Tomoko was cleaning her family shrine, dusting every comer meticulously. This was one task she would never give the maid, a duty she enjoyed, to be performed with deliberate, loving thoroughness. Facing her on the altar was her mother's memorial tablet. Her mother's spirit was watching her, Tomoko felt: silent but omniscient, knowing the passionate eagerness with which she awaited Soshu's monthly visit the next day. Not that she was ready for his coming... she had broken her promise to him; it was brute force that had made her break it, perhaps, but that did not make the promise any the less her own decision, for which she alone was responsible. How could she face him, defiled as she had been in that kimono that he alone had seen... involving even him in her sin? Now she was beyond even the hope of redemption.

--Mother must have known the misery a woman inherits with her sex... Tomoko hated the body her will could not control, the physical organism that Yamaji had trained to respond to his lightest touch, like the strings of a harp, as accurate and inevitable in its reactions as some finely-built machine. Worst of all, it had betrayed her at the very moment she was struggling for freedom--when her conscious self was withdrawn... For Tomoko this was the moment of final crisis, which would decide whether or not she could ever find the way back to self-respect. Death would at least be simple... There had been such a confusion of emotions at the time. The shock of his sudden grabbing at her shoulders, forcing her down from behind--like being set on at night in a dark street... She had fought to escape, but knowing all the time she must not scream; his male strength biting into her sides till she was all but choking, his breath on her cheek. But she had felt no physical panic, as she would have done if the assault had been by some unknown attacker. A trial of her strength against his, in the knowledge that her life was never threatened--it was that, and no more. Her life was threatened, but the threat was for the future; its terror of the mind, not of the body. And because she was not in physical danger, and knew it, her struggle had ended as it had--in a lovers' embrace! As if she had merely been in a particularly bad mood, and had given way to caresses. Tomoko could not forgive herself. Yet it was only her body that had given way. If it had been any other man, she might have resisted longer, even to the point of physical danger; but it was Yamaji, whose touch her senses knew with an intimacy that had sapped her will. Yamaji's fit of violence had passed; he had had his usual way with her passive body. A feeling of sadness overwhelmed her, and faded as quickly. It was scarcely surprising if her physical sensations had been hard to analyze--like harpstrings plucked in a strange chord never heard before. Frustration, self-disgust, and a deep sadness were all she was conscious of now. And her mother knew...

Perhaps Yamaji's brutality had been clever in a way. It was also inhuman: the action of a man who utterly ignored her as a person, a spiritual being, and saw even her faculty of physical sensation as his property. By it he had shown himself as animal as he assumed her to be. If he had contented himself with merely showing her how strong he was, the words she had spoken would have remained to encourage her, a step towards a final, unshakeable decision. But not now... Yamaji had shattered her will to resist. She could not bear the humiliation of pretending to defy him still, as if nothing 'unusual' had happened. What was left but to admit defeat? He must have realized that mere talk would never make her change her mind, Tomoko supposed, and so had taken deliberate advantage of her physical weakness. Clever of him, if you could call it that...

--But she would not give up. At least he knew now. Maybe it had been stupid just to tell him and expect the rest to be easy. To give meaning to her words, to be able to face him on equal terms, she should first have proved she could live alone. It would be all the harder now. There would be months, years perhaps, of hardship, of the sordid contriving she shrank from. But still, he knew--and surely the fact of his knowing would gradually force them apart, till the break came of itself, inevitably?

Her mother's death-name faced her from its tablet on the altar, watching her thoughts. Was it only for her mother's sake she had been able to call up that brave mood of a moment ago, Tomoko found herself wondering uneasily--when in fact it was only wishful thinking?

The front door clattered open. Abruptly, Tomoko stopped her dusting.

'Are you there?'

To her horror, it was Yamaji. Today, at least, Tomoko had thought, she would be left in peace. . . their quarrel had been only yesterday--

'Nobody at home, eh?' the voice repeated sharply, and with a note of arrogance. Sumi had gone to the market, Tomoko remembered.

‘Coming!' she called out, as if she had not recognized whose voice it was at the door.

‘Where's the maid?' he asked when she appeared in the hall.

‘She's out shopping.' Tomoko knelt on the polished floor to receive him. Taking off his shoes, Yamaji went into the living-room, instead of hurrying straight upstairs as he usually did.

