Fish of the Seto Inland Sea

DEDICATION

To my Father and Mother

Itsuji and Shizuko Kumoi

This book is about a family whose traditional home is by the Seto Inland Sea in Southern Japan.

There is a saying that the best fish in Japan comes from here because, as is quoted in the book, the rapid flow of water in many places in the sea makes the fish especially firm and good.

These qualities seem to mirror the strength and resilience shown by the three generations of women of the Shirai family.

HARUKO’S FAMILY TREE

THE SANJOS (Haruko’s in-laws)

CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

PART ONE

1 The Landowner’s Family

2 The Russians

3 Haruko and Her Father

4 Shobei’s Garden

5 Spring

6 Haruko’s Uncles

7 The Flood

8 Takeko is Seventeen

9 The Maple Tree

10 The Medicine Store

11 The Chief Engineer San’s Friend

PART TWO

12 To Manchuria

13 The Farewell Party

14 The City of Acacia

15 Gathering Clouds

16 Bamboo Spears

17 The Summer of 1945

18 The Chinese and the Russians

19 A Journey to Chenyang

20 Survival

21 Going Home

PART THREE

22 The Ruined City

23 The Ming Dish

24 Struggle

25 Kei, Her Sons and Daughter

26 The Sisters

27 Ayako and Her Daughters

28 A God to Rescue You

29 For Better Times to Come

GLOSSARY

AUTHOR’S NOTE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

COPYRIGHT

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

PART ONE

1
The Landowner’s Family

Shobei Miwa was a rich landowner. His land spread far beyond the village of Takao. He could walk from his house for about forty minutes to the nearest railway station without stepping on anyone else’s land. In fact, it was Shobei who had sold the land for the railway and station to the government.

Shobei Miwa had two sons, Shintaro and Rinji. His elder son, Shintaro, was sent to Tokyo at the age of fourteen before the railway had been built. He was accompanied by a servant and walked on the trunk road to Tokyo, taking nearly a month. The servant carried his money, including his school fees, in a bundle firmly tied around his waist which he did not take off even when he slept at night. The rooms of the inns had sliding doors and no locks. There were many thieves. The young master and his servant kept to themselves but at the same time had to take care not to look too cautious and attract attention.

When they reached the Oigawa river, the servant would not trust the boatmen and he crossed the river carrying Shintaro on his shoulders. In the middle of the river, the water came up to his chest. Every year, until the railway was built, he made the same trip to Tokyo bringing Shintaro’s expenses.

Shobei was not much worried about how Shintaro lived as a student. When a rumour reached him that Shintaro was drinking heavily, Shobei laughed and said, ‘A man who cannot drink cannot succeed in life.’

He was generous about his son’s expenses as well. ‘Let him have a good time. One can never be young again.’ He was concerned only about one thing. This was that Shintaro should come home without getting seriously involved with a woman. Shobei was anxious that his son should marry a girl from a good family known to everybody around them.

‘Occasional relaxation from hard work is necessary, but you must remember to honour your obligation to your family,’ Shobei wrote to Shintaro in every letter. Shobei’s letters were written with brush and ink and were difficult to decipher but Shintaro knew the last few sentences without reading them.

Imperial University students were considered to have good prospects and were targeted by ambitious mothers with unmarried daughters, but Shintaro returned to his father’s village, Takao, without mishap. With Shobei’s influence, Shintaro’s future was promising. It was as the director of a new hospital, the largest in the area, that he began his professional life. He was considered the most eligible bachelor for several counties.

Who would be the lucky girl? People speculated. There were many young ladies of suitable families. Relatives and friends were busy sounding out the possibility of a match with girls they knew or had heard about. Parents who had daughters of the right age called on people who knew the Miwas to impress their names on them. The hospital was visited by more young girls, taken by their mothers or maids with minor complaints.

Shobei rejected these proposals one after another without even telling Shintaro.

‘Thank you for your concern, but he has been away so long and has just started his career. It is important for him to concentrate on his work at the moment,’ was his stock reply to every one, although Shobei knew that they were well aware it was not true.

