Free Masks by Fumiko Enchi Page B

gossamer-soft arms, Yasuko nodded. Mieko stroked and patted her quivering shoulders.
    “You couldn’t help it. Don’t you remember, Yasuko, you and I saw it together: that tiny mark on Akio’s forehead,like a stab wound? The man from the Self-Defense Forces said that someone’s rod must have touched him there during the search. From that time on, you were destined to have a dream like this one tonight.”
    “Was I, Mother?” Yasuko lifted her head and looked up searchingly at Mieko.
    In the colorful light that shone through the muted yellow, red, and indigo of the lamp’s stained glass, Mieko’s face blurred into an ever more indistinct white. It seemed a face untouched by either sorrow or regret. The sight of that indestructible face had the effect of setting off in Yasuko a release of her deepest self-destructive urges. A violence shook her, as of ocean waves crashing against a huge, immovable rock.
    “That’s not it, Mother! I killed Akio again myself. I lost the power to keep him, and him alone, alive inside me. That’s the reason. That’s what made me dream I stabbed him in the eye with that rod…How horrible…”
    “Please, Yasuko, don’t upset yourself so.” It was Mieko whose voice was now agitated and flustered. “Nighttime, Yasuko, especially the middle of the night, plays tricks on a person’s mind. You mustn’t say irrational things based on some wild notion you’ve just had. Surely you know that.”
    Mieko spoke almost imploringly, holding tight to Yasuko’s squirming body and patting her shoulders. The gesture had the awkward uncertainty of a young mother dealing with an obstreperous child. As if moved by her mother-in-law’s apparent distress, Yasuko held herself perfectly still, then, as Mieko’s pleasing fragrance began to sink once again into Yasuko’s body, easing the tiredness in her joints, she pushed Mieko away and wriggled free of her embrace.
    “It’s no use, Mother. You pretend not to understand, but I know very well that you do; you know all about it.You know as well as I do that my body doesn’t belong only to Akio anymore—or to you either—”
    “My dear, what are you talking about?” Mieko gasped. “I haven’t any idea what you mean.” She had, of course, long since noticed the peculiar smell that clung to Yasuko’s body, an odor with the sharp pungency of a fish just taken from the sea. She knew that it had been there ever since Yasuko’s return from Kyoto on the train with Ibuki, but there was nothing in her look to betray that she knew.
    Nearly a month had passed since that train ride. The freezing dew that moistened the rooftops each morning had turned imperceptibly to whitest frost, and tonight the chill in the air gave a foretaste of snow.
    Two days before had been the fourth anniversary of Akio’s death, and again this year Mieko had invited family and friends to the house for an informal memorial service. In the past, Ibuki had always come; but he was prevented this time by a faculty meeting, and so Mikamé had come alone and stayed late, chatting genially with the others.
    He took this opportunity to mention his discovery of “An Account of the Shrine in the Fields.”
    “Mrs. Toganō, why don’t you consider having that essay published again? I’m only an amateur, so it’s not too surprising I’d never heard of it, but even Ibuki seemed unaware you’d written any such thing.”
    “Goodness, no,” she said, rejecting the idea with her usual composure. “That was only a sort of folly of my youth. It’s hardly something worth showing to people after all these years.” When Mikamé told of having given the essay to Ibuki to read, she seemed embarrassed, quietly lowering her gaze.
    Whatever her private thoughts may have been, the following day she sent Yasuko to call on Ibuki with a note thanking him for troubling to read the essay.
    It was nightfall when Yasuko returned.
    “What did he say?” asked Mieko.
    “That he will be over to see