Masks Read Free

emotion that Ibuki found not in the least surprising, aware as he was that Mikamé, too, was in love with Yasuko. A reaction of such intensity, he reflected, was only to be expected. “I could hardly believe it. All I could think was ‘Damn him.’ ”
    “It was strange. As soon as she heard that part about the mountain, she started moving restlessly, and then—don’t ask me why—all of a sudden she reached over and touched my knee, then my hands, which were folded on my lap. Then she slipped her hand in between mine. Her fingers were cold, I remember, but not shaking. My only guess is that she was thinking of Akio, and the loneliness got to be too much for her.”
    “Hmm.” Mikamé tilted his head, clearly unsatisfied. “And after that?”
    “What? Nothing. I didn’t see her again before coming here, and she’s the same as ever.”
    “That’s because she’s with Mieko now.”
    “You could be right. She was certainly in love with Akio, but now—even more—she’s unable to escape the influence of his mother. Look at her work on spirit possession: the one who’s really determined to take up Akio’s achievements and bring them to a finish is Mieko, and it’s her influence more than anything else that motivates Yasuko. If Yasuko is the medium, then Mieko Toganō is the spirit itself.”
    “Do you really think Mieko has that much of the shamaness in her? To me she seems the essence of composure, the sort who pays no attention to small matters. It wouldn’t surprise me if it were Yasuko who dominated
her,
behind the scenes. That’s what her pupils will tell you.”
    “I disagree.” Ibuki stubbed out a smoldering butt in the ashtray with the end of his cigarette. “Yasuko is an ordinary woman. She’s simply not on Mieko’s scale. Yes, that’s it, like an old painting.” Pleased with his sudden idea, Ibuki waved a hand in the air; the long yellowish fingers with their large knuckles had the look of polished bamboo. “In T’ang and Sung paintings of beautiful women or in a Moronobu print of a courtesan, the main figure is always twice the size of her attendants. It’s the same with Buddhist triads: the sheer size of the main image makes the smaller bodhisattvas on either side that much more approachable. Perspective has nothing to do with it, so at first the imbalance is disturbing, but then it has a way of drawing you in….Anyway, to me Mieko is the large-sized courtesan, and Yasuko is the little-girl attendant at her side.”
    “Which is only a poetic way of saying you’re in love. These days it’s the style for women to be glamorous, but I think ultimately a man’s love for a woman is based on a kind of instinctive yearning for smallness and fragility; the feeling manifests itself in a hundred ways. And that’swhy you prefer to see Yasuko as a child. As a matter of fact, she’s a far stronger person than you give her credit for.”
    “Strong? Of course she is, but only on one level. Inside, she has no sense of independence, of being her own woman. And that’s why she can never leave Mieko Toganō.”
    “Not necessarily. I think it’s that she hasn’t got over Akio yet. Once she falls in love with someone else, Mieko’s influence will disappear. It stands to reason. A woman can’t help being attracted more to men than she is to other women.”
    “You think so?”
    “Absolutely.” Mikamé nodded firmly, as if to convince himself. The two men were the same age—thirty-three—but while Ibuki was married and the father of a three-year-old girl, Mikamé was a bachelor living alone in a comfortable apartment. They might be equally drawn to Yasuko, but Mikamé stood a far greater chance of winning her.
    Just then a flame-red shadow passed over the frosted glass window near their booth. The door swung open, and in hurried Yasuko, wearing a scarlet coat.
    Although nearsighted, Yasuko seldom bothered with glasses, so she squinted slightly as she stood by the counter, scanning booths