Minae Mizumura - A True Novel

Oddly enough, I felt relieved, free of the dilemma I’d been in. Until then it had never occurred to me that this might happen—that after eating in the servants’ hall Taro would be used as the Saegusas’ servant, unable to play with Yoko at all—but now that it had happened, I saw that nothing could have been more natural.

Just as I started washing the dishes, including the ones brought in from outside, Yoko opened the door again. “Taro!” When she saw that he was gone, she turned to me with a puzzled look. “Where’d he go?”

“I think he went over to the other house to help out.”

“Help out?”

“That’s right.”

“Help out how?”

“I’m not sure.”

Yoko left, her head tilted to one side in puzzlement.

It was only around three-thirty when I went out to the porch to clear away the folding tables and chairs; but the sky had darkened suddenly, and like a wet cloak over my shoulders, the air was chill and damp. Before long the famous Karuizawa mist would creep up from the valley.

Out in the garden, the adults were sitting here and there in clusters, having cups of tea. There among them was Mrs. Utagawa, balancing her cup with some unfamiliarity as she chatted with Yayoi, a gentle person who often kept the old lady company, even though they had little connection with each other. Behind the tea-sipping adults, the children were getting ready for a game of tennis. I squinted but could make out only Masayuki and the three girls. Yoko wasn’t among them.

As I crossed the yard and went into the Saegusa house from the porch, an unexpected scene met my eyes. The big oval dining room table had been pushed aside, and under the hanging light fixture on the ceiling was the tallest stepladder I had ever seen. Standing on the very top of that ladder was Taro, with both arms stretched above him. Predictably, at the foot of the stepladder was Yoko, gaping up at him. Harue stood off at a little distance with her arms folded, also looking up. She spotted me.

“Lightbulbs,” she said. “I’m having him change them for us.”

“I see.”

The ceilings were so high that for a long while they’d been putting off the business of replacing burned-out ones, and now Taro was doing them all, in order, from the attic down. After explaining this, Harue asked, “Is Mrs. Utagawa leaving?”

“No, ma’am, I just came to check on things.”

“Oh, good. You know, I can’t tell you what a help this boy of hers is! I am so glad she brought him.” Seeing me look at the tall stepladder, wondering where it might have come from, she added, “We keep it at the back of the garden shed. It’s so awkward, though, we hardly ever get it out.”

At that moment Natsue came in. When she saw Taro changing the lightbulb, she smiled, showing her dimple. “Well, how about that! Good for you, Taro!” Then she turned to her elder sister. “The fog’s come out and, brr , it’s cold.” She rubbed her arms. “I came for Yuko’s cardigan. I told her to get it herself, but she’s in the middle of a game of tennis. You two brought yours down together, didn’t you?”

This last was addressed to Yoko. In Karuizawa, the temperature often drops so quickly in the evening that a woolen cardigan or pullover is a necessity. Sweaters belonging to various people were scattered around the house and garden. Natsue herself wore a red cardigan loosely over her shoulders.

“Uh-huh.”

“Where are they?”

“On the sofa,” said Yoko, without taking her eyes off Taro. She was following his every move.

“Yours too?”

“Uh-huh.”

Her mother made a tsk sound and went into the parlor, coming back with a pair of matching white angora cardigans. She handed the smaller one to Yoko.

“I’ll go and get the other girls’ sweaters too, then,” said Harue, and started to leave the dining room. But she abruptly halted, as if struck by an idea, and turned to me. “You know, I’ll bet the house next door has lots of dead bulbs too. Since we’ve gone to the trouble of bringing the ladder out, would you ask O-Kuni about it for me?”

FOGGY POND

Needless to say, Taro ended up replacing all the burned-out bulbs in the Shigemitsu house too, top to bottom, under the Demon’s supervision. Perhaps out of fear of her, or because she’d grown tired of watching Taro at work, Yoko gave in to her mother’s urging and went outside, rejoining the other children. I returned to the Shigemitsu kitchen. As Natsue had said, fog was moving in. While Chizu and I dried the rest of the dishes, we watched from the kitchen as heavy mist swirled like a white veil in the gathering dusk.

Eventually we heard Taro and the Demon coming downstairs with that huge stepladder. I went into the dining room to find it set up under the chandelier. Just then, Yayoi happened to come in from the porch with Mrs. Utagawa, whom she had apparently decided to bring indoors, since even with her shawl on the old lady was getting cold. Yayoi’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw Taro climbing high up, on the Demon’s orders.

Mrs. Utagawa looked startled too.

Yayoi was extraordinarily sensitive. Hearing all about Taro from Mrs. Utagawa earlier might have had something to do with it, but when she saw him perched so high in the air, she seemed immediately to grasp how difficult his day had been. I saw her settle Mrs. Utagawa in an armchair in the parlor and then slip quietly upstairs. By the time she came down again, Taro was no longer in the dining room. She found us in the servants’ hall just as the Demon was pressing a bit of money into Taro’s unwilling hand, saying, “Here you go, a little something for your trouble.” Yayoi, who by this time was wearing a fluffy beige cardigan herself, had two more sweaters over her arm. As Taro started leaving the room, she went up to him and knelt down so that her eyes were level with his.

“I checked upstairs, and you changed all the old bulbs, didn’t you? I can’t believe how brave you are, climbing up as high as that! Thank you so much. I don’t know what we would have done without you.” She stroked his hair, probably wanting to give him a hug. For once unable to resist, Taro stood in a daze. She went on: “This sweater belonged to my brother who died. I could never throw it away, but it just doesn’t look right on my little boy. Would you wear it?” She chose one of the sweaters, moss green in color, and held it out to him in her small white hand. Taro stiffened. He gave her a good long look before breaking loose and fleeing.

Out in the garden was a boy his own age whose mother was this gentle, beautiful young woman; and the other sweater, the sky-blue one, was for that boy to wear. How much of this Taro grasped consciously at that moment, I don’t know. But sometimes in a flash, without even realizing, people understand something beyond their scope, and I imagine this was one of those times. He must have felt a stab of envy and longing, mixed with an instinctive animosity toward the boy.

Yayoi knelt there, astonished, holding the two sweaters. Mrs. Utagawa, having followed her into the servants’ hall , tried to apologize. Chizu had witnessed the whole episode with me, and her narrow eyes flashed in indignation: “Who does he think he is? The rude little scamp!” When I went to look for him, I found him leaning against the big stone gate, making lines in the gravel with the toe of his shoe—waiting, apparently, for Mrs. Utagawa to say it was time to leave.

White mist drifted around us.

Comfort from me would be no comfort at all, I knew. I went back, found Yoko watching a game of doubles, and whispered in her ear: “Taro is out by the gate, and he seems upset.”