Butterfly (15 page)

May 16th.
Dinner with P. and “Mrs. Pinkerton,” as she likes to be called. Japanese wives don't have the custom of entertaining, but Butterfly was eager to adapt herself to American habits— so P. explained. In any case it was necessary for me to meet her. Charlotte had reservations about going—"a scarlet woman,” she sniffed—but finally went, I think as much out of curiosity as to avoid offending Pinkerton. The woman is charming, that I have to admit. We had all made the assumpton she was an unscrupulous schemer. Well, scheme she might, but it's all well tucked-in. Certainly doesn't give the impression of excessive unscrupulousness. Or am I taken in by her impeccable manners and appearance? C. is more reserved in her judgment, though admitting to being favorably impressed. One thing's sure: she has the knack to make him happy.

May 19th.
Pinkerton sailed. I went to the boat to see him off. His having entrusted Butterfly to my care seems to have created a bond of friendship between us that is quite new. I felt a real warmth when we parted, and I think he did, too. Which surprised me, because though we've always gotten along well enough, we could not have been considered friends in any but a casual way.

May 23rd.
Visit to Butterfly. She did the honors of the tea ceremony, and I had to get down that awful frothy green stuff. Ugh, to think of it! The ritual does have its beauty—I'm realizing
that more every time I sit through one—and B. did it so gracefully that it was almost worth downing the bitter broth to watch her. Afterward she entertained me with stories of tea masters. The bowl I drank out of had once belonged to a famous master (Riko? Riku?). Her English is remarkably good. It puts me to shame, when I think of how rudimentary my Japanese is after two years of study. When Charlotte and I were there for dinner, she had let P. do most of the talking, but this afternoon she spoke quite freely. I had dropped in to see if she needed anything and ended up staying an hour and a half.

June 1st.
Delivered money to B. She insisted I go in. What a relief to get cool barley tea! She asked after the boys; I ended up talking at some length about their school and about life in America.

June 2nd.
B. kept slipping into my thoughts today. I hadn't realized how much I had enjoyed the hour I spent with her yesterday. Nothing noteworthy was done or said, yet there is a kind of pleasant aftertaste that seems to linger on and I have the funny feeling I haven't enjoyed myself so much since I don't know when. Could it be that I have more of a weakness for feminine charms than I believed? It was all very innocent, however, and neither my memory nor my thoughts of B. are in the least tainted. I guess it's just very pleasant to talk to someone who has such a genuine interest in things and really listens to what is said. Charlotte doesn't listen in that way, nor do most other women I know. I'm not complaining—I've certainly never missed anything in C., or even realized there might be anything to miss. But there's no denying that it is nice to come across someone who listens well. B. somehow manages to make me feel lighter by ten years.

June 15th.
Attempt to persuade Charlotte that she should invite B. for a luncheon or an outing, or just for tea. But nothing doing! She wouldn't hear of it. Almost led to an altercation. Too bad. I think it would have been good for both of them—Butterfly is certainly eager to learn all she can about our ways, and it would have been a rare opportunity for C. to get to know Japanese life.

June 16th.
Invitation from B. for tea! Had she anticipated my thoughts?

June 18th.
Tea at B.’s. I went alone, without informing Charlotte of the invitation: I had no wish to re-open our discussion of the other evening, which still upsets me. A prejudice that refuses to give way before evidence of its injustice is a stain on a person's integrity and not worthy of an American representing America in a distant land—not to mention my wife. I am surprised and hurt that C., usually fair-minded, should be so perversely stubborn where Butterfly is concerned. She in return reproaches me for failing to understand her, yet she cannot point to what there is to understand. It is not as though associating with B. could in any conceivable way reflect poorly upon herself, morally or socially. It would be one thing if she disliked B., but she doesn't. Nevertheless, her obstinacy weighed upon my mind and kept me from fully enjoying B.’s company. But B. was in fine spirits and her gaiety almost made up for my distraction. She had written a letter to P. and was anxious to have me send it off with the next ship out. Our conversation this time turned around P. It eradicated the last traces of doubt from my mind: P. is loved as much and as well as any man could wish—and better than most ever are. Seeing that girl so ingenuously overflowing with tender feelings, I felt ashamed for having ascribed base motives to her, and doubly ashamed for having wished P. to extricate himself from her supposed wiles. Now I can only hope that he does as well by her as he has promised.

