Read Online Death in Midsummer & Other Stories by Yukio Mishima - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Yukio Mishima
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Japan, Short Stories (Single Author), Mishima; Yukio, Short Stories; Japanese, Japan - Social Life and Customs
Ads: Link
nothing of opening their compacts in public and scattering powder about, and yet there is a certain casualness in the results, with bare spots left showing beside the nose. There was nothing casual about this woman's make-up.
As they stood talking, they first explained what had brought them here.
53
The exporter who was her patron came frequently to the United States, and he had sent her on an inspection trip >pre-paratory to opening a new sort of Japanese restaurant in" San Francisco. She would probably become the manager, but it was not as if her patron were exiling an unwanted mistress. Rather she felt as she might if he were to open an inn for her in Atami or some other resort near Tokyo. He was an entrepreneur on the heroic scale.
The child was growing impatient.
'Let's have a cup of tea.' The woman spoke quite as if they were walking down the Ginza together. Kawase agreed, since he had nothing else to do, but he did not know what to call her.
Asaka or Faint Perfume, her professional name as a geisha some five years before, would scarcely do.
2 The coffee shop was not of the elaborate sort they might have found on the Ginza. A noisy dining-room for short orders, a long counter winding around the centre, a noisy shop selling tobacco and gifts, and nothing more. Kawase lifted the little girl to a stool at the counter. It was the natural arrangement to put her between them and talk over her head. She was a silent child, and her weight and warmth left a sort of faint, pleasant recollection in the muscles of Kawase's arms.
There were no other Orientals in the place. The stainless steel round the service window clouded with steam and quickly cleared again, reflecting the white aprons of the waitresses.
They were all middle-aged women heavily made up. Though they exchanged brief greetings with regular customers they were not quick to smile.
'Clark Gable's wife is in San Francisco,' said the blonde woman on Kawase's left. 'I met her at a party.'
'Oh? She must be getting along in years.'
Turning half an ear on the conversation, Asaka took off her coat and bundled it around her hips. Only at the nape of the neck, which she no longer needed to worry about as she had as a geisha, did she show the easy negligence of the professional 54
woman turned amateur again. She wore her hair up, and Kawase was startled at how dark the skin was.
'They aren't very friendly but they do work hard,' said Asaka in a loud voice, motioning to the waitresses with her eyes.
KaWase was pleased to see in the roving eyes how enthusiasm for her new work took in everything around her. She had always been beautiful, he thought, when he had been able to look at her as if he were watching a distant fire.
Delighted at being able to speak Japanese, Asaka chattered on about the preparations for her trip to the United States. First she had learned English from her patron. She had quite given up Japanese music, both old and popular, and devoted all of her spare time to linguaphone records. She had adopted Western clothes, which she had earlier worn only in the worst of the summer heat, and she had made daily trips to an expensive seamstress. She had asked her patron for advice and instruction on all the colours and designs. It appeared that the patron was not a man to make a clear distinction between lechery and education, and he could not have had better material than Asaka for building a woman to his taste. She may have danced the mambo in kimono in night clubs, but never before, it would seem, had a man so assiduously instructed her in 'the West'.
And never before had a man found a woman who responded more favourably.
Their orders came as she was finishing the long story. With a stiff, perfunctory smile, the waitress slammed a vanilla milk shake before the wide-eyed little girl. The glass must have held all of a pint.
'My name is Hamako,' said Asaka, rather belatedly introducing her daughter. 'How do you do.' She put her hand to the child's
As they stood talking, they first explained what had brought them here.
53
The exporter who was her patron came frequently to the United States, and he had sent her on an inspection trip >pre-paratory to opening a new sort of Japanese restaurant in" San Francisco. She would probably become the manager, but it was not as if her patron were exiling an unwanted mistress. Rather she felt as she might if he were to open an inn for her in Atami or some other resort near Tokyo. He was an entrepreneur on the heroic scale.
The child was growing impatient.
'Let's have a cup of tea.' The woman spoke quite as if they were walking down the Ginza together. Kawase agreed, since he had nothing else to do, but he did not know what to call her.
Asaka or Faint Perfume, her professional name as a geisha some five years before, would scarcely do.
2 The coffee shop was not of the elaborate sort they might have found on the Ginza. A noisy dining-room for short orders, a long counter winding around the centre, a noisy shop selling tobacco and gifts, and nothing more. Kawase lifted the little girl to a stool at the counter. It was the natural arrangement to put her between them and talk over her head. She was a silent child, and her weight and warmth left a sort of faint, pleasant recollection in the muscles of Kawase's arms.
There were no other Orientals in the place. The stainless steel round the service window clouded with steam and quickly cleared again, reflecting the white aprons of the waitresses.
They were all middle-aged women heavily made up. Though they exchanged brief greetings with regular customers they were not quick to smile.
'Clark Gable's wife is in San Francisco,' said the blonde woman on Kawase's left. 'I met her at a party.'
'Oh? She must be getting along in years.'
Turning half an ear on the conversation, Asaka took off her coat and bundled it around her hips. Only at the nape of the neck, which she no longer needed to worry about as she had as a geisha, did she show the easy negligence of the professional 54
woman turned amateur again. She wore her hair up, and Kawase was startled at how dark the skin was.
'They aren't very friendly but they do work hard,' said Asaka in a loud voice, motioning to the waitresses with her eyes.
KaWase was pleased to see in the roving eyes how enthusiasm for her new work took in everything around her. She had always been beautiful, he thought, when he had been able to look at her as if he were watching a distant fire.
Delighted at being able to speak Japanese, Asaka chattered on about the preparations for her trip to the United States. First she had learned English from her patron. She had quite given up Japanese music, both old and popular, and devoted all of her spare time to linguaphone records. She had adopted Western clothes, which she had earlier worn only in the worst of the summer heat, and she had made daily trips to an expensive seamstress. She had asked her patron for advice and instruction on all the colours and designs. It appeared that the patron was not a man to make a clear distinction between lechery and education, and he could not have had better material than Asaka for building a woman to his taste. She may have danced the mambo in kimono in night clubs, but never before, it would seem, had a man so assiduously instructed her in 'the West'.
And never before had a man found a woman who responded more favourably.
Their orders came as she was finishing the long story. With a stiff, perfunctory smile, the waitress slammed a vanilla milk shake before the wide-eyed little girl. The glass must have held all of a pint.
'My name is Hamako,' said Asaka, rather belatedly introducing her daughter. 'How do you do.' She put her hand to the child's
Similar Books
