Fish of the Seto Inland Sea

She received the cloth from Rinji and tried to wash and wring it as he did. The water was icy, and she thought of Tetsu’s large hands. When the cloth was soaked with water, it was too voluminous for the child’s hands to wring it. It was heavy and dripping.

‘Watch it!’ Rinji shouted. ‘Water will mark the floor. Wring it tight. Tighter. Tighter. I will teach you how to sweep the rooms after breakfast.’

Haruko was alarmed. ‘I must go to school,’ she said. Already it was getting late.

‘You don’t have to go to school today,’ Rinji told her. ‘We have more important things for a girl to do.’

Haruko had to dust the sliding screens. She had to polish shelves and sweep the tatami floor. All morning, the house was quiet except for the noise Haruko was making.

Rinji had very few visitors. At the Shirais’, there were always lots of people coming and going. First of all there were patients. Then there were relatives. Merchants called. The most popular merchant among the children was a man from the cake shop in town who came a couple of times a week. He brought a shallow box slung round his neck. The box was neatly sectioned and in each little square, there was a sample of an exquisite cake. They were mostly rice or bean-based and not only tasty but had lovely colours and shapes. Their names were artistic, too, ‘Spring Rain’, ‘Shower of Petals’, ‘Autumn Mist’, ‘Chrysanthemum in the Evening Sun’, ‘Dawn’, and many more. The samples of cake changed according to the season. The cake man would be given a cup of tea while Kei was deciding what to order. The children often sat around hoping that their grandmother’s choice would fall on their favourites.

The tofu man called every day as Tei-ichi had a piece for dinner with ginger and spring onions. Kei made a special citron and soya sauce for that dish. The man carried a pole across his shoulders with a tub hung from either end. He had a little brass trumpet that he would let the children blow if Tei-ichi was not looking. In summer, a goldfish man would call and, from her brocade purse, Ayako would give the children money.

Once a year in the autumn, a man came from Kyoto with a large bundle on his back. Even if it was a chilly day, he wiped his bald head with a folded handkerchief when he put down his load in the living room.

‘Are you all well? Dannasama and young dannasama as well?’ he would inquire politely. He brought silk. It was not the sort of material which Kei bought for daily kimonos; the silk was for special occasions such as New Year’s Day when they had to dress up. The kimono dealer held the end of rolled material and, with a flip of his arm, spread lengths of cloth one after another across the tatami floor. Kei and Ayako would be deep in consultation, discussing and examining each piece.

‘I thought this would particularly suit young Miwa okusama,’ the man would say to Ayako. To Kei, he said, ‘Since you have given me such long patronage, I will make it as cheap as possible. If you just stand, please, allow me.’ He draped a long and narrow cloth over Kei’s shoulder.

‘What do you think, young Miwa okusama?’

Then they began to discuss the linings to go with the kimono material.

Kei and Ayako usually bought several pieces of material for the whole family, and, finally, presents for the servants were put aside as well.

Only the tofu man came to Rinji’s house.

On the fourth day after Haruko arrived at Rinji’s, Matabei came early in the morning bringing some fish and vegetables as presents.

That evening, Haruko was washing rice by the well at the back of the house. She heard a whisper, ‘Haruko nesan.’ At first she thought it was her imagination. She was thinking of Sachiko and home. It was icy cold. She felt miserable and homesick.

‘Haruko nesan.’ It was Sachiko calling her from behind the hedge.

‘Quick!’ Sachiko said. ‘I came to get you. Let’s go home!’

Involuntarily, Haruko looked around. ‘I’ll get my school things.’ She tiptoed into her room and got all her books and pencils. She left her clothes.

Matabei had heard from the tofu man of Haruko’s plight and, having been there himself, told Kei and Ayako.

‘Poor Haruko ojosama! Please being her home. She is too young and the dansama of the branch family does not know how to treat children. After all, he has no experience with them.’

Kei and Ayako were already concerned as Sachiko had been telling them of Haruko’s absence from school.

While the grown-ups were discussing how to deal with the situation, Sachiko heard them and decided to rescue her sister.

The two girls hurried out of the gate. Once outside, they ran. Evening stars were beginning to appear in the pale blue sky. After a while they were out of breath and stopped. Their cheeks were red but their hands were cold.

‘Haruko nesan,’ Sachiko said. Haruko took Sachiko’s hand and they walked home.

