“You have so much luggage,” I said, eventually. “How will you ever carry it all?”
For a little while, Sachiko did not answer. Then, continuing to pack, she said: “You know perfectly well, Etsuko. We’ll put it in the car.”
I remained silent. She took a deep breath, and glanced across the room to where I was sitting.
“Yes, we’re leaving Nagasaki, Etsuko. I assure you, I had every intention of coming to say goodbye once all the packing was finished. I wouldn’t have left without thanking you, you’ve been most kind. Incidentally, as regards the loan, it will be returned to you through the post. Please don’t worry about that.” She began to pack again.
“Where is it you’re going?” I asked.
“Kobe. Everything’s decided now, once and for all.”
“Kobe?”
“Yes, Etsuko, Kobe. Then after that, America. Frank has arranged everything. Aren’t you pleased for me?” She smiled quickly, then turned away again.
I went on watching her. Mariko, too, was watching her. The kitten in her arms was struggling to join its companions on the tatami, but the little girl continued to hold it firmly. Beside her, in the corner of the room, I saw the vegetable box she had won at the kujibiki stall; Mariko, it appeared, had converted the box into a house for her kittens.
“Incidentally, Etsuko, that pile over there” — Sachiko pointed — “those items I’ll just have to leave behind. I had no idea there was so much. Some of it is of decent enough quality. Please make use of it if you wish. I don’t mean any offence, of course. It’s merely that some of it is of good quality.”
“But what about your uncle?” I said. “And your cousin?”
“My uncle?” She gave a shrug. “It was kind of him to have invited me into his household. But I’m afraid I’ve made other plans now. You have no idea, Etsuko, how relieved I’ll be to leave this place. I trust I’ve seen the last of such squalor.” Then she looked across to me once more and laughed. “I can see exactly what you’re thinking. I can assure you, Etsuko, you’re quite wrong. He won’t let me down this time. He’ll be here with the car, first thing tomorrow morning. Aren’t you pleased for me?” Sachiko looked around at the luggage strewn over the floor and sighed. Then stepping over a pile of clothes, she knelt beside the box containing the teaset, and began filling it with rolls of wool.
“Have you decided yet?” Mariko said, suddenly.
“We can’t talk about it now, Mariko,” said her mother. “I’m busy now.”
“But you said I could keep them. Don’t you remember?”
Sachiko shook the cardboard box gently; the china still rattled. She looked around, found a piece of cloth and began tearing it into strips.
“You said I could keep them,” Mariko said again.
“Mariko, please consider the situation for a moment. How can we possibly take all those creatures with us?”
“But you said I could keep them.”
Sachiko sighed, and for a moment seemed to be considering something. She looked down at the teaset, the pieces of cloth held in her hands.
“You did, Mother,” Mariko said. “Don’t you remember? You said I could.”
Sachiko looked up at her daughter, then over towards the kittens. “Things are different now,” she said, tiredly. Then a wave of irritation crossed her face, and she flung down the pieces of cloth. “Mariko, how can you think so much of these creatures? How can we possibly take them with us? No, we’ll just have to leave them here.”
“But you said I could keep them.”
Sachiko glared at her daughter for a moment. “Can’t you think of anything else?” she said, lowering her voice almost to a whisper. “Aren’t you old enough yet to see there are other things besides these filthy little animals? You’ll just have to grow up a little. You simply can’t have these sentimental attachments for ever. These are just … just animals don’t you see? Don’t you understand that, child? Don’t you understand?”
Mariko stared back at her mother.
“If you like, Mariko-San,” I put in, “I could come and feed them from time to time. Then eventually they’ll find homes for themselves. There’s no need to worry.”
The little girl turned to me. “Mother said I could keep the kittens,” she said.
“Stop being so childish,” said Sachiko, sharply. “You’re being deliberately awkward, as you always are. What does it matter about the dirty little creatures?” She rose to her feet and went over to Mariko’s corner. The kittens on the tatami scurried back; Sachiko looked down at them, then took a deep breath. Quite calmly, she turned the vegetable box on to its side — so that the wire-grid panels were facing upwards — reached down and dropped the kittens one by one into the box. She then turned to her daughter; Mariko was still clutching the remaining kitten.
“Give me that,” said Sachiko.
Mariko continued to hold the kitten. Sachiko stepped forward and put out her hand. The little girl turned and looked at me.
“This is Atsu,” she said. “Do you want to see him, Etsuko-San? This is Atsu.”
“Give me that creature, Mariko,” Sachiko said. “Don’t you understand, it’s just an animal. Why can’t you understand that, Mariko? Are you really too young? It’s not your little baby, it’s just an animal, just like a rat or a snake. Now give it to me.”
Mariko stared up at her mother. Then slowly, she lowered the kitten and let it drop to the tatami in front of her. The kitten struggled as Sachiko lifted it off the ground. She dropped it into the vegetable box and slid shut the wire grid.
“Stay here,” she said to her daughter, and picked the box up in her arms. Then as she came past, she said to me: “It’s so stupid, these are just animals, what does it matter?”
Mariko rose to her feet and seemed about to follow her mother. Sachiko turned at the entryway and said: “Do as you’re told. Stay here.”
For a few moments, Mariko remained standing at the edge of the tatami, looking at the doorway where her mother had disappeared.
“Wait for your mother here, Mariko-San,” I said to her.
The little girl turned and looked at me. Then the next moment, she had gone.
For a minute or two, I did not move. Then eventually I got to my feet and put on my sandals. From the doorway, I could see Sachiko down by the water, the vegetable box beside her feet; she appeared not to have noticed her daughter standing several yards behind her, just at the point where the ground began to slope down steeply. I left the cottage and made my way to where Mariko was standing.
“Let’s go back to the house, Mariko-San,” I said, gently.
The little girl’s eyes remained on her mother, her face devoid of any expression. Down in front of us, Sachiko knelt cautiously on the bank, then moved the box a little nearer.
“Let’s go inside, Mariko,” I said again, but the little girl continued to ignore me. I left her and walked down the muddy slope to where Sachiko was kneeling. The sunset was coming through the trees on the opposite bank, and the reeds that grew along the water’s edge cast long shadows on the muddy ground around us. Sachiko had found some grass to kneel on, but that too was thick with mud.
“Can’t we let them loose?” I said, quietly. “You never know. Someone may want them.”
Sachiko was gazing down into the vegetable box through the wire gauze. She slid open a panel, brought out a kitten and shut the box again. She held the kitten in both hands, looked at it for a few seconds, then glanced up at me. “It’s just an animal, Etsuko,” she said. “That’s all it is.”
She put the kitten into the water and held it there. She remained like that for some moments, staring into the water, both hands beneath the surface. She was wearing a casual summer kimono, and the corners of each sleeve touched the water.