Beauty and Sadness (11 page)

“Must you bring that up again?”

“I felt as if a young sorceress had appeared.”

Keiko took Otoko’s hand, lifted it to her mouth and, glancing up at her, nibbled on the little finger. Then she whispered: “It was a hazy spring evening, and you seemed to float in the pale bluish haze that hung over the garden.”

Those had been Otoko’s words. Otoko had told her that in the evening haze she looked all the more like a young sorceress. Keiko had not forgotten.

Once again the remembered words had been spoken. Keiko knew very well that they tormented Otoko, made her blame herself and regret her attachment, and yet gave that attachment an even more uncanny power over her.

Paper lamps stood at each corner of the tea house
balcony next to Ofusa’s, where three geisha, two of them young girls, were entertaining a single guest. The guest was a plump, balding, youngish man who kept glancing out at the river and nodding indifferently as the girls tried to make conversation. Was he waiting for the night or for a companion? The lanterns were already lit, but hardly seemed necessary in the early dusk.

The two balconies were almost within touching distance. Like the others jutting out over the narrow stream along the walled west bank of the Kamo, they were not only roofless but without blinds. You could see all the way down to the farthest balcony. The row of open balconies gave the feeling of the coolness of a river bank.

Unconcerned by the lack of privacy, Keiko bit down hard on Otoko’s little finger. The pain darted through her, but Otoko did not flinch. Keiko’s tongue played with the tip of the finger. Then she let it fall from her mouth, and said: “You took a bath, so it’s not the least bit salty.”

The wide view of the Kamo River and the hills beyond the city soothed Otoko’s anger, and as her feelings calmed she began to think that she was to blame even for the Keiko that went to stay overnight with Oki.

Keiko had just graduated from high school when she first came to Otoko’s studio. She said she had seen her pictures at a show in Tokyo and photographs of her in a magazine, and had fallen in love with her.

That year one of Otoko’s paintings had won a prize at a Kyoto exhibition and, partly because of its subject, had become well known.

It was a painting of two young geisha playing scissors-paper-and-stone,
based on a trick photograph of around 1880. The photograph showed a double image of the famous Gion geisha Okayo: the girl on the right, the fingers of both hands outstretched, was almost full face; and the other, fists clenched, was turned slightly aside. Otoko liked the composition of the hands and the contrasting postures and facial expressions of the two geisha. The girl with fingers outstretched held her thumb extended and her fingers curved back. Otoko liked the identical costumes, too (though it was impossible to tell their colors from the photograph), and the old-fashioned, large-patterned design that ran from shoulder to hem. There was also a square wooden brazier between the two figures, along with an iron kettle and a sake bottle, but because they would have cluttered the picture Otoko omitted them.

Her own painting showed the same young geisha, doubled, playing scissors-paper-and-stone. She wanted to give an uneasy feeling that the one girl was two, the two one, or perhaps neither one nor two. Even the dated trick photograph had something of that feeling. To avoid ending up with a merely clever notion, Otoko took great pains over the faces. The decorative pattern of the clothing that looked so bulky in the photograph was a help, and set off the four hands vividly. Although the painting was not an exact copy, many Kyoto people must have recognized at a glance that it was based on a photograph of an early Meiji geisha.

A Tokyo art dealer who was interested in the geisha painting came to see Otoko. He arranged to exhibit
some of her smaller works in Tokyo. That was when Keiko saw them—purely by chance, since she had never heard of the Kyoto artist Ueno Otoko.

No doubt it was because of the geisha painting—and the beauty of the painter—that Otoko had been featured by a weekly magazine. She was taken here and there around Kyoto by a staff photographer and a reporter, for shot after shot of her. Or rather Otoko took them, since they wanted to go to the places she liked. The result was a special picture story that covered three of the magazine’s large pages. It included a photograph of the geisha painting and a close-up of Otoko, but most of the pictures were scenes of Kyoto, with Otoko for human interest. Possibly their aim had been to find places off the beaten path, by having a Kyoto artist as a guide. Not that Otoko felt herself unfairly used—she realized she was given three full pages—but the backgrounds were certainly not the ordinary “views of Kyoto.”

Keiko, however, unaware that these were the hidden charms of the city, saw only the beauty of Otoko. She was fascinated.