‘What is he scheming for his son’s marriage? Is he thinking of marrying Dr Shintaro to a nobleman’s daughter?’ People talked. It was generally believed that the real reason was that the girls’ families were not considered good enough.

When Shobei refused a proposal from the Abes, a family richer and older than the Miwas, Shobei’s wife confronted him for the first time.

‘Excuse me, but Shintaro san is over thirty now. I would like to ask you what is in your mind. Shintaro san will end up as a bachelor because you are ...’ She wanted to say ‘fastidious’ but said, ‘Well, because you are too careful.’

‘We cannot have Abe’s daughter.’ Shobei’s answer was categorical.

His wife persisted. ‘But may I ask why? They say she is pretty and we have heard nothing against her. The family, of course, is beyond criticism.’

‘She might be acceptable, but she has two brothers.’

‘But it’s good that she has brothers. What is wrong with that?’

His wife was mystified. If the family did not have sons, the girl had to stay at home and take a husband into her family to carry on the family name. She could not marry out. That was how the family line was kept. The system was called yohshi, adoption.

‘Abe’s sons are lazy and stupid. The younger one is mean as well.’

‘I am sorry, but please explain what you mean. If you worry about everybody in the family, you will always find someone who is not perfect. Shintaro san is not marrying her brothers.’

‘Her brothers may be no problem while the father is alive. But wait till the sons have a chance to control the family affairs. At first they will sell a bit of land away from home to pay off their gambling and womanising debts. Gradually they will get deeper and deeper into debt. The brothers will quarrel. After ten years, there will be nothing left. They will come to Shintaro to borrow and so on. Shintaro will have to be involved. Not only is he a kind fellow but he cannot stand by while his in-laws ruin themselves. The bad name of his wife’s family would spoil the name of the Miwas.’

‘I see. Well, I hope Shintaro san will be able to marry one day.’

‘Of course he will marry.’

‘But ...’

‘I have already decided on his wife.’

‘You have?’

‘Yes, I have. The daughter of the Shirais in the next village.’

His wife was nonplussed.

‘You mean Dr Shirai’s daughter?’

‘Yes, Dr Shirai of Kitani village.’ His tone told her that his mind was made up and that his decision was final.

‘They have four sons.’ She looked him straight in the eyes, which she normally did not dare to do. She was not satisfied with her husband’s decision, because the Shirais were the poorest among all the candidates so far.

‘And all intelligent,’ Shobei replied. ‘The father is a fine fellow and still young. The whole family will be a great support for Shintaro and for his future son.’

‘But the girl is very young. One of the sons is still a baby.’

‘I know. That is why I had to wait. She has a very good reputation. Besides, she should know how a doctor’s household should be run, although Shintaro’s life is a bit different from her father’s.’ Shobei sounded smug. He had already found out a lot about Dr Shirai’s daughter, Ayako.

‘If you say so,’ his wife conceded.

‘Of course!’

When people heard that the daughter of the Shirais was chosen as Shintaro’s bride, they could not understand why. The Shirais had been doctors in traditional medicine for many generations. They had been the retained doctors of feudal lords until the system was abolished towards the end of the 1880s. Since then, the present head of the family, Tei-ichi, continued to look after people in the area with his hereditary knowledge and experience. He was endowed with a progressive spirit and had already contacted Shintaro to seek advice on some of his patients. Tei-ichi was respected and popular, but the family was not well-off.

Tei-ichi’s house was always full of poor patients. With backs and knees bent from hard lives, peasants brought their children who were exhausted from suffering.

Dr Tei-ichi Shirai would shout angrily, ‘Why did you leave the sick child so long without bringing her to me?’

‘I am very sorry ... We have not paid you the last fees and ...’

‘Who is talking about fees? Don’t you see this child is ill because of your neglect?’

They loved to be scolded by Dr Tei-ichi.

As many of his patients were poor, his fees were often not paid or were paid with small amounts of fish, fruit and vegetables. On the other hand, the merchants who dealt with the doctor’s family sent their accounts twice a year, but were not too harsh in demanding payment. Shobei knew it all.

