Authors: Yukio Mishima
Spring Snow (40 page)
After this commendable expression of their esteem, however, the proprietress and her companion had not been quite up to maintaining the proper veneer when they retired to another room and sat down at the mahjong table with Tadeshina and Satoko. The eyes so overflowing with damp devotion to Satoko would, from time to time, run dry, exposing the shoals of criticism beneath. Tadeshina was distastefully conscious of the same look turned upon her and her old-fashioned silver obi clip. But still more disturbing than that was an incident that occurred at the very beginning.
“I wonder how Marquis Matsugae’s young son is?” the old geisha remarked offhandedly as she shuffled the mahjong tiles. “I don’t believe I ever saw a better-looking young gentleman.”
Thereupon, with remarkable skill the proprietress casually turned the conversation to other things. She might have done this merely to chide her companion for introducing an unsuitable topic, but the exchange had set Tadeshina’s nerves on edge.
In accordance with her advice, Satoko tried to say as little as possible. But overconcentration on guarding her inner thoughts in front of these two women, who were unsurpassed in their skill at interpreting the subtleties of a woman’s outward behavior, gave rise to another danger. If she showed herself to be too subdued, this might start a scandalous rumor that she seemed unhappy about her coming marriage. To conceal her feelings was to risk betrayal by her behavior, and to dissemble in her behavior was to risk revealing her feelings.
As a result, Tadeshina was compelled to draw on all of her considerable tactical ability to put an end once and for all to the mahjong sessions.
“I’m simply astounded,” she said to the Count, “that His Excellency Marquis Matsugae should deign to accept the slanders of these two women at face value. They say that I’m to blame for Miss Satoko’s lack of enthusiasm. If they did not do so, her indifference would otherwise be blamed on them. I’m sure that was why they said I was haughty with them. However much it conforms with the wishes of His Excellency the Marquis, having women of that profession coming and going here in the master’s house is a disgrace. Furthermore, Miss Satoko has already learned the rudiments of mahjong. And so if she only plays after her marriage to be sociable, and always loses, it will make her very appealing. I would therefore be very opposed to any further lessons, and if Marquis Matsugae will not desist, then I will request that Tadeshina be dismissed from the master’s service.”
Count Ayakura had little choice but to bow to an ultimatum delivered with such force.
The moment she had learned from the steward Yamada that Kiyoaki had lied about Satoko’s letter, Tadeshina had found herself at a fork in the road. She had the choice either of becoming Kiyoaki’s enemy or of doing whatever he and Satoko wanted her to do, in full awareness of the consequences. And she had chosen the latter course.
Although her main motive in this was a genuine affection for Satoko, she was at the same time afraid that keeping the lovers apart could drive Satoko to suicide. She had decided that the best course was to guard their secret and let them do as they liked, waiting until the affair ended of its own accord. And in the meantime, she would exert herself to the utmost to maintain secrecy.
She prided herself on knowing all there was to know about the workings of passion. A firm advocate, moreover, of the philosophy that what is unknown does not exist, she did not think of herself as betraying either her master the Count or the Toinnomiyas or anyone at all. She was able to help along this love affair and be the lovers’ ally, just as if she were conducting an experiment in chemistry, and at the same time she could deny its existence by covering up any betraying details. She knew very well that she had charted a dangerous course, but she believed that she had been born into this world to fulfill the role of savior of every critical situation. And she could thus lay a wealth of obligations on others that would eventually force them in turn to do exactly as she wished.
She was intent on making the meetings as frequent as possible to hasten the wane of their passion, but she failed to perceive that her own passions had become involved. This had nothing to do with revenge on Kiyoaki for his cruel behavior. True enough, she was waiting for the day when he would tell her that he wanted to leave Satoko and would she please gently read the funeral rites for him. And when that happened, she would remind him forcefully of how ardent his now cooled desires had once been. But she already only half-believed in this dream. And if it did come true, how agonizing for Satoko.
