The Scent of Sake (36 page)

She moved quickly to Goro, embraced him without speaking.

She looked into his tense, sensitive face and kissed him.

He pressed against her, his arms holding her tightly. “Teru, Teru,” he moaned hoarsely.

She looked into his eyes. “Let’s not hesitate. We’ll be strong, won’t we?”

Goro nodded, his eyes locked with hers.

They walked out of the back side of the compound onto the moonlit road, took the road to the ocean and walked in silence, arms entwined, careful to avoid chance meetings with anyone. When they reached the shore they stopped, looked into each other’s eyes, and embraced. Teru took Goro’s hand and led him toward the narrow sandy strip at the water’s edge. They sat on the sand and gazed at each other. Goro moved his hand over the front of Teru’s kimono until he found the opening. Teru opened her kimono with both hands and lay back on the sand.

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“Now, Goro, and forever,” she said. She closed her eyes as Goro moved over her.

They did not count the passing of the time of their passion.

Finally, Goro moved away from her. “Yes, we were meant to be together,” he said, looking down into her face.

“We will always have each other, Goro.”

They lay on the sand in each other’s arms until Teru noticed the first glimmer of dawn lightening the sky. She sat up and took from her sleeve the long white obi tie. She drew her knees up and tied them loosely together with one end of the white strip, so that she would not be discovered with her legs apart, later.

Goro watched intently.

“Here, Goro, tie the other end around your leg, not so tightly that you can’t walk.”

He fumbled with the tie. “This way?” he asked as he twined the strip.

“Yes. We can wait until it’s nearly light before we enter the water.” She took Goro’s hand.

“No regrets, Teru?” he asked in a deep, half-muffled voice. She faced him, her body pressed against his. “No regrets,

Goro.”

They embraced and stood. For several minutes neither spoke nor moved. Then she took his hand. “Shall we go now?”

They embraced again, then took small, halting steps into the water. Neither knew how to swim. Teru shuddered and gasped at the shock of the cold waves lapping at their feet, their legs, their bodies.

“We can’t stop, Goro,” Teru said, sobbing.

They walked hand in hand into the sea, waves washing over them. Teru coughed and sputtered, and further on twisted and turned in agony beside her beloved.

Gradually, they began to sink beneath the waves, Teru’s hair

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floating on the surface of the water above her, then nothing, only the muffled sound of water.

“Mother! Mother! Teru’s gone! I can’t find her anywhere!” Fumi cried as she ran into Rie’s room.

“What do you mean, she’s gone?” Rie demanded. “She can’t be gone. She’s getting married in two weeks.” Rie frowned, walked purposefully into the corridor and stepped into the girls’ room. She looked into the empty room, then walked to the bathroom and looked in. At the kitchen door she stopped.

“O-Yuki, where’s Teru? Have you seen her this morning?” “
Uh . . .
no, I haven’t.” O-Yuki looked from Rie to Fumi, who

was wringing her hands behind her mother.

“Well, search the house, O-Yuki.” Rie paused, suddenly apprehensive. “And go to the cooper’s shed. See if Goro is there and anyone has seen her.”

O-Yuki turned and ran down the corridor and out to the courtyard.

Rie bit her lip and quickly poured herself a cup of tea, then turned to Fumi. “Did Teru say anything to you last night?”

“Nothing special, Mother. Just good night, as usual.” “
Humph!
Something was not usual at all. Go and have your

breakfast, Fumi,” she said sharply.

When she was gone, Rie stood in the kitchen sipping tea impatiently. She heard the shoji to the courtyard open and O-Yuki’s voice call, “Oku-san! Oku-san! The cooper says Goro is gone too!”

Rie gasped and slammed down her cup. “Horrible! I should have known. She was still O-Toki’s daughter, not mine, in spite of everything I did.”

Rie turned and walked rapidly through the courtyard and to the inner office, where Yoshitaro and Kinnosuke were going over an order.

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“Yoshi! Kinno! Teru and Goro have run away together. And the wedding only two weeks away.”

“No!” Yoshitaro said. “How could she . . . they?”

“What shall we do?” She walked back and forth, frowning. “Yoshi, remove her name from the koseki, today!” she ordered.

“I’ll go out, Oku-san,” Kinnosuke said, “and see what I can learn. They haven’t simply vanished into thin air. They can’t have gone far. Someone must have seen them.” He rose and left the office.

Rie started to speak to Yoshitaro about Teru, but stopped herself. Yoshi was also O-Toki’s child. Why complain to him about O-Toki and Teru? She turned and walked along the corridor and out into the garden, past her rock. She paced back and forth on the cold gray stones. What could she do to preserve the name of the house? What could she say to the Katos? And what a disaster to her long-cherished dream. After several minutes she returned to the office, where Tama had joined Yoshitaro.

