Minae Mizumura - A True Novel

“He was a wonderful violinist,” Natsue commented. “He and the Shigemitsu heir next door and a few others often played this piece together.” She turned toward the parlor, from which music could be heard.

It was not entirely unreasonable that the three Saegusa sisters should have assumed the mysterious buyer was Peter Jansen. Back in the summer of 1991, when they were getting ready to bid Karuizawa a sad farewell, Jansen’s son had come sightseeing to Japan with his wife and made a special trip to visit them, having been encouraged to do so by his father. It was a good thing he had come then, as they were just on the point of having to leave this place, they told him, and he had responded sympathetically: “My father will be so sad to hear that. Because of the war, a lot of Dutch people have a grudge against Japan, but thanks to Karuizawa my father has nothing but romantic memories of it.”

“ ‘ Nothing but romantic memories ,’ he said, in such beautiful English,” sighed Natsue.

“Naturally there’s no proof whatever that Peter heard about it and bought the property on our behalf, but there are some pretty eccentric people in the world, so you never know. We think it’s possible.”

Wondering what sort of company it was, they had had one of Harue’s sons-in-law, a banker, do some investigating using the bank’s internal network. He found out that it was a joint-stock company, but the director listed was someone no one had ever heard of, and since the company wasn’t on the stock exchange, its business dealings were not disclosed.

Fuyue, who alone had a rather skeptical look, spoke up. “But a company’s main motive is profit making, isn’t it? It doesn’t make any sense, as far as I can see.”

“It’s precisely because it makes no sense that we think it possible,” said Harue.

Natsue chimed in. “You were so young at the time, Fuyue. You can’t imagine what it was like when there was still some Taisho romanticism in the air, before the country became so militaristic.”

“Taisho romanticism would mean nothing to a Westerner. They wouldn’t even know what the Taisho period is!”

“Oh, you just don’t know. Westerners too were much more romantic back then.”

That winter they had written to Peter Jansen for the first time in decades, sending him a Christmas card at the address his son provided, with a few lines that could be read as an expression of their gratitude, only to hear some months later from the son that Peter had died. Even then there was no word from the lawyer about the Karuizawa property—to their great relief—and they had gone on as they were throughout 1992, 1993, and 1994. Now this summer, just when things were rather hectic because of Masayuki’s death, word had finally come from the lawyer that the Dutch company needed to sell off the property. He would fix it so they could stay on through the summer and, depending on who the new owner was, they might or might not have to leave soon after that. In any case the company wanted to move quickly, and so even though it was the middle of the Bon festival holidays, the lawyer would be arriving in Karuizawa from Tokyo tomorrow evening.

Having explained this much, Harue looked around as if she were only just facing up to the reality of their situation.

“To see all of you when we knew for certain that it was the last time would be altogether too sad. That’s why I asked you to come now, before we know exactly what is going to happen.”

BY THE TIME high tea was over, it was past ten.

Fumiko, who had promised to drive Yusuke back to Mitsui Woods, disappeared shortly before they were to leave and emerged from the house next door carrying a department store shopping bag. Yusuke offered to carry it for her but she said that it wasn’t heavy, so she could manage. When they reached the car she raised the paper bag slightly and, after catching Yusuke’s eye, said, “The urns—with their remains. They were on the mantelpiece at the sisters’ villa, remember? These are the small ones for the separate burials. That’s why the bag’s so light.”

She opened the back door of the car and put the bag casually on the back seat, as if it contained groceries.

Masayuki’s will had stipulated that he wanted his bones and those of his wife ground together and scattered on their property in Karuizawa, but the three old ladies found the idea gruesome and had asked Fumiko to do the honors, if she didn’t mind.

“I think it’s pretty gruesome too, actually,” she said, although to Yusuke she didn’t sound particularly bothered. Her car, bearing two people in ashes and two people still alive, rolled out of the dark woods and onto the main road. Yusuke felt prompted to ask a question. The shadow of something that had flitted through his mind the other day was taking clearer shape.

“Who really bought the Karuizawa land?”

Fumiko answered in a heartbeat. “Of course it was Taro.” She was looking straight ahead, her eyes squinting slightly as if the lights of the oncoming cars were too bright. “I’m glad there’s no fog. When the fog rolls in you can barely see the car right in front of you.”

Yusuke said nothing, waiting for more. Fumiko drove along in silence for a while and then, without turning her head, explained.

“Oiwake he bought for himself … for the sake of the memories he and Yoko shared there. As for Karuizawa, when the inheritance tax problem came up, he decided to buy it for Masayuki and Yoko. I didn’t know it at first either, but when I heard that a company based in The Hague had made the purchase, it all fitted together. I knew Taro had set up a holding company there to save on corporate taxes.”

After glancing in the rearview mirror, she looked at Yusuke for the first time. Her face was expressionless. “He probably intended to keep it indefinitely, but then Masayuki died. That must be when he made up his mind to sell.”

That was all. After a brief pause Yusuke said, “A pity about the old ladies.” He quickly corrected himself. “A bit of a pity, I mean.”

“A huge pity,” she told him, eyes forward. “I wish he could just have let things go on the way they are until they got too old for it.” She then gave a mocking sort of laugh. “But I suppose Taro doesn’t owe them anything to that extent.”

They rode along in silence.

“You know, I’ll miss it. Ever since I was just a girl … it’s hard to believe, but starting when I was seventeen I’ve been going there nearly every summer of my life. Even Ami. She’s been going there since she was a baby, so I know she’ll miss it too. I suppose both houses will be torn down …” As if she had suddenly come to herself she added, “Well, in any case … it’s all over.”

The highway that had been so crowded earlier in the day was clear. The car’s headlights swept smoothly over the road, and in no time they had arrived in Middle Karuizawa.

“Would it be all right if I go over to Oiwake again tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yes. Come in the afternoon. He’ll be gone overnight tomorrow.”

When Taro reserved a room in the Prince Hotel for the Tokyo lawyer, he had made a reservation for himself as well. The two of them would dine together that evening, and in the morning Taro would play a solo round of golf before coming back to Oiwake, she said.

“Does he often stay in a hotel?”

Fumiko shook her head. “Heavens, no. This is a first.” Her lips curved in a smile. “Maybe he’s afraid that when the three sisters find out the truth from that lawyer, they’ll come flying down on Oiwake like the Furies,” she said, and laughed.

THE FIRST-FLOOR LIGHTS were on in Kubo’s parents’ place. Lined up in the entryway was a pair of pink sandals with heels. Making a clatter without being too obvious about it, he entered the living room and found the little sister stretched full-length on the sofa, winding her fingers in Kubo’s hair as he sat by her on the floor. In front of them the television was on with the sound turned down.