A Dictionary of Mutual Understanding (14 page)

Ama: Japanese women working outside the home is not a new phenomenon, especially in farming and fishing villages. Among them the most conspicuous workers, far more famous than their male counterparts, are women divers known as ama. They dive into the sea to collect shellfish such as awabi (abalone) and
sazae (turban shell) or edible seaweed. When they appear from the
water, they let out a deep breath, making a whistle-like sound called isobue (beach whistle).

Before we settled down to married life, Kenzo took me away for a vacation to a ryokan just outside Hirado, in the north-west tip of Kyushu. The city's history reminded me of Nagasaki. Sakikata Park had once been the site of stone warehouses constructed by Dutch traders before they were forced to Dejima. A white castle, three tiers of grey roof, looked out to the steel waters of the Korea Strait. We took a sailboat with other tourists around the coastline and anchored in a bay that teemed with blue fire jellyfish drawn there to mate. On another day we hired a car and drove to a nearby fishing village. We walked down to the coarse sand littered with white cockle shells and empty horn snails. I took off my yukata and sat in a black bathing suit and wide-brimmed cream straw hat to shield my face from the sun. Kenzo wore black swimming trunks. We stared at the sea, too hot to bother
with conversation. A group of pearl divers arrived, wrapped in short kimono jackets, carrying wooden buckets, black nets and masks. They busied themselves collecting driftwood and dry seaweed to build a fire. As the flames took hold, they stripped down to small white cotton briefs decorated with printed bluebells, daisies and pink moss, unembarrassed by their tanned breasts, whether young or old. They chatted and giggled as they spat onto the glass of their masks and tied knives around their waists with rope. We watched them run into the breakers with the buckets, which they used as buoys. They disappeared beneath the water, for minutes it seemed, then rose with a whistle of dead air and dragged their catch from the pull of the tide. Later they warmed themselves by the crackling fire. I envied their lack of self-consciousness, the freedom and strength of their bodies, their acceptance of this hard job in freezing seas.

On the final night of our stay, Kenzo and I lay naked on the rumpled sheets of the futon, our bodies entwined and wet with sweat. An oil lamp by our side cast shadows over the tatami mat and sliding doors that led to a courtyard of walnut seedlings. Kenzo reached for something under the bedding. ‘This is for you.' He placed a polished teak box in my palm and I prised its lid apart. Inside was a pendant shaped like an open oyster shell. A white pearl nestled near the hinge. I slipped the gold chain over my head and the oyster fell between my breasts. I thought of the diver who had found it, the fire in her aching lungs as she rose to the sea's surface, the joy when she found that gleaming gem amid the oyster's flesh. I thought of the girl I had been and the woman I might become. I felt
I did not deserve Kenzo, his love, his faith, his loyalty. I worried that some terrible part of me would ruin or damage this pearl of happiness he offered. I made a silent promise to be a good wife, a good mother, freed by marriage if also contained by it. I was the grit in the oyster, growing layers of worth and value, if I tried hard enough.

Seventeen years later, here we were, preparing to hold the betrothal ceremony for the child I had pledged myself to protect in that ryokan. Yuko was worried about the expense and the burden the ceremony would place on her future in-laws. She had tried to tell Shige the formality could be avoided but he had insisted. When she argued there was no need, he was Christian after all, he would not hear of it. Shige's parents had taken the ferry over from Iōjima and they would be joined by Mrs Kogi and their son. We knelt on the floor of the living area and waited for Mrs Goto to let us know all four had arrived. I slid the screen back. They walked barefoot across the floor, careful not to step on the edges of the tatami mat, and we took our places in the alcove. Kenzo and Mr Watanabe sat at the head of our party, followed by me and Mrs Watanabe then Yuko and Shige and finally Mrs Kogi settled nearest the entrance.

