Majesty. But of course it doesn’t extend to foreign lords.” This last was Tadeshina’s ironic jab at the hospitality extended to the Siamese princes by the Matsugaes. Then she hastened to make some amends: “But then, thanks of course to your great kindness, I was privileged to see a play again after I don’t know how long. I felt that it gave me a new lease on life.”
Kiyoaki let Tadeshina ramble on as she liked. In asking her to come to his study, he had had something quite definite in mind. He wanted to be free of the nagging doubt that had pursued him ever since that night. And so now, after plying Tadeshina with more whiskey, he asked her abruptly if Satoko had in fact taken his letter and thrown it unopened into the fire as requested.
Her answer came more readily than he might have expected: “Oh that! The young lady spoke to me immediately after her telephone conversation with you. So when the letter came next day, I took it and burned it unopened. Everything was taken care of. You need not worry about it at all.”
On hearing this, Kiyoaki felt like a man who has struggled for hours through tangled undergrowth and at last fights his way into the open. A multitude of delightful prospects unfolded before his eyes. Satoko’s not having read the letter did two things: not only did it restore things to their former balance, but Kiyoaki was now happily confident that he had opened up a whole new perspective on life.
Satoko had already made an overture whose implications were dazzling. Her annual New Year’s visit to exchange greetings fell on a day traditionally set aside by the Marquis for the children of his relatives. They would gather at his house, their ages ranging from three to twenty. And on this one day he would don the role of loving father, listening kindly to what each of them had to say and giving counsel when called upon to do so. This year, Satoko had brought some children out to see the horses.
Kiyoaki led them to the stable where the Matsugaes kept their four horses. It was decorated for the holidays with the twisted rope traditional in Shinto observance. The horses, with their powerful, smooth-muscled bodies, suddenly rearing back or kicking their hooves against the boards, struck Kiyoaki as having a pulsating life appropriate to the New Year. The children were enthralled. They asked the groom for each horse’s name. Then, taking aim at the huge yellow teeth, they hurled salvos of squashed pieces of crumbling candy they had been clutching in their fists. The high-strung beasts glared sidelong at their tormentors with bloodshot eyes. This delighted the children even more since these baleful looks were proof that the horses regarded them as adults.
Satoko, however, was frightened by the saliva streaming from the horses’ gaping mouths, and withdrew to the shelter of an evergreen some distance away. Kiyoaki walked over to join her, leaving the children to the groom.
Her eyes were showing the effects of the spiced saké that was traditional at New Year celebrations. What she said, therefore—to the accompaniment of the children’s shouts of joy—might have been attributed to this stimulus. At any rate, as Kiyoaki came to her side, she looked at him far from demurely and began to speak with a lilt of excitement in her voice.
“I was so happy that night, you know. You introduced me as though I were your fiancée. I’m sure Their Highnesses were quite surprised that I should be so old. But do you know how I felt then? If I had had to die at that very moment, I would have had no regrets. My happiness lies in your hands. Be careful with it, won’t you? I’ve never been so happy at a New Year as I am now. I never looked forward so much to what the year may bring.”
Kiyoaki did not know what to say. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked finally, in a strained voice.
“Oh, Kiyo, when I’m very happy, my words come tumbling out like the doves they release at a launching, flying
Kiyoaki let Tadeshina ramble on as she liked. In asking her to come to his study, he had had something quite definite in mind. He wanted to be free of the nagging doubt that had pursued him ever since that night. And so now, after plying Tadeshina with more whiskey, he asked her abruptly if Satoko had in fact taken his letter and thrown it unopened into the fire as requested.
Her answer came more readily than he might have expected: “Oh that! The young lady spoke to me immediately after her telephone conversation with you. So when the letter came next day, I took it and burned it unopened. Everything was taken care of. You need not worry about it at all.”
On hearing this, Kiyoaki felt like a man who has struggled for hours through tangled undergrowth and at last fights his way into the open. A multitude of delightful prospects unfolded before his eyes. Satoko’s not having read the letter did two things: not only did it restore things to their former balance, but Kiyoaki was now happily confident that he had opened up a whole new perspective on life.
Satoko had already made an overture whose implications were dazzling. Her annual New Year’s visit to exchange greetings fell on a day traditionally set aside by the Marquis for the children of his relatives. They would gather at his house, their ages ranging from three to twenty. And on this one day he would don the role of loving father, listening kindly to what each of them had to say and giving counsel when called upon to do so. This year, Satoko had brought some children out to see the horses.
Kiyoaki led them to the stable where the Matsugaes kept their four horses. It was decorated for the holidays with the twisted rope traditional in Shinto observance. The horses, with their powerful, smooth-muscled bodies, suddenly rearing back or kicking their hooves against the boards, struck Kiyoaki as having a pulsating life appropriate to the New Year. The children were enthralled. They asked the groom for each horse’s name. Then, taking aim at the huge yellow teeth, they hurled salvos of squashed pieces of crumbling candy they had been clutching in their fists. The high-strung beasts glared sidelong at their tormentors with bloodshot eyes. This delighted the children even more since these baleful looks were proof that the horses regarded them as adults.
Satoko, however, was frightened by the saliva streaming from the horses’ gaping mouths, and withdrew to the shelter of an evergreen some distance away. Kiyoaki walked over to join her, leaving the children to the groom.
Her eyes were showing the effects of the spiced saké that was traditional at New Year celebrations. What she said, therefore—to the accompaniment of the children’s shouts of joy—might have been attributed to this stimulus. At any rate, as Kiyoaki came to her side, she looked at him far from demurely and began to speak with a lilt of excitement in her voice.
“I was so happy that night, you know. You introduced me as though I were your fiancée. I’m sure Their Highnesses were quite surprised that I should be so old. But do you know how I felt then? If I had had to die at that very moment, I would have had no regrets. My happiness lies in your hands. Be careful with it, won’t you? I’ve never been so happy at a New Year as I am now. I never looked forward so much to what the year may bring.”
Kiyoaki did not know what to say. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked finally, in a strained voice.
“Oh, Kiyo, when I’m very happy, my words come tumbling out like the doves they release at a launching, flying
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