“He abandoned you. Why do you want these reminders of him?”
She smiled with something like patience. “I used to keep all of this in the kura, but Riku broke a lot of pieces there. I had to move them here.”
“Riku purposely broke them?”
“I’m not sure what to do with them,” she went on, not answering his question. “Sometimes, when I wanted to give someone who visited a gift, I chose a piece from this room. But people thought it unseemly of me. Others said the items were too valuable to give away. So I stopped.”
Sedge hesitated before saying, “Do you mind if I take a look?”
She opened the door for him to walk through and turned on the overhead light.
All around the room were pieces of the three traditional Kutani-ware styles: aote, with its fired green glaze; the five-colored iroe; and a few of akae-kinrande, with gold painted on red backgrounds. The majority, however, were aote, whose deep greens and yellows, and dark blues and purples, suffused the room. They were of better quality than the Kutani-ware he and Nozomi had sold in their shop. He’d seen pieces like them behind glass at museums in Kanazawa and Daishōji.
There was a supreme delicacy to these porcelains, but also a liveliness. The flower and bird designs looked so real they might at any second lift from the pieces they’d been painted on. Their shapes and uses astonished him: square and circular dishes; shallow and footed bowls; square cups and gourd-shaped sake bottles; water ewers; incense burners; eating utensils; two-tiered boxes; vases and jars. The room overflowed with her husband’s mastery of kutaniyaki.
Noticing Mariko beside him, an awkwardness washed over him. His mind raced with questions, but he was unable to ask a single one. His unexpected admiration for the talents of the man who’d run away with Nozomi rooted him where he stood.
“How long has he made Kutani-ware?” Sedge said.
“Since he was twenty-one or twenty-two. He started in Fukui, making Echizen-ware. But he was forced to leave and ended up here. He mastered kutaniyaki in Yamanaka Onsen.”
She pulled out a small wooden chest from beneath a table. Inside it were more tomobako, stacked evenly atop one another. She placed a few upon the table and showed Sedge their contents: exquisite pieces covered with bluish-white enamel, various decorations appearing under blue slip. They were much older than the other pieces in the room.
“Ko-kutani?” he said, bending down to inspect what he assumed was “ancient Kutani-ware.” Potters in this area, along with Arita in Kyushu, had produced a unique form of decorated porcelain from the mid-1600s to the mid-1700s, then suddenly stopped making it. No one knew why the kilns had been abandoned. Kutaniyaki was revived in the early 1800s and was what one commonly found in shops throughout this part of Ishikawa.
“He collected or was given a number of pieces. Museums and researchers have come to see them.”
“They’re extraordinary.”
“Kōichi used to say he was like ko-kutani. At first I thought he meant he had a hardness like enamel and was in some ways very traditional. But he meant something different. He was referring to the times he left us. He said he might disappear for one hundred years before mysteriously coming back.”
“He joked about it?”
“Not often. But I remember when he did.”
Sedge couldn’t believe her husband had said something so hurtful.
At the genkan, Sedge tugged his wet socks and shoes back on. Mariko followed him outside, past the carport beside the house where a black K-car was parked. Behind the small car was the long flowerbed and gravel path he’d noticed from inside. Rain still fell, but lighter than before.
“Thank you for teaching me,” she said. “I apologize again about Riku.”
“You don’t have to apologize. It would be natural if he didn’t like me. After all, he probably sees in me the reason why his father left. He knows who I am, doesn’t he?”
She nodded. Looking at him inquiringly she said, “Is that what you see in him, too?”
Her question stopped him. He had only considered it from the boy’s perspective. Part of him recognized the ugliness of having judged the boy so harshly, and after meeting him only once. Did he dislike Riku because he reminded him of what he’d lost? Because Riku forced him to deal with Nozomi’s abandonment all over again? No, he had been put off by the boy’s behavior and because Mariko didn’t react to it the way he would have had he been in her shoes. Surely it was as simple as that.
“Will you come again next week?” she asked.
He hesitated to say yes. Although he wanted to teach her again, the way their evening had ended left him uncertain. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” he said, picking up his umbrella.
She started to say something but stopped herself. “Please, take this,” she said, trying to slip some money into his hand. “For teaching me like you did.”
He pulled away and looked at her in surprise. “I came because I wanted to.”
As if to hide the slight blush that came over her, she bowed to him. “Goodnight. Be careful walking back to town.”
“Goodnight.”
Starting down the street, he looked toward the kura, whose gable-roofed, two-story silhouette gleamed wetly under the sky. Despite the darkness, he saw Riku leaning against its entrance. A light burned dimly behind him and reflected off birdhouses hanging from the clay-tiled eaves. Riku hesitantly raised a hand and waved goodbye.
Sedge pretended not to see him.
The next morning, Sedge carried his breakfast tray to the hallway outside his room. As he pulled open the front door, a small package leaning against it fell toward him. He lowered the tray and looked down the hallway. A couple was admiring the mini-exhibition of Kutani-ware against a wall one room away. He took the package inside.
Kneeling on his futon, he shook out the package’s contents: a note, a small wooden box, and a plastic container that held a slice of apple pie.
The note was short, written in Japanese.
Sedge-sensei:
Thank you for teaching me last night. And thank you for being kind to Riku-kun. Last night after you left I baked an apple pie. If you like it, I’ll give you more. Also, Riku asked me to give you a bird he made this morning. He says you’re a nice man.
Mariko
Sedge pried open the wooden box. Inside was something white—an origami crane. He plucked it out and lifted it before his eyes. It was surprisingly realistic—and, considering its origin, exquisitely made.