That night, Matabei carried a lantern and hurried back along the same path. He had two letters from Tei-ichi to deliver, one, a letter of explanation to Shobei, and the other, a letter of apology to Rinji.

6 (#ulink_e4e74a22-d257-5c53-997c-929878b44964)

Haruko’s Uncles (#ulink_e4e74a22-d257-5c53-997c-929878b44964)

The drama was soon forgotten in the excitement of the approaching New Year’s celebration and Haruko’s uncle Yasuharu’s home-coming for a holiday from Tokyo.

Tei-ichi was just as pleased as the others to see his son but, to maintain his dignity, he made himself look specially glum on the day of Yasuharu’s arrival. Even so, he could not keep himself away from the rest of the household.

‘Kei.’ He came out from the consulting room. ‘Yasu might like a hot bath after a long journey.’

‘Yes,’ Kei replied. ‘Mata san has it ready.’

‘Hum! One does not want to make a fuss, but I thought it was essential.’

After ten minutes, he came out again.

‘Kei, what are we having tonight? He is coming home just for a holiday. You don’t have to make anything special. Get the front path swept, will you? One’s front garden always has to be clean whether Yasu comes home or not.’

In the afternoon, Matabei brought round a cart. The children crowded around it and walked to the station with him. When Yasuharu appeared at the ticket barrier with a porter behind him, the children shrieked, ‘Yasu ojisama!’ The station master came out from his office to greet him. Passengers who got down from the same train bowed and wished him a good holiday before they parted.

A rickshaw was ready for Yasuharu. Shuichi sat on the cart with the luggage and the rest of the children sometimes ran in front, sometimes dragged behind, chatting and laughing.

The front gate of the Shirais’ was wide open. Yasuharu was to enter the house from the formal open porch and not through the back entrance. The eldest son was the next important person to Tei-ichi in the family and Kei made sure that all the formalities were observed. The members of the household gathered at the front porch to welcome him home. Tei-ichi stayed in his study.

When Yasuharu went in to greet his father, Tei-ichi said, ‘Oh, is it you?’ and, as though he had just remembered that his son was coming home, turned round from his open book. ‘How are you? You look well.’

‘Thank you, otohsan. I am very well. I am glad you are keeping well, too.’

After formal exchanges, Tei-ichi released Yasuharu saying, ‘You must be tired after your long journey. I understand there is a bath ready for you. Relax and let’s hear your news later.’

Yasuharu always brought back lots of presents. For his nieces, there were little silk pouches. Takeko was given a pair of red patent leather zori, a pair of sandals.

‘Let’s see.’ Kei and Ayako admired them. As may be expected, anything you buy in Tokyo is very well made.’ Both women turned the zori and examined them.

‘Isn’t it a lovely colour, okahsan,’ Ayako said to Kei, and eventually to Takeko, ‘Put them away carefully. You can wear them on New Year’s Day when we go and see Miwa oji-isama and obahsama,’ and the sandals were given back to Takeko.

They admired Shuichi’s kaleidoscope, an English dictionary for Hideto, ribbons and hair ornaments and pencil cases, water pistols and toy boats. ‘How nice!’ the women exclaimed. He would bring appropriate presents for Kei and Ayako and the servants.

When everybody was happy, Yasuharu said, ‘Haruko, I hear you had quite an adventure. This is specially for a brave girl,’ and he gave her a book. It was thin but about twenty centimetres wide and three times as long. On a glossy green cover, three bears in European clothes were dancing together. The title was written across the cover but Haruko could not read it.

Inside there were more beautiful illustrations of three bears and a girl. She had blue eyes, and golden hair like the Russian soldier whom Haruko had seen on the beach.

The next day, another family member arrived. Tei-ichi’s younger brother, Haruko’s great-uncle, had gone to a Buddhist temple as a novice when he was a little boy. It was the traditional way for a boy of intelligence to be educated. He had become a priest of high position. With a shaven head and wearing a simple black robe, the venerable man would visit his old home to pray for the ancestral spirits. He was always accompanied by a young novice who looked after him.

Villagers came to pay their respects to him one after another, then they went round to the back of the house and asked for his bath water. No one knew how it had started but the belief was that if one drank this noble priest’s bath water, it would purify the mind and keep the body healthy.

Tei-ichi told them off whenever he found out.