June 28th.
Note from P., who arrived safely in Frisco, together with thick envelope for B., which I took to her. Her excitement made me aware of how young she was. The attempts to hide her emotion were touching and full of charm. I let her pour me a cup of tea, but left after ten minutes so that she could read her letter in peace, which she was impatient to do, even though she was so happy, and so grateful to me for bringing it, that I almost think she would have put up with me if I had stayed longer. Not that I wasn't tempted! She was as flushed and radiant as a child that had just gotten a birthday present. Seeing her so was enough to dispel any suspicion of underhanded wiles. Happy man, Pinkerton!

July 5th.
(The entry is mainly about the Fourth of July party given by the American Consulate.)
. . . I did however miss B., even though I was not really expecting her to come. I had asked her on the spur of the moment and she had not refused (just as I suspected, she had not looked at the formal invitation that had been sent to Mr. and Mrs. Pinkerton). I knew she would not come unescorted, yet I was hoping, quite irrationally, to be surprised.

July 19th.
Senator Pinkerton's obituary in the papers. His death should make things easier for P. in some ways. For B.’s sake, I certainly hope so.

July 27th.
Letter from P. Had B.’s letter delivered to her, as I didn't have time to go by her house.

August 1st.
B. seemed genuinely glad to see me and disappointed that I was there to bring her her money. She still had plenty left, she protested. In reality, she was disappointed I had not brought her another letter. In spite of the formidable
heat, we spent a memorable afternoon together. I am a little surprised at the intimacy that has grown between us in such a short time. I should never have thought she could become so trusting and open toward me. I probably represent a benevolent uncle of sorts. As an older friend of P.’s, I am the closest thing to her foreign in-laws that she has seen. Would that they be like me!

I asked about her family and after a moment's hesitation she told me about the tragic circumstances that made her an orphan. Her father had come from a long line of warriors in the service of the
shŌgun.
When the
shogunate
fell, he, though only a young man, adamantly refused to change his profession or his loyalties. The result was a life of constant frustration and hardship. Eventually, his intransigence lost him even the sympathy of his family. Her mother was a woman of great resource and courage, however, and she kept the family going, managing even to give B. an excellent education. But worn out by years of bitterness and want, she died when B. was still a child. Her death was a fatal blow to her husband, who took increasingly to drink. Eventually, over some offense to his honor, he committed the ritual suicide so admired by the warrior class. B.’s two brothers were taken away and later joined the army, while she, who was twelve at the time, was put in the custody of an aunt. This did not improve her lot, for her budding good looks and talents aroused the jealousy of her aunt and cousins, and she soon became the family whipping girl. An abortive attempt to run away only made things worse. In the end she was sold to a brothel in Nagasaki. There she spent a year as a servant-apprentice. Then by a stroke of luck, a famous geisha noticed and took a fancy to her—something utterly improbable because geisha and
tayū
seldom if ever set foot in the same house. If I understand correctly,
geisha,
like our ancient hetaera, by and large entertain through song, dance, and conversation, while the
tayū
use their bodies. That geisha brought her out and took her in as a servant, but upon discovering her talents, proceeded to make a geisha out of her. She was so assiduous and
well-seconded that by eighteen she was on her way to becoming a well-known geisha herself. Spellbound by her story, which she told in a manner worthy of an accomplished entertainer, I was eager to hear more, but at that point she got up and opened the shutters to let in the last rays of the late-afternoon sun, perhaps purposely to dispel the melancholy of her story. When she turned to face me, she smiled broadly as if to say: And here I am today, in spite of all that.

