Light and dark

[50]

A MINUTE later Uncle Okamoto arrived. Glancing through the crack in the door opened for him by the man from the teahouse, he beckoned to Yuriko. Following a whispered exchange of two or three sentences standing at the door, Yuriko immediately left the theater as arranged, accompanied by the attendant from the teahouse. Entering as she went out, Okamoto wedged himself into his seat. A fat man who looked as though he might find it onerous to adjust even a little the position of his body in a space such as this, he settled in and then, as if something had occurred to him abruptly, turned halfway around.

“O-Nobu, shall we change places? I must be in your way.”

O-Nobu was indeed feeling as if a mountain had risen in front of her, but out of consideration for those around her, who were intent on the stage, she didn’t move. Okamoto, who never wore wool against his skin, had dressed for the occasion; folding his wool-clad arms, he directed his gaze in the same direction as the others as if resigned to being good company. Onstage a wan, odd-looking fellow was pacing beneath a willow tree. Carelessly dressed in a kimono with broad stripes, his Hakata obi purposely tied low over his hips, the rake was wearing zoris with leather soles that slapped against the floor at every step, a sound that grated on Okamoto’s ears. He took in the bridge next to the willow tree and the white mud walls on the other side of the bridge and then shifted his attention to the audience. Their faces, every one of them, were tense. As if there were major significance in the movements of the young man as he paced back and forth, slapping the floor with his zoris, the full house was hushed, not a single cough. Perhaps, having just come from outside, Okamoto was still insulated against this very particular atmosphere, or perhaps he simply found it ridiculous: after a brief interval he turned halfway around again ponderously in his seat and addressed O-Nobu in a low voice.

“Is this any good? How’s Yoshio-san?”

Having posed three or four simple questions, to which O-Nobu replied with one-word answers, Okamoto spoke again with a pointed glint in his eye.

“How did it go today? Yoshio-san must have had a thing or two to say. He must have done some grumbling, ‘Here I am sick in bed and you’re off to the theater’—I can imagine him thinking that was going too far and saying so.”

“He said nothing of the kind.”

“But he must have had a comment or two. Something about me having some nerve, at least. You sounded strange on the phone.”

In a place where no one around her was talking, not even in a whisper, O-Nobu felt extremely awkward about engaging in a long dialogue and merely smiled weakly.

“Anyway, it’s not a problem. Your old uncle will get on the phone with him later so you needn’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

“No? But you must be a little concerned — to have offended your husband so soon after getting married.”

“It’s fine — I’m trying to tell you, he’s not offended.”

O-Nobu arched her eyebrows as if in annoyance. Okamoto, who had been chaffing her for his own amusement, turned a little serious.

“Truth be told, our invitation today wasn’t just to theater; we rather needed you to be here. That’s why I dragged you out even though Yoshio-san is ill. When I explain the reason to him later, I’m sure he’ll understand. You can count on your uncle to explain.”

O-Nobu quickly looked away from the stage.

“What reason are you talking about?”

“It’s hard to talk in here. I’ll tell you later.”

O-Nobu could only fall silent. Okamoto offered an amplification.

“We’re having dinner here this evening with Yoshikawa-san. Did you know that? Look, he’s sitting right over there.”

O-Nobu hadn’t noticed him before, but this time she had no trouble identifying the figure of Mr. Yoshikawa.

“He came with me from the club.”

At this point their conversation broke off. O-Nobu returned her attention to the stage. But ten minutes had scarcely passed when she was distracted by the man from the teahouse quietly opening the door behind them once again. The man whispered something to her aunt, who immediately leaned over to her uncle.

“Yoshikawa-san has arranged for dinner and is asking us to join him in the dining room at the next intermission.”

O-Nobu’s uncle responded at once.

“Tell him it will be our pleasure.”

The man opened the door quietly and went outside.

O-Nobu, wondering what was about to happen next, waited in silence for the dinner hour to arrive.