What follows is a short story Titled “Tomorrow’s Fruit,” about a young Japanese woman struggling with changing mores, written while serving in Japan with the U.S. Army and published in the Japanese newspaper, The Mainichi, in 1954.
TOMORROW'S FRUIT A short story by Ronald G. Corwin (written and published in 1954)
A Crowded train jerked swiftly from Hakata Station. Aboard one of the lighted cars, abjectly watching the standing passengers jostle and vigorously shuffle for the few remaining seats was a small and heavy set young girl clad in a bright red and white kimono. A pudgy lower lip curled over the upper one, and bright black eyes set shallowly in the square, broad, pleasant face. Her name was Kideko Koyanagi. In an especially meditative mood this evening, Hideko absently peered into the lighted houses of the city suburbs as they sped past in the night. Occasional glimpses through the windows of families at dinner whipped mechanically by as the train headed for the open country.
It was anxious anticipation of the next five days that filled the young woman's mind, for the annual trip to her uncle's farm near Tokyo was always a happy occasion for Hideko. Since she had been ten years old she had made the trip alone, and it had always seemed so exciting. A marvelous feeling of freedom and happiness would overcome her these five days. This year, however, there was a slight tinge of despair in her joy as she sadly realized that this would be the last trip alone, and silently she wished it were not so. But, next year at this time she would have been nine months a married woman with household responsibilities and a husband. Toshi Yamaguchi.. .she thought of him now.. .from a wealthy, respected family, and he claimed a secure future with his father's bank. Toshio-san.. .a very nice man.. .but she did not love him.
As she looked into the dark night toward the dim shadowy foliage riding and bending on the distant horizon, she sweetly recalled her childhood, her growth, and finally the happy year she had spent at college. How frightening at times to realize how that year had changed her inwardly, and she somehow felt shame in admitting the ideas and thoughts she had come to possess there; thoughts so different from her parents, her family, her future husband. If she were to admit aloud, so that all might know her inward feelings, she could already hear the reprimand with which she would be reproached. "These are unstable ideas. You show disrespect to your family, to your past."
Yes, she was disrespectful in this manner and she felt shame for it, but she sometimes could not help it, for she resented the stigma "old fashioned," which she imagined others attached to her at school. Hideko recalled the afternoon her father had called her to sit next to him. "Daughter," he had said, "I want to speak to you about something of importance. You are a young lady now.. .I am acquainted with a businessman with whom I associate; he has a young, handsome son, very wealthy. They are a good family." He hesitated, "We have arranged a dinner meeting to stimulate the friendship of both families. I want you to attend with the grace and charm becoming such a nice young lady." That was all he had said, but Hideko had understood the meaning and she knew it must be so; yet, at this moment, she had uncontrollably left the room in tears. "It was so unlike Hideko to do something so disrespectful to her father," her mother later commented, and Hideko had felt ashamed.
But now she thought of Toshio-san once again, "He will make a good, dutiful husband," and she had determined to be a good wife. Yet, how she wished she were a little girl again without the fear of marriage and only the pure anxiety of the long trip ahead.
Casual gusts of dirty smoke from the coal engine blew occasionally into the car through the sooty screens, and Kideko rubbed her eyes, smearing the mask of soot over her face. But she had always enjoyed the twenty-four hour trip to Tokyo, even in the crowded, dirty, third-class car.
Two hours from Hakata the shriveled old lady carrying a baby who had been occupying the adjacent seat rose to leave. In her place sat a young man, well dressed, alert appearing, Hideko noticed. Slightly bumping her as he nudged into the narrow double seat, he said, "Please excuse me, I am sorry," and Hideko obligingly moved slightly. She returned to her thoughts and dully listened to the rhythmic clank of the wheels on the tracks. But again she was distracted; this time when the young man offered her a cigarette. She declined bashfully, explaining she did not smoke. She turned back, but from the comer of her eye she noticed the young man more closely. His well cut features, bright eyes, broad smile, well-tailored western clothes impressed her. He reminded her of a boy she had known at school... polite, enthusiastic; so different from her future husband. Yes, it must be admitted Toshio-san dressed more sloppily, less brilliantly than the gentleman beside her, she thought, and too, he seemed less polite.
As she felt the young man's eyes scan toward her again, Hideko turned to look through the window; but she heard his question, "You are going all the way to Tokyo?"
"Yes," she replied politely and briefly.
There followed an awkward pause, and she felt obliged to return the question.
"And you?" she flushed.
The young man, seizing the opportunity, proceeded to explain that he was, in fact, returning to Tokyo, where he lived, from a business trip to Kyushu; that he worked for his father in a small silk goods store, and that he was anxious to return home after the tiring trip. As the conversation struggled on, the intervals of embarrassing silence became less frequent. Hideko, slowly overcoming her shyness, entered more freely into the discussion, rationalizing the frequent pangs of shame that she felt, with the recognition that she must be polite. Besides, she enjoyed his intelligent company. Obviously an educated individual, the young man introduced subjects so varied as politics, art, and theater. They spoke of personal tastes, of interests and ambitions. The conversation became progressively more interesting for Hideko, for it was seldom she had the opportunity to discuss these subjects so freely with a man. Finally, an introduction was realized and she learned his name was Masao Hayashi.
