Butterfly's Shadow - Lee Langley [61]
And she saw, too, that happiness really did lend beauty to the plainest face. Suzuki’s eyes shone and her skin glowed in the reflected light of the pearls she wore – her husband’s wedding gift.
When Suzuki had her first child, a difficult birth that left her weak and exhausted, Henry was apprehensive not only for his wife’s welfare, but for Cho-Cho’s state of mind: how would she respond to the new arrival? As always, she surprised him, briskly offering help.
‘The restaurant is running itself; I don’t always have to be there.’
This time it was her turn to care for a fragile woman, coax her to eat, to return to life. Once, her servant had helped her to live; now their roles were reversed.
She knelt beside Suzuki, bowl and spoon in hand. ‘Remember the bird? How hungrily he gobbled up your rice?’ She rested the spoon gently against Suzuki’s lips, ‘The way he peck-peck-pecked at the seeds?’ A little natto in miso soup found its way into Suzuki’s mouth. ‘And then – shitting all over the doorstep!’ Surprised by the bold language, Suzuki opened her mouth, involuntarily took in more soup, joined Cho-Cho in nostalgic laughter. The corner was turned.
The second birth was easier. The third, routine. Cho-Cho became as skilled as Suzuki herself in caring for the infants. As the two women together fed and cleaned the young ones, working with the familiar harmony of a team, Cho-Cho remarked that she was enjoying the advantages of motherhood without the pain of responsibility. ‘I shall watch them grow, worry over them as you do, but without the fear that I should have done things differently.’ She added, with a note of determination, ‘I shall love them.’ Silently, she vowed that she would also teach the girls about life and how to deal with it.
Nagasaki was burgeoning: silk was in demand and the Mitsubishi steelworks had expanded, was modernising. Western visitors multiplied: businessmen, buyers, importers, exporters, arrived and found their way from dock to town, factory floor to boardroom.
The wives had different needs. With a diplomatic nudge or two from Henry, Cho-Cho was invited to give professional guidance. A successful restaurant owner, she could be accepted socially, her past conveniently forgotten; the world was changing, modern ways were superseding tradition, at least on the surface.
Here was someone these men of the world could trust to escort the ladies from the safety of their hotel, to show them where to acquire the most delicate fabric, the finest lacquer bowl. Someone to show them the local tourist sights – the Glover Garden, for example.
She led them round the curving paths, past the glowing flower beds, then paused at a small statue:
‘Mr Glover’s wife.’
Whispers among the ladies, expressing astonishment. They stared at the statue, glancing surreptitiously at the living woman who was their guide – Mr Glover had married a Japanese woman! Cho-Cho’s expression remained impassive.
‘And now we will visit a craftsman who does very fine cloisonné work, silver and gold.’
She thanked Henry for the introduction. ‘It was kind of you.’
He shook his head. ‘I was simply being devious – in the Western, not the Japanese way.’
She looked puzzled.
‘It’s a way of altering your perception of me. So that you will perhaps not hate me.’
‘I don’t hate you, Sharpless-san. You are a part of life’s pattern, and I have learned to accept my part in it.’
‘I had hoped I was a friend.’
She smiled and offered no contradiction.
It was then that he suggested, diffidently, that she might address him by his Christian name.
She tried it out, cautiously: ‘Henn-u-lee.’ She frowned. ‘Not an easy name to say.’ She gave a nod. ‘But I will persevere.’
Later, Henry reflected on the law of unintended consequences: if he had not given Cho-Cho the parcel . . . if she had not read the contents . . . but he had and she did and a shift occurred.
She took the neatly wrapped parcel with a bow of thanks.
‘Just some journals, and a book you might find of