CHAPTER 18

Her perspicacity impressed me. It also intrigued me to observe how her approach to things was unlike that of a traditional Japanese woman, although she almost never used the currently fashionable language.

In those days I was just a foolish youth, with no real experience with the opposite sex. Instinctively I dreamed about women as objects of desire, but these were merely vague fantasies with all the substance of a yearning for the fleeting clouds of spring. When I came face-to-face with a real woman, however, my feelings sometimes veered to the opposite pole—rather than feeling attracted to her, I would be seized by a strange repulsion.

But I had no such reaction to Sensei’s wife. I was not even much aware of the usual differences between the way men and women think. In fact, I forgot she was a woman. She was simply someone who could judge Sensei honestly and who sympathized with him.

“Last time you said something,” I began, “when I asked why Sensei doesn’t put himself forward more in the world. You said he never used to be like that.”

“I did. And it’s true—he was different once.”

“So what was he like?”

“He was the sort of strong, dependable person you and I would both like him to be.”

“Why did he suddenly change, then?”

“The change wasn’t sudden—it came over him gradually.”

“And you were with him all the time it was happening?”

“Naturally. We were married.”

“Then surely you must have a good idea of what brought about the change.”

“But that’s just the problem. It’s painful to hear you say this, because I’ve racked my brains, but I just don’t know. I don’t know how many times I’ve begged him to talk about it.”

“And what does he say?”

“He says there’s nothing to talk about, and nothing to worry about, it’s simply that this is how he’s turned out. That’s all he’ll say.”

I did not speak. Sensei’s wife also fell silent. There was no sound from the maid’s room. All thoughts of burglars had vanished from my mind.

Then she broke the silence. “Perhaps you think it’s my fault?”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t feel you have to hide anything, please. It would be like a knife in the heart to have such a thing thought of me,” she continued. “I’m doing all I can for him. I’m doing my very best.”

“Please don’t worry. Sensei knows that. Believe me. I give you my word.”

She took up the fire tongs and sat smoothing the ash in the brazier. Then she poured water from the jug into the iron kettle, immediately quieting its singing.

“I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and said to him, ‘If there’s any fault in me, then please tell me honestly. If I can correct it, I will.’ And he replied, ‘You don’t have any fault. The fault is in me.’ When I heard that, it made me unbearably sad. It made me cry. And I longed more than ever to know how I might be to blame.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes.