The Setting Sun

Mother’s health has shockingly deteriorated while I, quite on the contrary, feel as though I am steadily turning into a coarse, low-class woman. I can’t escape the feeling that it is by sucking the life-breath out of Mother that I am fattening.

Mother has never said a word concerning the fire except for her joke about the firewood bei

ng for burning. Far from reprimanding me, she seemed to pity me, but the shock she received was certainly ten times as great as mine. Ever since the fire Mother sometimes groans in her sleep, and on nights when a strong wind is blowing, she slips out of bed any number of times, however late it may be, and goes around the house making sure that everything is all right. She never looks well. Some days even walking seems a great strain for her. She had expressed a desire to help me in the fields, and although I had discouraged her, she insisted on carrying five or six great bucketfuls of water from the well. The next day her back was so stiff she could barely breathe. She spent the day in bed. After that she appeared to have given up the idea of manual labor. Once in a while she walks out into the fields but only to observe intently what I am doing.

Today, while Mother was watching me work, she suddenly remarked, “They say that people who like summer flowers die in the summer. I wonder if it’s true.” I did not answer but went on watering the eggplants. It is already the beginning of summer. She continued softly, “I am very fond of hibiscus, but we haven’t a single one in this garden.”

“We have plenty of oleanders,” I answered in an intentionally sharp tone.

“I don’t like them. I like almost all summer flowers, but oleanders are too loud.”

“I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.”

We both laughed.

“Won’t you rest a bit?” Mother asked, still smiling. She added, “I have something I’d like to talk over with you today.”

“What is it? If it’s about your dying, no thanks.”

I followed Mother to a bench under the wisteria trellis. The wisteria blossoms were at their end, and the soft afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves fell on our laps and dyed them green.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for quite a while, but I was waiting for a moment when we were both in a good mood. You see, it’s not a very easy thing to discuss. But today I feel somehow as if I can talk about it. I ask you please to restrain yourself and listen until I have finished. The truth is that Naoji is alive.”

I stiffened all over.

“Five or six days ago I had a letter from your Uncle Wada. It seems that a man who used to work for him has recently returned from the South Pacific. He went to your uncle’s office to pay his respects, and then, quite by accident, it came out that he had been in the same unit with Naoji and that Naoji is safe and will soon be returning. He had one unpleasant thing to report. According to this man, Naoji has become a rather serious opium addict.”

“Again!”

My mouth twisted as if I had eaten something bitter. When Naoji was in high school, in imitation of a certain novelist, he had taken to drugs, and he finally ran up such an enormous bill at the pharmacist’s that it had taken Mother two years to pay it in full.

“Yes. He seems to have taken it up again. But the man said that he’s certain to be cured by the time he gets back because they won’t let him return otherwise. Your uncle’s letter goes on to say that even if Naoji is cured when he returns there’s no immediate likelihood of finding a job for someone in his frame of mind. Even perfectly normal people become rather peculiar nowadays if they work in Tokyo—what with all the confusion—and a semi-invalid who has just recovered from narcotic poisoning might go berserk in no time. There’s no telling what he might do. If Naoji comes back, the best thing would be for us to take care of him here in the mountains for the time being and not let him go anywhere else. That’s one thing. And, Kazuko, your uncle had another thing in his letter. He says that our money is all gone, and what with the blocking of savings and the capital levy, he won’t be able to send us as much as he has before. It will be extremely difficult for him to manage our living expenses, especially when Naoji arrives and there are three of us to take care of. He suggests that we should waste no time in finding for you either a husband or else a position in some household.”

“As a servant?”

“No, your uncle wrote that he knew of a family that’s related to us and in the peerage where you could have a position as governess to the little girls. That probably wouldn’t be too depressing or awkward for you.”

“I wonder if there isn’t some other job.”

“He says that any other profession would be impractical for you.”

“Why impractical?”

Mother smiled sadly but did not answer.

“No! I’ve had enough of such talk!” I burst out hysterically, knowing even as I did so that I would regret it. But I couldn’t stop. “Look at me in these wretched sneakers—look!” I was crying, but I brushed the tears away with the back of my hand and looked Mother in the face. A voice within me repeated, “I mustn’t, I mustn’t,” but words, having no connection with my expressed self, poured forth, as if from the depths of my subconscious.

“Didn’t you once say that it was because of me, because you had me, that you were going to Izu? Didn’t you say that if you didn’t have me you would die? That’s why I’ve stayed here without budging from your side. And here I am wearing these sneakers because my only thought has been to grow vegetables you would like. Now you hear that Naoji’s coming home, and suddenly you find me in the way. ‘Go off and become a servant!’ you say. It’s too much, too much.”

My words seemed horrible even to myself, but they could not be stopped, as if they had an existence of their own.

“If we’re poor and our money’s gone, why don’t we sell all our expensive clothes? Why don’t we sell this house? I can do something. I can get a job working at the village office, and if they won’t hire me there, I can do coolie work. Poverty is nothing. As long as you love me, all I want is to spend my whole life by your side. But you love Naoji more than you love me, don’t you? I’ll go. I’ll go. I’ve never been able to get along with Naoji and it would only bring unhappiness to all three of us if I stayed. We’ve lived together for a long time, and I have nothing to regret in our relationship. Now you and Naoji can stay together, just the two of you. I hope for your sake he’ll be a very good son to you. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of this life. I’ll go. I’ll leave today, at once. I have somewhere I can go.”

I stood up.

“Kazuko!” Mother spoke severely. Her face was filled with a dignity she had never shown me before. When she stood and confronted me, she looked almost taller than I.

I wanted to beg her pardon, but the words would not come from my mouth. Instead I uttered quite different ones. “You’ve deceived me. Mother, you’ve deceived me. You were using me until Naoji came. I’ve been your servant, and now that you no longer need me you’re sending me away.”