“I’d better stay.”
She didn’t budge. Sitting alongside this contrary cousin as she carried on like a child, O-Nobu turned to her aunt with a show of discretion appropriate to her age.
“Shall I find Mrs. Yoshikawa and just say hello? It seems rude to ignore her.”
To tell the truth, O-Nobu wasn’t overly fond of this matron. Nor did it seem to her that the other party liked her any better. She even had a vague explanation: that the awkwardness between them had occurred because Madam had taken a dislike to her from the moment they had met. She was furthermore confident that this had occurred despite the fact that she had given her no cause. O-Nobu had realized when the binoculars had been trained on her a while ago that she would be obliged to pay her respects, but she had been unable at the time to summon the courage required and was therefore hoping as she consulted her aunt, having converted her internal uneasiness into a question, that she would help her fulfill her obligation more easily by going to greet Madam Yoshikawa herself and taking her along.
Her aunt replied at once.
“That’s a good idea. Do go and find her.”
“But she isn’t there now.”
“Of course she is, probably in the corridor.”
“But — then I’ll go, but you come too, please.”
“I was planning—”
“You won’t come with me?”
“I suppose I could. But since we’re having dinner together, I thought I’d wait until then.”
“That’s been arranged? I didn’t know a thing about it. Who’s having dinner with whom?”
“Everyone.”
“Including me?”
“Yes.”
Taken by surprise, O-Nobu paused before replying.
“In that case, I’ll wait, too.”
[50]
A MINUTE later Uncle Okamoto arrived. Glancing through the crack in the door opened for him by the man from the teahouse, he beckoned to Yuriko. Following a whispered exchange of two or three sentences standing at the door, Yuriko immediately left the theater as arranged, accompanied by the attendant from the teahouse. Entering as she went out, Okamoto wedged himself into his seat. A fat man who looked as though he might find it onerous to adjust even a little the position of his body in a space such as this, he settled in and then, as if something had occurred to him abruptly, turned halfway around.
“O-Nobu, shall we change places? I must be in your way.”
O-Nobu was indeed feeling as if a mountain had risen in front of her, but out of consideration for those around her, who were intent on the stage, she didn’t move. Okamoto, who never wore wool against his skin, had dressed for the occasion; folding his wool-clad arms, he directed his gaze in the same direction as the others as if resigned to being good company. Onstage a wan, odd-looking fellow was pacing beneath a willow tree. Carelessly dressed in a kimono with broad stripes, his Hakata obi purposely tied low over his hips, the rake was wearing zoris with leather soles that slapped against the floor at every step, a sound that grated on Okamoto’s ears. He took in the bridge next to the willow tree and the white mud walls on the other side of the bridge and then shifted his attention to the audience. Their faces, every one of them, were tense. As if there were major significance in the movements of the young man as he paced back and forth, slapping the floor with his zoris, the full house was hushed, not a single cough. Perhaps, having just come from outside, Okamoto was still insulated against this very particular atmosphere, or perhaps he simply found it ridiculous: after a brief interval he turned halfway around again ponderously in his seat and addressed O-Nobu in a low voice.
“Is this any good? How’s Yoshio-san?”
Having posed three or four simple questions, to which O-Nobu replied with one-word answers, Okamoto spoke again with a pointed glint in his eye.
“How did it go today? Yoshio-san must have had a thing or two to say. He must have done some grumbling, ‘Here I am sick in bed and you’re off to the theater’—I can imagine him thinking that was going too far and saying so.”
“He said nothing of the kind.”
“But he must have had a comment or two. Something about me having some nerve, at least. You sounded strange on the phone.”
In a place where no one around her was talking, not even in a whisper, O-Nobu felt extremely awkward about engaging in a long dialogue and merely smiled weakly.
“Anyway, it’s not a problem. Your old uncle will get on the phone with him later so you needn’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
“No? But you must be a little concerned — to have offended your husband so soon after getting married.”
“It’s fine — I’m trying to tell you, he’s not offended.”
O-Nobu arched her eyebrows as if in annoyance. Okamoto, who had been chaffing her for his own amusement, turned a little serious.
“Truth be told, our invitation today wasn’t just to theater; we rather needed you to be here. That’s why I dragged you out even though Yoshio-san is ill. When I explain the reason to him later, I’m sure he’ll understand. You can count on your uncle to explain.”
O-Nobu quickly looked away from the stage.
“What reason are you talking about?”
“It’s hard to talk in here. I’ll tell you later.”
O-Nobu could only fall silent. Okamoto offered an amplification.
“We’re having dinner here this evening with Yoshikawa-san. Did you know that? Look, he’s sitting right over there.”
O-Nobu hadn’t noticed him before, but this time she had no trouble identifying the figure of Mr. Yoshikawa.
“He came with me from the club.”
At this point their conversation broke off. O-Nobu returned her attention to the stage. But ten minutes had scarcely passed when she was distracted by the man from the teahouse quietly opening the door behind them once again. The man whispered something to her aunt, who immediately leaned over to her uncle.
“Yoshikawa-san has arranged for dinner and is asking us to join him in the dining room at the next intermission.”
O-Nobu’s uncle responded at once.
“Tell him it will be our pleasure.”
The man opened the door quietly and went outside.
O-Nobu, wondering what was about to happen next, waited in silence for the dinner hour to arrive.
[51]
JUST UNDER an hour later, O-Nobu left her seat with Tsugiko and followed her aunt and uncle on their way to the capacious dining room in a corner of the second floor. As they proceeded along the corridor side by side with shoulders almost touching, she spoke softly to her cousin.
“What sort of party is this?”
“I don’t know.”
Tsugiko looked down as she replied.
“We’re just going to eat dinner?”
“I suppose, yes.”
Sensing that the more questions she posed, the vaguer Tsugiko’s answers became, O-Nobu stopped talking. Perhaps Tsugiko was being reticent on account of her parents just ahead of them. Perhaps she didn’t know anything. Or, even if she did, who was to say she wasn’t responding in monosyllables in her soft voice because she didn’t want to explain to O-Nobu? The people they passed in the corridor tended to cast sharply appraising glances in their direction; the majority paid more attention to Tsugiko than to O-Nobu.
Abruptly a comparison between herself and Tsugiko flashed in O-Nobu’s mind. Her figure and posture were superior to Tsugiko’s, but her outfit and looks were certainly no match. O-Nobu glanced at this cousin of hers with a hint of jealousy in her eye: forever bashful in the manner of a child, made of innocence unblemished by any trace of care, a delicious young lady pure as a flowing stream. While a measure of pity that verged on derision wasn’t entirely absent from O-Nobu’s tangled feelings, the dramatically active component was a degree of envy sufficient to make her feel she would like to try trading places. O-Nobu questioned herself.