Minae Mizumura - A True Novel

He was quick to agree. “Quite understandable.”

“So do you think the Shigemitsus might take her on?”

“You seem to have forgotten about the Demon.”

“She’s still with them?”

“She’ll be there for the rest of her life.”

“Well, then, how about Miss Yayoi’s place?”

“They’re not living on their own,” he said. “You know, there was a tragedy in the family.” He hesitated, then explained. “They didn’t lose their house in the war. But their son Noriyuki, the one who played the clarinet?”

“Killed in action?”

“That’s right.”

I could tell from my uncle’s face how genuinely shocked he was at this news. He sat in silence for a moment, then murmured, “He grows up in a great city like London, and then comes back to Japan just to die in the war?”

“That’s what happened.”

Later I learned that Noriyuki was Yayoi’s elder brother and the Shigemitsus’ only son. At the time, I understood from my uncle’s tone of voice that not all deaths were equal. Some deaths weighed far more than those of people like my father.

Mrs. Ando looked at him and said, “Why don’t I give Yayoi a call? She’s known everyone in the neighborhood since before the war. Maybe she could put you in touch with someone who’s looking for a maid.”

Her phone call that day had long-lasting consequences. When she called, she was told Yayoi was at her next-door neighbors’. A few minutes later, Yayoi returned the call. Mrs. Ando explained the situation and—who’d have believed it?—heard that one of her neighbors’ three sisters, the middle one, was looking for a maid. This was such a promising prospect we thought it better to settle the affair sooner rather than later and so decided to go directly to Seijo that same afternoon.

Straightening the collar of her kimono as she settled herself, Mrs. Ando looked pleased that she had been able to help.

“Which one is the middle sister?” her husband asked, head tilted to one side.

“How could you forget? She’s the prettiest of the three.”

“Really? I thought the eldest was the prettiest.”

“Oh, I see—you prefer her, do you?”

“Don’t be silly—to tell the truth, I can’t remember which is which.”

“You might pay a little more attention.”

“That’s expecting too much of me. I’ve only met them a few times—once at Masao’s wedding and a couple of times in Karuizawa.”

Uncle Genji interrupted.

“So which family is this?”

“Well, they and the Shigemitsus have been close for a long time, since before the war, in fact. They’ve even split the plot of land in Karuizawa, so they’re neighbors there too. It’s not an important family, though. No one has ever heard of them.”

“But the three sisters are real beauties,” Mrs. Ando said. “In Karuizawa, everyone knew about the Saegusa girls, and they had plenty of admirers. I’m sure you’ll want an eyeful of them, George, knowing you.” She said this last part with an unexpectedly teasing look.

“They’re pretty girls, all right, and quite fashionable too,” her husband said, straightening his back and raising his chin to mimic a stylish woman. “Come to think of it, they somehow managed to look more chic than Yayoi, though she’s the one who grew up in London.”

“My sources tell me,” Mrs. Ando added, “that the three of them were all in love with Noriyuki.”

Nodding, Uncle Genji chimed in, “I’m not surprised. When I met him on the ship, he was only in his teens, but if anyone deserved to be called Genji the Shining Prince, he was the one.”

The couple laughed; they obviously knew about the curiosity his name had aroused among foreign passengers. My uncle was still shocked by Noriyuki’s death, but apparently had no intention of letting on to the Andos.

“I hope it works out for you,” Mrs. Ando said.

We said our goodbyes and left. I would never set foot in their house again, but I did see the Andos a few times later in Karuizawa. Mrs. Ando, at least, would remember who I was and nod to acknowledge my presence.

It was Sunday, so the Odakyu Line was fairly uncrowded. We were able to sit together in the warm afternoon sun. As the train swayed along, the relief I’d felt when I heard that there might be a job for me vanished. What am I getting myself into? I wondered. Uncle Genji picked up on my anxiety.

“Hey, there’s no reason to worry,” he said, giving me a pat on the hand.

FROM THE MOMENT I emerged from Seijo station, I knew that life from then on would be different. Everything was bright, the air fresh. A breeze, blissful in the May sun, danced through the warmth.

Naturally, Seijo was no longer the rustic place that its old name, Kinuta Village, suggested. In fact, for someone like me, it felt as if I had stepped halfway into Europe. The fire bombings of Tokyo had reached only as far as Shimo-Kitazawa, so Seijo was still an area where some grand Western-style houses survived. We walked along a broad avenue lined with ginkgo trees until we started to see rice paddies, fields of vegetables, and woods. These sights, so familiar back home, seemed different here—more “picturesque”—maybe because you couldn’t help seeing them with the romantic eyes of those idealists who first tried to transform this ordinary landscape into a Western-style “garden city.” For me, as it spread out bright and clear, it was a picture of the future: one promising a new Japan, free of poverty, its people free to undo centuries-old ties to communities and moss-covered ancestral graves.

We got directions at a shop just as we left the station and could see the “Victorian-style house” from quite far away, since its walls weren’t high. I was overcome by its sheer size. As I approached the granite gateposts, a woman wearing a white smock over her work kimono showed up from behind the house, as if she’d been watching for us. I followed my uncle into the property through a service entrance in the wall, still astonished, but also trying to take in the wide, semicircular gravel driveway. As we got nearer the woman, I realized she must be the one they called the Demon: her eyes slanted sharply upward on her square face, and the points of her canine teeth poked out a little on both sides of her mouth.

“Hello, O-Kuni,” my uncle said.

“Nice to see you again, George.”

Later I found out she had served as the Shigemitsus’ head maid for years. My first impression was that she made the perfect servant for a house with a stone gateway—she seemed rather self-important. She told us the family was over at their neighbors’ and that she had stayed to wait for us.

“This is my niece Fumiko. Fumiko Tsuchiya.”

“Hah. So you’re Fumi,” was the Demon’s greeting as she looked at me. “What are you up to these days, George?”

“Working for the U.S. military.”

She gave another “Hah.” “I see that you’re as clever as ever, eh?”

“I guess so.”

“And still decently married?”

“No.” He explained, as briefly as possible, that he’d lost his wife and child in the March 10 fire bombing. She didn’t offer any sympathy, but at least there was no “Hah” again.

After a short silence, my uncle said, “I hear that the young master died …”

She nodded.

“I’d like to light a stick of incense in his memory. But I imagine there’s nowhere to do it in a house like this, is there?”

“You’ll find a picture and an incense stand on the mantelpiece .”

My uncle, apparently aware of what the English word “mantelpiece” meant, looked at her as if he expected her to show him in.

“We’ll have to use the kitchen door,” she said rather tartly, turning on her heel and showing us the way. Once inside, Uncle Genji, who had already slipped off his shoes, nodded that I should do the same. We stepped up onto the cool wooden floor of the spacious kitchen.