Some Prefer Nettles Page 8

Kaname laughed politely. They could hear him still flicking over the pages.

  "It looks as though he'll be occupied for a while at least," said Takanatsu as they turned a corner to the Japanese wing.

  "Almost anything can keep him occupied while it's new, but when the novelty wears off he'll have no more of it. He's like a child with a toy."

  As they came into the breakfast room, Misako motioned Takanatsu to the cushion Kaname would normally have used at the head of the low sandalwood table, and took a place herself to one side.

  "O-sayo, would you bring some toast, please?" She turned to the mulberry tea cabinet behind her. "Would you like black tea or green?"

  "Either will do. And maybe you could offer me something sweet."

  "How about a German pastry? I have some good ones from Juchheim's."

  "Fine. I hate to sit and watch other people eat."

  "Oh, dear, I thought I'd escaped, but I can smell something odd even here."

  "Probably I've passed some of it on to you. Go to Suma tomorrow and see what Aso says."

  " 'As long as you're seeing that individual Takanatsu, please stay away from me.' "

  "But when two people are really in love, a slight smell of garlic makes no difference. If it does, they're only pretending."

  "This with reference to your own successes? And what do I get for being your audience?"

  "Aren't you quick with your conclusions! Possibly I do owe you something, though—how about a piece of toast?"

  "I wonder if anyone ever really learned to like the smell of garlic."

  "Indeed someone did. Yoshiko."

  "It's not true, then, that she ran away because you smelled of garlic?"

  "Kaname's invention. I'm told that even now she thinks of me when she smells garlic."

  "And do you ever think of her?"

  "I can't say I don't. But she's the sort of woman to go drinking with, not the sort to marry."

  "A loose type?"

  "Yes."

  "Like me."

  "Kaname says you really aren't at all. He thinks it's a surface you cultivate, and underneath you're a chaste wife and a virtuous mother."

  "I wonder." Bending her full attention to the food before her, as though to cover a certain embarrassment, Misako put together a sandwich of sausage and chopped pickles and brought it delicately to her mouth.

  "That looks good."

  "It is good."

  "And what are these little objects?"

  "Liver sausages. From a German shop in Kobe."

  "Your guest got nothing as fine for his breakfast."

  "Of course not. This is reserved for my breakfast."

  "I've concluded I would rather have that than a German pastry."

  "What greed! Open your mouth and say 'Ah.' "

  "Ah.' "

  "That smell again. Be careful not to touch the fork, now. Take it delicately by the bread—that's right. How did you like it?"

  "Delicious."

  "I'll not give you any more. There will be none left for me."

  "But you could have had O-sayo bring a fork for me too. Handing people things on your own fork—really, that is a little like a loose woman."

  "If you have these objections, perhaps you should refrain from demanding other people's food."

  "But you never used to have such bad manners. You used to be so quiet and ladylike."

  "If I've changed, I've changed."

  "Have you really changed, or are you only making a show?"

  "Making a show?"

  "Yes."

  "... I don't really know."

  "Kaname says he's tried to change you. He says the responsibility is all his. I doubt if that's the whole truth."

  "I'd as soon not have him taking the responsibility. It's only a hidden part of my nature finally coming out."

  "I suppose there's always a little of the loose woman even in the most proper wife. But in your case aren't you pushed on by this difficulty with Kaname? You don't want people to see you as a lonely and unfortunate woman, and you deliberately try to seem gay."

  "And that's what you call making a show?"

  "I'm afraid you'd have to call it a sort of show. You don't want people to see that you're not loved by your husband—or am I saying more than I should?"

  "It makes no difference. Please say exactly what comes to you."

  "You try to be gay and lively to cover your weakness, but now and then the loneliness underneath shows through. Kaname sees it, I imagine, even if no one else does."

  "But I'm so unnatural when he's around. Haven't you noticed a difference in me when I'm with him and when I'm not?"

  "I'd say you seem less under control when you're away from him."

  "You see? Even you have sensed it. Think how unpleasant it would be for him. And so I always find myself being very severe and proper in front of him. I simply can't help it."

  "With Aso you're the loose woman? That side of you comes to the fore?"

  "I'm sure it must."

  "But once you're married again, you may be surprised at how that too changes."

  "I don't think so, at least if it's Aso I'm married to."

  "It's remarkable, though, how often women do change after they're married. Right now you're playing a game."

  "And it's not possible for marriage to be a game?"

  "It's splendid if it can be."

  "I intend mine to be. I think people take marriage much too seriously."

  "And then when you're tired of him you get another divorce?"

  "That's a reasonable conclusion, I suppose."

  "I'm not talking about reasonable conclusions. I'm talking about your own intentions."

  Misako's fork, on the point of taking up a pickle, stopped dead in her plate.

  "The time will come when you'll be tired of him?"

  "I don't intend it to."

  "And Aso?"

  "I don't think he expects to be tired of me either,

  but he says it wouldn't help to have to make prom-*

  lses.

  "And is that enough for you?"