At midnight the couple entered the diner for coffee, and soon they returned to the coach where they fell asleep on each other's shoulders. Within an hour, however, Kideko awoke with a start and sat up straight, realizing the embarrassing position; but upon reconsideration, since the more respectable position was uncomfortable for her young friend, she conceded to gently remove his head to a more restful position under her arm. As he slept, Hideko watched with tender interest his closed eyes and sharp facial features, restraining an impulse to stroke his bushy hair with her fingertips.
Soon, he too awoke, and he looked up into her bright, wide eyes; and, when he suddenly, silently embraced her, she felt the fearful reflex to resist, but she did not. He looked again into her eyes as she dropped them shyly to the floor. Silence settled until sometime later, when he stated, "You are a very nice girl. Perhaps you will meet my family in Tokyo. They would enjoy knowing you."
She hesitated.
"Perhaps you will be our house guest?" he added with enthusiasm.
Already confused, Hideko felt a surprised start leap across her face with the last statement. At first alarmed, she then thought he must be joking, and when she realized he was not, she became silent. They sat the next half-hour in silence while the entire future rushed through Hideko's head. Finally, the young man apologized, asking whether the girl had a boy friend, or perhaps a husband.
The following four hours were spent in frank discussion of Hideko's wedding plans, her family, and her own feelings and hopes, while the young man returned the sympathy and compassion she had craved. By morning, Hideko had consented to see him while in Tokyo, and before that evening they had arranged for her to meet his family as a guest.
Hideko did not reach her uncle's farm that year. Hideko was happy in Tokyo and learned to like Masao-san's parents especially well in that week. She felt they liked her too. But there constantly gnawed at her soul a feeling of guilt, which she could not restrain at times. The thought of her mother, her father echoed through her mind; what was she doing to them? She loved her parents, but now she had disgraced them before friends, if they were to find out. And of course they would find out.. .her uncle.. .where had she been? How desperately she wanted to return, to be forgiven— and to marry this young man! They would never approve of him; his "western" habits.. .and she would have to marry Toshio-san. The week passed. Then another day, two days, and they were married. The couple lived in Tokyo where Hideko learned to ride bicycles, to play tennis and to understand baseball. She was happy there, but occasionally homesick. She had written her parents, of course, explaining the marriage, but never again would she hear from them. She was lost to her family... dead. She understood this.
Their life continued in a pleasant mood the first year as the young couple passed enjoyable evenings at the theater, the nightclubs, and the movies, with friends and family. At the end of the first year, Hideko had a baby girl. She was happy.
II
In the city of Kyoto there could be distinguished in the early morning shadows, the distinctively hopeless figure of an exhausted middle-aged woman as she wearily, inconspicuously moved through the crowded streets toward a shabby two-story building and mechanically ascended the outside stairway, disappearing into a tiny second-story room. Beside the open window she squatted and peered dumbly into the noisy street below. Carelessly, Hideko Koyanagi removed a small knife from the adjacent dressing table and fumbled it thoughtfully as she dismally recalled the blurry past a final time.
It was at the end of the fourth year that Hideko silently witnessed the last trace of love disintegrating from her marriage. Products of two cultures—she of the old, he of the new—the couple had grown increasingly irritable and intolerant of one another. For regardless of the new environment, Hideko had not adjusted to western habits; one way of life her family had taught, and taught well, so that now she had conflicted with their new circle of friends. Increasingly indignant toward her "stubborn, senseless customs and habits," Masao-san had soon lost compassion for his wife and baby, spending countless evenings from his home. Helplessly, patiently Hideko waited. Six months later they were divorced.
With her baby, Hideko had moved to Kyoto. Here, grasping unsuccessfully for work, she was forced to sell the starving baby to keep it alive. Then the following year she had secured part-time employment as a maid for an American family, which provided subsistence. Increasingly she lost interest in herself and her future. Progressively her features grew more unattractive, her body more weary and exhausted. There were no friends; she wanted none it seemed. She had become little more than a lifeless, pitiful sight to the few persons who witnessed her daily route from work to the solitary second-story room where she passed the hours in dumb silence.
Through the following years, her eyes had mellowed sad and dull and senseless. Like a dejected animal she grew submissive, lifeless; but she endured. Hours she spent in the dark room, staring, thinking, longing. Longing to return to Hakata again; to see her parents once more; to enjoy again the happy reunion of the family; to talk with her mother! It had been eight years. But to return now, to admit her mistake, the secret of her divorce, her disgrace... it was unthinkable. Or, perhaps to hold her baby again, to be with Masao-san in their Tokyo home as it had been at first. But this was gone now, too.
And, now, as she sat this early morning alone in her room, still staring mutely on the useless existence below, she thought of the future, its empty void promise to her. She had learned to hate herself, and she knew she must end it all if her honor, her sanity, her person were to be preserved. In death she might find forgiveness.. .and there would be new life! Nervously now she examined the knife, grasped it tightly and brought it close to her body; she strained her teeth together.. .but she could not. Hideko laid the knife quietly back again.
