Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 10

4 89 4 10 E arly the next morning there was a tap at the door. “Rie!” Barbara stared. Rie’s protest bandage was gone; her hair was freshly washed. “May I speak to you, Sensei?” “Of course. Would you like some tea? Or Coca Cola?” Rie declined. They went into the Western-style room, where Rie stood looking at the books on the shelf. “You have many volumes of Japanese writing.” “I studied contemporary Japanese literature with Nakano sensei at my university last year, and since I’ve come to Japan I’ve bought everything I could find. In translation of course. I know it’s not the same.” Rie turned to look at her. “I heard you speak at Nakamoto sensei’s service. Thank you for your sincere effort.” “I thought I’d disgraced myself, and Nakamoto sensei too.” Rie shook her head. “In Japan we have two important words, tatemae and honne. Tatemae means appearance and honne, true feeling . Many Japanese are more concerned with tatemae, but you spoke your feeling. I admire this.” “Thank you, Rie. Thank you very much.” “I am thinking further on original sin and wish to do another writing on this subject. Can you agree to read it?” “Yes,” Barbara said, with a smile. “I can.” “Some say I also express my opinion too freely, ne?” Rie said, She laughed suddenly, showing dimples high in her cheeks. “I think we are in some way similiar after all.” “I guess we are,” Barbara said. She followed Rie into the hall and watched as she ran down the stairs. Wonders will never cease, she could hear her father saying, and then her mother’s inevitable rejoinder : “Oh but they will cease. Wonders will almost certainly always cease.” That afternoon as Barbara was returning from the classroom building , where she’d recorded her grades, Mrs. Ueda asked her if she would please come in for tea. Barbara had never been inside Mrs. Ueda’s apartment before. It was laid out like Michi-san’s with windows facing east and south. There was a pleasant clutter in the room, overflowing bookshelves and stacks of recordings. Above one of the bookshelves was a print of a Japanese woman in kimono with a salmon-colored obi. Michi-san’s Sharaku print. “Dozo,” Mrs Ueda said, gesturing toward the table. Barbara sat down and Mrs. Ueda went to the kitchen to make tea. The table was by the back window where Michi’s had been. Mrs. Ueda returned with tea and bean cakes and settled herself opposite Barbara. She wasn’t wearing the turban today. Her hair was pulled back into a tiny bun; when she turned her head to the side Barbara could see scalp beneath the graying strands. There were pouches beneath her eyes but her ivory skin glowed in the light from 4 90 4 4 91 4 the window. From her fine, delicate features, it was evident that she had once been beautiful. “I noticed that you have one of Nakamotosan ’s prints,” Barbara said. “Yes. She has given me her entire collection.” “I’m glad—Miss Fujizawa said there were few individual recipients.” “Most of her possessions were sold to benefit a certain hospital. But she has made her bequeathals first, has she not?” “Yes.” Barbara shifted uneasily. “I was very grateful to receive her wine tansu.” “I have never cared for umeshu, myself. I make it a habit to avoid all spirits.” Barbara nodded, smiling. Mrs. Ueda knew nothing of the writing , then. “I have been thinking of your talk about Nakamoto sensei,” Mrs. Ueda said. “Has she spoken to you of her experience in Hiroshima?” Barbara paused. “I was aware of it,” she said. “I am surprised by this.” “My mother was in Hiroshima in the late thirties. Michi— Nakamoto sensei and I talked about that. Maybe that’s one reason she didn’t mind my knowing.” “Perhaps that and the fact that you are non-Japanese.” She poured more tea into Barbara’s cup. “Thank you. Mrs. Ueda, I realize now that I shouldn’t have mentioned that Michi-san was an hibakusha—but could you please tell me why? I don’t understand.” “The bomb survivors are associated with bad luck and death. Indeed with their exposure to radiation the victims themselves are considered a pollution. Hibakusha have become almost a pariah caste in Japan.” “It’s hard to comprehend how victims of bombing could be considered outcasts...