Shige, dressed in a suit, led the introductions, his face flushed with the effort. His father, Katsu, wore a dark blue yukata. His face was lined and brown from his life outdoors; his fingers were grazed with rope burns and old scars from fishing knives. He said little but his gruff voice had the quiet authority of a man who had fought raging seas and searing hot days and knew as a result of
these encounters that nature was all that he had to fear. Shige's mother, Sonoko, wore a pale blue kimono, which had once been beautiful but the silk had lost its lustre; the odour of dust and sea damp clung to the threads. They presented gifts wrapped in hexagonal envelopes, white on the outside, red underneath. The rice paper was knotted with gold threads and decorated with designs of the crane and turtle, signs of longevity. Inside the packages there was dried cuttlefish to symbolise pregnancy, seaweed to represent a child-bearing woman, a piece of hemp to wish for the couple's hair turning grey together, a fan for prosperity, and money. The final gift was a tea plant, impossible to transplant and thus a wish that the marriage would last forever.

The formalities dispensed with, we dined on trays of yellowtail and tuna sashimi and squid and shrimp sushi delivered from a nearby restaurant. Kenzo poured sake and plum wine and we began to relax. The men talked of Japan's activities overseas, the increasing number of members of the armed forces appointed to positions usually held by civilians, such as ambassadors. They noted these developments without expressing an opinion that could be viewed as negative. We women spoke of the wedding, the minutiae of where to source the food, the most suitable restaurant to hold the reception, the best material for the dress, and the name of a good seamstress. I watched Yuko for signs of unease or doubt, but either she was indeed excited or, like me, she was learning to hide how she truly felt. The alcohol had made us all giddy and giggly, even Mrs Kogi. As the night drew to a close, Sonoko admired my necklace and I explained it had been
a wedding gift from Kenzo. She smiled, her cheeks rosy with plum wine. ‘The pearl divers on our island have a song to celebrate a good catch.' She looked coy. ‘Would you like to hear it?' Kenzo clapped and said, ‘Sing, you must sing.' She closed her eyes, a tremulous soprano filling the hot room.

‘Hear our song of the sea, Susano-o

Quiet the angry storm, Susano-o

Keep our fire warm, Susano-o

Make the oyster grow, Susano-o

The pearl is my child, the shell my heart, Susano-o.'

She finished singing, touched her cheek and smiled at Yuko. We applauded and Kenzo cheered. I discreetly moved the sake away from his reach. Perhaps embarrassed by the silence that followed, Sonoko turned to my daughter.

‘Shige tells me you are an exceptional artist.'

Yuko shook her head. ‘It's just a hobby.'

I could not hide my pride. ‘She is being modest.'

Sonoko reached for my daughter's hand. ‘May I be a nagging mother-in-law already? You must not let your artistic talents go to waste. It is such a lovely thing to be able to show the world how you see it, the shadows and the light, and the spaces in between. We miss those details in everyday life. Art reminds us of what we have no time to see.' She tipped her head. ‘I apologise. Perhaps that sounded far too grand? Come to the island. We can draw together.'

‘She studied me with those artist eyes. What does she see? Does
she think me good enough for her son? Am I good enough?'

As I stood up to serve strawberry-and-chestnut steam cakes Kenzo burst into song. ‘
The pearl is my child, the shell my heart, Susano-o.'
He put his arm around Shige's father and they sang the lyric again. We lifted up our glasses in a toast. Suddenly sober, Kenzo declared: ‘To our pearl, Yuko, and her oyster shell, Shige.'

The two of them laughed and nodded their thanks, carefree and unguarded in that drunken moment of celebration. Sonoko and I looked at one another, and in the polite smile we exchanged we acknowledged a mutual appreciation that this union, for whatever reasons, suited us all.

Oyakoko: In old days, filial piety was one of the most valued codes of ethics binding children. In their childhood, they were taught to be obedient and loyal to their parents. On a daily basis, they were encouraged to help parents with various kinds of errands. If parents were too sick to work, elder children were supposed to take their place to support the family.

Yuko chose a Western-style dress for her wedding, high cut at the neck, the sleeves long, a fishtail gathering of crêpe silk at her feet. She had seen the design in a magazine and a seamstress had drawn up the pattern. The fabric clung to her thin frame as she stood in front of the mirror. She wore a veil of silk tulle decorated with mother-of-pearl butterflies along the trim. I told her she looked beautiful and Shige would be proud. Later that night she must be careful not to show her experience. I looked at my own black kimono, twisted around to check the embroidered plum blossom. ‘I assume he thinks he's getting a virgin?'

