Mistress Oriku. Matsutaro Kawaguchi
would never look to them for any help! No, if this place lost its popularity, there’d be nothing for me to do but hang myself.” As so often with him, she flared up and gave him a good piece of her mind.
“I see. So you get no support from the Silver Flower?”
“Of course not! I wouldn’t take it even if it were offered. Instead the Silver Flower built me this place. I worked fifteen years there, after all. That was fair enough.”
“Well, I don’t see why you have to get so angry about it.”
“Angry? Of course I’m angry! Here I am, working my head off, and people imagine the Yoshiwara is supporting me! I can’t stand it!”
“Sorry. I should watch my tongue.”
“Well, look out—you might do it again.”
Between the two of them, it was impossible to tell just from their manner which was the woman and which the man. In fact, it was always like that. That’s how it was with the gentle, feminine Monnosuke and the quick-tempered Oriku, every time they were together.
“I came today, you see,” Monnosuke said timidly, “because there’s something I simply have to ask you.”
“Something outlandish, I’m sure. Well, I still have two parties of guests to look after. You can wait till I’m done with them.”
Back she went to the kitchen, and untied her sleeves only after the two parties were properly taken care of. The kitchen was of a generous size, since the building was a remodeled farmhouse, and its polished wood floor shone. The hearth was set into the floor at the base of the main pillar. Oriku sat and gave directions from there, and also personally made the tea.
Once the last two parties were gone and her sleeves were untied, Oriku washed her face and returned to the Paulownia. Monnosuke was drinking gloomily by himself.
“You look terribly depressed. Has something happened?” She sat down. Their affair might be over, but they understood each other and could talk about anything.
“I just don’t know what to do. I can’t tell anyone else, so I thought I might at least get you to listen to the story.” He had none of his usual cheerfulness.
“If it’s that bad, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“You’re right, I’d much prefer not to trouble you with it, but you see, it concerns Mr. Matsushima of Kayabachō.”
“Mr. Matsushima? He’s your benefactor, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s been my benefactor for ages. When I took my present name, he’s the one who provided the curtain for the event. I can’t tell you how much he’s done for me. When he wants something of me, I simply can’t refuse.”
“What does he want of you, then? Surely a man like that wouldn’t be unreasonable.”
“I’m afraid he’s asking a lot, though. You see, he has this maid named Ohisa. You probably don’t know her—she hasn’t been with him that long.”
“No, I don’t know him well enough to know his maids. Are you saying you’ve gotten this Ohisa pregnant, or something?”
“Goodness no! And if I had, do you really think I’d come to you about it? No, the one who’s gotten her pregnant is Mr. Matsushima himself.”
“Oh dear, that’s poor, knocking up one of his own maids. It isn’t like him.”
“It certainly isn’t. It seems his wife gets after him about everything. She doesn’t know yet, so apparently so far, so good; but he’ll really be in for it if she ever finds out. On top of all that, Ohisa is getting big, and she’s left the shop to go back to her parents.”
“Why are you carrying on to me this way about somebody else’s love troubles? I’m busy, and you could spare me this nonsense.”
“No, no, I haven’t even gotten to the real problem yet.”
“What? You’re impossible! For pity’s sake, then, just get on with it! What is this all about?”
“Mr. Matsushima wants me to marry Ohisa.”
“He what? Just like that? Big belly and all?”
“Yes. He wants me to marry her and treat the child as mine.”
“Well, that’s a good one.”
“I think so too.”
“That’s what you get for messing about so long as a bachelor.”
“Yes, and that’s exactly why I asked you to marry me. But you wouldn’t, would you!”
“Of course I wouldn’t. Me, at my age, an actor’s wife! The idea!”
“Yes, that’s why you said you didn’t want me. So it’s your fault, too.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want you. It’s just that, to me, the business comes first.”
“Right, so I’ve given up. In exchange, you might at least help me out. What in the world should I do?”
“That’s entirely up to you. I can see you taking a wife, after tasting the pleasures of life as you’ve already done, but not then having your own child. You might as well just go ahead and say yes. People will accept it readily enough, if you let it be known there was something between the two of you from before. Mr. Matsushima’s a very presentable man, and the child’s bound to have looks. You don’t, and that does you no good despite your skill. Mr. Matushima’s son would make you a good successor. Marry Ohisa, and everyone will be happy. Don’t you agree?”
Eager as Oriku always was to be helpful, these words slipped out of her mouth before she even knew what she was saying. Monnosuke seemed to have been expecting just that tone of voice.
“Then I’ll do as you suggest. I hope I may avail myself of your good offices.”
“Good offices?What do you mean?This has nothing to do with me.”
“But this isn’t the sort of thing a man can look after all by himself. Won’t you please talk to Mr. Matsushima for me?”
“Why in the world should I have to do that?”
“There isn’t anyone else I can ask, and it isn’t as though I was just adopting a kitten or something, you know. This woman is going to be my wife. There’s my teacher to think about, and I’ll have to introduce her to my other benefactors, too.”
“Mr. Matsushima will take care of all that for you. You won’t have to say a word.”
“But I’m sure everything will go much better—much more smoothly, you know—if you step in as go-between. Nothing you’d say would ever strike a false note.”
This was just what Monnosuke had had in mind. If he was going to marry someone’s pregnant maid, he wanted everything done properly, or as much as possible under the circumstances, but he could not very well say so himself, so he had been planning to use Oriku all along.
“All right, I’ll talk to Mr. Matsushima.”
“I’ll be very grateful.”
“I’ve never known a man to go on and on making such a nuisance of himself as you do!” She looked angry, but she was not displeased. It was her way always to do anything she possibly could for someone she had had that sort of connection with, even once.
“Matsushima” was a well-established restaurant at the Yakushi corner of Kayabachō. Oriku had known the owner ever since her Silver Flower days. In his mid-fifties, with a pale, slender face, he looked good in his kimono of lustrous, striped cotton, and you could see at a glance that women would find him attractive.
Oriku put in a phone call to Matsushima’s place and got him on the line. He willingly came out to Mukōjima. The streetcar ran as far as the Kaminari