Spring Snow

  “How proud and self-satisfied she is!” thought Kiyoaki. “So much older and wiser.”

  All this had taken place some days before. And now today, after Tadeshina’s account of the fate of the letter, Kiyoaki lost his lingering misgivings, now confident that he was embarking on a New Year under the most favorable auspices. He would be rid of the melancholy dreams that had plagued his nights. He was determined that from now on his dreams would be happy. His manner would never fail to be open, and since he would be free of depression and worry, he would try to communicate his own well-being to everyone. But dispensing goodwill to mankind is a hazardous business at best, and one that demands a considerable degree of maturity and wisdom. Nevertheless, Kiyoaki was driven by an extraordinary sense of urgency.

  Whatever his sense of mission, however, he had not called Iinuma to his room solely out of the warm desire to dispel his tutor’s gloom and see his face transformed with happiness.

  The saké he had drunk combined with something else to provoke Kiyoaki to rashness. Tadeshina, despite her selfabashing manner and excruciating courtesy, had a certain air about her that put one in mind of the proprietress of a brothel, albeit one with an ancient and honorable reputation. An unmistakable distilled sensuality seemed to cling to the very wrinkles of her face. And having her so close at hand aroused Kiyoaki’s natural willfulness.

  “As far as schoolwork goes, Iinuma has taught me all sorts of things,” said Kiyoaki, deliberately directing his remarks exclusively at Tadeshina. “Still, there are a number of things he didn’t teach me. Actually, the truth is that there are many things that Iinuma doesn’t know. And it’s just because of this that from now on you, Tadeshina, will have to become a teacher to Iinuma, you see.”

  “Really now, young master, whatever do you mean by behaving like this,” said Tadeshina with heavy deference. “This gentleman here is already a university student. And an ignorant old soul like myself . . .”

  “Exactly. Because what I am talking about has nothing to do with what’s learned in school.”

  “Tch, tch, making such fun of an old woman!”

  And so the exchange continued, still excluding Iinuma. Since Kiyoaki had not indicated that he might take a seat, he continued to stand, looking out over the pond. The day was overcast, and a flock of ducks swam near the island, from which the dark green crowns of the pines rose, cold and forbidding. The rough brown grass that covered the island reminded Iinuma of a farmer’s straw raincoat.

  Finally, at a word from Kiyoaki, Iinuma sat down stiffly in a chair. Until then, Kiyoaki had not appeared to notice him standing by the door, which seemed extremely odd to him. Perhaps, he thought, his master was making a show of his authority in front of Tadeshina. If so, it was something new in Kiyoaki, which pleased him.

  “Well now, Iinuma, let’s see. Tadeshina here has just been gossiping with our maids. And just by chance she happened to hear . . .”

  “Young master, please! Don’t.” Waving her arms in a show of frantic distress, Tadeshina tried to stop him, but to no avail.

  “She happened to hear that the maids are convinced that when you go to the shrine every morning, you have more on your mind than mere devotion.”

  “More on my mind, master?” Iinuma’s face muscles tightened and his clenched hands resting in his lap began to tremble.

  “Please, young master,” wailed Tadeshina, “don’t go into it with him.” She slumped back in her chair like a carelessly dropped porcelain doll, but despite her manifestations of acute distress, there was a faint but unmistakable gleam in her deep-set eyes. And the lines around her mouth, with its badly fitting false teeth, were slack, witnesses to past sensuality.

  “To reach the shrine, you have to pass the rear wing of the house, don’t you? Which means, of course, that you walk right past the windows of the maids’ quarters. And on your way every morning, you’ve also been exchanging looks with Miné. And finally, just the other day, you slipped her a note through the lattice. Or so they say. Is it true or isn’t it?”

  Before Kiyoaki had finished, Iinuma was on his feet. His pale face was contorted in rigid desperation as he struggled to control himself. It was as though a white heat were building within him, ready to explode into a terrible inferno. Kiyoaki was delighted by the look on his face, which was transformed from the dull phlegmatic expression he was used to. Though Iinuma was obviously in agony, to Kiyoaki his face, contorted into an ugly mask, was happy.