  "I understand well enough how he feels. He could promise never to get tired of me. But this is the first time he's been in love, and no matter what his intentions are, he can't know how his feelings might change. No matter how much he may intend now never to change, he can't really be sure what will happen. He says it would be meaningless to promise something he can't be sure of, and he says he doesn't like telling lies."

  "But that's quite the wrong attitude. If he's not in love seriously enough to go ahead and promise without a thought for the future..

  "Doesn't it depend on the individual, though? He's always analyzing himself, and it's simply not possible for him to make a promise with reservations, no matter how serious he might be."

  "I think I would go ahead and make the promise even if there was a chance it might turn out to be a lie."

  "But with Aso it's different. If he were to make a rash promise it would have exactly the wrong effect. 'Am I getting tired of her?' it would make him say. That's what he's afraid of—he know's how he is. It would be much better not to make any promises, to get married in the mood we've been in all along. He says the marriage will have much more chance of lasting if he can go into it without tying his feelings up in promises."

  "He may be right, but it's somehow a little too-"

  "Yes?"

  "A little too much like a game."

  "I feel much more secure when I know he's being frank. I understand him."

  "Have you mentioned this to Kaname?"

  "I haven't had a chance to. And, besides, it would do no good."

  "But you're being much too reckless. Leaving your husband when you have no real guarantee for your future." Takanatsu, trying to control a rising sharpness in his tone, stopped for a moment as he noticed that Misako was blinking rapidly, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "I certainly hadn't thought it was as bad as all this.... I shouldn't say so, I know, but I'd have expected you
to be calmer, more sober. After all, you're discarding a husband."

  "But I am being sober.... It's only that, either way, I have to get out of this house."

  "And so you should have thought everything over more carefully before you let yourself come to this impasse."

  "What good would it have done? You don't know how hard it is for me to stay on here now that we're not really married...."

  Misako's shoulders were straight and her head was bowed. She tried hard to hold back her tears, but a shiny drop fell to her knee.

  KANAME had abandoned himself to a search for the passages that have given The Arabian Nights its dubious reputation. Even this first volume, which went only from the first to the thirty-fourth nights, contained three hundred and sixty octavo pages, however, and to comb through the whole seventeen would be a formidable task. Sometimes he stopped at an engaging illustration, but the text beside it generally turned out to be quite ordinary. The table of contents—"Tale of the Wazir and the Sage Duban," "Tale of the Three Apples," "The Nazarene Broker's Story," "Tale of the Ensorcelled Prince"—was little help. He began reading over the notes (there were careful notes on almost every page of this Burton Club edition, the first complete translation). Many of them were concerned with linguistic problems of little interest to Kaname, but among them he found some that described intriguing Arab customs or suggested something about the contents of the text proper.

  "A large hollow navel is looked upon not only as a beauty, but in children it is held a promise of good growth. . . .

  "A slight parting between the two front incisors, the upper only, is considered a beauty by Arabs; why it is hard to say except for the racial love of variety....

  "The King's barber is usually a man of rank for the best of reasons that he holds his Sovereign's life between his fingers. One of these noble Figaros in India married an English lady who was, they say, unpleasantly surprised to find out what were her husband's official duties....

  "In the Moslem East a young woman, single or married, is not allowed to appear alone in the streets; and the police has a right to arrest delinquents. As a preventive of intrigues the precaution is excellent. During the Crimean war hundreds of officers, English, French and Italian, became familiar with Constantinople; and not a few flattered themselves on their success with Turkish women. I do not believe that a single bona fide case occurred; the 'conquests' were all Greeks, Wallachians, Armenians, or Jews....

  "Lane (i, 124) is scandalized and naturally enough by this scene, which is the only blot in an admirable tale admirably told...."

  Kaname drew up short—here it was, finally—and quickly reread the last footnote. "Lane (i, 124) is scandalized... admirable tale admirably told. Yet even here the grossness is but little more pronounced than what we find in our old drama (e.g., Shakespeare's King Henry V) written for the stage, whereas tales like The Nights are not read or recited before both sexes."

  He turned immediately to the beginning of "The Porter and the Three Ladies of Bagdad," the tale thus annotated. He had gone no farther than the first five or six lines when he heard steps from the direction of the Japanese wing and Takanatsu came in.

  "Can't you put that away for a few minutes?"

  "What's the trouble?" Kaname made no motion toward getting up from the sofa, but, reluctant though he was to leave off reading for even a moment, he did lay the volume face-down on his leg.

  "I've just heard something very odd."

  "And what have you heard that's very odd?"

  Takanatsu walked silently up and down beside the table for a time, his cigar trailing a line of smoke off behind him like a mist.

  "I've actually been told that Misako has no guarantees for her future."

  "No guarantees for her future?"

  "You're sometimes careless yourself, but Misako is really much too careless."

  "What are you talking about? Please don't go throwing thunderbolts about with no explanation."

  "Misako and Aso have made no promise to go on loving each other. Aso says he can't promise because love has a way of wearing off and there's no way of being sure what might happen. Misako seems to have agreed."

  "That's the sort of thing he'd say." Kaname, finally resigned to being interrupted, folded over the page, closed the book, and pulled himself up from the sofa.

  "I don't know him myself of course and I'm in no position to attack him, but I don't approve of his argument. It could seem fairly vicious, depending on how you chose to look at it."

