The Wild Geese by Ōgai Mori Page A

consciously remained silent, had intended to make her see that he was sullen, but he couldn't help himself and softened against his will. Even Otama, who had never known a day of separation from her father before this new arrangement and who had not seen him for ten days, was speechless for a moment. She had much to tell him, but all she could do was look at his face with pleasure.
    â€œAre you finished?” asked the maid, her tone quick and her voice rising as she appeared suddenly at the entrance to the kitchen.
    Otama couldn't catch the girl's words. And when the maid, her hair rolled up around a comb so that it was out of proportion to her fat face, saw Otama, she stared at the visitor rudely.
    â€œTake it away! And bring in fresh tea! Use the green on the shelf,” the old man said, pushing the tray forward for her to take it into the kitchen.
    â€œOh, you don't have to trouble her to make special tea for me.”
    â€œWhat kind of nonsense is that! I've got some cake too.” He went over to the closet and, taking out a tin of egg-crackers, put some into a cake dish.
    â€œThere's a baker not too far from here who makes these. And guess what? You can buy Joen's cooked fish in soy sauce in an alley right next to it!”
    â€œAh, Joen! Do you remember, Otossan, when you took me to the music hall? And Joen was there? Talking about a feast he went to, saying the fish was as good as his own. And how we laughed! What a pleasingly plump man he was! Coming on stage and flinging up his kimono before sitting down. I could hardly keep myself from laughing out loud. I wish you'd get that fat!”
    â€œWhat? Be as fat as him? Not me!” he said, putting the dish before her. Soon the maid brought the tea, and the father and daughter were talking as easily as if they had done the same thing yesterday and the day before.
    â€œHow are you getting along?” he asked suddenly, feeling the awkwardness of the question. “Does Suezo come dropping in every so often?”
    â€œYes—” she said, hesitating, not knowing what to reply. Suezo came not merely “often” but every night. If she had been Suezo's wife and someone had asked her how she was getting on with her husband, she would have said happily: “Wonderfully! Please don't worry about us.” But since she was his mistress, her conscience prevented her from revealing Suezo's nightly appearance.
    â€œWe're managing,” she said after a pause. “You shouldn't worry about me. Please don't.”
    â€œEverything's all right then—” His daughter's reply had not quite satisfied him, and the two of them unconsciously began speaking as though their mouths were full of paste. They had never kept anything from each other, but now they were speaking with formality, like unrelated persons having secrets to conceal from each other. When the policeman had duped them and they had felt embarrassed in the presence of their neighbors, they still had the greatest confidence in one another, convinced as they were that what had happened was not their fault. Yet this situation was different, for after the desperate decision that had put them in comfortable positions, they became painfully aware of a barrier thrown across their former intimacy.
    A few moments of silence followed. The old man wanted a more definite answer and approached the question in a new way. “What sort of man is he?”
    â€œLet me see,” said Otama, inclining her head to the side almost as though she were speaking to herself. “I guess that after everything's said, he's not a bad man. He hasn't said anything cruel—though it's only been a few days.”
    The old man looked puzzled. “Hum—why should he be a bad man?”
    She looked at her father, her heartbeat increasing. She realized that she now had her chance to tell him what she had learned, yet it pained her to bring him any new problems. She had put him at ease now. He