Tayama Katai and His Novel Entitled Futon/Futon/Chapter 11

by Katai Tayama

XI

Lonely life, dreary life again returned to Tokio's home. The loud scolding voice of his wife, unable to control their children, pierced Tokio's ears and irritated him.

His life was back in the same old pattern of three years ago.

On the fifth day, he received a letter from Yoshiko. Her letter, in the ceremonious epistolary style, not in her usual friendly colloquial style, read as follows:

Please set your mind at ease as yesterday evening we returned safely home.

I really do not know how to apologize for causing you so much trouble at a time when you were very busy.

I apologize again and offer you my sincerest regrets.

I had intended to extend my gratitude before I left and ask your pardon, but I was so depressed I even refused to have that last meal with you. Please make allowances for my feelings at that time.

I still vividly remember our parting at Shimbashi Station. Every time I stand in front of a window, I feel as if I see you standing on the platform wearing your brown hat.

The snow had started to fall in the mountainous regions. For the 40 miles of road from Tatai, I could do nothing but feel sad; Issa's famous haiku of

Well, at last
This is my home
In five feet of snow

struck sharply home.

One of these days my father would like to write a letter to you expressing his gratitude; it is difficult for him to leave his business today, as it is a market day.

Please accept my deepest apologies on behalf of my father who sends you his kindest regards.

I have still many things that I would like to write you about which would be distasteful, so I will finish my letter at this point for today as my heart is still throbbing in anguish.

Tokio visualized a 40-mile-long mountain road covered with deep snow and a country village in the mountain region buried under the snow. Tokio went upstairs where everything had been left undisturbed since Yoshiko's departure. Overwhelmed with longing for his beloved woman, he tried to recollect his faintly lingering image of Yoshiko. It was one of the days when the cold wind blows briskly from the Musashi plains. He could hear a tremendous noise like roaring waves from the branches of the old trees. When Tokio opened a shutter of an east window as Yoshiko did on the day she departed for her home, light streamed into the room. Her desk, bookcase, bottles, and powder plate were left as before. It seemed as if his loved one had, as usual, gone to school. Tokio opened a drawer in her desk. He found there an old discarded ribbon which was soiled. Tokio picked it up and sniffed its fragrance. After a while, he stood up and opened the sliding door. There were three big wicker trunks tied with rope and ready to be shipped to Yoshiko; piled beyond them were Yoshiko's daily used futons--a yellowish green mattress with an arabesque design, and a similar patterned, thickly wadded bed counterpane. Tokio pulled them out. His heart throbbed with indescribable emotions on smelling the oily and sweaty fragrance of his loved one. Pressing his face on the stained velvet neckband of the counterpane, he smelled his loved one's odors to his heart's content.

The mixed emotions of sexual desire, sadness, and despair suddenly attacked him. Tokio spread out the mattress and put the counterpane on top, he buried his face in the cold and soiled velvet neckband and cried.

The dimly lit room--outside the wind was blowing hard.

(1907)