?”
I bowed. “I have some savings of my own,” I said, almost in a whisper. “I’d be pleased to be of some assistance.”
To my surprise, Sachiko laughed loudly. “You’re very kind,” she said. “But I didn’t in fact want you to lend me money. I had something else in mind. You mentioned something the other day. A friend of yours who ran a noodle shop.”
“Mrs Fujiwara, you mean?”
“You were saying she may want an assistant. A small job like that would be very useful to me.”
“Well,” I said, uncertainly, “I could enquire if you wish.”
“That would be very kind.” Sachiko looked at me for a moment. “But you look rather unsure about it, Etsuko.”
“Not at all. I’ll enquire when I next see her. But I was just wondering” — I lowered my voice again — “who would look after your daughter during the day?”
“Mariko? She could help at the noodle shop. She’s quite capable of being useful.”
“I’m sure she is. But you see, I’m not certain how Mrs Fujiwara would feel. After all, Mariko should in reality be at school during the day.”
“I assure you, Etsuko, Mariko won’t be the slightest problem. Besides, the schools are closing next week. And I’ll make sure she won’t get in the way. You can rest assured on that.”
I bowed again. “I’ll enquire when I next see her.”
“I’m very grateful to you.” Sachiko took a sip from her teacup. “In fact, perhaps I could ask you to see your friend within the next few days.”
“I’ll try.”
“You’re so kind.”
We fell silent for a moment. My attention had been caught earlier by Sachiko’s teapot; it appeared a fine piece of craftsmanship made from a pale china. The teacup I now held in my hand was of the same delicate material. As we sat drinking our tea, I was struck, not for the first time, by the odd contrast of the tea-set alongside the shabbiness of the cottage and the muddy ground beneath the veranda. When I looked up, I realized Sachiko had been watching me.
“I’m used to good crockery, Etsuko,” she said. “You see, I don’t always live like” — she waved a hand towards the cottage — “like this. Of course, I don’t mind a little discomfort. But about some things, I’m still rather discerning.”
I bowed, saying nothing. Sachiko, also, began to study her teacup. She continued to examine it, turning it carefully in her hands. Then suddenly she said: “I suppose it’s true to say I stole this tea-set. Still, I don’t suppose my uncle will miss it much.”
I looked at her, somewhat surprised. Sachiko put the teacup down in front of her and waved away some flies.
“You were living at your uncle’s house, you say?” I asked.