Thousand Cranes by Yasunari Kawabata Page A

we don’t know whether it’s a lie or the truth, we don’t know the extent of Kurimoto’s prankishness.’
    ‘Prankishness?’
    ‘Suppose we call it that.’
    ‘But if I hadn’t telephoned today I’d have been left married. A fine prank.’
    The maid called Kikuji again.
    He came back with a letter in his hand.
    ‘Your letter, and no stamp.’ He lightly turned it over.
    ‘No, no. You’re not to look at it.’ She brought herself toward him, still kneeling, and tried to take it from his hand. ‘Give it back to me.’
    Kikuji whipped his hands behind him.
    Her left hand fell on his knee, and her right hand reached for the letter. With left hand and right hand thus making contradictory motions, she lost her balance. The left hand was behind her to keep her from falling against Kikuji, the right was clutching at the letter, now behind Kikuji’s back. Twisting to the right, she was about to fall. The side of her face would be against his chest – but she turned supplely away. The touch of her left hand on his knee was unbelievably light. He could not see how she had supported the upper part of her body, twisted as it was and about to fall.
    He had stiffened abruptly as she threw herself upon him; and now he wanted to cry out at the astonishing suppleness. He was intensely conscious of the woman. He was conscious of Fumiko’s mother, Mrs Ota.
    At what instant had she recovered and pulled away? Where had the force spent itself? It was a suppleness that could not be. It was like the deepest instinct of woman. Just as he was expecting her to come down heavily upon him, she was near him, a warm odor. That was all.
    The odor was strong. It came richly, the odor of a woman whohad been at work through the summer day. He felt the odor of Fumiko, and of her mother. The smell of Mrs Ota’s embrace.
    ‘Give it back to me.’ Kikuji did not resist. ‘I’m going to tear it up.’
    She turned away and tore her letter to small bits. The neck and the bare arms were damp with perspiration.
    She had suddenly paled as she fell toward him and recovered herself. Then, kneeling again, she had flushed; and in that time, it seemed, the perspiration had come out.
3
    Dinner, from a near-by caterer, was uninteresting, exactly what one would have expected.
    Kikuji’s teacup was the cylindrical Shino bowl. The maid brought it to him as usual.
    He noticed, and Fumiko’s eyes too were on it. ‘You have been using that bowl?’
    ‘I have.’
    ‘You shouldn’t.’ He sensed that she was not as uncomfortable as he. ‘I was sorry afterward that I’d given it to you. I mentioned it in my letter.’
    ‘What did you say?’
    ‘What … Well, I apologized for having given you a bad piece of Shino.’
    ‘It’s not a bad piece at all.’
    ‘It can’t be good Shino. Mother used it as an ordinary teacup.’
    ‘I don’t really know, but I’d imagine that it’s very good Shino.’ He took the bowl in his hand and gazed at it.
    ‘There is much better Shino. The bowl reminds you of another, and the other is better.’
    ‘There don’t seem to be any small Shino pieces in my father’s collection.’
    ‘Even if you don’t have them here, you see them. Other bowls come into your mind when you’re drinking from this, and you think how much better they are. It makes me very sad, and Mother too.’
    Kikuji breathed deeply. ‘But I’m moving farther and farther from tea. I have no occasion to see tea bowls.’
    ‘You don’t know when you might see one. You must have seen much finer pieces.’
    ‘You’re saying that a person can give only the very finest?’
    ‘Yes.’ Fumiko looked straight at him, affirmation in her eyes. ‘That is what I think. I asked you in my letter to break it and throw away the pieces.’
    ‘To break it? To break this?’ Kikuji sought to divert the attack that bore down upon him. ‘It’s from the old Shino kiln, and it must be three or four hundred years old. At first it was probably an ordinary table