Minae Mizumura - A True Novel

“And what is your name?”

“Fumiko Tsuchiya.”

“Fumiko, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I do hope you’ll be able to spend the afternoon with us.”

I’d never had a woman like her speak to me so graciously. I didn’t know what to say, when an older lady appeared. Instead of bowing, she too extended her hand and greeted my uncle by name—then smiled politely in my direction.

“Mrs. Shigemitsu, how nice to see you,” said my uncle.

“I’m so glad you’ve survived it all.”

Yayoi’s mother was about the same age as Mrs. Ando, and a grandmother, but she struck me as more modern-looking even than the young people I saw in Tokyo, with her salt-and-pepper hair cut in a bob, and a stylish gray-and-white-striped dress.

“I lit some incense for Master Noriyuki just now.”

“That was very kind of you,” she said, tears welling up. My father’s death at the front felt remote to me already, but at her advanced age, her son’s death apparently remained fresh in her mind, as if it had just happened.

“It was terrible for me, but even worse for my husband,” she said, nodding toward where he sat. “He was devastated.”

“Hey! Good to see you,” called an older gentleman, waving from his rattan chair. This presumably was Yayoi’s father. He wore a cheerful red scarf around his neck and was chewing on a pipe. “How are you, George?”

With the entire Shigemitsu family gathered near him, Uncle Genji told them about losing his wife and daughter in the Tokyo bombings. Unlike the Andos, the Shigemitsus seemed to feel his own pain and to grieve with him. Tears came into Mrs. Shigemitsu’s eyes again. I understood why they had made such an impression on him.

After that, I was introduced to their neighbors, the Saegusas. Surrounded by their parents, both impressive figures, and a gaggle of little girls who clung to their knees the moment they saw strangers coming, were the three sisters: all lovely women, like flowers in full bloom. I met them in May 1954, so Harue was thirty-three; Natsue had just turned thirty-two; and the youngest, Fuyue, was twenty-eight. They were spectacularly, conspicuously, in their prime.

That moment, though, I didn’t know their names, or who was the eldest and youngest. They were just three beautiful faces lined up together—which somehow seemed to increase their attraction not by three but thirty. The tag “the Three Graces” seemed to fit them perfectly. The clothes they wore also seemed special, unlike other women’s. I couldn’t exactly tell what was different about them. They had dressed up for the birthday party, but not knowing that, I thought these people always dressed like this for leisurely afternoons in the garden. In point of fact, they had only recently been able to have full use of the place again. Though the Saegusas’ house had not been requisitioned by the Occupation authorities—it wasn’t grand enough—they were so hard up right after the war that they rented out part of their house and its annex to Americans and their Japanese “wives.” For quite a while, they too, like the Shigemitsus, had to use the service entrance. But I only found out about all this years later.

“Ah yes, the purser on your ship back from Marseille. I see,” replied Mr. Saegusa on hearing from Mr. Shigemitsu who we were. He greeted us warmly. Everyone there called him “Grampy.” Well-built, with a square face, he radiated energy. His black hair, sticking out from under the gray beret that sat at an angle on his head, was unbelievably shiny and thick. Across from Grampy was “Grammy,” who was dressed in a mauve kimono and had her hair pulled back in an elegant chignon. She was stunning—not surprisingly, considering what her daughters looked like. Unlike Grampy, she had an air of languor about her. With her long body virtually draped over the lawn chair, she greeted us only with a graceful bow of the head and a smile. Grampy and Grammy were still middle-aged, so they were a good deal younger than Mr. and Mrs. Shigemitsu.

Harue, who even then was the boss in the family, snapped shut the ivory fan that she’d been waving around distractedly and said, “Shall we have tea now?”

“Darling!” Yayoi called out, and then louder, “Time for tea!”

A man who had been sitting by himself looked up from the book he’d been reading, the first time he’d taken his eyes off it since we arrived. This was Yayoi’s husband, Masao, the Andos’ third son. Though he was not related by blood, he looked strikingly like Yayoi’s dead brother, whose picture we’d just seen inside. It was no wonder that their son, Masayuki, looked so much like his uncle.

“Darling!” called Harue, purposely imitating Yayoi.

Out on the far side of the lawn, a man who had been swinging a long stick about replied, “Coming!” This was Harue’s husband, Hiroshi. At the time, I had no idea what he was doing with the stick. He was, of course, practicing his golf stroke with a club. While most Japanese around then were skinny, Hiroshi already had a belly on him.

“Time for tea!” called out Harue, imitating Yayoi again.

Everyone laughed. Yayoi was embarrassed. “That wasn’t very nice,” she said, walking away. But she was smiling. Thinking about it now, I’d guess that the three sisters were always envious of how well Yayoi and her husband got along.

I could barely tell the sisters apart, and I can’t say I even noticed that there was only one husband present, though there were three of them. I didn’t really take in, either, going into the Saegusas’ house, how much more ordinary-looking it was than what I’d seen next door.

In the dining room to the left was a large table covered with a white tablecloth and laid with Western-style china. The table wouldn’t seat everyone, so Grampy and Grammy, along with Yayoi’s and Harue’s husbands, sat in chairs in the adjoining room, and the children were put in the alcove beyond. The sisters treated Uncle Genji and me as guests, so we were taken into the dining room and seated at the table. Before me were things I’d never seen in my life. A teapot with a gold rim, in a gold-and-blue design; matching cups and saucers and cake plates; white napkins; and delicate silverware, the tiniest little teaspoons. In the middle was a homemade strawberry shortcake and a celadon vase filled with white freesias.

At the house on the base, they never had afternoon tea, and their tableware was nowhere near as refined. I felt dazed—especially with the three sisters chattering away as they poured the tea.

Usually I pay close attention to what’s around me, but that day it was as if it all went to my head. Once in a while, the Demon would emerge from the kitchen and sternly inspect the table, and there was a chubby girl, also in a smock, shuttling back and forth between the dining room and the parlor with a tray. I barely noticed their comings and goings, just as I was almost unaware of the well-dressed young woman in the alcove beyond the parlor, taking care of the children at their table. I felt so lightheaded I was practically in a trance. Looking back, I can’t help realizing, though, that that tea was the first and last time the sisters treated me as a guest.

Harue started slicing the cake, with its topping of fresh strawberries. She turned to Uncle Genji and said, “You know, this is a birthday party for me and my younger sister. I was born in late April and she in early May. So this is a birthday cake. No candles, of course,” she said with a laugh. “Here, Natsue,” she continued, “pass these around, would you, please?”

“I understand from the Andos that you have a summer house in Karuizawa,” my uncle remarked.

“That’s right,” she told him, her large eyes widening further. She turned toward Yayoi’s parents. “Before the war, Mr. Shigemitsu let us have part of their land there.”