Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 18

18 T he next morning Barbara found a telegram under her door: “Please come Mashiko. Ride Tohoku line from Ueno #13, then Mito line to Mashiko. There is Ryokan Shirakawa. Innkeeper will call to me. Come I am urgent. Miss Dear Jefferson. Truely, Okada Seiji.” Barbara read the message through once more. Miss Dear Jefferson . He urgently wanted her to come. She pushed back the kitchen curtains. He knew she was in Tokyo. Maybe his aunt had told him. Or he had guessed. It didn’t matter. The day was beautiful, the sky cloudless. She could be out of here in thirty minutes, at the inn by tonight. He’d explain about the missing paper. She packed her clothes—enough for a week—and headed downstairs . In the vestibule she wrote a note to Mrs. Ueda telling her that she was making a brief trip and put the note in Mrs. Ueda’s cubby. Maybe she should run back upstairs and get some of Michi’s papers. He’d be interested in Michi’s search for Ko in California. She could 4 152 4 4 153 4 ask him to explain the background of the 1960 and 1962 papers, though maybe that was clear from the 1961 writing. She’d have to keep a neutral face when he translated the papers that Mr. Wada had already typed out for her. A door opened at the far end of the hall; she slipped outside. Seiji hadn’t mentioned the papers. It was her he urgently wanted to see. She sprinted down the driveway toward the street. Mashiko was a couple of hours northwest of Tokyo. In Mito she changed to a train pulled by a steam engine. It was like going back in time, with cinders blowing in through the open window and, in the fields, farmers in straw hats planting rice. The inn would be oldfashioned , discreet, two futons placed together. There would be a bathtub made of smooth hinoki wood, and a real kotatsu in their room. They would sit with their feet above the coals, the warmth traveling up their legs. In Mashiko, the streets were full of pottery set out on tables and benches; inside the open doors of houses she could see potters working at wheels, glazing, pounding clay. On the hillsides were rows of rounded low clay kilns. The inn was above the village, secluded in a grove of trees, as she’d imagined. The innkeeper, a young woman in country-style pants, led Barbara to a large tatami room. Barbara sat at the table while the woman poured tea and set out some bean cakes. “Okada Seiji?” Barbara said. “He is expecting me,” she added in Japanese. “Hai, hai.” The woman bowed and went to telephone him. After about twenty minutes the door to her room slid open. Seiji bowed. “I am glad you have come,” he said “My feeling is unspeakable.” She jumped up, laughing. “I am glad too,” she said. They sat down on opposite sides of the table. “I have some gift for you,” Seiji said, taking a small ceremonially wrapped package from his furoshiki. She opened it, inhaling the delicate fragrance of sandalwood. Inside was a fan, an ink painting of mountains and clouds on heavy rice paper. “This is my impression of Mashiko,” Seiji said. “I hope you will find Mashiko beautiful place. More beautiful than Hakone.” It seemed to be an apology. “Thank you,” she said. The innkeeper came in with more tea and a cup for Seiji; she left without speaking, sliding the door shut behind her. Barbara poured out the tea. “What shall we do first?” she said. “Will you give me a tour of Mashiko?” “Unfortunately this afternoon I must return to Hamada sensei’s studio—there is a kiln opening.” “But—” She set her tea down so hard it spilled onto the table. “You said it was so urgent that I come.” “Yes. I must see you.” “Well here I am.” “I did not know opening would be today. I am sorry. It is my fault you are angry.” She said nothing. He took out a scroll of paper from his furoshiki and set it before her. “I have made some translation for you,” he said. “Michi’s paper!” She reached for it. “I’ve been so worried.” “In my haste to return to Mashiko I forgot to mention. I am sorry you had cause for alarm.” “I’m just glad to have it...