Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 26

26 T he following week it was scorchingly hot in Tokyo, and stifling in the Asakusa apartment. Barbara and Seiji went out to buy an electric fan, but it was little help, merely shifting the turgid air about and languidly riffling the edges of papers on the table. Barbara took off her dress and sat down to work in her slip. Seiji looked taken aback, even slightly shocked, she thought, but she persuaded him to take off his shirt. She brought damp washcloths from the bath and as they read the next of Michi’s writings they wiped the perspiration from their faces and arms. “‘There is much to record this year,’” the 1953 paper began. “‘A visit from Ota sensei cheered us in November and we had many heartfelt talks and enjoyed cooking together our Japanese food. She is devoted to Ume, who takes to her as if she were grandmother.’” Dear Miss Ota. Barbara could see her in her kimono, looking 4 240 4 4 241 4 slightly out of place in an American kitchen, as she made chawan mushi custard for Ume. “‘Nakamoto says when she told Ota sensei of her effort to find Ko she suggest we telephone to Yokogawas listed in telephone directory .’” Seiji read ahead silently, running his finger down the page. “She says she has already done this, to no luck. They make some attempts to search records in offices of the city, but are not successful.” “Does she say what records? Some archives?” Engrossed in the paper, he did not answer. “Next Nakamoto writes that she and Ota took Ume for an outing to Little Osaka in San Francisco where they had a lunch of soba noodles. Ota asked restaurant manager as we were leaving has she heard of Ko Yokogawa , a woman famous for haiku and tanka poetry before the war. She does not know her. ‘Many look at us curiously,’ Nakamoto writes, ‘and I am embarrassed by Ota sensei’s British Japanese voice, although she means very well. Ota sensei wishes to make further investigation elsewhere in the area but Ume has become cross and I am glad to have that excuse that we must go.’ “‘Some weeks after Ota sensei’s departure I have returned to Little Osaka alone and made discreet inquiries of elderly people whom I met on the streets and in shops. Finally . . .’” “Yes?” “‘. . . at one shop, Watanabe’s dried goods, I am met with some success. Mother to store owner is there that day to arrange kimono. She says she did know Ko Yokogawa who was writer of poems!’” Barbara gasped. “She found her!” “Do not be too hasty,” he said. “Nakamoto says she was extremely agitated—like you,” he added, smiling at Barbara, “But she calmly says, ‘Are you certain?’ ‘Oh yes, she was very memorable woman, quite beautiful with heavy eyebrows and fine pale face. She worked at a boarding house with her daughter.’” “Does she give the name of the boarding house?” He shook his head. “She says Ko was known for her ability to predict the future as well as for her haiku and tanka.” “I guess Michi-san inherited the gift for poetry from Ko,” Barbara said. “Has she read her poems to you?” Barbara started to speak, then stopped. The only way she knew about the poems was from the paper she’d had translated. “I was thinking she had,” she finally said. “We had many discussions about Japanese literature, including haiku.” That much was true. He was watching her closely. “Isn’t it fascinating that Ko had an ability to predict the future? Since Chie herself felt that about Ko, even when she wasn’t physically there.” “Eh?” “Ko predicting that the bomb would fall, and warning Chie to go protect Michi and Ume.” He laughed. “Can you believe this?” “Well—in a way.” He shook his head, still smiling, and looked back at the page. “Most people in America do not like Ko’s fortunes. The woman tells Nakamoto her predictions were always foreboding, with warnings of betrayal.” “Ko probably felt deeply betrayed herself, by the Takasu family, so she would see betrayals looming everywhere.” “Sometimes I think you are translator of this story,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t you speculate about what lies underneath what’s written? Reading between the lines, we say in English.” He shrugged. “I only read.” “Well, read then,” she said with a laugh. “What comes next...