The Painting by Nina Schuyler

infatuation, but that faded when he left. Here, you can live the way you want , he wrote. In the West, I see young women walking on the streets alone, working at jobs in public places, going to the cafés, smoking and drinking gin at round tables with bright white tablecloths. You would love it here, my friend. Buy a ticket—steal money from your father’s purse, if you must, and join me. Japan is no place for someone like you .
    Her brush calls out for purple to deepen the red. The studio is quiet. The afternoon light will soon move across the sky and Sato will rise. He kept looking at her, as if expecting her to say something, but what, she wasn’t sure. She thought the house so empty, and now, with him there, it feels crowded and confining.
    She swirls her brush around and around in circles. When the brush dries, she dips it in the black paint and spills circles all over.
    A YOSHI WALKS INTO THE kitchen. Hayashi is finishing a bowl of udon. We have a visitor? he asks.
    An old friend. A childhood friend. You might like him. You both know a great deal about the West. And you both speak English.
    Hayashi reaches down and massages his feet. She turns her back to Hayashi, trying to hide her desire to do anything but touch his awful feet. She listens to the birds outside, their calling and singing. She rises and heads for the doorway. I’ll go find him.
    What is he doing here? asks Hayashi.
    She stops. I don’t really know.
    M Y HUSBAND IS HOME , she says. She stands at the door frame, her hands folded in front of her.
    Sato is sitting in a chair in the Western room reading a book. The light has shifted and the room is darker than the rest of the house.
    I thought I heard the front door open and close, he says, smiling. So finally I will meet him.
    She remembers that smile, and for the first time, she sees a hint of his former youthful elegance. When he left to study in London, she walked with him to the docks. She carried his satchel full of Western books and he lugged a huge trunk of clothes. They stood and stared at the gleaming English warship that would take him across the seas. Guns and cannons lined the deck, and from the mast, the British flag snapped in the wind. An official from the Tokugawa government was at the docks to see him off. One of the British sailors told them it was the fastest warship on the seas. Sato whispered to her that he already knew this.
    He rises, smoothes out his trousers. When was the last time you visited home?
    I haven’t gone back. Ever. Have you?
    He glances at the painting of the woman outside in the snow. Not for awhile, he says. I’m surprised the government lets you keep the temple open. I walked in there and incense was burning. I’m also wondering why someone would choose to live here. The dead sleep right outside your window.
    She tells him Hayashi is a big supporter of the new government. He likes it here, she says. He’d never move. I do miss the red-crowned cranes. You remember them? I’d rise early to see them fly in the morning sky. If you walked quietly, you could stand on the edge of their resting grounds.
    He walks over to her. You don’t love your husband, do you?
    She blushes. His directness, a slap on the arm. Not a new trait, she thinks, but something she’d forgotten. I’m glad you’re here, Sato. I’m glad you’re here because I think it’s a good sign. She looks down at her tabi socks, trying to decide whether to say anything more. He is silent, waiting. Enough, she thinks. I’ve said enough.
    A good sign, he says. Of what? Or should I say, who?
    She looks away from him. Please, my husband is waiting for you. He is honored you are visiting our home.
    I hear many people, both men and women, have trouble in the beginning, he says. It’s understandable. What do you know of each other when you are first married? But it’d be easier if you accepted it.
    Her hard gaze strikes him, and she laughs contemptuously. That’s funny coming from you, she says.