'Been cleaning the shrine, I see. Very pious of you,' he said, brusquely offensive. The mood was simulated, Tomoko guessed; a crude attempt to overawe her.

'Finished, have you?' She nodded.

'Then you'd better shut it.' Yamaji watched her as she closed the doors of the shrine, fascinated by the grace of her kneeling figure. She clasped her hands for a last silent prayer--when thick hands seized her shoulders; she fell back--

'Couldn't sleep a wink last night, thanks to you! I've discovered I'm fonder of you than I thought.'

She lay quietly, half-upright, where his arms held her--or where she had leant against him, surrendering?

'Maybe you haven't always liked the way I've treated you. I've loved you, though, in my own way. I love you now--and I'm going to go on loving you. . .'

So that was why he'd come rushing back so soon just to tell her that. Strangely, Tomoko felt no urge to struggle. Not out of despair, but in a mood of quiet acceptance of a single defeat, now that the first excitement of her decision had faded.

"The old lady at one of the geisha-houses keeps trying to get me to take one of her girls, but they don't appeal to me. You set the standard, you see. If ever a more attractive woman were to turn up, I tell myself--but none ever will. I'm certain of it. You were born to be loved, Tomoko, though you've never realized it. You could never support yourself; you're not that kind of woman. Not the fussy, domestic kind, either. Marrying that husband of yours and having a child was a mistake; that sort of thing doesn't suit a woman like you.'

Still in his embrace, the thrust of his body against hers merging with the words in a single compelling pressure, Tomoko could hardly pretend not to hear him.

'I wouldn't like to give you up. I wouldn't like it at all... I never thought I'd feel like this over a woman, of all things. Now I've told you, confessed, if you like, you'll start getting big ideas, I suppose, but that can't be helped: it's the truth. You must have thought about us a good deal last night, eh? You're still thinking, I shouldn't wonder--like me; I couldn't get you out of my head last night!

'The maid will be back in a moment--'

'No matter. She'll see my shoes in the porch.'

Tomoko let him caress her face, in an agony of wretchedness that somehow failed to stimulate her paralyzed will. Suddenly his face fell upon hers. Helpless, she submitted to his kisses--only for her body to be overwhelmed in a flood of awakening response.

'A lot of my friends tell me they're in the same sort of position. They're all so busy, they can never relax properly with a woman. Women want to have leisure to talk quietly with the men who love them; and the men know that as well as anybody else. It's not that they don't want to talk, or haven't anything to talk about: they just haven't time. Never having time makes a man feel in a rush always; that's why he can't always be thinking about the woman's side of things. They keep their cars waiting outside, just like me. Can't even stay for the woman to make tea, they say. Back to the office the moment they've done what they came for. And what does the woman feel about her man rushing off like that? He feels he's done what he can, just by going to visit her--but she's bound to get a bit disconcerted in time. Anybody can see that: it's natural. But if she starts complaining and making all sorts of difficulties--that's a different matter. Always being in a hurry doesn't mean he doesn't care for her. She begins to feel she's just being used--all right; but there's something to be said on his side as well. One girl I heard about doesn't even see her man out when he's finished--lies on the floor for hours sulking.'

Tomoko managed to hide the twinge of guilt she felt.

`You can say the man's selfish. He takes her just for her sex, ignores her personality, and all the rest of it. But that's not how he feels at all; and that's where the trouble starts. Women dream up all kinds of nonsense, for the simple reason that they've got nothing to do but sit at home all day.'

`It's so--unnatural, living like this. . .'

'Do you really want to throw your life away on housework--a woman like you? Maybe if you'd never been married before--but you have: you know what happens to wives in ordinary marriages... Are you so sure you envy them? That sort of life might suit ordinary women, I daresay; but not you.'

Yamaji pulled her head up till it was opposite his own.

`Then there's your daughter. Suppose you were to marry again. What sort of affection would your new husband feel towards a child that wasn't his own--or would he even hate her? It's not likely he'd ever really care for her, but even if he did, how could you be certain he wouldn't change? Loving you doesn't mean he'd love Shoko too, you know. And look how well she's getting on as it is. You say you're worried about her future; that's only because you want to be conventional--but you can't be... the rules don't apply to your life now.'

Niwa, Fumio. The Buddha Tree. Trans. Kenneth Strong. Rutland, VT: Charles Tuttle Co., 1966, chap. 34; 335-339.