An Artist of the Floating World by Kazuo Ishiguro Page A

may remember." Setsuko carefully repositioned a stem. "Forgive me, I am no doubt expressing myself unclearly. I was, in fact, referring to their investigations." "I"m sorry, I"m not sure I follow you. I was not aware we had anything to hide." Setsuko gave a nervous laugh. "Father must forgive me. As you know, I"ve never had a gift for conversation. Suichi is forever scolding me for expressing myself badly. He expresses himself so eloquently. No doubt, I should endeavour to learn from him." "I"m sure your conversation is fine, but I"m afraid I don't quite follow what you are saying." Suddenly, Setsuko raised her hands in despair. "The breeze," she said with a sigh, and reached forward to her flowers once more. "I like them like this, but the breeze doesn't seem to agree." For a moment, she became preoccupied again. Then she said: "You must forgive me, Father. In my place, Suichi would express things better. But of course, he isn't here. I merely wished to say that it is perhaps wise if Father would take certain precautionary steps. To ensure misunderstandings do not arise. After all, Noriko is almost twenty-six now. We cannot afford many more disappointments such as last year's." "Misunderstandings about what, Setsuko?" "About the past. But please, I"m sure I"m speaking quite needlessly. Father has no doubt thought already of all these things and will do whatever is necessary." She sat back, pondering her work, then turned to me with a smile. "I have little skill in these things," she said, indicating the flowers. "They look splendid." She gave a doubtful glance towards the altar and laughed self-consciously.
    Yesterday, as I was enjoying the tram ride down to the quiet suburb of Arakawa, the recollection of that exchange in the reception room came into my mind, causing me to experience a wave of irritation. As I looked out of the window at the scenery, growing ever less cluttered as we continued south, the image returned to my mind of my daughter seated in front of the altar, advising me to take "precautionary steps". I remembered again the way she had turned her face towards me slightly to say: "After all, we cannot afford many more disappointments such as last year's." And I remembered again her knowing manner on the veranda that first morning of her visit, when she had hinted I had some peculiar secret about the Miyakes" withdrawal last year. Such recollections had already marred my mood over this past month; but it was yesterday, in the tranquillity of travelling alone to the quieter reaches of the city, that I was able to consider my feelings more clearly, and I came to realise my sense of irritation was not essentially directed against Setsuko, but against her husband. It is, I suppose, natural enough that a wife is influenced by her husband's ideas--even, as in the case of Suichi's, when they are quite irrational. But when a man induces his wife to turn suspicious thoughts against her own father, then that is surely cause enough for resentment. On account of what he must have suffered out in Manchuria, I have in the past tried to adopt a tolerant attitude towards certain aspects of his behaviour; I have not taken personally, for instance, the frequent signs of bitterness he has displayed towards my generation. But then I always assumed such feelings fade with time. However, so far as Suichi is concerned, they seem to be actually growing more trenchant and unreasonable. All this would not be bothering me now--after all, Setsuko and Suichi live far away, and I never see them more than once a year--if it were not that latterly, ever since Setsuko's visit last month, these same irrational ideas seem to be infecting Noriko's mind. This is what has irritated me and tempted me several times these past few days to write an angry letter to Setsuko. It is all very well a husband and wife occupying each other with ridiculous speculations, but they should keep such things to themselves. A stricter father, no doubt, would have done