“Even marrying Someya—that was the fault of the war. I had no idea
what was what then.” Utako’s eyes filled with tears again. “Al I have to do
is talk about these things and my heart starts pounding, that’s how it is
these days. Whenever Someya hit me or whenever we had an argument my
chest would start to thump—it hurt so much I really thought I’d die if
things kept going on as they were.” Utako climbed out of the water,
pressing a hand to her chest, and sat down at a faucet.
“Our youth was crushed by the war. But for me—at least I had known
you. I know I made you suffer, but—”
“No, that isn’t true.”
“You said you want to give people the benefit of the doubt, didn’t you?”
“Yes. I realized how weak I had gotten when I went back to my parents’
house, and it occurred to me that I had to look at things that way—that I
had no hope of getting better if I didn’t.”
“I really hated you sometimes, and then sometimes I blamed myself for
what had happened. And then I noticed that I was feeling a real nostalgia
for my youth, probably because the lives of Japanese at that time were so
miserable. I kept thinking that even in the middle of a war as awful as that
one— even then I had had a lover like you. I guess you could say I was
clinging to you.”
“Well—it’s nice to hear that.”
They stood side by side, drying themselves. Suddenly Jiro felt an urge to
look at Utako’s back without her knowing. It seemed strange to him that
she wasn’t curious about his body, that she gave no sign of wanting to look
at him. Perhaps it was her feminine modesty, the docility of women that
makes it possible for them to return to the past.
Utako’s intimacy with him once she entered the bath affected Jiro, and
dinner was enjoyable in a quiet way.
