kyokos rite of passage
mary cook
It came almost as a surprise to Etsuko that the sun had remembered to rise over the Takeda household as it always did. Breakfast had been like breakfast on any other morning: miso soup, rice and smoked fish.
The one difference was that only Kyoko felt like eating anything. Slender as a young bamboo stem, she wielded her chopsticks with the same absorption and joyous exuberance with which she did everything, chattering all the while about her immediate plans.
As she returned to her room to finish packing, her parents looked at each other in despair. Ever since Kyoko announced her decision, colors had looked less bright, food lost most of its flavor and Fuji-san had taken refuge in a blanket of fog, refusing to show himself.
New Year's Day came and went, and with it the family's security. For it was on that auspicious day that Kyoko announced her New Year's vow to her parents.
“I'm absolutely determined,” Kyoko told them. “It's what I've always wanted to do. And now Miho-san has shown me the way, I couldn't be happier.”
Her breathtaking smile underlined that happiness and colored it in rainbow hues.
There were oceans of tears—most of them from Etsuko. She and her husband Nobu had cherished plans for their only child.
They waited a long time for her to be born and she arrived just when Etsuko thought she could never have a baby. Kyoko's life was mapped out for her from birth. Her parents wanted only the best for her. But as far as they were concerned, Kyoko had been lost to them from the turn of the year.
Now even the imminent prospect of cherry blossom failed to comfort them.
“You know we only ever wanted what was best for you,” said Nobu. “School, perhaps a job in an office then marriage and children, all the traditional things.”
“But what could be more traditional than this?” she cried, passion making her normally soft voice sound strident.
There was no answer to that and her father released a deep, sad sigh.
Contrary to her parents' wishes, Kyoko took a job in a fashion shop in the Asakusa district of Tokyo. It was there that she forged what her parents regarded as unsuitable friendships. One new friend in particular gave them cause for heartache—the young woman they only ever heard referred to as Miho.
“Are we such bad parents Nobu-san?” Etsuko asked her husband.
“Of course not! No woman could be a better mother than you,” cried Nobu loyally.
“Then why is she doing this to us?”
“I don't think she means to hurt us,” replied her husband. “Perhaps we should have seen it coming. After all she began collecting the pictures when she was just five years old, though we weren't to know she'd take her interest to such extremes.”
“But doesn't she realize we'll probably never be grandparents?”
“I doubt if such a thing crossed her mind,” Nobu said dryly. “She's too young to look so far into the future.”
Indeed, Kyoko's mind was set firmly on the immediate future and her chosen career.
Nobu and Etsuko knew she practiced her art every night behind the closed door of her room. She took her brushes and colors with her—always white, black and red. There was never another color to relieve their tripartite starkness. And by morning there was never a trace of her handiwork. It was regularly and thoroughly washed away as though it had never been.
It seemed such a waste: of effort, of time, of a young life. To the worried couple the New Year and Kyoko's sworn resolution were a hated memory.
When his daughter returned with her small case, Nobu looked at his watch. “All right, time to go,” he proclaimed.
During the short car journey to the railway station, the three were silent, wrapped in their individual thoughts like rice cakes twisted up in paper packages.
Too soon it was time for Kyoko to leave. Standing on the platform at Shinfuji Station, Nobu and Etsuko looked small and defeated as their beloved daughter boarded the train.
As it drew away from the platform, Kyoko stood at the carriage window, waving and smiling and looking so radiant that they couldn't help but see she'd make a lot of people happy. Perhaps they should be grateful that she possessed a power to touch so many lives.
Once outside the station Nobu and Etsuko stood blinking, dazzled by sudden sunlight. Fuji-san had thrown off his blanket and was smiling benignly down on them from a vibrant blue sky.
“You know, we'll probably be allowed to see her at festivals,” said Nobu bravely. “I'm sure she'll let us know when she's taking part.”
Etsuko dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief that had stemmed the flow of countless tears since New Year. Smiling tremulously up at her husband, she ventured, “She'll make a beautiful geisha, Nobu-san.”
Brushing a sleeve across his own eyes, he had to agree.
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