‘I said nothing. What could I tell her? We had kissed just that once. Mother watched me as I stared again at my ghost reflection. She told me to follow his lead. I must react and not act. Did I understand? Little did she know, the rousing of desire is not what I fear, but its absence.'

I had suggested holding the ceremony at Urakami
Cathedral but Shige felt it too ostentatious. I thought this a slight to Yuko, but I said nothing. Instead they had chosen Oura Church. I walked to Yuko's bedroom window and looked out at the palest pink flowers that adorned the trees in the garden. As planned she would be married by spring. I allowed myself a brief moment of congratulations until Mrs Goto entered the room with an envelope in her hand. A boy had just delivered the note. Yuko reached for the message and I felt a flare of apprehension. I stepped forward, warning her not to get ink on her dress and took the letter from Mrs Goto's grasp. I scanned the contents, nodded and smiled. A school friend of her father had sent his congratulations, I explained, before I put the letter in the dresser drawer. ‘You can read it later, come, we'll be late, we must go.'

In the street Kenzo opened his arms wide and moved to kiss Yuko's cheek. ‘Exquisite, hey, Mother?'

‘Her make-up, husband.'

He kissed her fingers instead and gestured to the waiting car. ‘Well, shall we deliver you to your groom?'

The butterflies trembled more visibly in the wind as Yuko stood surrounded by a crowd of bystanders.
‘There I was dressed in wedding finery for a man I hardly knew, a good man, yes, but a stranger with a gentle mouth and still unknown hands. I try to imagine how life could be. Shige and I will build a home together; our days will be busy and productive; I will stay in the present, not the past. Jomei will become a memory, softened and healed by time.
'

We arrived at the white church and the few dozen guests were seated inside. Shige was dressed in a black tuxedo and bow tie, his hair shone from the oil combed
through the short layers. He beamed as he watched Yuko come toward him, held steady in Kenzo's hand. Her white satin shoes clicked against the stone floor and there was a ruffle of movement as an organ creaked into a hymn and the heads of those gathered rose and turned.

‘I saw them stare at me and then my mind went blank. I remember nothing of the priest's words, or the songs, or even the vows spoken or the kiss granted.'
The wedding reception at a hotel near Mount Inasa was when memory came sharper into focus, if still fragmented and drowned by the noise of voices, champagne bottles popped and glasses clinked. Guests pressed envelopes stuffed with money into Shige's hand as Sonoko approached Yuko.
‘My mother-in-law smiled and said, “It's overwhelming, isn't it? All the people, all their goodwill? Don't worry, my dear. They will soon get drunk and forget you are here.” I smiled at her, conscious that we had never spoken privately. I told her I wished I could draw this moment but it was just a blur. She seemed to think about this for a moment before replying, “Shige is happy, this makes me happy. I hope you will let him make you happy?” She nodded and moved away to speak to Mother, who glowed, triumphant and relieved.'

The newly-weds sat on two high chairs at the top of the room and dined on a banquet of snails and sashimi, steaks and Chinese noodles, and rice with red beans. More drinks were served and the guests grew even more lively. ‘
Shige turned to me and asked, “How's your throne, wife?” I told him, uncomfortable, and he agreed. “Let's go.” Could we leave? He laughed. “The guests are waiting for us to do just that.” We made our way out through the throng of people who offered three cheers for a good life. I looked for my parents but could only see the red, black and pink smudges of faces and clothes before we poured forth
from the confines of the hotel into a waiting taxi. Shige reached for my hand in the darkness of the interior and his palm was hot in my own. He leaned toward me and whispered so the driver could not hear: “Remember the day we met on the Dutch Slope?” Of course, I told him. “I've been in love with you since that very first moment.” He could not see me but still I smiled. “Thank you, Shige.” “For what?” he asked, his breath gentle against my neck. I turned my mouth to his. “For you.”
'

Honne-to-tatemae: An opinion or action influenced by one's true inner feelings and an opinion or an action influenced by the social norms. These two words are often considered a dichotomy contrasting genuinely held personal feelings and opinions from those that are socially controlled. Aiming at peace and harmony, the public self avoids confrontation, whereas the private self tends toward sincere self-expression.