  “If the master will be good enough to excuse me now . . . ,” said Iinuma, making a rapid turn toward the door. But before he could take another step, Tadeshina lunged from her chair to stop him with an alacrity that astounded Kiyoaki. In an instant she had changed from a decrepit old woman to a leopard making its kill.

  “You mustn’t go! Don’t you see what will happen to me if you do that? I’ve served the Ayakuras for forty years, but if they find out that I’m to blame for somebody being dismissed by the Matsugaes because of an indiscretion on my part, they’ll do the same to me. Please have a little pity on me. You’ve to think what will happen. Do you understand what I’m saying? Young people are so rash! But what can we do about it? It’s one of the attractions of youth.”

  And so Tadeshina clung to Iinuma’s sleeve and spoke simply, and to the point, gently remonstrating, with the authority that comes with age.

  Her manner of assured confidence had been perfected over the course of years, during which time she had convinced herself that she was indispensable to the running of the world. Her face was now composed again, and radiated the confidence of someone accustomed to supervising the smooth management of events from behind the scenes. In the middle of some solemn ceremony a kimono might tear at the seam with dismaying suddenness; someone might forget his copy of the speech of congratulation he had so painstakingly composed; Tadeshina’s confidence was born of her proven ability to handle these and a thousand other crises with unflurried efficiency. Things that to most people were shattering bolts from the blue, to her were all in a day’s work. And so, by her ready skill in warding off threats of sudden catastrophe, she had repeatedly vindicated her role in life. This tranquil old lady knew that nothing in human affairs could be counted on to turn out precisely as intended. A solitary swallow flitting across a cloudless blue sky might well be the harbinger of a surprise storm. Thus Tadeshina, with constant reserves of experience, need have no misgivings as to her worth.

  Iinuma had plenty of time to reflect later, but very often a man’s whole life alters course because of a moment’s hesitation. That instant is like a fold made down the middle of a sheet of paper. In it, the underside becomes upmost, and what was once visible is hidden forever.

  Standing there in the door of Kiyoaki’s study, with Tadeshina clutching him, Iinuma experienced such a moment, and with it the matter was settled. Young and callow as he was, uncertainty cut into him the way a shark’s fin cuts through the surface of the water. Had Miné laughed at his note and showed it to everyone? Or had it come to light some other way, causing her great shame? He desperately wanted to know.

  Kiyoaki studied him as he sat down again. He had won a victory that gave him little cause for pride. He gave up all hope of extending his benevolence to Iinuma. There was nothing else to do but to give free reign to his own sense of happiness, he felt, and to work out the details as he went along. He had a new sense of power, and felt able to behave with the refinement of maturity.

  “I didn’t bring this matter up to cause you distress or to subject you to ridicule. Don’t you see that Tadeshina and I are trying to work out the plan that is best for you? I’m not going to say a word to my father, and I’ll make sure that it doesn’t reach his ears from any other quarter. As for our immediate course of action, I’m sure that Tadeshina’s vast knowledge and experience in these matters will be a great help, won’t it, Tadeshina? True, Miné is one of the prettiest of the housemaids, and that presents a bit of a problem. But you just leave things to me.”

  Iinuma’s e
yes glittered like those of a spy caught in a trap; he hung on Kiyoaki’s every word, afraid to utter a sound. When he tried to penetrate the substance of Kiyoaki’s words, he seemed to release in himself a surging flood of anxieties. On the other hand, when he sat there passively, Kiyoaki’s words seemed to bore into his very soul.

  Iinuma had never seen so authoritative an expression on the face of the younger man, who continued to speak with a magnanimity that was quite out of character. His great hope, of course, had been that Kiyoaki would some day acquire a mature poise such as this. But he had never dreamed that this would happen under circumstances like these. In losing to Kiyoaki the way he had—was it not his own lust that had defeated him, he wondered. And after his brief hesitation of a moment ago—had he not felt that his shameful pursuit of pleasure had now become inextricably bound up with loyalty and service to his master? That was the trap that they had laid for him so cleverly. However, even in his present depths of unbearable humiliation, a small, golden door had been opened for him in fulfillment of their unspoken bargain.

