An Artist of the Floating World

by Kazuo Ishiguro

‘the Bridge of Hesitation’,

he was none other than Akira Sugimura. Of course, you may be new to this city, in which case the name of Akira Sugimura may not be familiar to you.

In those days, when my circumstances seemed to improve with each month, my wife had begun to press me to find a new house.

the importance of our having a house in keeping with our status – not out of vanity, but for the sake of our children’s marriage prospects.

We are not interested in receiving anything beyond the quoted price. What we mean to do from here on is to conduct an auction of prestige.’

Indeed, I felt somewhat flattered to be considered by this old and hidebound family as a worthy candidate.

That there was something high-handed about these arrangements there was no denying; but for my part, I was prepared to sympathize with the sentiments of a family with such a distinguished history. My wife, however, did not take kindly to the idea of an investigation. ‘Who do they think they are?’ she protested. ‘We should tell them we want nothing further to do with them.’

One wonders why things are not settled more often by such means. How so much more honourable is such a contest, in which one’s moral conduct and achievement are brought as witnesses rather than the size of one’s purse.

The war years had turned her into a thin, ailing old woman.

she gave only the briefest of commiserations on hearing about my wife and about Kenji, before embarking on questions concerning the bomb damage.

how she would occasionally pause abruptly in the midst of one of her measured and formal sentences, and I realized she was experiencing waves of emotion at finding herself back in this house once more.

You’ll take Father off my hands a little.’ ‘Noriko, really …’ Her elder sister shifted uncomfortably on her cushion.

‘She’s talking nonsense as usual,’ I put in. ‘If I spend the whole day moping, how did all these repairs get done?’

As Noriko said this, her elder sister – whose gaze until then had been demurely turned away – gave me a swift, enquiring look. Her eyes left me again immediately, for she was obliged to return Noriko’s smile. But a new, more profound uneasiness had entered Setsuko’s manner and she seemed grateful when her little boy, speeding past us down the veranda, gave her an opportunity to change the subject.

‘I want to know about the monster.’ ‘The monster?’ ‘Is it prehistoric?’ ‘Prehistoric? You know words like that already? You must be a clever boy.’ At this point, Ichiro’s dignity seemed to give way. Abandoning his pose, he rolled on to his back and began waving his feet in the air.

I glanced over at her, Setsuko was gazing out at the garden, holding her teacup in both hands as though she had forgotten it was there.

For there can be no doubt, Setsuko is becoming better looking as she gets older. In her youth, her mother and I had worried that she was too plain to make a good marriage.

Setsuko came out of her reverie, and cast another glance inside the house.

She’d been insisting it was a “love match”, so when it fell through, she’d be obliged to behave accordingly. But perhaps it wasn’t all play-acting.’ ‘We laughed at the time,’ Setsuko said, ‘but perhaps it really was a love match.’

‘I assure you,’ I said a little coldly, ‘it remains equally a mystery to me. If I knew, I wouldn’t keep it from you and Suichi.’ ‘Of course. Please excuse me, I didn’t mean to imply …’ Again, she trailed off awkwardly.

Indeed, I have never at any point in my life been very aware of my own social standing, and even now, I am often surprised afresh when some event, or something someone may say, reminds me of the rather high esteem in which I am held.

‘I will be grateful to you for the remainder of my life. I will exert every particle of my being to be worthy of your recommendation. I assure you, I will not let you down. I will work hard, and strive to satisfy my superiors. And however much I may be promoted in the future, I will never forget the man who enabled me to start on my career.’

‘Please, Shintaro, this is embarrassing. Please come in and we’ll celebrate with some sake.’ ‘No, Sensei, we must leave you now. It was the greatest impertinence to come here like this and disturb your afternoon. But we could not delay thanking you for one moment longer.’

It was one of those moments, in the midst of a busy career allowing little chance for stopping and taking stock, which illuminate suddenly just how far one has come.

it being no easy thing now to come across someone so untainted by the cynicism and bitterness of our day.

something inside her seems to have broken and sagged.

artists and writers lured by the promise of noisy conversations continuing into the night.