The Shirais lived in an old house surrounded by a moat and high stone walls. A wooden bridge led to a large gate and straight ahead was an open main entrance. The gate was usually closed and people used a small side door to get into the front courtyard. From the courtyard they walked round the back of the house to go in through the family entrance or the kitchen.

Tei-ichi’s wife Kei was open-hearted and cheerful.

‘Now, what is wrong with you this time?’ she would ask a villager who appeared and stood timidly at the kitchen door. ‘Come in, come in. You won’t get better standing outside.’

And they would tell her their symptoms, worries and difficulties.

‘It sounds exactly like what Yohei had the other day. He is fine now. Go in and see the doctor. Only, don’t mention your own opinions and everything the others have said. You won’t die yet.’

Kei had beautiful skin. She washed her face thoroughly every morning with rice bran in a small cotton bag and consulted a thermometer to choose what to wear for the day. The thermometer had been given to Tei-ichi as a thank-you present when he attended one of his well-off patients and it was the only thermometer in the surrounding villages. Schoolteachers occasionally brought pupils to see it. Kei did not use make-up, but her hair was always fashionably done up and she carried a parasol in summer to protect her face from the sun. The villagers called her ‘okkasama’, which means mother, and greeted her warmly as her neat figure hurried down the village street followed by a maid.

She would buy damaged material and sale goods at a cloth shop. She was clever at cutting and sewing kimonos and clad the whole family handsomely. All her household were well mannered and disciplined. Shobei knew this as well.

Kei also made ointment to sell. It was a simple mixture of beeswax and a few other ingredients. Although the recipe was not secret, her special skill was needed in heating and kneading. The finished product was put in sealed sea shells and was sold widely as Shirai Ointment for cuts and bruises. Kei carefully saved from the income for their sons’ education. She was determined that her sons should go to the Imperial University like Dr Shintaro and succeed their father as modern doctors. But she did not have much ambition for her daughter, Ayako. She should marry one day but not into the kind of family that would involve the Shirais in spending a lot of money for a trousseau. Kei hoped that Ayako would be treated kindly by her husband’s family when she married and would be sufficiently provided for. Ayako was a pretty girl so this did not seem like too much to ask for.

‘Being a doctor, he must have a secret recipe for making his daughter so lovely,’ the villagers remarked when they saw Ayako.

She was nicknamed ‘Drop off a bridge’. This strange name came from a story about a man from another village who was crossing a narrow bridge when he saw Ayako coming towards him. Gawping at her, because she was so beautiful, he missed his step and fell into the river.

* * *

When a distant relative brought the marriage proposal from the Miwas, Tei-ichi was surprised. Until then, he had not thought of Ayako as a woman. Wasn’t she running around with her brothers and catching fish in the river? The last time he saw her up a tree, he had vaguely wondered if it was time he should tell her off for behaving like a boy. Wasn’t it only a few years ago? Besides, he had never considered the possibility of his daughter being asked for by the most sought-after bachelor he knew.

‘Let me think about it,’ he said eventually to the go-between. At first he could not believe what he had heard. Then he reconsidered.

‘Why, we are not such a bad family. We have nothing to be ashamed of. And Ayako is an intelligent and beautiful girl.’

But he had not expected to part with her so soon. Ayako seemed totally unprepared for the role of a young wife in such an august family. However, if he missed the opportunity to marry her to Shintaro, he was convinced that he would never find as good a match as this most accomplished young man. Tei-ichi also wanted very much to become the father-in-law of such a well-educated doctor. He would be a fine example for his sons. Undecided, he called Ayako. She was not at all demure. She looked her father straight in the eye and said, ‘Dr Miwa, otohsan? Oh, yes, I will marry him.’

‘W-wait a minute. You don’t have to rush. Think about it carefully,’ he stuttered, confused. ‘In any case, you don’t know him. I ... I am not telling you that you have to marry him.’ He had expected her to be either shy and hesitant, or look totally innocent.

‘I have heard a lot about him,’ she said, ‘and I have seen him.’

