Minae Mizumura - A True Novel

Natsue echoed the last word, “Very, very lonely.” She was obviously the least able to control her emotions. Looking first at her elder sister, then at the younger, she continued, her eyes growing moist, “And to think that such a lonely gathering might be our last high tea .”

Now that he had heard for the third time that this year might be the last, Yusuke decided it would not be indiscreet to ask them why. The three sisters looked at one another until, finally, Harue explained.

“It’s rather embarrassing to have to admit it. But the fact is, though we might seem to be the owners here, it’s no longer the case.”

“Is that right?”

She went on to explain that the death of their father, who had lived almost a full century, had coincided with the height of the “bubble” economy, when real estate values were exorbitant, and they had not been able to afford the inheritance tax. Someone else had already taken over the property.

“And the other house too?”

“Yes, that too.”

Yusuke felt the shadow of something move in his mind, but it was too fleeting to catch.

“There is a very romantic story behind all this. We’ll tell you about it the day after tomorrow when you come to tea, so please do come,” said Natsue, looking at him with still-moist eyes.

“Of course, you must come,” Harue concluded as if the matter had been decided.

FUMIKO SAW YUSUKE off. The two walked slowly away from the house, not speaking for a while. Yusuke broke the silence about halfway. “Why is it that you’re helping out at this house too?”

“Why is it?” she repeated mechanically, her face tilted upward, as though asking herself. She had started as a maid, she said, at the middle sister’s house, and, though it had been decades since she stopped working for her, helping the entire family in Karuizawa during the summers—opening up the house and offering her services—had turned into a long-standing custom.

“A custom?” he said, frowning. The word baffled him. How could doing someone else’s chores be a custom? More bluntly put, how could anyone work as a servant without being properly paid?

Fumiko, who went on walking at a leisurely pace, seemed to understand what he was getting at, for she added, still without looking at him, “Oh, they do pay. They think that I need the money.”

“And you don’t?”

“Well, I certainly used to, but not so much anymore. Of course, for Ami—the girl you just met—it’s a great way to earn some money that she really needs. She’s also something of an artist, so she enjoys being around all the old and beautiful things in this house, and in the other one too. She seems to be quite attached to both places.”

She had not really answered his question, but at least he understood the situation a little better.

“And you know what? I’ve known them for so long that I do enjoy seeing them once every year. Honestly,” she said with a little smile in her voice. More seriously, she added, “Besides, I feel—how shall I put it?—I feel rather sorry for them.”

Yusuke heard both sympathy and irony in this.

Moving alternately closer together and farther apart as they walked along, the two soon reached the stone gateposts. When they had passed through, they stopped and turned. The two old, Western-style houses, now obscured by leaves and branches, suddenly seemed far away. The fact that he himself had been inside one of them felt like something he’d read in a story.

Fumiko looked him boldly in the eye.

“So, when will you come up to Oiwake again so that I can tell you the whole story?”

Yusuke was stupefied.

He had already been determined to revisit the Oiwake cottage before he left, but he hadn’t known how to approach the subject—hence this walk with deliberate, slow steps and roundabout questions. And then the woman came right out with it. Flustered, his answer was just a polite waffle.

“Well … I was thinking of returning to thank you for your kindness.”

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” she said dismissively. “In any case, I hope you’ll come.”

Perhaps the temperature had risen, for he heard the cicadas’ piercing cry start up. The restless clouds were now gone, leaving an eerily clear blue sky. Waves of heat shimmered in the air.

Yusuke made up his mind. He faced the woman and spoke.

“You know, the night I stayed in Oiwake, I had a dream.”

She looked puzzled.

“I saw a girl wearing that yukata of yours.”

The look of puzzlement was replaced by the tight, strained expression he’d seen that night as she’d tried to hide her feelings.

“The one with the red koi pattern?”

“Yes. And then when I went out to follow her, half asleep, Mr. Azuma came out and asked me what happened, and—”

“That’s why he was out all night.” She said this largely to herself.

So she knew that Azuma had left the house. Abruptly she turned away. With her chin tilted up and her slender neck curved, she let out a dry, cracked laugh.

“She came back, then.” Her eyes were blank. “I sort of knew she would,” she repeated to herself, then focused her eyes on his. “That girl is dead. One of the bundles on the mantelpiece contains her ashes.”

“Whose ashes are in the other one?”

“Her husband’s.”

Giving Yusuke the six-digit phone number, she told him to call before he left for Oiwake. “If he’s there, I can’t possibly tell you the story.”

KUBO HAD COME back from Tokyo.

The large television was on. Kubo stood with his legs planted apart, facing the screen with his back to the sofa. Apparently just out of the shower, he was drying his shiny wet hair with a Snoopy towel. Yusuke had never liked the bright glow of TV screens, but at least the sound was off.

“That was quick,” Yusuke said, as he put the bag of bread he’d bought on a counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area.

“Well, yeah, I was at the hospital with Grandma for only about fifteen minutes, and then I had nothing else to do, so I went straight to Ueno station and hopped on the first train out.”

“You didn’t drive?” he asked, only then realizing that he had not seen a car out front.

“Dad told me to leave the car. It’ll make it easier on Mom, ’cause she needs to be at the hospital a lot.”

“Oh, right,” he said, studying his friend’s cheerful face. “I guess it’s been a rough couple of days for you, hasn’t it?”

“Nah, not for me, at least. My mom’s having a hard time of it because Grandma is pretty demanding. At least Mom is still young and energetic.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, only to reappear a second later with a hairbrush in his hand, still talking.

“Why’s it so damn hot? Up here at the house it’s not so bad, but it was boiling down by the station.”

He stood looking at the television, vigorously running the brush through his hair, massaging his scalp.

“Man, what lousy reception. When we got this big TV, we put up a new antenna on the roof, but there are just too many tall trees around. Look at that.”

Kubo never stopped talking, a perfect foil for Yusuke. As he listened to his friend’s chatter, the events of the past two days began to recede.

Kubo went around the counter and headed straight for the refrigerator.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking out a bottle.

“Iced green tea. Made it myself. I hate the stuff you get in the stores.”

Kubo poured himself some and took a sip. “Dee-licious,” he said, aiming at Yusuke with the pointer finger of the same hand that held the glass. “Like I always say, you are one weird guy,” he said in exactly the same way that he always did. Yusuke had to laugh. “So how’s everything?” asked Kubo.