So Keiko had appeared out of a pale bluish haze and begged to be taken in to study painting with her. The fervor of that appeal shocked Otoko. And then suddenly Keiko’s arms were around her, and she seemed to be in the embrace of a young sorceress. It was like an unexpected throb of desire.

But Otoko demurred and asked if her father and mother knew. “Otherwise I can’t give you an answer. I’m sure you understand.”

“Both my parents are dead,” said Keiko. “I can make up my own mind.”

Otoko looked at her quizzically. “Don’t you have an aunt or uncle, or any brothers or sisters?”

“I’m a burden to my brother and his wife. Now that they have a baby, I seem to be more trouble than ever.”

“Because of the baby?”

“I’m fond of it, naturally. They don’t like my way of cuddling it.”

Four or five days after Keiko settled down with her, Otoko received a letter from the brother saying that she was a wild, headstrong girl, and probably would not even make a good maid, but that he hoped Otoko would take her in. Keiko’s clothing and other belongings also arrived. They gave the impression that she came from a well-to-do family.

Otoko soon realized that there must have been something abnormal about the way Keiko cuddled the baby.

Was it a week after Keiko had come? She had coaxed Otoko to do her hair for her, any way she liked, but in handling it Otoko happened to tug a few strands. “Pull harder!” Keiko had said. “Grab it up so that I hang by it!”

Otoko let go. Twisting around toward her, Keiko pressed her lips and teeth to the back of Otoko’s hand. Then she said: “Miss Ueno, how old were you at your first kiss?”

“Really, now!”

“I was three. I remember distinctly. He was an uncle on my mother’s side, about thirty, I suppose. But I liked
him, and once when he was sitting alone in the parlor I toddled right up and kissed him. He was so startled he clapped his hand to his mouth.”

There on the balcony beside the river Otoko recalled the story of that childish kiss. The lips that had kissed a man at three now belonged to her, and had just held her little finger.

“I remember the spring rain the first time you took me to Mt. Arashi,” said Keiko.

“So do I.”

“And the woman at the noodle shop.”

A few days after Keiko’s first visit Otoko took her around to see the Golden Pavilion, the Moss Temple, the Ryoanji Temple, and then Mt. Arashi. They had gone into a noodle shop on the river bank near the Togetsu Bridge. The old woman at the shop said she was sorry it was raining.

“I like the rain,” Otoko replied. “It’s a nice spring rain.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am,” said the woman politely. She made a little bow.

Keiko looked at Otoko, and whispered: “Was she speaking for the weather?”

“What?” The woman’s remark had seemed quite natural to Otoko. “Yes, I imagine so. For the weather.”

“That’s interesting,” Keiko went on. “I like the idea of saying thank you on behalf of the weather. Is that what Kyoto people do?”

To be sure, you could interpret her remark that way.
Apologizing to them for the rain was natural enough. But Otoko’s reply had not been from sheer politeness; she really did like Mt. Arashi in a gentle spring rain. The old woman thanked her for that. She seemed to be speaking for the weather, or for Mt. Arashi in the rain. It was also a natural greeting from someone who had a shop there, but to Keiko it had sounded odd.

“Marvelous noodles, aren’t they?” said Keiko. “I like this place.” Their taxi driver had recommended it. Because of the rain Otoko had hired the taxi for half a day.

Even though it was the cherry blossom season, surprisingly few people were willing to come here in the rain, which was another reason why Otoko liked it. Yet the misty spring rain softened the outline of the mountain across the river and made it even more beautiful. So gentle was the rain that they hardly knew they were getting wet as they strolled back toward the car, not even bothering to put up their umbrella. The slender threads of rain vanished into the river without a ripple. Cherry blossoms were intermingled with young green leaves, the colors of the budding trees all delicately subdued in the rain.

The Moss Temple and Ryoanji were also lovely in the spring rain. At the Moss Temple a single red camellia lay atop little white andromeda blossoms scattered over the wet moss, red on white on green. The perfectly formed camellia lay face up as if it had bloomed there afloat. And the rain-wet stones of the stone garden at Ryoanji glistened in all their hues.

