The Sound of Waves (12 page)

“Mother,” Hiroshi said, lying spread-eagled on the straw matting.

“What?”

“What’s
omeko?
Somebody said that’s what Shinji did to Hatsue. What’d they mean?”

Before Hiroshi realized it, his mother had left the stove and was sitting straight beside the spot where he lay. Her eyes were flashing strangely, flashing through some fallen strands of hair to give her a frightening look.

“Hiroshi—you—where’d you hear that? Who said such a thing?”

“Sochan.”

“Don’t you ever say that again! You mustn’t even say that to your brother. If you do, it’ll be many a day before I give you anything to eat again. Do you hear what I say?”

The mother took a very tolerant view of young people’s amorous affairs. And even during the diving season, when everyone stood about the drying-fire gossiping, she held her tongue. But when it came to its being her own son’s affair that was the subject of malicious gossip, then there was a motherly duty that she would have to perform.

That night, after Hiroshi was asleep, the mother leaned close to Shinji’s ear and spoke in a low, firm voice:

“Do you know people are spreading bad stories about you and Hatsue?”

Shinji shook his head and blushed. His mother too was embarrassed, but she pressed the point with unwavering frankness.

“Did you sleep with her?”

Again Shinji shook his head.

“Then you’ve not done a thing that people could talk about? Are you telling me the truth?”

“Yes, I’ve told you the truth.”

“All right, then there’s nothing for me to say. But do be careful—people are always minding other people’s business.”

But the situation did not take a turn for the better. The following evening Shinji’s mother went to a meeting of the Ape-god Society, the women’s one and only club, and, the moment she appeared, everyone stopped talking, looking as though they had just had a wet blanket thrown over them. Obviously they had been gossiping.

The next evening, when Shinji went to the Young Men’s Association, flinging the door open as casually as always, he found a group of youths gathered around the desk, eagerly discussing something beneath the glare of the unshaded electric bulb. When they caught sight of Shinji they fell silent for a moment. There was nothing but the sound of the sea floating in to fill the bleak room, seemingly empty of all human life.

As usual, Shinji sat down against the wall, wrapped his arms around his knees, and said not a word. Thereupon everyone began talking again in their usual noisy way, about a different subject, and Yasuo, the president, who had come to the meeting strangely early today, greeted Shinji from across the desk in a hail-fellow-well-met way. Shinji returned the greeting with an unsuspecting smile.

A few days later, while they were eating their lunch on the
Taihei-maru
and resting from fishing, Ryuji spoke up as though unable to contain himself any longer:

“Brother Shin, it really makes my blood boil—the way
Yasuo is going around saying such bad things about you—”

“Is he?” Shinji smiled and kept a manly silence.

The boat was gently rolling on the spring waves.

Suddenly Jukichi, usually so taciturn, broke into the conversation:

“I know. I know. That Yasuo is jealous. The scamp’s nothing but a big fool, sticking up his nose because of his father. He makes me sick. So now Shinji too has become a great ladies’ man and Yasuo’s burned up with jealousy. Don’t you pay any attention to what they say, Shinji. If there’s any trouble, I’m on your side.”

Thus the rumor which Chiyoko had originated and Yasuo had broadcast came to be whispered persistently at every crossroads in the village. And yet it still had not reached the ears of Hatsue’s father. Then one night there occurred the incident that the village would not tire of talking about for months to come. It took place at the public bathhouse.

Even the richest houses in the village did not have their own baths, and on this night Terukichi Miyata went to the public bath as usual. He brushed through the curtain at the entrance with a haughty toss of the head, ripped off his clothes as though plucking a fowl, and flung them toward a wicker basket. His singlet and sash missed the basket and scattered themselves across the floor. Clicking his tongue loudly, he picked the garments up with his toes and threw them in the basket. It was an awesome sight to those who were watching, but this was one of the few opportunities left for Hatsue’s father to give public proof that, old though he was, his vigor was undiminished.

Actually, his aged nudity was a marvel to behold. His gold-and-copper-colored limbs showed no sign of slackness, and above his piercing eyes and stubborn forehead his white hair bristled wildly like the mane of a lion. His chest was a ruddy red from many years of heavy drinking, providing an impressive contrast for his white hair. His bulging muscles had become hardened through long disuse, reinforcing the impression of a crag that has become all the more precipitous under the pounding of the waves.

It might be better to say that Terukichi was the personification of all Uta-jima’s toil and determination and ambition and strength. Full of the somewhat uncouth energy of a man who had raised his family from nothing to wealth in a single generation, he was also narrow-minded enough never to have accepted any public office in the village, a fact that made him all the more respected by the leading people of the village. The uncanny accuracy of his weather predictions, his matchless experience in matters of fishing and navigation, and the great pride he took in knowing all the history and traditions of the island were often offset by his uncompromising stubbornness, his ludicrous pretensions, and his pugnacity, which abated not a whit with the years. But in any case he was an old man who, while still living, could act like a bronze statue erected to his own memory—and without appearing ridiculous.

He slid open the glass door leading from the dressing-room into the bath.

The bathroom was fairly crowded, and through the clouds of steam there appeared the vague outlines of people moving about. The ceiling resounded with the sounds
of water, the light tapping noises of wooden basins, and laughing conversation; the room was filled with abundant hot water and a feeling of release after the day’s labor.

Terukichi never rinsed his body before entering the pool. Now as always he walked in long, dignified strides directly from the door to the pool and, without further ado, thrust his legs into the water. It made no difference to him how hot the water might be. Terukichi had no more interest in such things as the possible effect of heat upon his heart and the blood vessels in his brain than he had in, say, perfume or neckties.

