Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 4

4 33 4 4 T he tansu was just as Barbara had left it that morning before class, one drawer open, several papers and bottles on the floor. Relieved, she wrapped the papers around the bottles and returned the wine to the drawers. She noticed that the dates on the outside of each paper—the only symbols in English—all looked recent. The brushstrokes were dark; not even the oldest dates were faded. Michi must have dated the wines for her, so she wouldn’t get the years confused. She imagined Michi in the small room where she’d kept the tansu, dipping her brush into the flat ink container. What had she been thinking? Had she tried to predict Barbara’s reaction , or considered the dilemma about translation? Michi had often urged her to study Japanese, but surely she didn’t want her to wait the years it would take to learn all these kanji. Perhaps she could locate a translator through a language school. She ran a hand lightly over a row of wines. She would figure out what to do. Meanwhile, she would clean her apartment, make it a suitable place for the tansu. She began in the kitchen, washing and drying stacks of dishes. The radio was tuned to the English language channel. President Johnson had announced a resumption of the bombing of North Vietnam after a thirty-seven day truce. She changed the dial to a Japanese station, the sounds of a plucked shamisen and a flute. In the Western-style room, she swept and dusted around the albatross of a bed—still where she’d left it, angled across the floor— then sat down at her desk, piled high with papers and magazines. She unearthed several drafts of her incomplete dissertation: “Mausoleum of Hope and Desire: The Metaphysics of Time in Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying and The Sound and the Fury.” In another pile were pictures of herself and Michi at Kamakura. There was the fleeting view they’d had of Mt. Fuji, a blurry snapshot taken through the train window. She flipped through several other photographs to the one of herself and Michi in front of the great Buddha. Michi stood erect, her head turned slightly to one side. She was smiling, her eyes almost shut behind her glasses; the smile accented her pointed chin and high cheekbones. There was such a natural sweetness and wisdom in her face. Barbara, more than a head taller, stood with her hands in the pockets of her unbuttoned camel hair coat, one strand of blonde hair lifted by the breeze. In the background was the colossal Buddha, looking serenely down at them. Barbara took the photograph to her bedroom and put it on the tansu; she’d get a frame for it tomorrow. She picked up dirty clothes from the six-mat room and put a blue pottery bowl on the tokonoma. The floor of her bedroom closet was covered with clothes. When she started pulling them out, Michi’s package of laundry, still in its brown paper wrapping, tumbled to the floor. She untied the string and folded back the paper. On top of a 4 34 4 4 35 4 stack of sheets and towels were two wide ribbons, one red, one yellow , their broad ends cut like swallowtails. She set the ribbons aside, and unfolded a small cotton kimono, then a tiny nightgown embroidered with plum blossoms. These were child’s things. There must be some mistake; the man had delivered the wrong package. But beneath the clothes were some striped kitchen towels that she recognized, and an indigo and white cloth that had been on Michi’s table. Barbara slowly refolded the laundry, with the clothes and ribbons on top. She carried the bundle to Miss Ota’s apartment. Miss Ota was so long answering her knock, Barbara almost gave up. “Excuse me,” Miss Ota said when she opened the door. I was attempting to secure a recalcitrant latch on my valise. Tomorrow I am journeying to my niece in Yonago for a brief visit.” “I’m sorry to disturb you. . . .” Miss Ota glanced down at the things in Barbara’s arms. “I just opened Nakamoto-san’s laundry, and I was just wondering . . . There are some child’s clothes. . . .” “Yes, I see,” Miss Ota said. “Please come in.” Barbara followed her into the apartment. “Dozo,” Miss Ota said, motioning her to sit at the kotatsu. The table was covered...