Why was it that this self-possessed old woman, who should have followed her philosophy that nothing in this world was safe by putting her own self-preservation first, let it prompt her instead to throw aside all thoughts of safety? How could she have brought herself to use this very philosophy as a pretext for adventure? In some unguarded moment, she had, in fact, submitted to a joy that defied rational analysis. To be the means of uniting two young people of such beauty, to watch their hopeless love burn more and more passionately—bit by bit she gave way to an agony of delight that ignored every single danger.
Thus possessed, she felt that there was something so sacred about the physical union of two beautiful young people that it could be judged only by extraordinary criteria. The way their eyes flashed when they met, the way they throbbed as they drew close—this was a fire to warm Tadeshina’s frozen heart. For her own sake, she wanted to keep its glow from dying. Each time before they met, their cheeks were pale and sunken with melancholy, but as soon as they saw each other, their faces began to shine as brightly as glossy heads of barley in a June field. For Tadeshina that moment was a miracle, no less than the lame walking or the blind restored to sight.
Her actual role, of course, was to protect Satoko from all evil. But something that flamed like this was not evil; something that was transformed into poetry was not evil—surely this tenet subtly permeated the ancient tradition of elegance in the Ayakura family?
And yet Tadeshina was waiting patiently for something to happen. In some ways she was like a woman who has let her pet bird fly free to forage and now waits for a chance to recapture it and return it to its cage, but there was something in that expectation that reeked of blood and doom. Every day she scrupulously applied the thick white makeup affected by the court ladies of long ago. She hid the nests of wrinkles under her eyes with white powder and those around her lips with vivid Kyoto rouge. And while she was doing this, she avoided studying her face in the mirror, and stared somberly, questioningly, into space instead. The brilliance of the high autumn sky seemed to condense into clear, bright drops in her eyes, but in their depths one could see a desperate thirst for the future. Then, in order to give her makeup a final inspection, she would pick up a pair of old-fashioned spectacles, which she ordinarily avoided wearing, and put them on, hooking the slender metal side pieces over her ears. As she did so, their pointed ends pricked her earlobes, white with makeup, making them burn.
∗
At the beginning of October the Toinnomiyas sent the prescribed notification that the betrothal ceremony was to take place in December, and attached to this was an informal listing of the presents: five rolls of dress material, two barrels of refined saké, and one carton of fresh sea bream. The last two items were, of course, readily available, but as for the dress material, Marquis Matsugae himself had undertaken to arrange for that. He sent a long telegram to the Itsui Corporation’s London office to have the finest English cloth specially ordered and sent at once.
One morning when Tadeshina went to wake Satoko, she noticed that her face was drained of color when she roused her. Then Satoko pushed her hand aside, got out of bed and rushed into the hallway. She had barely reached the washroom before she vomited, slightly soiling the sleeve of her nightgown. Tadeshina helped her back into the bedroom and made certain that the door was shut.
Some ten or more chickens were kept in the back yard of the house, and their clucking and crowing pierced the shoji screens as they began to lighten each morning, announcing the beginning of a new day to the Ayakura household. Nor did the chorus cease once the sun was high. In the midst of this crowing, Satoko laid her face back on her pillow and shut her eyes.
“Please listen,” said Tadeshina, her mouth close to Satoko’s ear. “It wouldn’t do to mention this to anyone. Please don’t give your nightgown to the maid to wash under any circumstances. I’ll take care of it myself, so that nobody will know. And from now on, I’ll make all the arrangements for your food. I’ll see to it that you eat only what agrees with you so that your maid won’t suspect a thing. What I’m telling you is only for your own good. So it will be best to do exactly as I say.”
Satoko agreed uncertainly as a single tear rolled down her lovely face.
Tadeshina was filled with delight. First of all, she was the only one to have received this initial sign. And then, the moment it occurred, something had dawned on her: this was just what she had been waiting for. Now Satoko was in her hands!
All things considered, Tadeshina was far more at home in the area of life represented by Satoko’s present condition than in the realm of passion. Just as she had been prompt to notice and advise Satoko years before when she began to menstruate, so now she showed herself a practiced specialist in all things physical. By contrast, Countess Ayakura, who maintained only a nodding acquaintance with the everyday, learned that her daughter had begun to menstruate a full two years later, and only then from Tadeshina.
