The Old Woman, the Wife and the Archer by Donald Keene

Author:Donald Keene [tr] [Keene, Donald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Viking Press
Published: 1961-04-19T17:00:00+00:00

VIII

What’s that? You’d like to know why, four months after that night of the cherry blossoms when I promised Ohan to live with her again, I was still here with Okayo? I can’t explain it myself.

For one thing, there was the house. These days there simply aren’t any available if you want one at a moment’s notice. Besides, it was natural that I had trouble finding a house. My reluctance to let people know what I was doing obliged me to conduct my search furtively. You might say, of course, that the shortage of houses served as a temporary salve to my conscience—I could always tell myself, “I’d like to set up house with Ohan, but I just can’t find a suitable place.” It’s hard to believe now that I should ever have wished for such a salve to my conscience.

The day after Tanabata5 was so hot that as soon as I reached my shop I went around to the house in back to get some cold water. The old lady was standing there, looking as if she had been waiting for me.

She said, “I’ve found a house. It’s all the way west of the river on that street running by the Daishi Temple.”

“Oh? The Daishi Temple over there?” These were my only words as I stooped over the well.

“It’s a rented house and it belongs to the owner of the spinning mill. They say that the woman who used to live there suddenly left for Osaka. You ought to go there today, maybe this evening, with your missus. Make hay while the sun shines, they say. You can settle things afterward.”

“Well, in that case, I couldn’t ask for anything better. But I wonder if Ohan is at home.”

“That’s right. I’ll ask somebody in the temple to go find out at once.” The old woman hurried out, all but stumbling over herself with impatience. I dully watched her go.

Really, I wonder if any other man in the whole world can be as stupid as myself. Despite all my entreaties to Ohan, I was afraid now that a house was definitely available.

A man from the temple would go for Ohan, and if she was at home I would have to decide this very night on the move. And once I decided to set up house with Ohan again, I would have to give up my place in Blacksmiths’ Street.

I had long been aware of this situation, but when I realized that after all my delaying and delaying until the last minute I was now faced with the final step, I felt a kind of quiet resignation—let happen what may. Yes, I thought to myself, this is the decisive moment.

Not long afterward the man from the temple returned with word that Ohan would come as soon as it got dark. The old woman, tucking in her kimono at the waist and muttering something about all the work she’d have to do now, started off toward the back room. Then she turned back

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