A Pale View of Hills

Sachiko nodded. “When you become a mother, Etsuko,” she said, smiling, “you’ll need to get used to such things.”

We drifted on to other subjects then. Those were early days in our friendship and we talked mainly of little things. It was not until one morning some weeks later that I heard Mariko mention again a woman who had approached her.

Chapter Two

In those days, returning to the Nakagawa district still provoked in me mixed emotions of sadness and pleasure. It is a hilly area, and climbing again those steep narrow streets between the clusters of houses never failed to fill me with a deep sense of loss. Though not a place I visited on casual impulse, l was unable to stay away for long.

Calling on Mrs. Fujiwara amused in me much the same mixture of feelings; for she had been amongst my mother’s closest friends, a kindly woman with hair that was by then turning grey. Her noodle shop was situated in a busy side street; it had a concrete forecourt under the cover of an extended tool and it was there her customers ate, at the wooden tables and benches. She did a lot of trade with office workers during their lunch breaks and again on their way home, but at other times of the day the clientele became sparse.

I was a little anxious that afternoon, for it was the first time I had called at the shop since Sathiko had started to work there. I felt concerned on both their behalves — especially since I was not sure how genuinely Mrs. Fujiwara

had wanted an assistant. It was a hot day, and the little side street was alive with people. I was glad to come into the

shade.

Mrs. Fujiwara was pleased to see me. She sat me down at a table, then went to fetch some tea. Customers were few that afternoon — perhaps there were none, I do not remember — and Sachiko was not to be seen. When Mrs. Fujiwara came back, I asked her: “How is my friend getting along? Is she managing all right?”

“Your friend?” Mrs. Fujiwara looked over her shoulder towards the doorway of the kitchen. “She was peeling prawns. I expect shell be out soon.’ Then, as if on second thoughts, she got to her feet and walked a little way towards the doorway. “Sachiko-san,” she called. “Etsuko is here “1 heard a voice reply from within.

As she sat down again, Mrs. Fujiwara reached over and touched my stomach. “It’s beginning to show now,” she said. “You must take good care from now on.”

“I don’t do a great deal anyway,” I said. “I lead a very easy life.”

“That’s good. I remember my first time, there was an earthquake, quite a large one. I was carrying Kazuo then. He came perfectly healthy though. Try not to worry too much, Etsuko.”

“I by not to.” I glanced towards the kitchen door. ‘Is my friend getting on well here?”

Mrs. Fujiwara followed my gaze towards the kitchen. Then she turned to me again and said: “I expect so. You’re good friends, are you?”

“Yes. I haven’t found many friends where we live. I’m very glad to have met Sachiko.

“Yes that was fortunate.” She sat there looking at me for several seconds. “Etsuko, you’re looking rather tired today.”

“I suppose I am.’ I laughed a little. “It’s only to be expected. I suppose.”

Yes, of course.” Mrs. Fujiwara kept looking into my face. “But I meant you looked a little — miserable.’

“Miserable? I certainly don’t feel it. I’m just a little tired, but otherwise I’ve never been happier.”

‘That’s good. You must keep your mind on happy things now. Your child. And the future.”

“Yes, I will. Thinking about the child cheers me up.”

“Good.” She nodded, still keeping her gaze on me. “Your attitude makes all the difference. A mother can take all the physical care she likes, she needs a positive attitude to bring up a child.”

“Well, I’m certainly looking forward to it,” I said, with a laugh. A noise made me look towards the kitchen again but Sachiko was still not in sight.

“There’s a young Woman I see every week,” Mrs. Fujiwara went on. “She must be six or seven months pregnant now. I see her every time I go to visit the cemetery. I’ve never spoken to her, but she looks so sad, standing there with her husband. It’s a shame, a pregnant girl and her husband spending their Sundays thinking about the dead. I know they’re being respectful, but all the same, I think it’s a shame. They should be thinking about the future.”

“I suppose she finds it hard to forget.’

“I suppose so. I feel sorry for her. But they should be thinking ahead now. That’s no way to bring a child into the world, visiting the cemetery every week.’

“Perhaps not.”

“Cemeteries are no places for young people. Kazuo comes with me sometimes, but I never insist. It’s time he started looking ahead too.”

How is Kazuo?” I asked. “Is his work coming on well?”

“His work’s fine. He’s expecting to be promoted next month. But he needs to give other things a little thought. He won’t be young for ever.”

Just then my eye was caught by a small figure standing out in the sunlight amidst the rush of passers-by.

“Why, isn’t that Mariko?” I said.