a€?How was that? Did I surprise you?a€? she said.
a€?Yes, you did a bit.a€?
a€?Hea€™s not my present husband. Hea€™s the one I had to sever relations with.a€?
a€?I see. So . . .a€?
a€?So nothing. Thata€™s al .a€?
a€?I see. . . . That fine white-wal ed house over there in the mandarin orchard, ita€™s in a nice place, isna €™t it? Whose house is it?a€?
a€?Thata€™s my older brothera€™s house. Leta€™s cal there on the way home.a€?
a€?Do you have some business there?a€?
a€?Yes, hea€™s asked me to do something.a€?
a€?Ia€™l come with you, then.a€?
When we reach the beginning of the path down the mountainside, we dona€™t descend but turn right and, after a climb of a little over a hundred yards, arrive at the front gate of the house. Rather than proceeding straight to the entrance, we go to the garden at one side. Nami strides boldly along, so I fol ow suit. Three or four palms stand in the south-facing garden. Immediately beyond the earth wal , the mandarin orchard begins.
Without preliminaries, Nami seats herself on the edge of the veranda and remarks, a€?Ita€™s a fine view. Look.a€?
a€?Yes, it certainly is.a€?
Behind the sliding doors to the house, al is quiet. Nothing suggests anyone is home. Nami shows no sign of cal ing on anyone. She simply sits at her ease, gazing down at the slope of mandarin orchard beyond. I feel rather puzzled. What business has actual y brought her here?
Our conversation has petered out, and we sit on in silence, looking at the mandarin trees. The noonday sun floods the mountain with its warm rays, and the mandarin leaves that fil our vision seem to steam and glitter. After a while a cock crows loudly in the barn behind the house.
a€?Good heavens, ita€™s noon!a€ Nami exclaims. a€?I was forgetting what I had to do. Kyuichi! Kyuichi!a€ She reaches over and slides open the door with a slight clatter. I can see a large empty room; a pair of scrol s in the style of the Kano School hang somehow mournful y in the alcove.4 a€?KyA«ichi!a€?
At last an answering voice is heard from the barn. The approaching steps pause behind the sliding door. It opens, and in an instant the dagger in its white wooden sheath is tumbling over the matting.
a€?A farewel gift from your uncle for you!a€? Nami announces.
I had no inkling of the moment when her hand went to her waistband. The dagger somersaults two or three times, then slides smoothly across the matting to Kyuichia€™s feet. It has slipped a little from the loose sheath, to reveal an inch or so of cold glinting steel.
CHAPTER 13
It is the day of Kyuichia€™s departure. We are accompanying him by boat down the river as far as Yoshida Station. Besides Kyuichi, our boat contains Mr. Shioda, Nami, her brother, Genbei, and myself, of course merely in the capacity of invitee.
I am happy to go along as a€?inviteea€a€”indeed, I am happy to go along without puzzling over reasons and roles at al . Prudence, after al , can play no part in the a€?nonemotionala€? journey.
Our boat is a flat-bottomed one, rather like a raft with sides added. The old man is seated in the middle, Nami and myself in the stern, and Kyuichi and Namia€™s brother in the bow. Genbei sits apart, looking after the luggage.
a€?KyA«ichi, how do you feel about war?a€? Nami inquires. a€?Do you like it?a€?
a€?I wona€™t know til Ia€™m in it. Therea€™l be suffering, I should think, but perhaps therea€™l be pleasures tooa€? is his innocent reply.
a€?No matter the suffering,a€? the old gentleman remarks, a€?ita€™s for the sake of the nation.a€?
Namia€™s next question is equal y odd. a€?Surely youa€™re inclined to go to war and see what ita€™s al about, now that youa€™ve been given a dagger?a€?
a€?Yes, I guess so,a€ Kyuichi responds with a light nod. The old gentleman laughs and tugs at his beard. His son pretends to have heard nothing.
Nami now abruptly thrusts her pale face close to Kyuichi and demands, a€?How are you going to be able to fight with that sort of nonchalant attitude?a€?
a€?Youa€™d make a fine soldier, Nami,a€ says her brother. These are the first words he has spoken to her. His tone indicates that the remark is not intended as a joke.
a€?Me? Me, a soldier? If I could become a soldier, Ia€™d have done it long ago. Ia€™d be dead by now. Kyuichi, you must die too. Youa€™l lose your honor if you come home alive.a€?
a€?Good heavens, hold your tongue!a€ exclaims her father. a€?No, no, you must return in triumph. Death is not the only way to serve onea€™s nation. I plan to live a couple of years yet. Wea€™l be able to meet again.a€ The old mana€™s last drawn-out words tremble and are lost in tears; only the imperative of manliness prevents him from spil ing al that is in his heart. Kyuichi says nothing but simply sits with his head turned aside, looking at the riverbank.
Therea€™s a large wil ow on the bank, and beneath it sits a man in a little boat moored to the tree, staring at his fishing line. As our boat goes by, trailing its rocking wake, the man glances up, and his eyes meet Kyuichia€™s. No acknowledging charge flows between the two. The mana€™s mind is focused on his fishing, while Kyuichia€™s busy thoughts have no space for so much as a single fish. Our boat floats calmly on past the unknown fisherman.
