Then for the first time, without taking her hands from the water, Sachiko threw a glance over her shoulder towards her daughter. Instinctively, I followed her glance, and for one brief moment the two of us were both staring back up at Mariko. The little girl was standing at the top of the slope, watching with the same blank expression. On seeing her mother’s face turn to her, she moved her head very slightly; then she remained quite still, her hands behind her back.
Sachiko brought her hands out of the water and stared at the kitten she was still holding. She brought it closer to her face and the water ran down her wrists and arms.
“It’s still alive,” she said, tiredly. Then she turned to me and said: “Look at this water, Etsuko. It’s so dirty.” With an air of disgust, she dropped the soaked kitten back into the box and shut it. “How these things struggle,” she muttered, and held up her wrists to show me the scratch-marks. Somehow, Sachiko’s hair had also become wet; one drop, then another fell from a thin strand which hung down one side of her face.
Sachiko adjusted her position then pushed the vegetable box over the edge of the bank; the box rolled and landed in the water. To prevent it floating, Sachiko leaned forward and held it down. The water came almost halfway up the wire-grid. She continued to hold down the box, then finally pushed it with both hands. The box floated a little way into the river, bobbed and sank further. Sachiko got to her feet, and we both of us watched the box. It continued to float, then caught in the current and began moving more swiftly downstream.
Some movement caught my eye and made me turn. Mariko had run several yards down the river’s edge, to a spot where the bank jutted out into the water. She stood there watching the box float on, her face still expressionless. The box caught in some reeds, freed itself and continued its journey. Mariko began to run again. She ran on some distance along the bank, then stopped again to watch the box. By this time, only a small corner was visible above the surface.
“This water’s so dirty,” Sachiko said. She had been shaking the water off her hands. She squeezed in turn the sleeve-ends of her kimono, then brushed the mud from her knees. “Let’s go back inside, Etsuko. The insects here are becoming intolerable.”
“Shouldn’t we go and get Mariko? It will be dark soon.”
Sachiko turned and called her daughter’s name. Mariko was now fifty yards or so away, still looking at the water. She did not seem to hear and Sachiko gave a shrug. “She’ll come back in time,” she said. “Now, I must finish packing before the light goes completely.” She began to walk up the slope towards the cottage.
Sachiko lit the lantern and hung it from a low wooden beam. “Don’t worry yourself, Etsuko,” she said. “She’ll be back soon enough.” She made her way through the various items strewn over the tatami, and seated herself, as before, in front of the open partitions. Behind her, the sky had become pale and faded.
She began packing again. I sat down at the opposite side of the room and watched her.
“What are your plans now?” I asked. “What will you do once you arrive in Kobe?”
“Everything’s been arranged, Etsuko,” she said, without looking up. “There’s no need to worry. Frank has seen to everything.”
“But why Kobe?”
“He has friends there. At the American base. He’s been entrusted with a job on a cargo ship, and he’ll be in America in a very short time. Then he’ll send us the necessary amount of money, and we’ll go and join him. He’s seen to all the arrangements.”
“You mean, he’s leaving Japan without you?”
Sachiko laughed. “One needs to be patient, Etsuko. Once he arrives in America, he’ll be able to work and send money. It’s by far the most sensible solution. After all, it would be so much easier for him to find work once he’s back in America. I don’t mind waiting a little.”
“I see.”
“He’s seen to everything, Etsuko. He’s found a place for us to stay in Kobe, and he’s seen to it that we’ll get on a ship at almost half the usual cost.” She gave a sigh. “You have no idea how pleased I am to be leaving this place.”
Sachiko continued to pack. The pale light from outside fell on one side of her face, but her hands and sleeves were caught in the glow from the lantern. It was a strange effect.
“Do you expect to wait long in Kobe?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I’m prepared to be patient, Etsuko. One needs to be patient.”
I could not see in the dimness what it was she was folding; it seemed to be giving her some difficulty, for she opened and refolded it several times.
“In any case, Etsuko,” she went on, “why would he have gone to all this trouble if he wasn’t absolutely sincere? Why would he have gone to all this trouble on my behalf? Sometimes, Etsuko, you seem so doubting. You should be happy for me. Things are working out at last.”
“Yes, of course. I’m very happy for you.”
“But really, Etsuko, it would be unfair to start doubting him after he’s gone to all this trouble. It would be quite unfair.”
“Yes.”
“And Mariko would be happier there. America is a far better place for a young girl to grow up. Out there, she could do all kinds of things with her life. She could become a business girl. Or she could study painting at college and become an artist. All these things are much easier in America, Etsuko. Japan is no place for a girl. What can she look forward to here?”
I made no reply. Sachiko glanced up at me and gave a small laugh.
“Try and smile, Etsuko,” she said. “Things will turn out well in the end.”
“Yes, I’m sure they will.”
“Of course they will.”
“Yes.”
For another minute or so, Sachiko continued with her packing. Then her hands became still, and she gazed across the room towards me, her face caught in that strange mixture of light.
“I suppose you think I’m a fool,” she said, quietly. “Don’t you, Etsuko?”
I looked back at her, a little surprised.
“I realize we may never see America,” she said. “And even if we did, I know how difficult things will be. Did you think I never knew that?”
I gave no reply, and we went on staring at each other.
“But what of it?” said Sachiko. “What difference does it make? Why shouldn’t I go to Kobe? After all, Etsuko, what do I have to lose? There’s nothing for me at my uncle’s house. Just a few empty rooms, that’s all. I could sit there in a room and grow old. Other than that there’ll be nothing. Just empty rooms, that’s all. You know that yourself, Etsuko.”
“But Mariko,” I said. “What about Mariko?”
“Mariko? She’ll manage well enough. She’ll just have to.” Sachiko continued to gaze at me through the dimness, one side of her face in shadow. Then she said: “Do you think I imagine for one moment that I’m a good mother to her?”
I remained silent. Then suddenly, Sachiko laughed.
“Why are we talking like this?” she said, and her hands began to move busily once more. “Everything will turn out well, I assure you. I’ll write to you when I reach America. Perhaps, Etsuko, you’ll even come and visit us one day. You could bring your child with you.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Perhaps you’ll have several children by then.”
“Yes,” I said, laughing awkwardly. “You never know.”
Sachiko gave a sigh and lifted both hands into the air. “There’s so much to pack,” she murmured. “I’ll just have to leave some of it behind.”
I sat there for some moments, watching her.