‘What?’

Tei-ichi felt that his stern control of the household was crumbling in front of him.

‘When did you see him?’

‘I went to the station with Yasuharu san to see what Dr Miwa looks like, when he came back from Tokyo.’

Yasuharu was one of her younger brothers. The family had the custom of referring to each other with a respectful ‘san’ at the end of their names.

‘Oh!’

‘Everybody says he is very intelligent, and very kind,’ Ayako said.

‘You don’t understand.’ Tei-ichi struggled to regain his composure. ‘You don’t know what it means to get married. You have no idea, do you understand? You have no idea. It is not playing house. You have to leave us and your home for ever and live somewhere else with someone else.’ Then he said, even more sternly, ‘It is not like going to stay at your cousin’s. You cannot come back. I will not allow you to come back.’ But after a moment, he added wistfully, ‘That is, as a member of this family. You can visit here, of course, but not to live.’

Ayako was listening respectfully but Tei-ichi did not feel that she was in any way impressed by his speech.

‘Did you realise that Ayako is growing up to be a daring modern girl?’ Tei-ichi complained when he was alone with Kei that night.

Kei put a cup of tea in front of her husband and sat directly on the tatami floor without a zabuton, a cushion.

‘Has Ayako done something wrong?’ she asked.

‘I asked her what she thought of marrying Dr Shintaro.’

‘It was kind of you to ask how she feels about it.’

‘Hum!’

Tei-ichi realised that it had been thoughtful of him. A lot of girls would not be given the opportunity to express their opinion. Marriage was the union of two families regardless of the sentiments of the persons immediately concerned.

Kei had not been told about the proposal from the Miwas.

‘So, are you giving her to the Miwas?’

‘There is no reason why not. He is a splendid fellow. But Ayako is too young. She does not know what marriage means. She does not know anything about men and women.’

‘So, what did Ayako say?’ As Tei-ichi went silent, Kei prompted him.

Tei-ichi remembered his surprise.

‘Amazing!’ He suddenly looked animated and young, telling Kei what he had discovered. ‘Kei, she is not a child any more. She said she wanted to marry Dr Shintaro. She said she knew about him already. Can you believe it? She seems to understand what marriage means.’ Then he repeated, ‘I thought she was only a child.’

Kei laughed. She was not disquieted. She merely said, ‘Girls mature early.’

Tei-ichi felt that he was slighted by both mother and daughter. He straightened up a little. He regained his air of importance.

‘She said she had gone to the station to see Dr Shintaro. Such behaviour is not allowed. From now on, teach her manners and be strict with her. You must not let her go out on her own.’

‘Yes.’ Kei bowed a little and stopped laughing. She admitted to herself that it had been indiscreet for a young unmarried girl of a decent family to go out with her brother, without her knowledge. But in the big house that the Shirais had to manage, there were not enough maids to accompany Ayako every time she went out. Kei had to spare Shige to accompany Ayako for sewing and koto music lessons. Kei’s youngest son, Hideto, was not a year old yet. Shige’s daughter, Kiyo, would have to clean the kitchen and perhaps Kei herself would carry the baby on her back while she prepared the meals ... She could manage. It would all be worthwhile if Ayako could marry such a well-qualified man.

‘We have to prepare her to become a suitable bride for the eldest son of the Miwas,’ Tei-ichi was saying. ‘Don’t be lazy about chaperoning her. It is your responsibility.’ While he was talking to Kei, he made up his mind about his daughter’s marriage.

‘Yes,’ Kei said, looking at her folded hands on her lap.

‘There will be a lot of expenses, to be equal to the Miwas. But we must do our best not to shame ourselves. We must also think of Ayako’s position after she has married. We have to send her off properly. The boys’ education might have to be reconsidered. I hope you understand that,’ Tei-ichi told his wife solemnly.

‘Yes,’ Kei said again, but she was not as worried about money as Tei-ichi was. When the negotiations started, she would gently suggest that her husband have a frank talk with Shobei. Shobei must know the Shirais’ financial situation. If it was money he wanted, he certainly would have accepted the Abes’ daughter. He would not be as unworldly as her husband. Kei sensed that her sons’ education, on the other hand, was far more important than before. They were the family assets, not a large trousseau.

