“I … I pray every day, Masao-san, that it will be a son,” she whispered, touched by his gentleness with her, and his kindness.
“I would be just as happy with a daughter,” he said honestly, as he lay beside her, dreaming of their future. He loved the idea of having children, her children especially. She was so beautiful and so sweet, he couldn't imagine anything lovelier than a little girl who looked just like her mother. But Hidemi looked shocked by what he had just told her.
“You must not say that, Masao-san!” She was afraid that even thinking about a girl just now might bring one to them. “You must have a son!” She looked so adamant about it that it amused him. But he was a rare man in Japan, he truly didn't care if they had a son or a daughter. And he thought that the traditional obsession with wanting only sons was extremely foolish. He actually liked the idea of having a daughter whom he could educate with new ideas and new views, unfettered by the weights and chains of ancient traditions. He loved Hidemi's sweet, old-fashioned ways, but he also loved the fact that she seemed amused by his passion for modern ideas and contraptions. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her. She happily tolerated all his newfangled ideas and fascination with modern developments and politics the world over. She wasn't deeply involved in any of it herself, but she always listened with interest to the things he told her. And the idea of bringing those same ideas to a child, and bringing him or her up with them from the first, absolutely enthralled him.
“We will have a thoroughly modern child, Hidemi-san.” He smiled as he turned over to look at her, and she looked away from him, blushing in embarrassment. Sometimes when he was too direct with her, it made her feel shy again, but—more than she would ever have been able to tell him with words—she loved him deeply. She thought him fascinating and intelligent and sophisticated beyond anything she had ever dreamed. She even liked it when he spoke to her in English, no matter how little of it she understood. She found him completely enchanting. “When will the baby be born?” he asked, realizing that he had no idea. The year was already off to an interesting start, particularly in Europe, where the French army had occupied the Ruhr, in a reprisal for delayed reparations payments owed them by the Germans. But world news seemed far less important now, in relation to the arrival of their first baby.
“In early summer,” she answered him softly. “I think, July.” It would be exactly a year since they'd been married. And it was a nice time of year to have a baby.
“I want you to have it in the hospital,” he said as he glanced over at her, and he instantly saw a stubborn look in her eyes. He knew her well, after only eight months of marriage. Even though his more modern ways seemed to amuse her, on some things she had no intention of moving an inch in honor of more modern inventions. And when it came to family matters, she clung to all the old ways with dogged determination.
“I don't need a hospital. My mother and my sister will come to help me. The baby will be born here. We'll call a priest if we need one.”
“You don't need a priest, little one, you need a doctor.”
She didn't answer him. She had no desire to be disrespectful, nor to heed him. And when the time came, she cried bitterly as he argued with her fiercely. Her mother and oldest sister arrived in June, as planned, and stayed with them. Masao didn't mind, but he still wanted her to see a doctor and have their baby in the hospital in Kyoto. But it was obvious to him that Hidemi was afraid. She didn't want to go to the hospital, or to see a doctor. Masao tried in vain to reason with her, and to convince her mother that it would be better for her. But Hidemi's mother only smiled and treated him as though he were eccentric. She herself had given birth six times, but only four of her children were living. One had died at birth, and another from diphtheria when still a baby. But she knew about these things, and so did Hidemi's sister. She had two babies of her own, and she had helped many women when their time came.
As the days passed, Masao realized that he wasn't going to convince any of them, and he watched with dismay as Hidemi grew larger and more tired in the heat of the summer. Each day, her mother made her follow the traditions that would make her delivery easier. They went to the shrine, and they prayed. They ate ceremonial foods. And in the afternoons she went on long walks with her sister. And at night when Masao came home, he would find Hidemi waiting for him, with tasty delicacies prepared, always anxious to be with him, and serve his needs, and hear whatever news he told her. But the only news that interested him now was about her. She seemed so tiny, and the baby so large. She was so young and so frail, and he was desperately worried about her.