think I could repeat them so that they would make any sense; I’m not smart enough.”
“There you go again, playing the fool. I know all about it.” “Then let me hear about it.”
Umeko drew herself up a little primly. “You’ve become rather free with your tongue these days.”
“Oh, it’s nothing you can’t handle. Anyway, it’s terribly quiet here today. Where are the children?”
“The children are at school.”
A young chambermaid, sixteen or seventeen years old, opened the door and poked her head in to deliver the message that the master was on the phone and wished to speak to the mistress. She stood waiting for an answer. Umeko got up immediately. Daisuke also got up. As he started to follow her out of the room, Umeko turned and said, “You stay here. I want to talk to you about something.”
Daisuke was always amused when his sister-in-law assumed this commanding stance with him. “Please take your time,” he said, and began to study the painting again. After some time, the colors no longer seemed to be painted upon the wall at all, but were leaping from his pupils and flying out to the wall, where they became glued. Soon, by controlling the colors that flew from his eyes, Daisuke was able to correct all the places that had displeased him, and finally, having achieved the most beautiful hues that his imagination could conjure, he sat in a state of rapture. Just then, Umeko came in and Daisuke was brought back to his usual self.
As he listened politely to what she had to say, Daisuke understood that she was raising the marriage issue again. Even before he had finished school, Daisuke had been presented with a variety of prospective brides, both through pictures and in person, thanks to Umeko’s efforts. At first, he had made his escape in conventionally acceptable objections, but in the past two years or so, he had become brazen. His complaints were curious: this one’s mouth was set at the wrong angle with her cheeks; that one’s eyes were disproportionate to the width of her face; another had misplaced ears. Since they were never the normal excuses, Umeko herself began to wonder. She concluded that she had exerted herself too much, that that was why Daisuke had begun to abuse her kindness and behave so irresponsibly, and that the best thing would be to abandon him to his own resources until he came begging for help. Having settled upon this, Umeko did not utter a word about marriage. But Daisuke had not seemed troubled in the least and had remained an unfathomable entity.
But now their father had returned from his trip with a new candidate, whose family was deeply involved with the Nagais. Umeko had been told the story two or three days before and had therefore assumed that today’s interview would concern this topic. Daisuke, however, had heard nothing of the matter. Perhaps the old man had indeed summoned him with the intention of discussing it, but observing Daisuke’s attitude, had chosen silence as the wiser course for the day and deliberately avoided the topic.
Daisuke had a peculiar relationship with this candidate. He knew her family name but not her first name. He knew nothing of her age, looks, education, or character. As for why she had been selected, he knew only too well.
Daisuke’s father had had one older brother, named Naoki. He was but one year older and was of smaller build than Daisuke’s father, with similar features; people who did not know often took them for twins. Daisuke’s father did not go by the name of Toku in those days, but rather by the childhood name of Seinoshin.
Just as Naoki and Seinoshin resembled each other in appearance, so were they brothers by temperament. As far as possible, they contrived to be in the same place doing the same thing. They came and went from their lessons at the same time. Indeed, at night, they read by the light of a single lamp.
It was the autumn of Naoki’s eighteenth year. The two had been sent on an errand to Tōgakuji Temple on the outskirts of the castle town. Tōgakuji was the family temple of the lord of the clan. A priest there named Sōsui was a friend of the family, and the boys had been sent to deliver a letter to him. It was just an invitation to a game of go and required no answer, but Sōsui had kept the boys to talk about this and that, and by the time they left, it was only an hour before sunset.
There was a festival that day and the town was bustling. The two hurried through the crowds, but just as they were about to turn a corner, they ran into a fellow named Hōguri. Hōguri and the brothers had never been on good terms. That evening Hōguri appeared to be quite drunk, and after shouting two or three words, lunged out at Naoki, sword in hand. Naoki had no choice but to draw his sword and stand up to him. His opponent had a formidable reputation for violence and was powerful in spite of his intoxicated condition. Left alone, Naoki was sure to lose. So the younger brother drew his sword, and together the two cut Hōguri to pieces.
In those days, the understanding was that if one samurai killed another, the aggressor had to commit seppuku. The brothers went home fully resigned to their fate. Their father, too, was prepared to line them up and assist in the rite. Unfortunately, however, their mother had been invited to an acquaintance’s house for the festival and was away. Their father, out of the very human desire to let them see their mother just once more, sent for her immediately. While awaiting her return, he stalled for time by admonishing the boys and supervising their preparations of the room for the rite.
Now it happened that their mother was visiting a distant relation named Takagi. Takagi was a man of considerable influence, a convenience in those days when the world was just beginning to stir and the samurai code was not enforced as strictly as it had once been. Moreover, the victim was a villainous youth of ill repute. So Takagi returned with the boys’ mother and persuaded their father to take no action until official instructions were handed down.
Takagi set out to exert his good offices. He won over the chief retainer, and through him, convinced the lord himself. The victim’s father, unexpectedly enough, turned out to be a man of reason who not only deplored his son’s misconduct, but once it was established that it was he who had dealt the first blow and created the disturbance, made no move to protest the lenient treatment being sought for the boys. The brothers closeted themselves in a single room for some time as a sign of penitence. Then they slipped away without anyone’s notice.
Three years later the older brother was killed in Kyoto by a roaming samurai. On the fourth year after the incident, the Meiji Era dawned, and five or six years after that, Seinoshin brought his parents over to Tokyo. He found a wife and changed his name to the single character one of Toku. By then, Takagi, who had saved his life, was dead, and his adopted son-in-law headed the family. Nagai tried to persuade this man to come to Tokyo, perhaps to lecture on the procedures of government service, but he refused. The man had two children. The son went to Kyoto and entered Dōshisha University. Upon graduation, he had reportedly spent several years in America, but now he was in business in Kobe, a man of considerable means. The daughter had been married to a man who ranked among the largest taxpayers in the prefecture. It was their daughter who was now being considered for Daisuke.
“What a complicated story! I couldn’t believe it,” said Umeko to Daisuke.
“We’ve heard it so many times from Father.”
“Well, there’s never been any talk of marriage up to now so I didn’t pay much attention.”
“So Sagawa had a daughter. I didn’t know at all.” “Why don’t you accept her?”
“You’re for it?”
“Of course I’m for it. It was fated.”
“It might be easier to marry a girl fated by my own doings than one fated by my ancestors’.”
“Is there such a thing?”
Daisuke smiled ironically and did not answer.
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* From the Chung Yung (the Doctrine of the Mean), one of the four books compiled during the Sung dynasty (960–1279), thought to embody the heart of Confucian teaching.
CHAPTER IV
DAISUKE