Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 22

22 D ear child, what is it? Please come in.” “Michi-san,” Barbara said. “The reason I knew she was a survivor of Hiroshima was from some writing she left to me.” “Ah.” “I just had part of it translated—what happened—on that day. How could she go on after that?” Miss Ota led Barbara into her apartment; they sat at her kotatsu. “Nakamoto sensei would be most touched by your response to her writing,” Miss Ota said. “Indeed, I am touched as well.” Barbara thought of Seiji, how he turned away from her as he read Michi’s story. “Why didn’t she leave it to a Japanese friend— someone who’d be closer to the experience?” “Perhaps she hoped to enlighten you. As it seems, she has done.” Barbara put her head in her hands. Miss Ota went to the kitchen and returned with two glasses of sherry. 4 200 4 4 201 4 “Thank you, Miss Ota. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” “Your acquaintance is a comfort to me as well. A bright spot in my life.” She sipped at her drink. “Not many people now living are aware that I was born in the state of Texas.” “Texas!” She couldn’t imagine Miss Ota in Texas. “My father was an agricultural specialist doing some work in plains of western Texas. We returned to Japan in my high school days. After I graduated from Kodaira College I went on to Cambridge , where I spent a number of years, though I never felt myself entirely at home. So you see I have always been a bit like the ugly duckling, not quite at ease in Western world or Japan.” Barbara nodded. “I see.” Miss Ota took her hand. “Now, will you kindly keep me company for the evening meal?” Barbara lay awake much of the night, Michi-san’s story running through her mind: Chie’s premonition, the soldier by the edge of the river, holding his guts inside, the mother with a lifeless baby at her breast. Then Michi giving birth with Seiji’s assistance. No wonder Seiji couldn’t translate those pages on the spot. How petty her jealousy about Carol seemed now. The next day after her morning classes Barbara walked through the woods to Takanodai, noticing for the first time that the trees were all fairly slender, none of the trunks of wider girth than the oak tree her father planted when they moved to Stone Street. This area had probably been heavily bombed in the Tokyo air raids. A devastated landscape lay beneath this tranquil green one, and beneath that, still another world. She found Seiji in the restaurant eating lunch. Kimi was sitting across from him, the two of them talking and laughing. She stood by the door a moment, shifting the black bag from one hand to the other. When Seiji looked up at her his face changed, the smile suddenly gone. He said something to Kimi; she got up and scuttled off toward the kitchen. Barbara sat down where Kimi had been. The plastic seat was still warm. They had been eating domburi, rice topped with vegetables and egg. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but I wanted to talk to you. In private,” she added, as Kimi reemerged from the kitchen and began to busy herself behind the counter. He stood, pushing back his chair. “Don’t you want to finish your lunch?” He shook his head. She followed him out of the restaurant to the pottery. “Have you made some new pieces today?” she asked. “Not today.” He lit a cigarette and began rearranging some tea bowls on a shelf. She glanced toward the little room where they had made love; the door was closed. “I’ve brought back Michi-san’s 1949 papers,” she said. “I apologize for the other night. I was upset—about other things.” She took the roll of papers out of the bag and handed them to him. He accepted them with a bow. “Thank you,” he said. “I think I caused the difficulty with my behavior. I have regret for this.” “Shall we—read them together?” She couldn’t bring herself to confess about having had them translated; she could tell by his face that he’d never forgive her. “Whenever you have time,” she added. He looked at her steadily. “Oh, Seiji, don’t you want to see me anymore?” He stepped forward...