Even though their faces got splashed with water, when the bathers realized it was Terukichi they nodded to him courteously. Terukichi immersed himself up to his arrogant chin.

There were two young fishermen who were washing themselves beside the pool and had not noticed Terukichi’s arrival. In loud voices they went right on with their unrestrained gossip about Terukichi.

“Uncle Teru Miyata really must be in his second childhood. He doesn’t even know his girl’s become a cracked pitcher.”

“That Shinji Kubo—didn’t he pull a fast one though? While everybody was thinking he was such a kid, there he went and stole her right from under Uncle Teru’s nose.”

The people in the pool were fidgety and kept their eyes turned away from Terukichi.

Terukichi was boiling red, but his face was outwardly composed as he got out of the pool. Taking a wooden basin in each hand, he went and filled them from the
cold-water tank. Then he walked over to the two youths, poured the icy water over their heads without warning, and kicked them in the back.

The boys, their eyes half closed with soap, immediately started to strike back. But then they realized it was Terukichi they were up against and hesitated.

The old man next caught them both by the scruff of the neck, and, even though their soapy skin was slippery under his fingers, dragged them to the edge of the pool. There he gave them a tremendous shove, burying their heads in the hot water. Still grasping their necks tightly in his big hands, the old man shook the two heads in the water and knocked them together, just as though he were rinsing out laundry.

Then, to top it all, without even washing himself, Terukichi stalked from the room with his long strides, not giving so much as a glance at the backsides of the other bathers, who had now risen to their feet and were left staring after him in blank amazement.

W
HILE THEY WERE EATING
their lunch the next day on the
Taihei-maru
, the master opened his tobacco pouch and took out a piece of paper folded very small. Grinning broadly, he held it out to Shinji. But when Shinji reached for it, Jukichi said:

“Now listen—if I give you this, will you promise not to start loafing around after you’ve read it?”

“I’m not that sort of fellow,” Shinji replied definitely and to the point.

“All right, it’s a man’s promise.… This morning when I was passing Uncle Teru’s house, Hatsue came trotting out and pressed this note tight in my hand. She didn’t say a word and went right back inside. I was tickled to think of getting a love letter at my age, but then I opened it, and how should it begin but ‘Dear Shinji’! ‘You
old fool,’ I told myself, and I was just about to tear it up and throw it in the ocean. But then I told myself that would be a shame, so I brought it along for you.”

Shinji took the note, while both the master and Ryuji laughed.

The thin paper had been folded many times into a small pellet, and Shinji opened it gingerly, careful not to tear it in his thick, knobby fingers. Tobacco dust sifted onto his hands from the folds. She had started writing on the notepaper with ink, but after a few lines her fountain pen had apparently run dry and she had continued with a faint pencil. Written in a childish hand, the note said:

“… Last night at the bath Father heard some very bad gossip about us and became terribly angry and commanded that I must never see Shinji-san again. No matter how much I explained, it was no use, not with Father’s being the kind of man he is. He says I must never go out of the house from the time the fishing-boats come back in the afternoon until after they’ve gone out in the morning. He says hell get the lady next door to draw water for us when our turn comes. So there’s nothing I can do. I’m so miserable, so very miserable I can’t stand it. And he says that on the days when the boats don’t go out he’ll be right at my side and never take his eyes off me
.

“How will I ever be able to see Shinji-san again? Please think of some way for us to meet. I’m afraid for us to send letters by mail because the old postmaster would know all about it. So every day I’ll write a letter and stick it under the lid on the water jar in front of our kitchen. Please put your replies the same place. But it would be dangerous for you to come here yourself to get the letters, so please get some friend you trust to come for you. I’ve been on the island such a short time that I don’t know anybody I can really trust
.

“Oh, Shinji-san, let us go on truly, with strong hearts! Every day I will be praying before the memorial tablets of my mother and brother that no accident will befall Shinji-san. I’m sure that they in heaven will understand how I feel.”

As Shinji read the note the expression on his face alternated, like sunshine and shadow, between the sorrow of being separated from Hatsue and the joy of having this proof of her affection for him.

Just as Shinji finished reading the note, Jukichi snatched it out of his hands, as though this were only the rightful due of a bearer of love messages, and read it through. Not only did he read it aloud for Ryuji’s benefit, but he also read it in his own unique, ballad-chanting style. Shinji knew that Jukichi always read the newspaper aloud to himself in this same chanting tone and that he was using it now without the slightest malice, but still it hurt to have such a travesty made of those earnest words, written by the girl he loved.

As a matter of fact, Jukichi was sincerely moved by the letter and, during the reading, he heaved many a big sigh and threw in many an interjection. When he was done he gave his opinion in the same powerful voice he used to give fishing orders, a voice that now boomed out over the quiet noonday sea to a radius of a hundred yards in all directions:

“Women really are wise ones, aren’t they?”

Here in the boat there were none to hear except these two whom he trusted, so at Jukichi’s urging Shinji gradually confided in them. His way of telling the story was
awkward. Events were often told in the wrong order, and he would leave out important points. It took him quite a time just to give a brief outline. Finally he reached the heart of the matter and told them how on that day of the storm, even though they were naked in each other’s arms, he had been unable to win the prize after all.

At this point Jukichi, who almost never smiled, could not stop laughing.

“If it’d been me! Oh, if it’d been me! Really, what a mess you made of things. But then I guess that’s what comes of your being such a virgin. And, besides, the girl’s so almighty strait-laced that she was too big a handful for you. But still it’s a ridiculous story.… Oh, well, it’ll be all right after she’s your wife; then you’ll make up for it by giving her the rod ten times a day.”