A Pale View of Hills

“I’ve missed her since she left, I confess it,’ the old woman continued. “I’ve missed Mariko-San also. I enjoyed their company and it was foolish of me to have lost my temper and said the things I did.” She paused again, turned her face towards Mariko, then back to me. “My father, in his own way, misses them also. He can hear, you see. He can hear how much quieter the house is. The other morning I found him awake and he said it reminded him of a tomb. Just like a tomb, he said. It would do my father much good to have them back again. Perhaps she will come back for his sake.’

“Ill certainly convey your feelings to Sachiko-San,” I said.

“For her own sake too,” the old woman said. “After all, it isn’t good that a woman should be without a man to guide her. Only harm can come of such a situation. My father is

ill, but his life is in no danger. She should come back now, for her own wellbeing if for nothing else.” The old woman

began to untie a kerchief lying at her side. “In fact, I ‘brought these with me,” she said. “Just some cardigans I knitted, nothing more. But it’s fine wool. I’d intended to offer them when she came back, but I brought them with 1me today. I first knitted one for Mariko, then I thought I may as well knit another for her mother.” She held up a t cardigan, then looked towards the little girl. Her mouth curved downwards again as she smiled.

“They look splendid,” I said. “It must have taken you a longtime.”

“It’s fine wool,” the woman said again. She wrapped the kerchief back around the cardigans, then tied it carefully. “Now I must return. My father will be anxious’

She got to her feet and came down off the tatami. I assisted her in putting on her wooden sandals. Mariko had come to the edge of the tatami and the old woman lightly touched the top of the child’s head.

“Remember then Mariko-San” she said, tell your mother what I told you. And you’re not to worry about your kittens. There’s plenty of room in the house for them all”

“We’ll come soon,’ Mariko said. ‘I’ll tell Mother.”

The woman smiled again. Then she turned to me and bowed. “I’m glad to have made your acquaintance. I cannot stay any longer. My father, you see, is unwell.”

‘Oh, it’s you, Etsuko,” Sachiko said, when I returned to her cottage that evening. Then she laughed and said:

“Don’t look so surprised. You didn’t expect me to stay here for ever, did you?”

Articles of clothing, blankets, numerous other items lay scattered over the tatami, I made some appropriate reply and sat down where I would not be in the way. On the floor beside me, I noticed two splendid-looking kimonos I had never seen Sachiko wear. I saw also — in the middle of the floor, packed into a cardboard box her delicate tea set of pale white china.

Sachiko had opened wide the central partitions to allow the last of the daylight to come into the cottage; despite that, a dimness was fast setting in and the sunset coming across the veranda barely reached the far corner where Mariko sat watching her mother quietly. Near her, two of the kittens were fighting playfully; the little girl was holding a third kitten in her aims.

“1 expect Mariko told you,’ I said to Sachiko. “There was a visitor for you earlier. Your cousin was here.”

“Yes. Mariko told me.” Sachiko continued to pack her trunk.

“You’re leaving in the morning?”

Yes,” she said, with a touch of impatience. Then she gave a sigh and looked up at me. “Yes, Etsuko, we’re leaving in the morning. “She folded something away into i corner of her trunk.

“You have so much luggage’ I said, eventually. ‘How will you ever carry it all?’

For a little while, Sachiko did not answer. Then, continuing to pack, she said: ‘You know perfectly well, - Etsuko. We’ll put it in the car.”

I remained silent. She took a deep breath, and glanced across the room to where I was sitting.

“Yes, we’re leaving Nagasaki, Etsuko. I assure you. I had every intention of coming to say goodbye once all the packing was finished. I wouldn’t have left without thanking you, you’ve been most kind. Incidentally, as regards the loan, it will be returned to you through the post. Please don’t worry about that.” She began to pack again.

“Where is it you’re going?” I asked.

“Kobe. Everything’s decided now, once and for all.”

‘Kobe?”

”Yes, Etsuko, Kobe. Then after that, America. Frank has arranged everyhing. Aren’t you pleased for me?” She smiled quickly, then turned away again.

I went on watching her. Mariko, too, was watching her. The kitten in her arms was struggling to join its companions on the tatami, but the little girl continued to hold it firmly. Beside her, in the corner of the room, I saw the vegetable box she had won at the kujibiki stall; Mariko, it appeared, had converted the box into a house for her kittens.