She went back to the kitchen where Shige was supervising Kiyo, who was measuring rice and washing it ready for the next day. Shige had come to the Shirais as Kei’s personal maid when she married Tei-ichi. They had grown up together.

‘O’Shige san,’ Kei called. ‘Come here a minute.’

When Shige went into the chanoma, a small back living room next to the kitchen, Kei was sitting by the hibachi, an elaborate charcoal burner. An iron kettle was always placed on it during the day and from it now came the soft noise of water evaporating.

‘Sit down for a minute.’

Kei pointed towards the other side of the hibachi. As soon as Shige sat down, Kei giggled and whispered, ‘Ayako gave dansama such a surprise.’

She remembered how her husband was flurried and lost his usual dignified air of importance.

‘He is so naive!’ She kept on laughing. Shige, too, laughed.

‘Oh, men are all very naive.’

‘They think they are cleverer than us.’

‘What happened?’ Shige’s husband was bringing in wood from outside and, hearing the laughter, poked his head into the chanoma.

‘Go away. This is women’s talk.’ Shige waved her hand to chase him away. The two women continued to chat to each other, giving vent to feelings pent up by the strain of constant obedience.

As Kei hoped, Ayako was welcomed and treated like a real daughter by Shobei and his wife. Most of her trousseau was made up of the ‘presents of welcome’ from the Miwas. This did not shame the Shirais. On the contrary, people realised that Shobei esteemed the Shirais and their respect for the Shirais increased. At the same time, they appreciated Shobei’s generosity. Shintaro loved his young and lovely wife. Ayako adored him. For her, there was no one as handsome, intelligent and kind as he was. She looked up to her husband with respect and worshipped him as though he was a god. Her obedience to him was sincere.

For ten years, there was nothing but happiness in the Miwa family. The villagers said, ‘Even the sun shines brighter over their house.’

When Ayako produced a healthy first child, even though it was a girl, there was a celebration. She was named Takeko. Then, two years later, in the first year of a new century, 1900, Haruko was born. Slight disappointment was felt at the arrival of a second daughter, but the husband was thirty-five and the wife was only nineteen.

‘We’ll have more children,’ Shintaro said to Shobei.

‘Of course you will,’ he answered.

When a third daughter was born, Shintaro, who had been telling his wife that he was not at all worried whether it would be a boy or a girl, had to walk around the garden before he went to see her to make sure he looked cheerful and pleased. The third child was called Sachiko.

It was when Ayako was pregnant for the fourth time that, one frosty morning, Shobei went to inspect his charcoal-making lodge. Wearing his padded jerkin, he bent forward and walked on hurriedly. As he came to the foot of the steep stone steps leading up to a temple, he made out a pair of women’s footwear left neatly at the bottom. He was not surprised. The temple was famous for divine favours for childless women and women without sons. They would go to the temple every day and climb up and down the steps barefoot for their wishes to be fulfilled. During the day, there were always one or two women in the vicinity who had come from far away.

In the grey light, he saw Kei coming down the steps. Unaware that the passer-by was Shobei, Kei squatted once more in supplication when she reached the bottom of the steps. Kei must have been there every morning praying for Ayako to have a boy, before Tei-ichi got up. Tei-ichi’s dislike of what he called superstition was well known.

And a son, Shuichi, was born. Shobei opened kegs of saké and invited the villagers. He ordered pink and white rice cakes from the largest cake shop in town and distributed them. He also donated a large sum of money to the temple. It was in honour of the quiet figure who was praying barefoot in the icy morning for the sake of her daughter and her family. It was his way of thanking her without telling her.

All day, relatives and friends arrived. They brought a large red sea bream as a symbol of felicitation, silk, cakes and other presents. In the kitchen, sushi was prepared in quantity. Only one person did not participate in the party. In the quiet inner room, Ayako was fast asleep.

That was the happiest day for the Miwas.