I remember the likes of Kuroda laughing at how grateful the brothers had been over ‘a mere white-collar appointment’;

his reputation has now spread beyond the world of art, to all walks of life. But how typical of Sensei’s modest nature that he is unaware of this. How typical that he himself should be the most surprised by the esteem

I experienced a warm glow of satisfaction.

On entering, one tends to be struck by the contrast between the bar counter, lit up by warm, low-hung lights, and the rest of the room, which is in shadow. Most of her customers prefer to sit up at the bar within that pool of light, and this gives a cosy, intimate feel to the place.

I remember wondering to myself as I walked past those shattered buildings, if they would ever again come back to life.

you may be able to make out the dark clusters of birds perched uncomfortably on the tops of the poles, as though awaiting the wires along which they once lined the sky.

A graveyard, Mrs Kawakami says, and when one remembers all those people who once frequented the area, one cannot help seeing it that way. But I am digressing. I was trying to recall here details of Setsuko’s stay with us last month.

As I may have said,

In contrast to the dining room, the piano room catches the sun throughout the day. It fills with a sharp, clear light, and had it been any larger, would have been an ideal place in which to take our meals.

‘Oji!’ he said, turning angrily. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’ ‘I’m sorry, Ichiro, I didn’t realize.’ ‘I can’t play with you just now!’ ‘I’m very sorry. But it sounded so exciting from out here I wondered if I could come in and watch.’ For a moment, my grandson went on staring at me crossly. Then he said moodily: ‘All right. But you have to sit and be quiet. I’m busy.’ ‘Very well,’ I said, with a laugh. ‘Thank you very much, Ichiro.’

‘How did you learn to play cowboys, Ichiro?’ I asked eventually, but he just continued to gallop and neigh. ‘Ichiro,’ I said, more firmly, ‘wait a moment and listen. It’s more interesting, more interesting by far, to pretend to be someone like Lord Yoshitsune. Shall I tell you why? Ichiro, listen, Oji will explain it to you. Ichiro, listen to your Oji-san. Ichiro!’ Possibly I raised my voice more than I had intended, for he stopped and looked at me with a startled expression.

‘Father says you used to be a famous artist. But you had to finish.’ ‘I’ve retired, Ichiro. Everyone retires when they get to a certain age. It’s only right, they deserve a rest.’ ‘Father says you had to finish. Because Japan lost the war.’

When he plays cowboys, he tries to speak English.’ ‘English? Extraordinary. So that’s what it was.’

‘Suichi believes it’s better he likes cowboys than that he idolize people like Miyamoto Musashi. Suichi thinks the American heroes are the better models for children now.’

I gave a light laugh. ‘Well, Ichiro, we’ll just go the day after. We can’t have the women ruling over us, can we?’ I gave another laugh. ‘I expect they thought it would be too scary. Eh, Ichiro?’ My grandson still gave no response, though he continued his finger movements on the piano lid.

a father wishes to know about a married daughter’s life which he cannot ask outright. But what never occurred to me that evening was that Setsuko would have her own reasons for wishing to remain in the house with me.

Retirement places more time on your hands. Indeed, it is one of the enjoyments of retirement that you are able to drift through the day at your own pace, easy in the knowledge that you have put hard work and achievement behind you.

I must be getting absent-minded indeed to be wandering aimlessly into – of all places – the reception room. For thoughout my years I have preserved the sense, instilled in me by my father, that the reception room of a house is a place to be revered, a place to be kept unsoiled by everyday trivialities, reserved for the receiving of important guests, or else the paying of respects at the Buddhist altar.

I never made a rule of it as my own father did, I discouraged my children

in the house I grew up in – in Tsuruoka Village, a half-day’s train journey from here – I was forbidden even to enter the reception room until the age of twelve.

Later in my life I was often to surprise colleagues with my ability to realize a scene on canvas based only on the briefest of passing glances; it is possible I have my father to thank for this skill, and the inadvertent training he gave my artist’s eye during those formative years.

you recall his warning, Sachiko? He said if the good points were to dominate, we who brought him up would have to be vigilant and check this weak streak whenever it tried to manifest itself. Otherwise, so the old priest told us, Masuji here would grow up to be a good-for-nothing.’

It can’t be denied, there is a weakness running through our son’s character. There’s little in the way of malice in him. But unceasingly, we’ve had to combat his laziness, his dislike of useful work, his weak will.’