Saito tried to gather what he could from the conversation and each parent's demeanor as to how they really felt about one another, but their talk and actions were as common as could be. At no time did he sense any skepticism, even on the part of his father.About four o'clock, Saito's mother mentioned the lovely cast-iron kettle Keiko had brought her as a New Year's gift. Would Mrs. Nakajima care to come into the kitchen and see it? Yes, of course, and they could chat there while Mrs. Saito finished the dinner preparations, leaving the men to smoke and drink sake in freedom. Everyone agreed. Keiko's glance at Saito as she bent down to place his teacup on the tray told him that everything was going fine so far. This period of separation was the moment of truth as far as he was concerned, for the two sets of parents would be forming the most important opinions of each other now that the initial overture was complete.
"This is very special sake," said Saito's father, pouring the clear rice wine into two ceramic bottles. "Our family has been drinking the same brand for five generations, almost as long as this house has existed. They say the water used to brew it is the purest in Japan. That's why the taste is exceedingly smooth. See if you don't agree."
He placed the two bottles in a pan full of water his wife had brought from the kitchen, then set the pan on top of the kerosene heater that warmed the room. "I know I shouldn't put pots on the heater, but it's certainly convenient. I've been doing it for years and no harm done yet."
"Save energy," replied Keiko's father. "Isn't that the government's watchword nowadays?"
Mr. Nakajima was eager to learn more about Saito, his family and his job. Saito's father did most of the talking, as usual, but Saito had no reason to complain. The story he told of their family was a good one: generation upon generation of merchants, hardware dealers, mainly, except for young Saito himself who had gone to a fine college and taken a job in a major securities firm.
"He's got a good job, though I would have set him up in his own business if only he had wanted it. He's made his own way, and I'm very proud of what he has accomplished. A father could hardly ask for more."
Saito was glad when the conversation turned to Mr. Nakajima's lineage. His, too, was an impressive tale, which paralleled the growth of Gunma's silk industry. His family had been in the business for more than six generations, and there had been samurai ancestors on his wife's side of the family, just as Keiko had said.
When the sake was warm, Saito poured for the two fathers and joined them in a toast to the coming year.
"Still, the future will find it hard to match the past," Mr. Nakajima said, once they had drained their cups and begun the refills. "All this worry about energy nowadays, and our country is virtually defenseless. Life before the war seemed so much more full. Sometimes I wonder if modernization hasn't brought more harm than good to Japan."
Saito would have argued with him if he hadn't been Keiko's father and if this meeting hadn't been so important. He was afraid of interfering with the union the two men were creating. Let them believe what the would for the present, as long as they liked each other.
"It's good to speak to a man who talks sense," Saito's father replied. "Pride in family traditions. A sense of patriotism. A knowledge of duty and honor. Of responsibility. It's such a pleasure to meet one who still holds these values high."
They drank yet another round and the two ceramic bottles were nearly empty. "The sake has warmed me inside," Saito's father said. If it is not too chilly for you, let's go outside and take a look at my garden, while my son warms up two more bottles."
Saito quickly supported this suggestion, and the two men walked out the side door together. What could be better, he thought. They had certainly hit it off well. He tried to imagine the conversation taking place in the garden, but his heart was fluttering like a leaf in the wind.
"Keiko," he wanted to say. "They like each other. There's nothing to prevent our marriage now. Soon you'll be my wife."
My wife. Yes, now it sounded so good. How ironic, he thought, that their fathers' commitments to traditional values would be the cement binding their "modern" marriage. Her father had probably been just as skeptical as his. He might even have favored an arranged marriage for Keiko, too. But it was all going to work out now. Their families were well matched. Who could deny it?
The two men were outside for what seemed like a very long time to Saito. When they finally came back inside the house, Keiko's father was hugging himself from the cold, but Saito's was laughing and ruddy with warmth.
"Let me make the phone call," his father said, as her father sat down at the table once more. "Son, pour more sake, then fetch the women from the kitchen."
Who is he going to phone, Saito wondered. But the warmth of triumph overwhelmed any apprehension he might have felt. In fact, he was so happy, he almost forgot to pour Mr. Nakajima's sake and started off for the kitchen instead. But he caught himself mid-stride and managed to follow the instructions, despite his excitement.
