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the gentle spring rain is falling. As I listen to it drenching the paulownia flowers outside my window, I sit here quietly at my desk in the glow of that red lampshade that you crocheted for me. Somehow it’s a gloomy evening, but when I strain to hear the raindrops run from the eaves I can’t help imagining that they’re whispering softly to me: Drip-drop, drip-drop . . . What can they be whispering? Drip-drop, drip-drop . . . Ah, yes! Mitsuko, Mitsuko, Mitsuko . . . They’re calling the name of the one I love. Tokumitsu, Tokumitsu . . . Mitsuko, Mitsuko . . . Toku, Toku, Toku . . . Mitsu, Mitsu, Mitsu . . . Before I knew it, I’d taken up my pen and was writing your name over and over on the fingertips of my left hand, from my thumb to my little finger, one after another. . . .
    Forgive me all this foolishness.
    Is it odd of me to write letters, when I see you every day? But at school I feel embarrassed to come up to you, I’m strangely self-conscious! To think we used to flaunt our intimacy in front of everyone, before we were like this, but now that the rumors are true, we seem to be afraid of letting anyone see us! Does that mean I’m timid after all? Ah, how I wish I could be strong! Stronger and stronger—strong enough not to be afraid of the gods, of Buddha, of my parents, my husband . . .
    Are you having your tea-ceremony lesson tomorrow afternoon? Won’t you come to my house at three? Please give me your answer, yes or no, at school tomorrow, with the usual signal. Do, do come! Even now the white peony blooming in the azure vase on my table breathes a tender sigh as she waits for you, just as I do. If you disappoint her, I’m afraid the pretty little peony will weep. And the mirror on the wardrobe cabinet says she wants to reflect your image. So do come!
    Tomorrow during the noon recreation period I’ll be standing under the plane tree in the schoolyard. Don’t forget our signal.
    Sonoko
    (May 11, from Mitsuko to Sonoko. Envelope length, 5½ inches; width, 3 inches. Centered on a ground of dusky rose, a checkerboard pattern two inches wide is scattered with four-leaf clovers; below it are two overlapping playing cards, an ace of hearts and a six of spades. The checkerboard and the clovers are silver, the heart card red, the spade black; and the letter paper is a plain dark brown, the text written on a slant, by pen with white ink, sloping down to the lower-right-hand corner. The writing is less skillful than Sonoko’s and seems to have been rapidly scribbled, but the large, bold characters give an agreeable impression of uninhibited liveliness.)
    Ma cbére soeur Mile Jardin,
    Dearest elder sister, today, Mitsu bas been in a bad temper all day long! Plucking the flowers out of the alcove, scolding poor innocent Ume (that’s the name of the maid who always waits on her)—whenever Sunday comes around, Mitsu’s temper is bad. For a whole day she can’t go to see her sister! Why can’t she come when that awful Mr. Husband is there?
    At least I’ll make a phone call, I thought, but when I tried just now it seems you were off to Naruo with Mr. Husband to pick wild strawberries!
    Well, do have fun!
    It’s mean! mean!
    I can’t put up with it! I really can’t!
    Mitsu is crying, all alone.
    Ab, ab—
    I’m too bitter to say another word.
    Ta soeur Clair
    ( Ta soeur is of course French for “Your sister,” and Clair , or “light,” comes from the literal meaning of the name Mitsuko. Ma cbére soeur , “My dear sister,” and Mlle Jardin , “Miss Garden,” similarly refer to Sonoko. The reason for writing “Mlle Jardin” rather than “Mme Jardin” is explained as follows in a postscript.)
    I won’t call my elder sister “Madame.”
    Or “Mrs.”—how disgusting! The very thought of