Free Mandarins by Ryûnosuke Akutagawa Page B

was out, Nobuko, for no apparent reason, would find her spirits sinking. It was then that she invariably reached into a drawer of her sewing box to take out a letter lying folded up at the bottom. Written on pink stationery, it read:
    My Dear Elder Sister ,
    . . . Even as I write, the thought that after today we shall no longer be together fills my eyes with an endless flood of tears. I beg you for forgiveness. As I contemplate the sacrifice that you have made for me, your unworthy sister, Teruko, words quite fail me.
    You have accepted this marriage proposal for my sake, and though you have denied it, I know very well that such is true. The other evening, when we were together at the Imperial Theater, you asked whether I held a special place in my heart for Shun-san, saying that if I did, you would spare no effort on my behalf to see that we were married.
    You must have read the letter that I intended to send to him. I confess that at the time of its disappearance, I felt terribly resentful. (Forgive me. Again, I scarcely realize myself just how inexcusable my conduct has been.) When I heard your kind offer of assistance, I could only understand it as ironically intended. You will not, of course, forget that I angrily responded by hardly responding at all. When several days later you suddenly agreed to be married, I should happily have died, so great was my desire to make amends.
    As much as you may seek to conceal it, I know that you too care very much for Shun-san. Had you not been concerned for me, you would surely have married him. Now, having told me again and again that you had no such feelings, you have wed a man who is not of your heart.
    My beloved elder sister, do you remember that I held the chicken in my arms and told her to bid you farewell? I wanted even that hen to join me in seeking your pardon. Our mother too, though she knows nothing of this, could only weep.
    So tomorrow you will depart for Ō saka. I implore you not to abandon Teruko, who every morning as she feeds her hen, out of sight and hearing of all, will be shedding tears as she thinks of you.
    Whenever she read this girlish letter, Nobuko too would weep. Particularly on recalling how Teruko had quietly handed it to heras she was boarding the train at T ō ky ō ’s central station, she was moved beyond words, even if, at the same time, she also wondered whether her marriage had really been entirely the sacrificial act that Teruko imagined it to be. When her tears had dried, the suspicion weighed heavily upon her. For the most part, to dispel the gloom, she would will herself to bask in pleasant reverie, as she watched the sunlight falling on the pines beyond her window slowly turn to evening gold.
2
    Three months went by. Nobuko and her husband spent their days contentedly, as is the wont of newlyweds. There was a hint of feminine reserve in his taciturn manner. On his return from the office, they would sit together for some time after supper. As she knitted, Nobuko would describe a recent novel or play that had become the talk of the town, her comments sometimes evoking an outlook on life colored by the Christian background of her university. His cheeks red with the sake he had drunk, the evening newspaper he had just begun to read spread out on his lap, he would listen without comment or opinion, a look of bemused curiosity on his face.
    On Sundays they would generally go off on a sightseeing jaunt to Ō saka or the vicinity. Whenever they rode the train or streetcar, Nobuko was struck by the vulgarity of her compatriots in western Japan, eating and drinking even on public conveyances without constraint. In that regard she was pleased at how remarkably refined her husband was. From his hat to his suit to his red-leather lace-ups, his clean-cut appearance, as though he might smell faintly of bathing soap, made for a refreshing contrast. Particularly during the summer holidays, when on a trip to Maiko they encountered his colleagues in