Light and dark

[71]

THIS UNEXPECTED tussle drew O-Nobu even closer to her childhood. For an instant a freedom she had never felt in Tsuda’s presence revived in her. She had completely forgotten herself in the present.

“Tsugiko-san, you’d better get a rag.”

“Why me? You spilled it, you should clean it up.”

Together they played at mutual concession and more butting of heads.

“Then paper, rock, scissors,” O-Nobu said abruptly, clenching her slender hand into a fist and thrusting it at Tsugiko. Tsugiko complied at once. The jeweled ring on a finger glinted between them. Each round, they laughed.

“That’s sneaky.” “That’s cheating.”

“You’re sneaky!” “You’re cheating.”

By the time O-Nobu finally lost, the spilled water had been neatly absorbed by the desk cover and the weave in the tatami. Calm and composed again, she took a handkerchief from her sleeve and blotted the wet spots.

“We don’t need a rag, this will do perfectly well. It’s not even wet.”

Returning the tipped vase to its original position, she carefully rearranged the disarrayed flowers. Then she settled herself as if she had forgotten completely the ruckus a minute earlier. Appearing to find this unbearably amusing, Tsugiko couldn’t contain her laughter.

When she had contained her laughing jag, Tsugiko removed the box of tallies in its paper cover from her obi where she had hidden it and put it away in the drawer in the bookshelf beside her. As she locked the drawer with a click, she looked pointedly at O-Nobu.

But this interest in meaningless play that Tsugiko appeared able to sustain endlessly couldn’t hold O-Nobu’s attention for long. Having forgotten herself briefly, she sobered more quickly than her cousin.

“How wonderful to be so carefree all the time!”

O-Nobu returned Tsugiko’s gaze. Her harmless remark was lost on her cousin.

“And you’re not?”

“As if you’re not as carefree as anyone,” she might have been saying; and her emphasis seemed to convey an accumulated resentment at being treated by everyone like a young lady who understood nothing of the real world.

“Whatever in the world is so different about you and me?”

Their ages were different. Their personalities were different. But where inside themselves and in what way they differed with regard to being in consideration of others and feeling constrained was a question Tsugiko had yet to consider.

“What sorts of things do you worry about, Nobuko-san? Tell me.”

“I have no worries.”

“That’s what I thought. So you’re as carefree as I am.”

“Perhaps you could say I was carefree — but in a different way from you.”

“What makes you say that?”

O-Nobu could hardly explain. Nor did she feel like explaining.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“But we’re only three years apart — just three.”

Tsugiko hadn’t taken into account the difference marriage made.

“It’s not only about age. There are changes in status. When a girl becomes someone’s wife, or when a wife loses her husband and becomes a widow—”

Tsugiko looked doubtful.

“Did you feel less burdened when you were here with us or now that you’re with Yoshio-san?”

“I really couldn’t—”

O-Nobu faltered. Tsugiko didn’t give her a chance to prepare a reply.

“It’s easier now, isn’t it? I thought so.”

O-Nobu felt obliged to respond.

“It isn’t that simple.”

“But he’s the man you wanted, isn’t he? Tsuda-san?”

“He is — so I’m happy.”

“Happy but not carefree?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m not carefree—”

“So you’re carefree but you worry about things?”

“I don’t know what to say when you grill me that way.”

“I don’t mean to grill you, but I don’t understand so I can’t help it.”