  "But does a decent man make promises just to please a woman? Isn't it more honest to refuse to?"

  "I don't like that sort of honesty. It's not honesty, it's lack of steadiness."

  "You have your nature, others have theirs. No matter how well matched two people seem to be, the time comes when they get tired of each other, and there's a great deal of merit in saying that you can't make promises about the future. If I were Aso, I think I should do very much the same thing."

  "And when they do get tired of each other they separate?"

  "Getting tired of each other and separating are different matters. When the first love begins to fade, a sort of domestic affection takes its place. Isn't that what most marriages are built on, as a matter of fact?"

  "That's very well if this Aso is dependable, but what if he should say he's sick of her and throw her away? Isn't it a little disturbing to think that there are no guarantees against it?"

  "I don't think he's likely to do that."

  "I suppose you had a private detective after him before you let things go this far?"

  "I did not."

  "You had some other way of investigating, then?"

  "I didn't really do anything in particular.... I don't like the idea of spying, and it's such a nuisance."

  "You're impossible." Takanatsu almost spat out the words. "When you said he was such a fine, upstanding individual, I assumed you had investigated him. This is really too irresponsible. How do you know he's not a sex fiend or a swindler out after Misako? What would you do if he should turn out to be?"

  "When you put it that way, it does worry me a little.... But when I met him he seemed a very high type, not the sort you suggest at all. Actually, though, I put my faith more in Misako. She's no child, and she can surely tell the difference between a decent man and a scoundrel. If Misako is sure of him, that's enough to satisfy me."

  "But that's exactly what you can least count on. Women may seem clever enough, but they're fools."

  "I'd rather you wouldn't talk that way. I've tried to keep my mind off the worst possibilities."

  "And let everything take its course. You are a strange one. It's exactly because you leave problems like this unsettled that you haven't been able to work yourself into a decision on the divorce itself."

  "I suppose I should have investigated earlier. But it can't do any good now." Kaname spoke as if it were no problem of his and fell listlessly over on the sofa again.

  He had no idea what sort of feelings Misako and Aso had for each other. To try to imagine the nature of his wife's love affair is hardly pleasant for even the coldest husband, and while Kaname did sometimes feel a certain curiosity, he always hurried to push disturbing speculations from his mind.

  The affair between Misako and Aso dated from some two years before. Kaname came back from the city one day to find Misako on the veranda talking to a strange man. "Mr. Aso," she said shortly. Since they had in the course of time come to build up their own independent friendships, Kaname did not find any further explanation necessary. He gathered that Misako and Aso had become acquainted at a school in Kobe where Misako had taken up French as a cure for boredom. That was all he knew at the time. Misako began to be more careful of her appearance, but Kaname quite overlooked the assortment of cosmetics and toilet articles steadily building up on her dresser—testimony indeed to the apathy into which he had fallen as a husband. It was nearly a year before he finally noticed the change.

  One night as she lay in bed with the
covers pulled up to her forehead, he heard her sobbing quietly; long into the night he lay staring into the darkness of the room, listening. It was not the first time he had been assailed by this sobbing in the night. A year or two after they were married, when he was beginning to withdraw from her sexually, he had often enough had to meet the same accusing evidence of the woman's wretchedness. He knew what it meant and he felt intensely sorry for her. At the same time he was conscious of being pushed farther from her; and, at a loss for a way to console her, he let the sobbing pass in silence. Would he have to spend the rest of his life with it, who knew how many years?—the prospect made him long to be alone and free. Gradually she seemed to accept her loneliness, however, and the sobbing stopped.

  And now, after years of respite, it had started again. Kaname at first doubted his ears, then asked himself how to account for this extraordinary development. Why should she have started again? What case could she be pleading now? Had she never resigned herself at all, only waited for the day when his affection for her would return, and now, after years of waiting, had she found it impossible to wait any longer? What a fool the woman was, he thought; and, as years before, he let the tears pass in silence. But night after night they continued. Quite unable to find an explanation, he finally told her she was making a nuisance of herself.

  At that Misako broke into open and unrestrained sobbing. "Forgive me. There's something I've kept from you," she said softly, her voice choked with tears.

  Kaname could not have denied that he was a little shocked at the words, but more than that he felt as though the shackles had opened, as though a heavy weight had suddenly and unexpectedly been lifted from his shoulders. He could go out into the wide fields again and breathe freely of the clean air—and as if to prove it, he took in a long breath to the bottom of his lungs as he lay there face-up in bed.

  Misako said that the affair had gone no farther than a declaration of affection, and he saw no reason to doubt her. Even so, her confession seemed enough to cancel out the debt he had been carrying. Had he in fact turned her, pushed her to another man, he wondered—if he had, then he could only be revolted at his own baseness. But in all honesty he had simply held a secret hope that something like this might happen. He had never told her of it, and so far as he could remember he had never created incidents that might bring about her fall. In an excess of pain at being unable to love her as a husband should, he had only nursed a prayer, almost a dream, that someone might come along to give the luckless woman what he himself could not. But Misako's character being what it was, he had never thought the prospects very good.