Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 21

21 B arbara sat in the Western-style room drinking plum wine. Light from the full moon illuminated the back of the house and glinted in the windows of Michi-san’s apartment . A blade of moonlight lay across the floor. Tomorrow she’d call Mr. Wada, have the papers translated right away. She tried to imagine what Michi would think: there was nothing but silence. She went downstairs and around the back of the building to Michi’s garden. Mrs. Ueda’s windows were open, but no lights were on; she must have gone to bed. Michi’s cabbages were silvery in the moonlight, the patch of daisies a ghostly white. The other plants, robbed of color, were visible only as shapes that threw long shadows onto the ground. She lay on her back in a bare spot, removed a stone that was poking her shoulder, then put her hands under her head and closed her eyes. Her body began to relax. It felt good to lie here, on the solid earth, the moonlight against her eyelids. 4 190 4 4 191 4 She thought of the papers, the way Seiji had behaved. Michi would say have the papers translated by whomever you please. I left them to you, after all. Early the next morning she called Mr. Wada, who said he was quite free to help. “My wife is doing some spring cleaning and will be glad to have me otherwise occupied.” He greeted her outside his apartment building and led the way upstairs. Mrs. Wada turned off the vacuum to say hello, and Mr. Wada led the way into his study. Barbara took out the roll of 1949 papers and handed them to Mr. Wada. He frowned as he read. “This may take quite some time,” he said. “I don’t mind waiting.” He invited her to have a look at his bookshelf. “There are some books in English, including the translations I have made of Noh drama. Please enjoy the balcony if you wish,” he said, and took the papers to his desk. Most of Mr. Wada’s books were in Japanese, but there was a small shelf of works in English: Ivanhoe, A Crock of Gold, The Complete Works of Lord Byron, Anne of Green Gables—strange to see that here—and Collected Poems by Sir Thomas Wyatt. There were also six volumes of The Japanese Noh Drama, translated by Wada Masaro. She took down the Wyatt books and went out to the balcony. She sat down in an uncomfortable metal chair. Across the street were a large pachinko parlor and a bar. Odors of restaurant food floated up to her from somewhere. Inside, Mr. Wada begin to type. She opened the book of Wyatt’s poems; she’d liked them in college. “They flee from me that sometime did me seek,” the first poem began. She snapped the book shut, and went back inside. Mr. Wada looked up, surprised. “I thought I’d just go for a short walk,” she said, “I need some exercise.” “You may want to go for shopping,” he said. “This will require an hour or so.” Mrs.Wada was struggling to take down some blinds in the living room. “May I help?” Barbara asked. “No, no,” Mrs.Wada said, “please don’t trouble yourself,” but Barbara stood by while she removed the blinds and together they carried them downstairs to the back door. Mrs. Wada stepped into her wooden sandals. “Dozo,” she said, gesturing toward another pair. “Please wear my husband’s geta.” They clattered down the outside steps to an asphalt area where there was a hose, washed the blinds, and hung them over a clothesline. Going back upstairs, Mrs. Wada told Barbara about her daughter now in Hokkaido and how much she missed her; she used to help with the spring clearing. Mrs. Wada insisted there was no more to be done today and Barbara must stop as she must be tired. Mr. Wada came in, looking somber, and gave Barbara a sealed envelope. “Please read when you return home,” he said. Before she could ask Mr. Wada about the next language lesson or pay him, he bowed and retreated into his study. Mrs. Wada went with Barbara down the flights of stairs. “Please excuse my husband. I am afraid he is not feeling so well. He suffers from lumbago and is easily tired. But thank you for being my daughter today.” Barbara walked dispiritedly along the...