the shrine.
Like a warm light, Komako poured in on the empty wretchedness that had assailed Shimamura.
There was a meeting at the inn to discuss plans for the ski season. She had been called in for the party afterwards. She put her hands into the kotatsu , then quickly reached up and stroked Shimamura’s cheek.
“You’re pale this evening. Very strange.” She clutched at the soft flesh of his cheek as if totear it away. “Aren’t you the foolish one, though.”
She already seemed a little drunk. When she came back from the party she collapsed before the mirror, and drunkenness came out on her face to almost comic effect. “I know nothing about it. Nothing. My head aches. I feel terrible. Terrible. I want a drink. Give me water.”
She pressed both hands to her face and tumbled over with little concern for her carefully dressed hair. Presently she brought herself up again and began cleaning away the thick powder with cold cream. The face underneath was a brilliant red. She was quite delighted with herself. To Shimamura it was astonishing that drunkenness could pass so quickly. Her shoulders were shaking from the cold.
All through August she had been near nervous collapse, she told him quietly.
“I thought I’d go mad. I kept brooding over something, and I didn’t know myself what it was. It was terrifying. I couldn’t sleep. I kept myself under control only when I went out to a party. I had all sorts of dreams, and I lost my appetite. I would sit there jabbing at the floor for hours on end, all through the hottest part of the day.”
“When did you first go out as a geisha?”
“In June. I thought for a while I might go to Hamamatsu.”
“Get married?”
She nodded. The man had been after her to marry him, but she couldn’t like him. She had had great trouble deciding what to do.
“But if you didn’t like him, what were you so undecided about?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Marriage has so much charm?”
“Don’t be nasty. It’s more that I want to have everything around me tidy and in order.”
Shimamura grunted.
“You’re not a very satisfying person, you know.”
“Was there something between you and the man from Hamamatsu?”
She flung out her answer: “If there had been, do you think I would have hesitated? But he said that as long as I stayed here, he wouldn’t let me marry anyone else. He said he would do everything possible to stand in the way.”
“But what could he do from as far away as Hamamatsu? You worried about that?”
Komako stretched out for a time, enjoying the warmth of her body. When she spoke again, her tone was quite casual. “I thought I was pregnant.” She giggled. “It seems ridiculous when I look back on it now.”
She curled up like a little child, and grabbed at the neck of his kimono with her two fists.
The rich eyelashes again made him think that her eyes were half open.
Her elbow against the brazier, Komako was scribbling something on the back of an old magazine when Shimamura awoke the next morning.
“I can’t go home. I jumped up when the maid came to bring charcoal, but it was already broad daylight. The sun was shining in on the door. I was a little drunk last night, and I slept too well.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s already eight.”
“Let’s go have a bath.” Shimamura got out of bed.
“I can’t. Someone might see me in the hall.” She was completely tamed. When Shimamura came back from the bath, he found her industriously cleaning the room, a kerchief draped artistically over her head.
She had polished the legs of the table and the edge of the brazier almost too carefully, and she stirred up the charcoal with a practiced hand.
Shimamura sat idly smoking, his feet in the kotatsu . When the ashes dropped from his cigarette Komako took them up in a handkerchief and brought him an ashtray. He laughed, a bright morning laugh. Komako laughed too.
“If you had a husband, you’d spend all your time scolding
Like a warm light, Komako poured in on the empty wretchedness that had assailed Shimamura.
There was a meeting at the inn to discuss plans for the ski season. She had been called in for the party afterwards. She put her hands into the kotatsu , then quickly reached up and stroked Shimamura’s cheek.
“You’re pale this evening. Very strange.” She clutched at the soft flesh of his cheek as if totear it away. “Aren’t you the foolish one, though.”
She already seemed a little drunk. When she came back from the party she collapsed before the mirror, and drunkenness came out on her face to almost comic effect. “I know nothing about it. Nothing. My head aches. I feel terrible. Terrible. I want a drink. Give me water.”
She pressed both hands to her face and tumbled over with little concern for her carefully dressed hair. Presently she brought herself up again and began cleaning away the thick powder with cold cream. The face underneath was a brilliant red. She was quite delighted with herself. To Shimamura it was astonishing that drunkenness could pass so quickly. Her shoulders were shaking from the cold.
All through August she had been near nervous collapse, she told him quietly.
“I thought I’d go mad. I kept brooding over something, and I didn’t know myself what it was. It was terrifying. I couldn’t sleep. I kept myself under control only when I went out to a party. I had all sorts of dreams, and I lost my appetite. I would sit there jabbing at the floor for hours on end, all through the hottest part of the day.”
“When did you first go out as a geisha?”
“In June. I thought for a while I might go to Hamamatsu.”
“Get married?”
She nodded. The man had been after her to marry him, but she couldn’t like him. She had had great trouble deciding what to do.
“But if you didn’t like him, what were you so undecided about?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Marriage has so much charm?”
“Don’t be nasty. It’s more that I want to have everything around me tidy and in order.”
Shimamura grunted.
“You’re not a very satisfying person, you know.”
“Was there something between you and the man from Hamamatsu?”
She flung out her answer: “If there had been, do you think I would have hesitated? But he said that as long as I stayed here, he wouldn’t let me marry anyone else. He said he would do everything possible to stand in the way.”
“But what could he do from as far away as Hamamatsu? You worried about that?”
Komako stretched out for a time, enjoying the warmth of her body. When she spoke again, her tone was quite casual. “I thought I was pregnant.” She giggled. “It seems ridiculous when I look back on it now.”
She curled up like a little child, and grabbed at the neck of his kimono with her two fists.
The rich eyelashes again made him think that her eyes were half open.
Her elbow against the brazier, Komako was scribbling something on the back of an old magazine when Shimamura awoke the next morning.
“I can’t go home. I jumped up when the maid came to bring charcoal, but it was already broad daylight. The sun was shining in on the door. I was a little drunk last night, and I slept too well.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s already eight.”
“Let’s go have a bath.” Shimamura got out of bed.
“I can’t. Someone might see me in the hall.” She was completely tamed. When Shimamura came back from the bath, he found her industriously cleaning the room, a kerchief draped artistically over her head.
She had polished the legs of the table and the edge of the brazier almost too carefully, and she stirred up the charcoal with a practiced hand.
Shimamura sat idly smoking, his feet in the kotatsu . When the ashes dropped from his cigarette Komako took them up in a handkerchief and brought him an ashtray. He laughed, a bright morning laugh. Komako laughed too.
“If you had a husband, you’d spend all your time scolding
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