Читать книгу Fish of the Seto Inland Sea - Ruri Pilgrim - Страница 12

3

Haruko and Her Father

In the autumn after he had been married for ten years, Shintaro caught a cold and could not shake it off. His university friends, who were well-established doctors by then, were consulted. He had suffered from incipient tuberculosis as a student. It had been contained, but it seemed to have resurfaced.

Shintaro was afraid that his condition might be infectious, particularly to his family. He bought a small house not far from home along the coast of the Seto Inland Sea and stayed there. His four children were told that he would be better soon and come home, but they were never taken to see their father till his last days.

When the children were told that they were going to the seaside house, they were delighted. The oldest, Takeko, was then ten and the youngest, Shuichi, was just four.

It was balmy autumn weather and the sky was full of clouds like fish scales. The adults talked about a coming storm but all the children, except Takeko, romped about in the garden and played hide and seek. When they were hushed and scolded, Shintaro gestured that they should be allowed to play and watched them from his bed.

A maid came to Haruko to tell her that she was wanted by her father. When she went into the room, Shintaro nodded slightly to Haruko to come near him. After looking at her for a while, he said, ‘Give me your hand.’ When she placed her little hand on his thin veined hand, he whispered, ‘Promise me to help okahsan look after Shuichi, will you? I can rely on you, can I?’

Haruko nodded gravely. She felt an enormous weight of responsibility. She did not understand how she should help her mother. She concluded that they would become very poor like a lot of her school friends. If it was so, there was no problem. She would carry water, wood, and cook meals for Shuichi. She would fight village boys if they harmed her brother. She could picture herself in a tattered kimono going to school hungry because she had given her breakfast to Shuichi. Yes, she would do that.

‘Yes, otohsan, I will,’ she said. Shintaro smiled a little.

It was an honour to be asked. Haruko thought she knew why she was selected. When she was five, she and Takeko were having a nap in a kotatsu, a little charcoal burner in a wooden frame with a cover over it. Haruko was woken up by Takeko’s scream. Takeko had put her foot too near the fire. Her tabi, a sock, was smouldering. Haruko opened a window, scooped up snow in both hands and put it on the burning sock. By the time the grown-ups came, Takeko was still screaming but the fire was out. The burn was not severe.

‘You are such an intelligent child. You are more cool-headed than most grown-ups.’ Her father had patted her head then.

The night Haruko promised her father to look after Shuichi, there was a lot of rain. The sea was rough and the roar of waves was heard very close. Around midnight, a sliding door was quietly opened and Kei came into the room where the children were asleep. She woke the three girls and carried Shuichi.

When they went into the room where Shintaro lay, they were told to sit by his bedside. Shuichi was made to sit first and the girls followed. Their mother held a bowl of water and a brush for them. In turn, the children were handed the brush and told to wet their father’s lips.

The doctor was at the other side of the bed holding Shintaro’s wrist.

‘I am sorry ... Please look after Shuichi and the other children, and help Ayako,’ Shintaro said in a low but clear voice. In Confucius’ terms, Shintaro was an undutiful son, as his death preceded those of his parents and gave them grief.

‘Don’t worry. Shuichi will be well taken care of as the heir of the Miwas. And the other children, too, of course,’ Tei-ichi said from behind Shobei. Shobei had his arms folded and did not move.

‘Thank you,’ Shintaro said, and closed his eyes.

The wind blew hard and bamboo bushes kept hitting the shutters. The electric bulb hanging from the ceiling swayed in a draught and moved their shadows.

The next morning, Haruko found that all the white hagi flowers had gone from the garden, blown away by the wind.

‘He was blessed with too much,’ people said. ‘He was intelligent, handsome and rich. He had a lovely wife and children. He was so lucky that the devil was jealous of him.’

The coffin was taken back home and there was a quiet family funeral that night. The public Buddhist ceremony was held at home, three days later. Ayako wore a black kimono and the children were all in white. Shuichi was sitting nearest to the altar as chief mourner. Ayako sat next to him and then the girls in order of age.

Baron Kida, a close friend of Shobei, was the senior member of the funeral committee. Led by the head priest of the family temple, the ceremony was impressive and well attended. The house was filled with wreaths sent by the famous. They spilled out from the house through the gate into the street.

The mourners were struck by Ayako’s loveliness. At twenty-eight, she seemed to be at the height of refined beauty. The black kimono enhanced her classical features. It was customary to include a black mourning kimono in a trousseau, and Kei had bought the most expensive black silk. Kei had always been frugal and Tei-ichi had been shocked at its price.

‘It is not necessary to have such good quality,’ he protested.

Kei was undaunted on this occasion.

‘Black silk is very revealing,’ she said. ‘If the material is cheap, the colour is muddy and it will stand out when everybody is in black. The young wife of the Miwas cannot look unstylish.’

Pale-faced but composed, Ayako sat between Shuichi and Takeko. The expensive black silk was almost luminous. The edge of her collar against the dark kimono was so white that it almost hurt her eyes. The guests forgot for a moment the rites and incense when they saw her.

Shintaro had prepared her for the day. During his long illness, he had often talked about her life after he had gone.

‘I have loved you from the moment I saw you,’ he said. Ayako was unaccustomed to this kind of expression and at first she looked at him blankly. He took her hand. ‘I will always love you wherever I am.’

It was Shintaro who told her to become a Christian. He thought that her simple adoration of him could find an outlet in the worship of Christ. The teachings would comfort her.

The funeral went on for a long time. Many people came from all over the area. The thick white smoke of incense and the incessant chanting of sutras continued. Shuichi stayed still all through the funeral and people talked about how good he was.

Shobei sat squarely right behind Shuichi. He kept repeating to himself, as though to convince fate, that he had to live for twenty more years. ‘I have to see to Shuichi until he finishes university.’

The next day, an ox cart made a slow journey to the temple through winding village streets carrying the coffin. The villagers came out to pay their last respects to Shintaro. Most women cried, but their tears were for the four-year-old Shuichi in a white kimono, carrying his father’s name tablet and walking behind the coffin. Haruko walked with him. It was either Ayako or Takeko’s place to be nearest to Shuichi, but no one protested. In the family, Haruko was beginning to be regarded as trustworthy.