Читать книгу Flower Mat - Shugoro Yamamoto - Страница 11

ICHI'S uneasy feeling persisted fordays, and she could not talk about it to anyone. She constantly studied the , demeanors of her husband and Kyunosuke, searching for a hint or a sign of what was going on, but to no avail. Her nerves were strained ; she would leap to her feet at the slightest sound, and had terrible dreams in the night, when she would be mercifully awakened by her husband. But since nothing happened and the Kugata family seemed little changed, her worries gradually eased.

She thought about her own family, which she had left without a word. She had immediately sent them a message that she had become ill. Her mother had sent her the bundle of clothes left behind, with a note urging Ichi to take care of herself. The messenger had returned the following day and inquired about her health.

When she told Kyunosuke that she had given his message to her brother, he too seemed unconcerned, saying, "Oh, thanks." When she put these things together in her mind, it all seemed very natural, and the only definite cause for her anxiety appeared to be Bennosuke's words. Now she was not even certain that the atmosphere of the Okumura house had changed.

Since the season of young leaves, Ichi had acquired the habit of waking up at midnight and being unable to go back to sleep for some time. She would lie wide awake and, should she try to force herself to sleep, would perspire in a strange way. Then she would feel a strong urge to see her husband's face, and her heart would become heavy.

Her husband slept in the next room, which was separated from hers by a sliding door. She would feel relieved if she could hear him sleeping or breathing, but he always slept peacefully, in a way that would have impressed even Iso, and he slept so quietly that it sometimes made her wonder whether he was awake. She suppressed her desire to see him, thinking that it was simply too indecent, but one night she couldn't suppress it any longer.

She got up and opened the door quietly. A light from the floor lamp, which had been dimmed, was shining softly on Shinzo, sleeping on his back with the bed cover pulled up to his chin. His long, tight face with clearly marked eyebrows made people feel his strong, almost cold will, but when he was sleeping his lips became tender, and a soft warmth appeared on his long-lashed eyes and on his cheeks, a warmth which tempted her to go close to him.

Ichi felt a strong thirst in her throat, a kind of burning, irritated feeling, and an aching itch in her body. But suddenly and without any apparent reason, a terrible suspicion seized her, a feeling that her husband was not interested in her and that he would someday go away. She shook her head, saying to herself that this was impossible, but thoughts shook her mind like the shout of someone she could not see.

What kind of a person are you for this man ? Does being a husband, or being a wife, really link the destiny of two people so tightly? What does it really mean, being husband and wife? What am I worth to my husband? Have I really been loved by my husband?

Ichi began to tremble. A man named Shinzo Kugata existed far, far from her ; they were united only by a frail bond which could easily snap. Her husband had never loved her, and would never love her, and he must go away somewhere, leaving her behind. . . .

Her growing sadness caused Ichi to sob. Sitting on the floor and pressing both hands to her eyes, she cried with abandon. Shinzo heard her and turned to her. He did not speak at once, but watched in puzzlement. Then he asked in a gentle voice, "What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"Oh!" Ichi almost leaped to her feet.

Shinzo halfway rose from the bed and asked, "Ichi! What's happened? Are you ill?"

"No, no." She shook her head and tried to stand, moving backward. The thing which had filled her mind was now flowing out like a torrent. She fell forward on her face, wracked with sobs, caring nothing about her embarrassing position. "It's nothing," she cried.

Shinzo watched intently. The fresh curves of his wife's young body gave her a coquettish beauty in the dim light, a beauty filled with the life, power, and pride of a woman who had finished the ceremonial tying of the maternity obi at the beginning of the fifth month of pregnancy.

"You'll get cold if you stay there," said Shinzo, as if admonishing a child. "Come in here, I'll warm you." He turned back the corner of the bed cover.

"I shouldn't get in," she thought, "it's really too indecent." But despite her thoughts, Ichi's body was already sliding in next to her husband's.

How thankful she was later that she had had the power in her body to do this at the time ! She had been able to experience a feeling which hitherto had not been fully awakened in her. It overwhelmed her with a powerful ecstasy, with convulsions not unlike those which accompany death, and it penetrated to the very depths of her body and mind. This sensation was so overwhelming that her whole mental outlook changed. A great surge of self-confidence, pleasure, and pride swept over her—pride in being Shinzo's wife.

Her habit of waking up at midnight, however, lasted for some time. Usually she waited a time for sleep to return, but whenever it seemed hopeless, she went to Shinzo for help. Her husband would smile at her as though dandling her like a baby, and would quietly make a place for her in his bed. Ichi would modestly slide in and lie close to him. Her husband's body heat and his rather strong body odor would encompass her so tightly that it was rather oppressive. She would be entranced with a feeling of great relief and incomparable happiness, and would close her eyes and sigh. Overcome by such sweetness and ecstasy, Ichi sometimes cried, pushing her head against her husband's chest.

"It's nothing," she said, seeking the hand of her wondering husband and still hiding her face. "There's nothing sad. I'm so happy. I'm so happy that it almost makes me sad, and tears come. Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

"Your health isn't normal," her husband said, stroking her back soothingly. "Did you feel something like that when you came here and cried the other night?"

"That was different. I don't know why, but that night I could think only sad things, and I couldn't do anything except cry."

"What sad things?"

"That you don't love me, that you will leave me someday. . . . When I think of it now, I wonder how I could even think such things." Ichi trembled. "I don't even want to remember it. I'm sure something was wrong with me."

Shinzo said nothing. He seemed on the verge of speaking, but suddenly knit his brows, and his lips twitched. He looked vaguely off into space and continued stroking his wife's back. Whenever he did this, Ichi's nerves would gradually calm down and she sometimes fell asleep.

"Well, go back to your bed and sleep," her husband told her softly. "I'm sure you can. Sleep well."

When the rainy season began, her eye condition almost cleared up. Since this had been a year of little rain, it had seemed there would be no rainy season at all, and the drought (which the old men said was the worst in more than ten years) continued. However, there were generous springs everywhere in the region, and there was little possibility of a crop failure in the event of a long drought. On the contrary, since there was danger of flooding if it rained too much, people were usually pleased by a dry rainy season.

About this time her husband and Kyunosuke seemed to become very busy. They would often go out after dinner and would come back from the castle at odd hours and sometimes not until the following day, explaining that they had been "on night duty." More unfamiliar guests began coming to the house.

Despite these occurrences, Tatsuya was as composed as ever. Because of his obesity he had a difficult time in the heat. He was never seen doing anything but noisily using his fan and, with a folded towel in his hand, constantly wiping off perspiration. Yet he would never try to forget about the heat by engaging in some activity or by looking for a shady place or a breeze. Even when the sun reached the place where he sat, he would never move to another place. He would gaze at the moving sun and continue gazing at it until it reached a part of his body, his legs, a shoulder, or his navel. Then he would sigh, move back a bit, and twirl the fan noisily, wiping off sweat with his other hand.

When Kyunosuke peeped into his room one day, Tatsuya was sitting with his back against the wall. The perspiration was rolling in beads down his red face. The sun was shining on him from his chest down, and he looked like a broiled lobster.

When Kyunosuke asked, "What are you doing in such a sunny place?" Tatsuya replied that he had been able to escape the sun so far, but "back of me is a wall. . . ."

"You shouldn't sit still like that, you should do something," Kyunosuke said, staring at his brother. "You'd better move around a bit. If you do something, you'll be able to forget about the heat."

"I think so too." Tatsuya displayed the fan and the towel he was holding to his younger brother. "But I have to fan with one hand and wipe sweat off with the other—so both my hands are occupied. I simply can't do anything else."