After the Banquet (8 page)

Even as she spoke the bearers of the great torches, having reached the top of the stairs, paused a moment, leaning against the balustrade to the left of the passageway around the platform. Another roar of flames startled Kazu: a second phalanx of torchbearers had arrived at the foot of the stairs. In the meanwhile the youths on the platform had started racing frenziedly about like lions in flames, and with each shake of their brands showers of sparks descended on the heads of the crowd below. The fire leapt out toward the balustrade to the right, throwing a scarlet glow over the heavy overhanging eaves. The torches to the right for a moment seemed to burn somewhat less fiercely, only to be brandished into roaring flames again; the deep green of the cedars, caught in the swirl of flying sparks, acquired new intensity.

The crowd now emerged from the darkness in which it had been immersed, and loud-voiced invocations of the name of Buddha mingled in the general tumult. Sparks rained down like gold dust on the heads of the spectators, and the somber architectural grandeur of the Nigatsu Hall loomed over them.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Kazu kept repeating. Noguchi noticed that she was weeping.

It was close to daybreak when they returned to the hotel. They were too tired to wait for the early morning Tartar rituals which follow the Omizutori ceremony. Once back inside their hotel rooms they heard distant cockcrows, but dawn had not yet begun to whiten the sky.

Noguchi suggested that they bathe and then go to bed. Kazu, her eyes still shining with excitement, answered that she couldn’t possibly sleep. She removed her cloak, started to fold it, then drew Noguchi’s attention to the lining. Noguchi went up to the cloak spread out on the bed under the bright ceiling lamps. The grape-colored lining had a quiet beauty. Inscribed on it in white was a
hokku
written in a fairly skillful hand.

Noguchi asked, untying his necktie, “What is it?”

“It’s a
hokku
by Sōgi. I had an artist write it especially for this trip. Spring’s already here, you know.” Kazu did not mention that the silk merchant had first suggested she use Sōgi’s poem.

“As long as you know,”
Noguchi read,

Noguchi stopped untying his necktie, and for a long while stared in silence at the poem. Kazu thought that his old dried-up hand with its prominent veins was beautiful.

“I see,” he finally said. This was his only comment. That morning at dawn a man over sixty and a fifty-year-old woman slept in the same bed.

A week after her return Kazu, unable to restrain her impatience to make a return present, invited her companions of the journey to dinner at the Setsugoan. The menu served that evening was as follows.

She chose a particularly large room for the occasion, though there would only be a few guests. This, she knew, would be an evening to be remembered for many years, and she intended to give it a suitable setting.

Noguchi and Kazu had remained two more nights in Nara after their companions returned to Tokyo. They toured the various famous temples. One lovely morning they again visited the Nigatsu Hall and climbed the stone steps to the platform. The Omizutori ceremonies were virtually at an end now, and the youths who had performed so stirringly on the night of the festival, looking once again their usual selves—unsophisticated village boys—were sitting on the steps enjoying the sun. Seen from the platform, the slope below with its withered grass looked exactly like a field after a fire. Here and there patches of young sprouts spread blots of green ink, and next to them, partly burnt grass roots bathed in sunlight, displaying healthy blades.

Few words were exchanged during the walk. Noguchi’s tone was quite unemotional, but the conversation, after shifting back and forth a while, resolved itself to a discussion of their marriage. Kazu did not let her emotions carry her away, but first listened carefully to Noguchi’s opinion, then straightforwardly expressed her own. She had no intention, no matter what happened, of giving up the Setsugoan. On the other hand, a man of Yuken Noguchi’s stature could not be expected to take up residence in a restaurant. Their married life would therefore have to be somewhat irregular. Kazu would go to Noguchi’s house every weekend, and the couple would spend two days together. On Monday mornings Kazu would return to her place of work in Koishikawa . . . Such was the fair compromise they reached.

Thanks to the clear spring air and the calm of the ancient capital, the plans they worked out, the decisions they reached in their unhurried walks, were entirely reasonable. Kazu was astonished that such unexpected good fortune brought only a quiet happiness and no harsh agitation.

Kazu was about to become the wife of a distinguished man. She realized now that this was the long-dreamt-of goal of a lifetime. She was born in the country, in Niigata, and after losing her parents was taken in by a relative, a restaurant owner, as his adopted daughter. She ran off to Tokyo with the first man she had . . . After many years and hardships of every kind, Kazu had attained her present position; she was convinced now that she could eventually succeed in anything, once she put her mind to it. This conviction was clearly illogical, but in one way or another it had governed her life.

Until last autumn she had supposed that all of her hopes were already fulfilled, that her guiding conviction had outlived its usefulness. She had been surprised, however, to discover how unpredictably her heart had caught fire on meeting Noguchi, and she realized that one use still remained for her conviction.

Later on, Kazu was often to be looked at with suspicion and misunderstanding by society, precisely because of the strange coincidence between her affections and her great conviction. But it would be unfair to say that Kazu’s love for Noguchi was utilitarian in nature or that her sole interest was in acquiring a distinguished name. Her love affair with Noguchi had in fact progressed so naturally that Kazu, acting as her inclinations led her and making no special effort to realize her dream, found that the dream had accomplished itself. She had hardly known what she was doing while she brewed the liquor, but when it was finally ready and she sampled it, she found it entirely to her taste. That was the whole story.

The misunderstanding arose from the excessively innocent joy which the excessively honest Kazu displayed over her marriage to Noguchi. She should have accepted it a little more sadly.

The night of March twenty-second was warm for the time of year. Noguchi came early and helped Kazu prepare for receiving the other guests. Even on such an occasion Noguchi was utterly self-composed. He sat in the dining room, Kazu beside him, and gave instructions, his face devoid of emotion.