Kenzo stood weaving from side to side in our garden as he looked up at the moon breaking through black clouds. A night heron called out in the dark. He sighed. ‘The blossom will soon be over for another year.' I watched him make his way, loose-limbed with drink, to our door. He was a sentimental if practical man, and both traits had been good for me. My life since marrying him had been about control, constancy and loyalty. I had never once strayed but the chaos of the years before our married life echoed through me. I thought of Yuko and Shige alone somewhere in a ryokan. I could still remember that burn of fresh desire and the agony sometimes of its surrender.

We took the stairs to our bedroom and he stumbled forward for a kiss. I stroked his cheek and told him I would take some tea, I was still too excited by the day. ‘You looked beautiful.' We kissed again and he smiled, satisfied
by some unspoken thing. I waited until he slid shut the bedroom door before I made my way to Yuko's room. The letter sat pristine white against her sketchbooks, pencils and boxes of charcoal. I had not allowed the note to ruin the day. Its presence had reassured me. It proved Sato had heeded my warning and would stay away. This was the closest he could get to Yuko. I turned the envelope in my hands. No address, no seal, only her name. I sat by the window and read his words by moonlight.

Dear Yuko,

I apologise for not writing sooner. I wanted to do so, many times. News of your wedding has reached me and I must speak out. I hope it's not too late. I cannot believe that this union is anything but one of convenience and I beg you to find the courage not to go through with it. Know that I love you. If you ever had any doubt of this then with all my heart, I am sorry. I am no longer in Nagasaki but I am close enough for you to join me, should you wish. Do you love as I love? If you do, write to me at the address below. The recipient will be a friend who can deliver your response to me safely, without fear of discovery. Please forgive me for the manner in which I left you. I broke my promise. I said I would never let you go. Those words haunt me. Believe me, I had no choice. I did it to protect you. But it is not too late for us, Yuko. We can be what we once were. Is that what you want? Write and set me free.

Jomei

The arrogance of the man. How dare he threaten the wedding day. I had worked so hard to give Yuko this opportunity for a stable future with a good man. He would ruin Yuko, for what? Some vague promise of being together. This was typical of him. Status and self-regard came naturally to him. He would not have thought of the shame involved in the wedding being called off and the reason for it. All that mattered was his happiness, no one else's. He did not know what it took to build a life from nothing nor how it felt to live in fear of that security being taken away. I had followed the rules, I had buried my past for my daughter. He would destroy all this with a few hastily written words and some pathetic appeal for forgiveness.

I took the letter downstairs to the kitchen and stood in front of the hearth, where embers still burned. I held the paper to the white coals and watched the edges blacken and glow red and burst alive until all Sato's promises were taken from the world. The floorboards creaked with my footsteps as I made my way to Kenzo's office. I sat in his chair and placed a blank sheet of paper in front of me. I wrote
Jomei
in black ink. How hard could it be to mimic the voice of a heartbroken girl? Had it been so long since I was one myself? I had to convince Sato that further pursuit was futile. He was too late. Yuko had married Shige. She would have a comfortable, secure life with no more lies, no torment, no vows broken. This would be her future. I waited for the words to come and when they did I wrote not only for her but for me. I told him of hurt fossilised to anger, of rejection turned to hate, of truths that could not be ignored. Maybe I had loved
him once, yes, but no longer. His actions proved what I had meant to him. Nothing. He let me go. That had been his decision. He could blame no one else. He must never have loved me and no paper promises would convince me otherwise. I begged him not to torment me again. He must stay away. He had made me desperately sad but I had found a husband who would be faithful and who made me happy. He was a fool if he thought I would risk a better man for him. This was my letter to Sato.