  After Kiyoaki had finished, Tadeshina spoke up in tones as smooth as a peeled scallion. “It’s exactly the way the young master says it is. He has a wisdom far beyond his years.”

  Iinuma had always considered Kiyoaki’s wisdom to be quite the opposite, but now he listened to Tadeshina without surprise.

  “And now, in return, Iinuma,” said Kiyoaki once again, “you must stop lecturing me and join forces with Tadeshina to give me some help. If you do, I’ll do the same for your romance. We three could become quite friendly.”

  11

  KIYOAKI TOOK UP the diary he kept of his dreams again, and wrote:

  Even though I haven’t known the Siamese princes very long, I dreamed about Siam recently. I was sitting on a splendid chair in the middle of a room. I seemed to be held there, unable to move. Throughout the dream, I felt as if I had a headache. And this was because I was wearing a tall, pointed gold crown set with all sorts of precious stones. Above my head, a huge flock of peacocks were perched on a maze of beams just under the roof. And from time to time white droppings fell on my crown.

  Outside the sun was scorching. It was beating down in a desolate garden run wild. Everything was still, except for the faint droning of flies and the occasional thud of the peacocks’ feet on the beams above or sometimes the rustling of their wings. The garden was surrounded by a high stone wall, but there were large openings like windows let into it. And through these I could see the trunks of palm trees and, behind them, piled-up white clouds, dazzling and unmoving.

  Then I looked down at my hand and saw that I was wearing an emerald ring. This, of course, was Chao P.’s, but somehow it had been placed on my finger. The design was certainly the same—the two weird faces of the guardian gods, the yaksha, carved into the gold on either side of the stone.

  I stared at the ring glinting in the sun pouring in from outside, my eyes held by a pure, flawless white light that sparkled like frost crystals in the center of the emerald. And as I did so, I became aware of the face of a woman, young and beautiful, which had gradually formed within it. I turned around, thinking that it was the reflection of someone behind me, but there was no one there. Now the face in the emerald moved slightly and its expression changed. Where it had been serious, it was now smiling. At that moment, the back of my hand began to itch as one of the swarm of flies hovering above me settled on it. Annoyed, I shook my hand to get rid of it and then looked at the ring again. But the woman’s face had vanished. And then, as I began to feel an indescribable sense of bitterness and loss, I woke up . . .

  Kiyoaki never took the trouble to add a personal interpretation to these accounts of his dreams. He did his best to recall exactly what had taken place, and he set it down as fully as possible, recording happy dreams or ominous ones just as they were. Perhaps this unwillingness to acknowledge specific meanings in dreams, and this compulsion for exact description pointed to some deep misgivings of Kiyoaki’s concerning life itself. Compared to the emotional instability he experienced when awake, his dream world seemed far more authentic. He could never be certain that these day-to-day emotions were part of his true self, but he knew that the Kiyoaki of his dreams, at least, was real. The former resisted all attempts at definition, whereas the latter had a recognizable form and character. Nor did Kiyoaki use his journal to pour out his discontent with the irritations of the world around him. Here, on the contrary, for the first time in his life, immediate reality corresponded exactly to his wishes.

  Iinuma, his resistance utterly crushed, had become blindly obedient to his master. Together with Tadeshina, he frequently served as go-between to arrange meetings for Kiyoaki and Satoko. This sort of devotion was enough to satisfy Kiyoaki and, furthermore, made him wonder if such a thing as friendship was really so important. And in the meantime, without being wholly aware of it, he was growing apart from Honda. This saddened Honda, but he had always been keenly aware that he was only a marginal necessity in Kiyoaki’s life. He thus knew that their relationship had lacked an element vital to friendship. The time he would have spent in idleness with Kiyoaki, therefore, he now spent on his books. Besides his study of law in German, French, and English, he read widely in literature and philosophy. And although he did not follow the great Christian leader, Kanzo Uchimura, he read and admired Carlyle’s Sartor Resartus.

