Fish of the Seto Inland Sea. Ruri Pilgrim

mind. If they took the railway track, it would take only about half an hour to get home, but they had been told by Tei-ichi many times that they must not walk on it. Even for Hideto, whose activities were hardly restricted at all, the railroad was an exception.

      â€˜I want to go home,’ Shuichi repeated, holding Haruko’s hand. Haruko made up her mind.

      They jumped from one sleeper to the next, and sang songs. There were lots of lovely pebbles to collect. They came to a railway bridge. They squatted and looked through the railings. Far below, the Kitaka river was heard, but the water was dark. Their village, Kitani, was along the river, a little upstream. It was the familiar river where they swam in summer when they thought no adults were around.

      Home was not far away. They could get off the railway soon after the bridge and, within ten minutes, reach the big gate.

      Haruko was relieved and astounded almost at the same time. She heard the tooting of a train and, as she looked, a light was approaching rapidly.

      â€˜Sachiko san, sit here.’ Her voice was harsh in her anxiety. ‘And Shu-chan next to Sachiko san.’

      The thought which flashed through Haruko’s mind was that Shuichi should not die. She had promised her father to look after him. How her mother would cry if she lost Shuichi.

      She pushed herself against the railings and told Sachiko and Shuichi to do the same. She reached behind Sachiko’s back to hold Shuichi across his shoulders. The train might kill her. She hoped that Sachiko would be safe, though she might be killed as well. But Shuichi would be protected if there were two people shielding him. He had to be saved.

      Now she prayed, ‘Please, God, I am sorry I did not listen to Rev. Kondo. Please help Shu chan for okahsan’s sake.’

      It did not take long for the train to pass, thundering by.

      â€˜Shu dansama, Haruko ojosama, Sachiko ojosama.’ They saw a lantern and heard Matabei’s voice. A tenant farmer had told Matabei that he had seen three children walking on the railway track.

      Tei-ichi had heard from Matabei how Haruko was sitting with the other two, protecting them.

      â€˜Haruko, were you not afraid yourself ?’ Tei-ichi asked. He was unexpectedly gentle.

      â€˜Yes, but I thought it would be all right if Shu-chan was saved. Okahsan won’t cry.’ As far as she could remember, Haruko had not been afraid. She had been too busy trying to save Shuichi.

      Tei-ichi was silent. Haruko was surprised that she was not locked up in the storehouse. Her grandfather’s eyes were a little moist. That surprised her as well. After sitting there for a while, Tei-ichi said, ‘Let’s go and have supper.’

      By the time Haruko was ten years old, Shobei’s fears about Rinji had been confirmed. It was well known that Tetsu’s father was losing his business to another stonemason in the next village as he had taken to drinking. His son, Tetsu’s brother, had never been promising. The family debt was accumulating. People gossiped that his daughter’s marriage into a rich family had turned the stonemason’s head.

      â€˜Perhaps we should divorce her,’ Shobei muttered in front of his wife. ‘She has no children. We could send her home. We can give her some money ...’

      It was the duty of a bride to bear children for the family she married into. The Miwas had a right to divorce Tetsu. It occurred to Shobei that the Chinese characters for ‘barren woman’ were ‘stone’ and ‘woman’, but his sense of decency restrained him from making a poor joke in front of his wife.

      â€˜To send Tetsu home might be a solution,’ his wife said, ‘but you will not be popular. Even if you gave her money, her relatives would bear a grudge against you, and they are not a small family. It will not be good for Shuichi’s future.’

      That was true. The little boy would need as much sympathy and help as possible as he grew up. In this part of the country, where tangerines grew in the winter sun, everything was easy-going, and a peasants’ uprising was unlikely. But society was changing. The Socialist Party had been launched and the People’s Newspaper was in circulation. There were strikes in the factories and mines. Shobei was afraid that when Shuichi grew up, the life of a landowner would not be as easy as it had been.

      It was not just the material side of life that was under threat. Although Shobei himself was not directly involved in politics, he was recognised as one of the most powerful men in the area. Officials came from the local government to ask his opinion. Candidates for any government office were said to have to get his unofficial approval as the first step. For a person in such a position, a scandal about a member of his household being treated unkindly had to be avoided.

      Shobei said to his wife, ‘You are thoughtful. If you have a suggestion, say it.’ It was the first time he had asked his wife’s opinion on a weighty matter since they had married a long time ago.

      â€˜I think you should pay Tetsu’s father’s debt. It could not be too large for you. If the problem is drinking, the chances are that he will not be able to go back to his business. Pension him off. Then, make Haruko the rightful successor to Rinji san. No one will say you are cruel.’

      Shobei folded his arms. He was not reflecting on what his wife had just said. He was simply impressed.

      The duty of telling Haruko about the adoption fell on Tei-ichi.

      â€˜You know your Rinji ojisan and Tetsu obasan, don’t you?’ Tei-ichi began.

      Haruko had never seen her uncle except at formal family gatherings. The furtiveness of his demeanour as he talked to elderly relatives was plain even to the children. Beside Shintaro he had always been an undistinguished son and a mediocre brother. For the children, he had never been a respected uncle nor a friend.

      The relationship between his wife and the children was even more vague. With the sensitivity of the young, they felt she was not quite one of them. Haruko once heard grandmother Miwa say to Tetsu, ‘Tetsu san, wear your kimono a little longer. The mistress of the Miwa branch family has to look graceful.’

      Haruko noticed that Tetsu wore her kimono as Shige and Kiyo did, showing her ankles, while Miwa obahsama and Ayako wore theirs long so that the hem almost touched the floor. Only the white toes of their tabi were seen peeping in and out as they walked.

      Interpreting Haruko’s silence as expectancy of what was coming, Tei-ichi pressed on.

      â€˜As you know very well, Rinji ojisan and Tetsu obasan do not have children, and they want someone to succeed them. Miwa ojisama thought that you would be a very good person to become their child and carry on their name.’

      Haruko was bewildered and stared at Tei-ichi. She did not understand.

      In spite of himself, Tei-ichi felt uneasy as his granddaughter gazed at him.

      Haruko did not look as though she was going to be tall and slender like Ayako. She would be more like Kei, dainty and lively, but she had inherited her mother’s eyes. They were large and liquid, and the fold of her eyelid was not common among the people around them.

      He looked away. He felt that he was unable to explain to a ten-year-old why it was advantageous for the family to inherit Rinji’s property. It was too pragmatic for the innocent.

      â€˜It will be to Shuichi’s advantage in the future,’ he said, and felt the remark struck a chord.

      Haruko did not understand why becoming Rinji’s child would help Shuichi, but the children were not in the habit of asking questions of grown-ups.

      â€˜Of course, your Rinji ojisan’s house is not far away, and you don’t have to stay there all the time. Even your surname is not going to change. It is just that when you grow up, you will succeed him.’