“Oh, no,” I said, my heart sinking.

“Dummy,” my sister-in-law muttered, but I was relieved to see that she didn’t seem particularly distressed about suddenly losing what was virtually the only “asset” she had left.

We cooked dinner in a corner of the garden at the schoolfriend’s house, then retired early in a six-mat room inside. My wife and her sister, tired as they were, seemed unable to sleep and were quietly discussing what we should do.

“Hey, there’s nothing to worry about,” I told them. “We’ll all go to my family’s place up north. Everything’s going to be fine.”

They fell silent. From the beginning, neither of them had put much stock in any opinions of mine. They were apparently devising plans of their own now and didn’t even deign to reply.

“All right, I know you don’t have any faith in me.” I smiled sourly. “But, listen, trust me just this once. That’s all I’m asking.”

I heard my sister-in-law giggle in the darkness, as if I’d said something totally outlandish. Then she and my wife continued their discussion.

“Fine. Suit yourselves,” I said with a chuckle of my own. “Not much I can do if you won’t trust in me.”

“Well, what do you expect?” my wife suddenly snapped. “You say such preposterous things, we never know if you’re joking or serious. It’s only natural that we don’t rely on you. Even now, with things the way they are, I bet all you can think about is sake.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But if we had some, you’d drink it, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe I would.”

The two ladies decided that, at any rate, it wouldn’t do to impose on our present hosts any more than we already had, and that, come morning, we’d have to look for somewhere else to stay. The following day we loaded our things on a large cart and went to the house of another of my sister-in-law’s acquaintances. This house was quite a spacious affair. The man who owned it was about fifty and seemed a gentleman of sterling character. He lent us a ten-mat room. We also found a hospital nearby. The gentleman’s wife told us that the prefectural hospital in Kōfu had been destroyed and had relocated to a building here on the outskirts of town. My wife and I each shouldered a child and set out, taking a shortcut through the mulberry fields, and reached the hospital, at the foot of the mountains, in about ten minutes.

The opthalmologist was a woman.

“The girl can’t open her eyes at all. We’re thinking about heading for my family’s house in the country, but it’s a long trip by train, and we don’t even want to attempt it if her condition might get worse on the way. We’re really at our wits’ end.” Wiping the sweat from my face, I fervently described the girl’s symptoms, hoping to induce the lady doctor to do everything in her power to help us.