“I don’t know what to say to the Katos, Yoshi,” Rie said. She fidgeted with her comb. Her hope of a family bond with Saburo’s family was destroyed, adding to her despair.

“Maybe when we know where they have gone we’ll know what to say,” Tama said, looking up at Rie. “Here, Mother, have some tea. You haven’t even had your breakfast.”

“I can’t eat now, Tama,” Rie said. She sat at the table and looked at Tama. “I should have known. I should have guessed,” she repeated.

“Don’t blame yourself, Mother,” Tama said.

“It’s not your fault,” Yoshitaro said. “She was always strong willed and unpredictable.”

The door to the outer office opened and Kinnosuke entered, out of breath. He bowed.

“Their bodies have been found in the water, down by the

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harbor,” he sputtered. “They were tied together.” He looked down and bowed again. “I’m very sorry.”

Dead.
Rie gasped, her face in her hands. Yoshitaro and Tama both groaned.

Rie forced back tears as she raised her head. “Yoshi and Tama. You must go to the Katos. Tell them Teru has had an accident, has been killed. Don’t mention Goro. Apologize abjectly. And Kinno, go to Goro’s father and give him whatever is necessary to hush this up. He may not want it known either. And take care of the cremations, will you? We can’t have anyone talking about this. Nothing is to be said. Her name will never be mentioned in this house again.”

Two or three months had elapsed since Teru’s death, and the house had a hushed air about it that felt suffocating. Rie fanned herself as she looked down at the words of sympathy penned by Saburo himself. Tender words that touched her heart and brought tears to her eyes, words that she would cherish forever. She tucked the letter neatly into the folds of her obi, wanting it close to her always. He had also sent a specially arranged ikebana exactly like the one they had so admired at the flower festival all those years ago. She smiled through the tears, feelings of gratitude welling up inside her.

With a sigh, she turned her attention to Tama, who now cooked rice to perfection, always rose first and retired last in the family. Rie could find no fault with her hardworking dedication to Yoshitaro and to the house. But Tama showed no sign of becoming pregnant. Rie hesitated to mention it to Tama, recalling her own years of frustration at not bearing an heir. Still, it was imperative that Yoshitaro have an heir.

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She was also concerned about Yoshi’s attitude toward Tama. Yoshi showed no sign of any affection toward his wife, and seemed oblivious to his duty to provide an heir.

One evening as Rie was closing her shutters and preparing for the night she heard O-Natsu’s voice beyond the shoji.

“Yes, come in, O-Natsu,” Rie said. “Sit down.”

Rie turned expectantly toward O-Natsu, whose cheeks were no longer plump or apple-red and whose hair was thinning.

“I know you have been concerned that Tama has not borne an heir,” O-Natsu began.

“Yes, O-Natsu. And I have hesitated to mention it to Tama.

You understand.”

“Yes, I remember well. And I believe this generation is about to repeat. . . .” O-Natsu paused.

Rie caught her breath. “No! You don’t mean . . . ?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” O-Natsu said before Rie could finish her question. “I have learned that a young geisha at the Sawaraya is pregnant, the geisha whom Yoshitaro visits. Her name is O-Sada.” O-Natsu bowed. “I thought you would want to know.”

“Yes, O-Natsu. I refuse to have another generation of a gei-sha’s child, a geisha’s bloodline, in this house!” Rie turned her comb over and over in her hands, took out her fan, and banged it on the table.

O-Natsu looked down at her chapped, work-worn hands. “I believe the child is due in about three months.”

Rie sighed deeply. “Thank you, O-Natsu. I don’t believe we need to mention it to Tama. I’ll speak to Yoshi about this, about his obligation.”

O-Natsu wished Rie good night and left.

Rie turned back to her dressing table and combed out her long, thick hair. What a disgusting twist of fate. Maybe it was not just fate. Maybe Yoshi was deliberately staying away from Tama, refusing to sleep with her. Would a geisha’s bloodline never cease

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to flow in the Omura House? What a calamity that Tama had not become pregnant, just as she herself had not until it was too late.

Several evenings later Rie saw her opportunity to speak with Yoshi at the dinner table when the others had left.

She glanced at him and saw that he was about to leave. “Yoshi, we need to talk. I am concerned that Tama has not yet become pregnant.”

“She will never become pregnant,” he said with a smug air about him.

Rie frowned. “What do you mean, never? In my case it took a while, but how do you know she will
never
become pregnant?”