August 8th.
Charming note on beautiful paper from B., accompanying a letter she asks to be sent to P.

September 1st.
Visit to B., who chided me for not having come around to see her for so long. “Is it only to bring money that you come?” In fact I had thought several times of going to see her, but something held me back. I feel uneasy going to visit someone with whom Charlotte refuses to socialize. I can't explain why. There isn't anything I should feel uneasy about by any standard, and yet . . . Is it simply the fact of enjoying? Is it guilt over enjoying something in which C. does not partake? But when was the last time we enjoyed anything together?

B. close to the lying-in period. Her condition has become quite visible, but until recently it was hardly apparent. She hopes P. will be there for the birth of the child. Seems unlikely, since P. would have to be setting sail just about now to arrive in time, and he did not mention it even as a possibility.

We talked about P.’s situation now that his father is gone. I of course knew next to nothing. It is only in B.’s eyes that I am P.’s intimate. In reality she knew more than I, since P. writes to her in greater detail.

September 20th.
Thought again of having Charlotte visit Butterfly, but in the end resisted the temptation. I'll go check on her myself.

September 21st.
B. in great good spirits. Everything in order, all arrangements made. She is expecting the baby very soon. Her elation was infectious. I left feeling both reassured and cheered. Her maid, Sachiko, though young, seems to be a very capable person and quite devoted; I spoke with her for a few minutes on the way out, partly to practice my Japanese. She promised to send word immediately if anything unexpected should arise.

September 27, evening.
Note from Sachiko. B. has given birth to a girl.

September 28th.
B. surprised to see me—she didn't expect me so soon. She was going to write to P. that very afternoon so that he would get the news as quickly as possible. I told her to have it brought over by a runner.

The girl is named Etsuko—"happy girl"—because her mother was so happy in bearing her.

C. agreed to look in On her and take a present for the child. I was relieved that there was no discussion. It is Pinkerton's child, after all. But something in her manner gave me to understand that this visit was not going to set a precedent.

September 30th.
I was pleased that C. has gone to see B., but afterwards was irked to hear her lament the child's fate. When I objected, she retorted, “You don't imagine he's going to come back here and live with them, do you?” Although I am not a hundred-percent sure he will, I argued that there was no reason to doubt his word. Charlotte poo-pooed it. The rich can do whatever they want, she said, and never pay the consequences; once back in the States, a man like him will easily find himself a suitable wife when he wants one. Which is surely true, but I could not resist opining that it wouldn't be so easy to find one to
match Butterfly. This incensed C., who showered scorn upon me. “She's really got you bewitched, hasn't she,” she jibed with a virulence unfamiliar to me. “You men, you're all the same,” et cetera. Pinkerton, however, wasn't as much of a fool as that, she concluded; he wasn't one to let himself be caught forever in her wiles. “Don't imagine him to be like you,” et cetera. Her remarks were most disagreeable, indeed abusive. I was distressed and angered to hear her talk like that, but didn't see any point in quarreling.

October 1st.
Could C. be jealous? It would be too absurd, yet I cannot think of another explanation for her attitude. When I first got to know B. better, I did express my admiration for her rather freely. It never occurred to me that C. would read anything into it.

I had B.’s money delivered rather than go myself. The reason I gave was that I was too busy this afternoon, but was I really?

October 9th.
Finally went to see B. after days of procrastination. She was on my mind a great deal, and I did want to see her, yet something always made me draw back from it.

She, at least, was in fine shape, up and around for the past several days and chipper as a lark. And delighted with her pretty infant. Pity P. isn't here to see them. Perhaps she'll miss him less, though, now that she's got her baby to keep her company.

October 25th.
Letter from P. informing me that he's sailing on the 8th of November. Took B.’s letter to her myself so that we could celebrate the news. We did, with some fine
sake.

November 1st.
Visit to B., accompanied by Charlotte. B. quieter than usual. I had the feeling something was troubling her—was it only C.’s presence?