looked like flocks of gentle green sheep. But it may have been simply that Otoko, sad even before leaving Tokyo, reached the peak of her sadness the first time the train passed Shizuoka.
When she saw the Uji tea plantation, Otoko’s sadness returned. She began going there to sketch. Even Keiko seemed not to notice how she felt. To be sure, the spring tea fields at Uji did not have the melancholy of those she had seen from the train window; the green of the young leaves was too bright.
Although Keiko had read Oki’s novel, and had heard all about him during their long talks in bed together, she still seemed unaware that the sketches of the tea plantation harbored the sadness of Otoko’s old love. She herself delighted in the pattern of softly rounded overlapping rows of tea bushes, but the more sketches she turned out the further they were from reality. Otoko found these rough sketches amusing.
“You’re going to do the whole picture in green, aren’t you?” said Keiko.
“Of course. The tea fields at picking time—variations in green, you know.”
“I’m trying to make up my mind whether to use red, or purple, or what. I don’t care if people can’t tell it’s a tea field.”
Keiko’s preliminary study was propped up against the studio wall alongside Otoko’s.
“Such delicious new tea,” said Otoko, smiling. “Do make some more—in the abstract style.”
“So bitter you can’t drink it?”
“Is that what you call abstract?” She heard Keiko’s young laughter from the other room. Her voice hardened slightly. “When you went to Tokyo you stopped in at Kamakura, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“On New Year’s Day Mr. Oki asked to see my paintings.” She paused, then went on coldly, “Otoko, I want to get revenge for you.”
“Revenge?” Otoko was shocked. “Revenge for me?”
“That’s right.”
“Keiko, come sit here. Let’s talk about it over some of your abstract tea.”
Silently Keiko knelt at her side, her knees grazing Otoko’s, and picked up a cup of green tea. “My, it
is
bitter!” she said, frowning. “Let me make a new pot.”
“Never mind,” said Otoko, restraining her. “Why on earth are you talking about revenge?”
“You know why.”
“I’ve never thought of such a thing. I have no wish for it.”
“Because you still love him—because you can’t stop loving him, as long as you live.” Keiko’s voice choked. “So I want revenge.”
“But why?”
“I have my own jealousy!”
“Really?” Otoko put her hand on Keiko’s shoulder; it was trembling.
“It’s true, isn’t it? I can tell. I hate it.”
“Such a violent child,” said Otoko softly. “What can you mean by revenge? What are you planning to do?”
Keiko was looking down, motionless. The band of moonlight in the garden had broadened.
“Why did you go to Kamakura, without even telling me?”
“I wanted to see the family of the man who made you so unhappy.”
“And did you?”
“Only his son Taichiro—I suppose he’s the image of his father when
he
was young. It seems he studies medieval Japanese literature. Anyway, he was very kind to me, he showed me around the Kamakura temples and even took me down the coast, to Enoshima.”
“But you’re a Tokyoite, surely those places weren’t new to you?”
“Yes, but I never saw much of them before. Enoshima has changed enormously. And I enjoyed hearing about the temple where women could escape their husbands.”
“Is that your revenge, seducing that boy? Or beingseduced by him?” Otoko let her hand drop from Keiko’s shoulder. “It looks as if I’m the one who ought to be jealous.”
“Oh, Otoko,
you
jealous? That makes me happy!” She put her arms around Otoko’s neck and leaned against her. “You see? To anyone but you I could be wicked, a real devil!”
“But you took two of your favorite pictures.”
“Even a wicked girl wants to make a good impression. Taichiro wrote to say my paintings are
When she saw the Uji tea plantation, Otoko’s sadness returned. She began going there to sketch. Even Keiko seemed not to notice how she felt. To be sure, the spring tea fields at Uji did not have the melancholy of those she had seen from the train window; the green of the young leaves was too bright.
Although Keiko had read Oki’s novel, and had heard all about him during their long talks in bed together, she still seemed unaware that the sketches of the tea plantation harbored the sadness of Otoko’s old love. She herself delighted in the pattern of softly rounded overlapping rows of tea bushes, but the more sketches she turned out the further they were from reality. Otoko found these rough sketches amusing.
“You’re going to do the whole picture in green, aren’t you?” said Keiko.
“Of course. The tea fields at picking time—variations in green, you know.”
“I’m trying to make up my mind whether to use red, or purple, or what. I don’t care if people can’t tell it’s a tea field.”
Keiko’s preliminary study was propped up against the studio wall alongside Otoko’s.
“Such delicious new tea,” said Otoko, smiling. “Do make some more—in the abstract style.”
“So bitter you can’t drink it?”
“Is that what you call abstract?” She heard Keiko’s young laughter from the other room. Her voice hardened slightly. “When you went to Tokyo you stopped in at Kamakura, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“On New Year’s Day Mr. Oki asked to see my paintings.” She paused, then went on coldly, “Otoko, I want to get revenge for you.”
“Revenge?” Otoko was shocked. “Revenge for me?”
“That’s right.”
“Keiko, come sit here. Let’s talk about it over some of your abstract tea.”
Silently Keiko knelt at her side, her knees grazing Otoko’s, and picked up a cup of green tea. “My, it
is
bitter!” she said, frowning. “Let me make a new pot.”
“Never mind,” said Otoko, restraining her. “Why on earth are you talking about revenge?”
“You know why.”
“I’ve never thought of such a thing. I have no wish for it.”
“Because you still love him—because you can’t stop loving him, as long as you live.” Keiko’s voice choked. “So I want revenge.”
“But why?”
“I have my own jealousy!”
“Really?” Otoko put her hand on Keiko’s shoulder; it was trembling.
“It’s true, isn’t it? I can tell. I hate it.”
“Such a violent child,” said Otoko softly. “What can you mean by revenge? What are you planning to do?”
Keiko was looking down, motionless. The band of moonlight in the garden had broadened.
“Why did you go to Kamakura, without even telling me?”
“I wanted to see the family of the man who made you so unhappy.”
“And did you?”
“Only his son Taichiro—I suppose he’s the image of his father when
he
was young. It seems he studies medieval Japanese literature. Anyway, he was very kind to me, he showed me around the Kamakura temples and even took me down the coast, to Enoshima.”
“But you’re a Tokyoite, surely those places weren’t new to you?”
“Yes, but I never saw much of them before. Enoshima has changed enormously. And I enjoyed hearing about the temple where women could escape their husbands.”
“Is that your revenge, seducing that boy? Or beingseduced by him?” Otoko let her hand drop from Keiko’s shoulder. “It looks as if I’m the one who ought to be jealous.”
“Oh, Otoko,
you
jealous? That makes me happy!” She put her arms around Otoko’s neck and leaned against her. “You see? To anyone but you I could be wicked, a real devil!”
“But you took two of your favorite pictures.”
“Even a wicked girl wants to make a good impression. Taichiro wrote to say my paintings are
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