Considering their style, the houses hardly looked as though they belonged
to an inn.
The builders of the villa had hesitated to cut down trees that had been
growing since the days when a natural forest covered the land. The room to
which Utako and Jiro were led was shaded by leaves.
Neither of them knew the names of the trees, but sitting and looking at
the trunks jutting up next to the verandah helped them to relax.
“It’s nice here, isn’t it? Just like a dream.” Utako felt the tension rising
from her as she looked at Jiro’s face. “No—it’s not like a dream, it’s like
I’ve woken up from a bad dream. It was a horrible way to live.” “We
picked a nice place, didn’t we?” Jiro spoke casually.
“Yes, there are nice places after all.” As she gazed out at the numerous
rocks in the garden, Utako thought how much she would like to bring her
two children here. Even if she were going to part with them, it would be
nice to bring them to a place like this and let them play at their leisure for a
day. Then she could say good-bye.
“When my house burned in the air raids I went and rented a room in a
temple in the country, out in Musashino. There was a man who taught Noh
chanting who’d also had to leave his home, he’d put some tatami in the
storeroom on the other side of the garden and was living there, and every
once in a while drummers and someone who played the flute would come.
Whenever I heard those drums and the flute I thought of you. I couldn’t
bear it.”
Utako’s eyes showed that she was pleased.
“Was your mother with you then?”
“Yeah, all three of us were there—my mother, my sister, and me.”
“When did your sister marry?”
“I suppose it’s been about four years.”