“When you use a vase of old Iga ware in the tea ceremony, you moisten it first, you know,” said Otoko. “It’s the same effect.” But Keiko was not familiar with Iga ware, nor did she have any particular feeling for the colors of the stone garden before her.

However, once Otoko had pointed them out to her, she was impressed by the raindrops glittering in the young pines along the path through the temple compound. Each needle was like a flower stem with a single droplet of rain clinging to its very tip; the trees seemed all abloom with dew flowers. Easily overlooked, they were subtle blossoms of the spring rain. The maples and other trees also had raindrops on their budding leaves.

Raindrops clinging to the tips of pine needles could be seen anywhere, but it was the first time Keiko had really noticed them, and so they seemed to belong to Kyoto. The raindrops on the pine needles and the greeting of the old woman at the noodle shop were among Keiko’s first impressions of Kyoto. Not only was the city new to her, she was seeing it with Otoko.

“I wonder how the woman at the noodle shop is,” said Keiko. “We haven’t been back to Mt. Arashi since.”

“That’s true. But I like it best of all in winter, when the pools in the river look deep and cold. Let’s go out then.”

“Must we wait till winter?”

“Winter will be here soon enough.”

“It won’t be soon at all! It’s not even midsummer, let alone fall.”

Otoko laughed. “We can go any time! We can go tomorrow.”

“Let’s. I’ll tell the noodle shop woman I like Mt. Arashi in the heat of summer and she’ll probably thank me. For the hot weather.”

“And for Mt. Arashi.”

Keiko looked out at the river. “Otoko, by winter there won’t be any more of these couples walking along the banks.”

Many young people were out on the two levees used as promenades that separated the Kamo from the stream under the balconies and from the canal along its eastern bank. Only a few were with children—almost all of them seemed to be lovers. Young couples were walking close together, or sitting at the water’s edge leaning against each other. As dusk gathered, their numbers grew.

“Of course it’s much too cold here in winter,” said Otoko.

“I doubt it would last till winter.”

“What would last?”

“Their love. Some of them will stop wanting to see each other by then.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?” Keiko nodded. “Why must you worry about that, at your age?”

“Because I’m not a fool like you, for twenty years loving someone who spoiled your life!”

Otoko was silent.

“Even though Mr. Oki deserted you, you’ve refused to recognize it.”

“Please don’t talk like that.” As Otoko turned away, Keiko reached out to smooth up a few stray hairs at the back of Otoko’s neck.

“Otoko, why don’t you desert me?”

“What!”

“I’m the only person you
can
desert. So go ahead.”

“Whatever can you mean?” Otoko seemed to parry her lightly, but looked straight into her eyes. She ran her fingertips over the hairs Keiko had smoothed.

“I mean the way Mr. Oki deserted you,” said Keiko tenaciously, peering into Otoko’s eyes. “Though apparently you’ve never been willing to think about it that way.”

“Must you use a word like ‘desert’?”

“It’s best to be precise.” There was a malicious glint in her eye. “What would you call it?”

“We parted.”

“But you didn’t! Even now he’s there within you, and you’re within him.”

“Keiko, what are you trying to tell me? I can’t understand you.”

“Today I thought you were going to abandon me.”

“But I apologized, didn’t I?”

“
I
apologized to
you
.”

Otoko had brought her here to Kiyamachi for a reconciliation, but perhaps that was no longer possible. Evidently it was Keiko’s temperament to be dissatisfied with a placid love, so she was always crossing Otoko, or quarreling with her, or sulking. Still, her confession to having spent the night with Oki had wounded Otoko. The Keiko who seemed to be under her control had turned into some strange creature attacking her. Keiko had said she
would take revenge on Oki for her sake, but to Otoko it seemed Keiko was taking revenge on her. Also, she felt a new horror toward Oki as a man. How dare he trifle with her protégée, when he must have other women as well?

“You aren’t going to abandon me?” Keiko asked.

“If you keep insisting, I will! That would be best for you anyway.”

“Stop it! That’s not what I meant.” Keiko shook her head. “I wasn’t thinking of my own good. As long as I’m with you …”

“Being apart from me would certainly be best for you.” Otoko was trying to speak calmly.

“Are you already apart from me, in your heart?”

“Of course not!”

“I’m glad! I felt so wretched, wondering if you were through with me.”