AS THE grade of the conversation gradually steepened, it had turned back at some point toward the question of Tsugiko’s marriage. Though O-Nobu wished to skirt the subject if she could, in view of what had passed between them so far she felt an obligation that made avoidance impossible. Even if she couldn’t express the sort of prediction an inexperienced young lady might like to hear, as a slightly older woman who knew more about relations between men and women than her cousin, she wasn’t beyond wanting to extend her the kindness of a relatively emphatic warning. And so she made her way over treacherous ground gingerly and by harmless indirection.
“I don’t know what I can say. Tsuda was a personal matter and I understood myself. But when someone else is involved, it’s like a foreign country to me, I have no idea.”
“Must you tiptoe around?”
“I’m not tiptoeing.”
“But you sound so uninvolved, you sound cold.”
O-Nobu paused a moment before replying.
“Tsugiko-san. There’s something you may not know: a woman’s eyes see clearly for the first time when she encounters the person whose destiny is closest to her own. That’s the moment, the only moment when her eyes accomplish more than ten years of seeing in just one second. And moments like that come very rarely. You might live your whole life and die without ever having one. And so my eyes might as well be blind. At other times—”
“But Nobuko-san, you have such clear eyes, why won’t you use them to see for me?”
“It’s not that I won’t, I can’t!”
“But don’t they say the onlooker sees the go stones more clearly than the players do? You were on the sidelines; you should have been able to see way more impartially than I could.”
“You intend to decide the course of your life based on someone else’s vision?”
“Of course not, but it’d be something to refer to — especially from the person I trust most of all.”
O-Nobu was silent again for a moment. When she began again she was more serious.
“I told you a minute ago I was happy—”
“Yes?”
“You know why I’m happy?”
O-Nobu came to a full stop. Then, before Tsugiko could speak, she subjoined, “There’s only one reason. Because I chose my husband with my own eyes. Because I didn’t rely on an observer watching the game. Do you understand?”
Tsugiko looked forlorn.
“So there’s no chance for someone like me to be happy—”
O-Nobu had to say something. But nothing came to her. Finally, all at once, in a voice that sounded suddenly excited, she spoke in a rush of words.
“There is. There is. Just love someone! And make him love you! If you can just do that, you’ll have more prospects for being happy than you can imagine!”
Vividly etched in her mind as she spoke was an image of Tsuda and no one else. Though she was speaking to Tsugiko, scarcely the shadow of an image of Miyoshi came to mind. Tsugiko, who fortunately had interpreted O-Nobu’s remarks as solely for her own benefit, was not sufficiently stirred to take her exalted mood seriously.
“But who?” she said, looking at O-Nobu as though slightly dismayed. “That gentleman we met last night?”
“It doesn’t matter who. Just love the person you’ve decided is the one for you. And make him love you no matter what.”
The cutting edge of O-Nobu’s pertinacity, normally hidden away, gradually revealed itself. Gentle Tsugiko stepped back a little each time it emerged until, becoming aware of a distance between them not easily bridged, she breathed a quiet sigh.
“Are you doubting what I say? It’s true. I’m not fibbing, it’s true. I’m truly happy, do you understand?”
Having compelled Tsugiko to affirm what she said, O-Nobu continued, as if speaking to herself.
“It’s the same for everyone. A person may not be happy now, but all it takes is her intention and there will be happiness in her future. She will be happy. She will be happy and show everyone. Do you see, Tsugiko, do you agree?”
Failing to understand what O-Nobu was thinking, Tsugiko could only consider vaguely that this prediction was intended to apply to her. But it made little sense no matter how hard she thought about it.