unreliable.”
“You were staring at me, then? I’m not sure Ilike having people stare at me when I’m asleep.”
Komako smiled and nodded. Then, like a glow that breaks into a flame, the smile became a laugh. There was strength in the fingers that took his.
“I hid in the closet. The maid didn’t suspect a thing.”
“When? How long were you hidden?”
“Just now, of course. When the maid came to bring charcoal.” She laughed happily at the prank, and suddenly she was red to the ears. As if to hide her confusion, she began fanning herself with the edge of his quilt. “Get up. Get up, please.”
“It’s cold.” Shimamura pulled the quilt away from her. “Are the inn people up yet?”
“I have no idea. I came in from the back.”
“The back?”
“I fought my way up from the cedar grove.”
“Is there a path in back?”
“No. But it’s shorter.”
Shimamura looked at her in surprise.
“No one knows I’m here. I heard someone in the kitchen, but the front door must still be locked.”
“You seem to be an early riser.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Did you hear the rain?”
“It rained? That’s why the underbrush was wet, then. I’m going home. Go on back to sleep.”
But Shimamura jumped vigorously out of bed, the woman’s hand still in his. He went over to the window and looked down at the hill she said she had come up. Below the shrubbery, halfway down toward the cedar grove, dwarf bamboo was growing in a wild tangle. Directly below the window were rows of taro and sweet potatoes, onions and radishes. It was a most ordinary garden patch, and yet the varied colors of the leaves in the morning sun made him feel that he was seeing them for the first time.
The porter was throwing feed to the carp from the corridor that led to the bath.
“It’s colder, and they aren’t eating well,” he said as Shimamura passed. Shimamura stood for a moment looking at the feed on the water, dried and crumbled silkworms.
Komako was waiting for him, clean and prim as before, when he came back from the bath.
“It would be good to work on my sewing in a quiet place like this,” she said.
The room had evidently been cleaned, and the sun poured in on the deepest corners of the slightly worn matting.
“You sew, do you?”
“What an insulting question. I had to work harder than anyone else in the family. I see now, looking back, that the years when I was growingup were the worst ones of all.” She spoke almost to herself, but her voice was tense as she continued: “The maid saw me. She gave me a strange look and asked when I had come. It was very embarrassing—but I couldn’t go on hiding in the closet forever. I’m going home. I’m very busy. I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I’d wash my hair. I have to wait for it to dry, and then go to the hairdresser’s, and if I don’t wash it early in the morning I’m never ready for an afternoon party. There’s a party here too, but they only told me about it last night. I won’t come. I’ve made other promises. And I won’t be able to see you tonight—it’s Saturday and I’ll be very busy.”
She showed no sign of leaving, however.
She decided not to wash her hair after all. She took Shimamura down to the back garden. Her damp sandals and stockings were hidden under the veranda where she had come in.
The dwarf bamboo she said she had fought her way through seemed impassible. Starting down along the garden path toward the sound of the water, they came out on the high river bank. There were children’s voices in the chestnut trees. A number of burrs lay in the grass at their feet. Komako stamped them open and took out the fruit. The kernels were small.
Kaya
plumes waved on the steep slope of themountain opposite, a dazzling silver in the morning sun. Dazzling, and yet rather like the fleeting translucence that moved across the autumn sky.
“Shall we cross over? We can see your fiancé’s grave.”
Komako brought herself to her full
“You were staring at me, then? I’m not sure Ilike having people stare at me when I’m asleep.”
Komako smiled and nodded. Then, like a glow that breaks into a flame, the smile became a laugh. There was strength in the fingers that took his.
“I hid in the closet. The maid didn’t suspect a thing.”
“When? How long were you hidden?”
“Just now, of course. When the maid came to bring charcoal.” She laughed happily at the prank, and suddenly she was red to the ears. As if to hide her confusion, she began fanning herself with the edge of his quilt. “Get up. Get up, please.”
“It’s cold.” Shimamura pulled the quilt away from her. “Are the inn people up yet?”
“I have no idea. I came in from the back.”
“The back?”
“I fought my way up from the cedar grove.”
“Is there a path in back?”
“No. But it’s shorter.”
Shimamura looked at her in surprise.
“No one knows I’m here. I heard someone in the kitchen, but the front door must still be locked.”
“You seem to be an early riser.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Did you hear the rain?”
“It rained? That’s why the underbrush was wet, then. I’m going home. Go on back to sleep.”
But Shimamura jumped vigorously out of bed, the woman’s hand still in his. He went over to the window and looked down at the hill she said she had come up. Below the shrubbery, halfway down toward the cedar grove, dwarf bamboo was growing in a wild tangle. Directly below the window were rows of taro and sweet potatoes, onions and radishes. It was a most ordinary garden patch, and yet the varied colors of the leaves in the morning sun made him feel that he was seeing them for the first time.
The porter was throwing feed to the carp from the corridor that led to the bath.
“It’s colder, and they aren’t eating well,” he said as Shimamura passed. Shimamura stood for a moment looking at the feed on the water, dried and crumbled silkworms.
Komako was waiting for him, clean and prim as before, when he came back from the bath.
“It would be good to work on my sewing in a quiet place like this,” she said.
The room had evidently been cleaned, and the sun poured in on the deepest corners of the slightly worn matting.
“You sew, do you?”
“What an insulting question. I had to work harder than anyone else in the family. I see now, looking back, that the years when I was growingup were the worst ones of all.” She spoke almost to herself, but her voice was tense as she continued: “The maid saw me. She gave me a strange look and asked when I had come. It was very embarrassing—but I couldn’t go on hiding in the closet forever. I’m going home. I’m very busy. I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I’d wash my hair. I have to wait for it to dry, and then go to the hairdresser’s, and if I don’t wash it early in the morning I’m never ready for an afternoon party. There’s a party here too, but they only told me about it last night. I won’t come. I’ve made other promises. And I won’t be able to see you tonight—it’s Saturday and I’ll be very busy.”
She showed no sign of leaving, however.
She decided not to wash her hair after all. She took Shimamura down to the back garden. Her damp sandals and stockings were hidden under the veranda where she had come in.
The dwarf bamboo she said she had fought her way through seemed impassible. Starting down along the garden path toward the sound of the water, they came out on the high river bank. There were children’s voices in the chestnut trees. A number of burrs lay in the grass at their feet. Komako stamped them open and took out the fruit. The kernels were small.
Kaya
plumes waved on the steep slope of themountain opposite, a dazzling silver in the morning sun. Dazzling, and yet rather like the fleeting translucence that moved across the autumn sky.
“Shall we cross over? We can see your fiancé’s grave.”
Komako brought herself to her full
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