Tadeshina, who had never failed to note Satoko’s every physical sign, intensified her vigilance after that first morning sickness. And once she recognized the signs one by one—the way Satoko put on her makeup, the way she frowned as though anticipating another bout of nausea from a distance, her capricious appetite, the vague heaviness in her movements—she unhesitatingly made her decision.
“It’s not healthy to stay indoors all the time like this. Let’s go for a walk,” she said to Satoko.
This was usually the hint that a meeting with Kiyoaki had been arranged, but since the sun was still high in the sky, Satoko was somewhat puzzled and looked up questioningly. Tadeshina’s customary expression was gone, replaced by a look of stern aloofness. She was well aware that she held a matter of honor in her hands that was of national concern.
As they went out through the rear yard, Countess Ayakura was standing there, her arms clasped to her breast, watching one of the maids feeding the chickens. The bright autumn sun picked out the shiny feathers of the clustering birds and struck the wash hanging out to dry, turning it into a pageant of whiteness. As Satoko walked along, trusting Tadeshina to clear a path through the chickens, she nodded politely to her mother. She noticed the strutting legs thrusting out so abruptly from their feathers, and for the first time in her life she thought of these creatures as being hostile—a natural enmity born of the antagonism of species. It was a dire feeling. A few loose, white feathers floated toward the ground. Tadeshina greeted Satoko’s mother.
“I’m just taking Miss Satoko for a little walk.”
“A walk? Well, thank you for your trouble,” the Countess answered. But since her daughter’s wedding was drawing closer by the day, she seemed, naturally enough, to be feeling rather nervous. On the other hand, she was becoming more and more polite and reserved toward her daughter. As was customary in the families of court nobles, she never uttered a single word of criticism to her, as she was already like a member of the Imperial Family.
∗
The two of them walked through the streets of Ryudo until they came to a small shrine surrounded by a granite wall and dedicated to the Sun Goddess. They entered its narrow precincts, deserted now that the autumn festivals were over, and after bowing before the inner shrine draped with purple curtains, Tadeshina led the way to the rear of the little pavilion used for sacred dances.
“Is Kiyo coming here?” Satoko asked hesitantly. For some reason, she found herself intimidated by Tadeshina’s manner today.
“No, he won’t be coming. Today there’s something I’d like to ask you, Miss Satoko, and that’s why we’ve come here. We needn’t worry that anyone will overhear us.”
Three or four huge rocks had been placed to one side of the pavilion for the convenience of anyone who might want to sit down and watch the ritual dances. Tadeshina now took off her
haori
, folded it, and placed it on the moss-covered surface of one of them.
haori
, folded it, and placed it on the moss-covered surface of one of them.
“Here, now you won’t catch a chill,” she said, as Satoko sat down.
“Well now, young mistress,” she said formally, “I know that I have no need to remind you now, but you are, of course, well aware that loyalty to the Emperor must take absolute precedence. It’s a foolish kind of sermon for someone like Tadeshina to make to Miss Satoko Ayakura, whose family has been blessed down the centuries with the imperial favor for twenty-seven generations. But even leaving all that aside, once a marriage is proposed and ratified by imperial sanction, there is no question of having second thoughts. And to spurn it is to spurn the beneficence of His Imperial Majesty. In all the world, there is no sin more terrible than this.”
Tadeshina went on to a detailed explanation. Despite what she had to say, she was by no means blaming her for anything that had already occurred. For she herself had been equally guilty. Furthermore, whatever escaped the notice of the public need not be agonized over and considered as a sin. However, she insisted, there had to be a limit somewhere, and now that Satoko had become pregnant, the time had come to put an end to it. She had been a silent observer up to now, but with matters in their present state, she felt that it would not do to let things slide and permit this love affair to go on and on. So now was the time to muster her determination. She had to make it clear to Kiyoaki that they must part. And she was to do everything according to Tadeshina’s instructions. And thus, making each of her points in their proper sequence, and deliberately excluding every emotional consideration, she said what she had to say.
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