A Pale View of Hills

It took a second or two for my eyes to adjust. There was an old woman sitting on the tatami, Mariko in front of her. In turning to face me, the old woman moved her head with caution as if in fear of hurting her neck. Her face was thin, and had a chalky paleness about it which at first quite unnerved me. She looked to be around seventy or so, though the frailness of her neck and shoulders could have derived from ill-health as much as from age. Her kimono was of a dark sombre colour, the kind normally worn in mourning. Her eyes were slightly hooded and watched me with no apparent emotion.

“How do you do,” she said, eventually.

I bowed slightly and returned some greeting. For a second or two, we looked at each other awkwardly.

‘Are you a neighbour?” the old woman asked, She had a slow way of speaking her words.

“Yes,” I said. ‘A friend.”

She continued to look at me for a moment, then asked:

Have you any idea where the occupant has gone? She’s left the child here on her own.”

The little girl had shifted her position so that she was sitting alongside the stranger. At the old woman’s question, Mariko looked at me intently.

“No, I’ve no idea,” I said.

“It’s odd,’ said the woman. “The child doesn’t seem to know either. I wonder where she could be. I cannot stay long.”

We gazed at each other for a few moments more. “Have you come far?” I asked,

“Quite far. Please excuse my clothes. I’ve just been attending a funeral.”

“I see.” I bowed again. -

“A sorrowful occasion,” the old woman said, nodding slowly to herself. “A former colleague of my father. My father is too ill to leave the house. He sent me to pay his respects. It was a sorrowful occasion.” She passed her gaze around the inside of the cottage, moving her head with the same carefulness. “You have no idea where she is?” she asked again.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“1 cannot wait long. My father will be getting anxious.”

“Is there perhaps some message I could pass on?” I asked.

The old woman did not answer for a while. Then she said: “You could perhaps tell her I came here and was asking after her. I am a relative. My name is Yasuko Kawada.”

“Yasuko-San?” I did my best to conceal my surprise. “You’re Yasuko-San. Sachiko’s cousin?”

The old woman bowed, and as she did so her shoulders trembled slightly. “If you would tell her I was here and that I was asking after her. You have no idea where she could be?”

Again, I denied any knowledge. The woman began nodding to herself once more.

“Nagasaki is very different now,” she said. “This afternoon, I could hardly recognize it.”

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose it’s greatly changed. But do you not live in Nagasaki?’

“We’ve lived in Nagasaki now for many years. It’s greatly changed, as you say. New buildings have appeared, even new streets. It must have been in the spring, the last time I came out into the town. And even since then, new buildings have appeared. I’m certain they were not there in the spring. In tact, on that occasion too, I believe I was attending a funeral. Yes, it was Yamashita-San’s Funeral. A funeral in the spring seems all the sadder somehow, You are a neighbour, you say? Then I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.’ Her face trembled and I saw she was smiling; her eyes had become very thin, and her mouth was curving downwards instead of up. I felt uncomfortable standing in the entryway, but did not feel free to step up to the tatami.

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” I said. “Sachiko often mentions you.”

‘She mentions me?” The woman seemed to consider this for a moment. “We were exciting her to come and live with us. With my father and myself. Perhaps she told you as much.”

“Yes, she did.”

“We were expecting her three weeks ago, But she has not yet come.’

“Three weeks ago? Well, I suppose there must have been some misunderstanding. I know she’s preparing to move any day.

The old woman’s eyes passed around the cottage once more. “A pity she isn’t here” she said. ‘But if you are her neighbour, then I’m very glad to have made your acquaintance. ‘She bowed to me again, then went on gazing at me. “Perhaps you will pass a message to her,” she said.

“Why, certainly.”

The woman remained silent for some time. Finally, she said: “We had a slight disagreement, she and I. Perhaps she even told you about it. Nothing more than a misunderstanding, that was all. I was very surprised to find she had packed and left the next day. I was very surprised indeed. I didn’t mean to offend her. My father says I amto blame.” She paused for a moment. “I didn’t mean to offend her,” she repeated.

It had never occurred to me before that Sachiko’s uncle and cousin would know nothing of the existence of her American friend. I bowed again, at a loss for a suitable. reply.