time that he didn’t expect them to do any good. As a result of the transfusions, Ryosuke became rather calm and slept continuously. A nurse came in with the bill. Etsuko went out into the hall with her.
A boy stood there, his bad skin color partly concealed by the hunting cap he wore. When he saw Etsuko, he removed his hat and silently bowed. At one small spot above his left ear he had no hair. His eyes had a slight squint; his nose was extremely thin.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” Etsuko asked. The boy did not answer but simply toyed with his cap and scraped meaningless circles on the floor boards with his right foot. “Oh, this?” said Etsuko, holding out the bill. The boy nodded.
Etsuko watched the dirty jacket of the boy as he departed with his money and thought about that boy’s blood circulating inside Ryosuke. As if that was going to save him! Couldn’t they get blood from someone who had some to spare? Taking that boy’s blood was a crime. A man with blood to spare? Her thoughts moved restlessly to Ryosuke in his sickbed. It would make more sense to sell Ryosuke’s germ-laden surfeit of blood. Sell that to healthy people. Then Ryosuke would become healthy and the healthy people sick. And the city would know that it was getting its money’s worth out of the Hospital for Infectious Diseases. But Ryosuke—it wouldn’t do to have him become healthy. If he were well he would take off again .
Etsuko realized that her thoughts were running on confusedly—half-dream, half-waking. It seemed as if the sun had suddenly gone down; everything around her seemed in shadow. The windows stood in a line, each filled with a stark-white, clouded evening sky. Etsuko staggered and fainted.
It was a slight attack of cerebral ischemia. The doctors insisted she take a short period of rest. After four hours, however, a nurse came in to tell her Ryosuke was dying.
Ryosuke’s lips seemed to be trying to say something through the oxygen inhalator Etsuko held before him. What was it that his lips were inaudibly forming, incessantly, desperately, and yet rather joyfully?
I held the inhalator with all the power I could muster. In the end my hands cramped; my shoulders went numb. I called in what must have been close to a scream: “Somebody take over for me. Quickly!” The nurse jumped up in a flurry and took the inhalator from me.
Really, I wasn’t tired or anything; I was simply frightened. Frightened of those inaudible words my husband was uttering as he lay there facing he knew not what . . . Was it my jealousy again? Or was it my fear of my jealousy? I did not know. If I had lost control of myself, I might have screamed: “Die, will you! Die!”
There was evidence that I might. Far into the night, as his heart continued to beat, showing no signs of quitting, and two of the doctors stood up and walked off to bed whispering to each other, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s going to make it,” I watched them go with eyes full of hate. Was he not going to die after all? That night was the night of our last battle.
At that time, as I saw it, the uncertain happiness I divined for my husband and me if he recovered, and the present hopelessness that he would live were just about the same thing. Thus it seemed to me that now at any moment I would find happiness. But not that uncertain happiness! It was much easier to contemplate my husband’s certain death rather than his uncertain life. My hopes for my husband’s life, somehow maintained moment after moment, and my prayers for his death amounted to the same thing. But his body lived on! He would betray me!
“He’s probably at the crisis now,” the doctor had said hopefully. Jealousy swept over me. Tears fell on my right hand, which was holding Ryosuke’s face. My left hand, at the same time, struggled to pull the inhalator away from his mouth. In a chair nearby the nurse slept. The room was getting colder as the night deepened. Through the window I could see
A boy stood there, his bad skin color partly concealed by the hunting cap he wore. When he saw Etsuko, he removed his hat and silently bowed. At one small spot above his left ear he had no hair. His eyes had a slight squint; his nose was extremely thin.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” Etsuko asked. The boy did not answer but simply toyed with his cap and scraped meaningless circles on the floor boards with his right foot. “Oh, this?” said Etsuko, holding out the bill. The boy nodded.
Etsuko watched the dirty jacket of the boy as he departed with his money and thought about that boy’s blood circulating inside Ryosuke. As if that was going to save him! Couldn’t they get blood from someone who had some to spare? Taking that boy’s blood was a crime. A man with blood to spare? Her thoughts moved restlessly to Ryosuke in his sickbed. It would make more sense to sell Ryosuke’s germ-laden surfeit of blood. Sell that to healthy people. Then Ryosuke would become healthy and the healthy people sick. And the city would know that it was getting its money’s worth out of the Hospital for Infectious Diseases. But Ryosuke—it wouldn’t do to have him become healthy. If he were well he would take off again .
Etsuko realized that her thoughts were running on confusedly—half-dream, half-waking. It seemed as if the sun had suddenly gone down; everything around her seemed in shadow. The windows stood in a line, each filled with a stark-white, clouded evening sky. Etsuko staggered and fainted.
It was a slight attack of cerebral ischemia. The doctors insisted she take a short period of rest. After four hours, however, a nurse came in to tell her Ryosuke was dying.
Ryosuke’s lips seemed to be trying to say something through the oxygen inhalator Etsuko held before him. What was it that his lips were inaudibly forming, incessantly, desperately, and yet rather joyfully?
I held the inhalator with all the power I could muster. In the end my hands cramped; my shoulders went numb. I called in what must have been close to a scream: “Somebody take over for me. Quickly!” The nurse jumped up in a flurry and took the inhalator from me.
Really, I wasn’t tired or anything; I was simply frightened. Frightened of those inaudible words my husband was uttering as he lay there facing he knew not what . . . Was it my jealousy again? Or was it my fear of my jealousy? I did not know. If I had lost control of myself, I might have screamed: “Die, will you! Die!”
There was evidence that I might. Far into the night, as his heart continued to beat, showing no signs of quitting, and two of the doctors stood up and walked off to bed whispering to each other, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s going to make it,” I watched them go with eyes full of hate. Was he not going to die after all? That night was the night of our last battle.
At that time, as I saw it, the uncertain happiness I divined for my husband and me if he recovered, and the present hopelessness that he would live were just about the same thing. Thus it seemed to me that now at any moment I would find happiness. But not that uncertain happiness! It was much easier to contemplate my husband’s certain death rather than his uncertain life. My hopes for my husband’s life, somehow maintained moment after moment, and my prayers for his death amounted to the same thing. But his body lived on! He would betray me!
“He’s probably at the crisis now,” the doctor had said hopefully. Jealousy swept over me. Tears fell on my right hand, which was holding Ryosuke’s face. My left hand, at the same time, struggled to pull the inhalator away from his mouth. In a chair nearby the nurse slept. The room was getting colder as the night deepened. Through the window I could see
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