  One snowy morning, as Kiyoaki was about to leave for school, Iinuma came to his study with conspicuous caution. His melancholy expression and bearing had not undergone any change, but his present obsequiousness robbed them of their power to annoy Kiyoaki.

  He had, he said, just received a phone call from Tadeshina. The message was simply this: Satoko was so delighted by the snow that she would like Kiyoaki not to go to school, and come for a rickshaw ride through the snow with her instead.

  No one had ever made so startlingly capricious a request of Kiyoaki. Ready for school, he stood with his book bag in his hand, appalled, and stared at Iinuma.

  “What’s this? Miss Satoko really suggested something like that?”

  “Yes, sir. I heard it directly from Miss Tadeshina. There can be no mistake.”

  Curiously enough, as he confirmed this, Iinuma seemed more like his former independent self, and he looked ready to lecture Kiyoaki if challenged about it.

  Kiyoaki gave a quick glance over his shoulder at the garden, where snow was falling. This time, Satoko’s forceful methods did not wound his pride. On the contrary, he felt a sense of relief, as though her scalpel had skillfully cut out a malignant tumor of arrogance. Since the surgery was over before he knew it, this bypassing of his own wishes gave him a kind of keen pleasure. “I’ll do just as she wants,” he said, gazing out thoughtfully at the thickly falling snow. Although it was not yet deep, it had already turned the island and the maple hill beyond to a shining white.

  “All right, telephone the school for me. Tell them I’ve caught a cold and will be absent today. Make certain that no word of this reaches Mother or Father. Then go to the rickshaw stand and hire a large one pulled by two men. Make sure the men can be trusted. I’ll walk there.”

  “In this snow?”

  Iinuma watched as his young master’s face flushed crimson. Since Kiyoaki had his back to the window which looked out onto the storm, his face was in shadow, but his blush was no less apparent. This young man whom he had helped to raise was not at all inclined to heroism, yet he was startled to catch himself applauding the fiery glint in Kiyoaki’s eyes, whatever his purpose. Once, Iinuma had had nothing but contempt for his young master and his ways, but whatever Kiyoaki was up to now, and however self-indulgent he might be, there seemed to be a hidden determination in him that had never shown itself before.

  12

  THE AYAKURA RESIDENCE in Azabu was an old feudal mansion, and on either side of the wide main gate, the latticed windows of guard posts protruded from the wall. Now a household with very few visitors, however, there was no sign that the posts had been ma
nned recently. The snow had not blotted out the massed ridges of the roof tiles, but rather seemed to have molded itself faithfully to each of them as it fell.

  A dark figure holding an umbrella, Tadeshina apparently, stood in front of the small door beside the gate, but as Kiyoaki’s rickshaw approached, she vanished abruptly. As it drew up and he sat before the gate, Kiyoaki stared through it, seeing nothing in the garden through the snow.

  Finally, protected by Tadeshina’s half-open umbrella, Satoko appeared in the gateway wearing a purple robe, and as she bent her head before stepping out, her hands together at her breast, Kiyoaki felt his chest tighten at this sudden apparition of extravagant beauty, as though a billowing cloud of purple had burst out of the tiny gate into the falling snow.

  Helped by Tadeshina and the rickshaw men, Satoko seemed to float up to meet Kiyoaki as he leaned over to push back the rickshaw hood, but when he suddenly faced her bright, warm smile and the whirl of snowflakes clinging to her hair and the collar of her robe, he was startled, as if he had been assailed by something nebulous in the torpor of his dreams. The sudden lurching of the light vehicle as Satoko climbed up doubtless strengthened this impression, as did the tumbled purple folds of her robe lying heaped beside him, and her heady perfume, whose fragrance seemed to draw the very snowflakes that swirled in, making them strike against his cold cheeks. As Satoko got into the rickshaw, her momentum carried her cheek close to Kiyoaki’s for a second, and when she pulled her head back, disconcerted, to straighten up, Kiyoaki was caught by the supple strength of her neck. It made him think of the smooth, white neck of a swan.