Kazu said as she showed Noguchi the menu, “Today there’ll be a special dish not on the menu. It’s connected with the Omizutori. Unfortunately, it’s rather heavy and if I serve it too late in the meal the guests won’t be able to eat it. I’d be sorry to have that happen. On the other hand, I suppose you’d prefer to make the announcement toward the end.”

“What connection is there between what I have to announce and this special dish?” Noguchi asked, a suspicious note in his voice. He was idly manipulating the fire tongs to poke a hole in the beautifully raked hibachi ashes.

“Don’t you see?” asked Kazu, stammering, afraid as always of Noguchi’s reaction. “If you make your announcement when this special dish has put everybody in a good mood, I think it’ll really be stylish and produce a wonderful effect.”

“Are you asking me to play a part?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just that I’ve thought of an unusual effect. They try for unusual effects even at tea ceremonies, don’t they?”

“There’s no need to play to the gallery. Can’t you see that? I intend to make the announcement only to my most trusted and congenial friends. You should have told me from the start if you’re trying for some fancy effect.”

Kazu realized that her opportunity was slipping away. “Very well. I’ll do as you say. In consideration for the guests’ appetites I’ll serve the dish immediately before the soup.”

At that moment a maid announced the arrival of the newspaper executive and the octogenarian reporter.

Kazu welcomed these esteemed guests with a surprisingly radiant smile. The artistry with which she executed this instantaneous change from her pensive expression of a moment before and gaily sallied forth to meet the guests stunned Noguchi, but Kazu was too busy to notice.

The old journalist, as always, carried a leather satchel in his hand. His beautiful white hair fell over his ears, and he looked an impressive sight as he strode, perfectly erect, into the dining room, attired in formal Japanese clothes. The newspaper executive acted as if he felt that when in the old man’s presence his only excuse for living was to play the part of the devoted retainer.

“Hello there, Noguchi,” said the journalist. “That was quite a pleasant trip we took, wasn’t it?” He went unhesitantly to the place of honor and seated himself. It was inconceivable that anyone else would sit there. Hardly had he settled himself than the conversation leapt far from the trip to Nara. The subject turned to the lecture delivered yesterday by the old gentleman at the special request of the Emperor on “The History of Japanese Newspapers.”

“I couldn’t go into exhaustive details in such a short time,” the octogenarian commented. “As it turned out, the Emperor seemed most interested in the part on the Meiji period. It’s sad to think of it, but the Meiji period seems to be the
gute alte Zeit
not only for us old folks but for the Emperor too.”

“That’s probably because it sounded like
die gute alte Zeit
from the way you talked,” the newspaper executive volunteered.

“Perhaps so, but it’s not very encouraging when the ruler of our country prefers any time to the present.”

The other guests arrived in the midst of the discussion. Saké presently appeared, and the hors d’oeuvres were served. Kazu left the room briefly, and when she returned a few minutes later she was accompanied by two maids bearing a huge tray covered with blue flames. She proclaimed to the astonished guests, “Behold the torches of the Nigatsu Hall!”

The dish was a culinary triumph, intended above all to appeal to the eye. The torches, one for each guest, consisted of chicken meat to represent the bamboo poles, and broiled thrushes soaked in strong liqueur and ignited to form the burning crates on top. Fern shoots and other mountain vegetables were suitably disposed to represent the mountains around Nara. Even the little notice board enjoining riders to dismount before entering the Nigatsu Hall was in place.

The guests all praised Kazu’s ingenuity. The industrialist, remarking that this year he had been able to witness the Omizutori ceremony twice, immediately composed an impromptu haiku on the subject. Kazu stole a glance at Noguchi’s face.

Nothing could be more remote from joy than Noguchi’s expression at that moment. His face was agonized with choked emotions. The look he gave Kazu in response to hers was akin to hatred. But Kazu tranquilly withstood his glare, filled as she was with a rather brazen happiness. She knew that Noguchi’s hatred had to do with a small point of honor—not allowing a woman to have her way.

Kazu suddenly stood and excused herself. She pretended she was going to the far end of the corridor, but in fact she hid herself in the next room, just the other side of the sliding doors. A moment or two later she heard Noguchi’s voice. He said precisely what she had been hoping for. “I have a word for those of you here this evening. The fact of the matter is, I have decided to marry the proprietress of this establishment, Kazu Fukuzawa.”

The momentary silence of the guests was broken by the laughter of the octogenarian bachelor. “I thought that Noguchi at least showed my genius for living, but I over estimated him. Congratulations on not being a genius! Let’s drink a toast. Where’s the lady?” The old man shouted the words. Then, turning to the newspaper executive, he said reprovingly, “What are you waiting for? Telephone the office at once. It’s a scoop for our paper, isn’t it?”

“You still treat me as a cub reporter, after all these years!” protested the executive, at which everyone laughed. A mellowness had quickly spread over the gathering.

“Where’s our hostess?” the old man shouted. Kazu had not heard such shouting from him during the journey, but she could guess from his voice that he was deliberately affecting the coarse, madcap manners of the turn-of-the-century student. Kazu thought that the time had at last come for her to return to the dining room. She bumped into the executive, hurrying off to telephone his newspaper. The mild-mannered executive as he passed Kazu gave her well-rounded shoulder a pinch, then ran on.

The news appeared in the next morning’s newspaper. Genki Nagayama telephoned at once. “Good morning!” he greeted her cheerfully, “How’ve you been keeping yourself these days? I happened to notice that article in this morning’s newspaper. Not true, is it?”