The Flavor of Green Tea Over Rice (1952)

dir. Yasujiro Ozu

I’m “wife”—I’ve finished that—
That other state—
I’m Czar—I’m “Woman” now—
It’s safer so—

⁂

If you do anything in this life, make sure you marry a reliable man. A man who will share a bowl of rice with you when his flight is cancelled, who will tell you to stop crying, just stop crying. Make sure you run away at first; if he is reliable, he will not give up. When the deed’s done, when you’re finally Wife, learn to fold a napkin and keep the tatami spotless, in case he returns early from the nomikai. Learn to stare at the eclipse.

This is what you want: a man who will make himself the center of your universe, so that your infatuation with him feels like your idea. Forget Edward, that overdressed, clumsy, peasant dope, he doesn’t have what it takes. Cordelia, you want a man who will reel you in with the size of his brain, Latin and Greek leaking from his ears (he’s a great listener)—and who will, after months of false friendship, suddenly reveal his true desires. That way it will feel like your sin, your faux-pas, your dark indulgence. A threshold you crossed.

And then he has you.

⁂

How odd the Girl’s life looks
Behind this soft Eclipse—
I think that Earth feels so
To folks in Heaven—now—

⁂

You’ll soon be done with that other state. You’ve sown your wild oats, or whatever it is you girls like to do; you’ve sung enough karaoke for three generations, worn enough Western haircuts for every spinster in Chiba. Time now for simpler pleasures. Time now to steep the tea and sweep the mats and resign yourself to the arms of the salaryman whom your elders wisely selected. We would not have made this decision lightly. You are valuable to us, Hana. We’ve prepared a boat and a palanquin for you; we’ve hired the strong-armed farmers to carry it; we’ve set you down the River Ki. Bandits wouldn't dare disturb a procession like this.

Hana, Cordelia, Penelope—Taeko—don’t you realize how very lucky you are? You're no country harlot. One day, you will have the honor of obeying your son, and you will swoon with submissive pride and retire to bed. Athena will cover your eyes in sweet sleep. Don’t listen to the screams. Keep working. Keep spinning. That is my command. That is my final, most important command. You’re Wife now. You’re Czar of linens and porcelain plates, Empress of rice bowls. The Master said: wherever you go, go with all your heart. The Master also said: don’t look for black cats in dark rooms. Don’t go where you aren’t wanted, my dear.

⁂

This being comfort—then
That other kind—was pain—
But why compare?
I’m “Wife”! Stop there!

⁂

Comparison is the thief of joy, I tell the death row inmate, I tell the office ladies, I tell the overgrown shrine. That pink collar has become tight on your neck, hasn’t it? Wear the marital kimono and breathe deep. Marriage is a building with many rooms. You can easily get turned around in this house, so don't wander off at night. Stay put.

Here’s a story, if you’ll listen. A woman goes running in the mountains. Gets pregnant. Has the baby. Takes out a loan to pay for daycare. Shames her mother, fights her father. Gets wasted. Fucks her coworker at the coffee bar. She walks to the daycare every day, gets lost once or twice. Coworker helps her. Mother helps her. Father too drunk to help anyone, but not too drunk to throw a punch. You’ve heard this story already? Okay, here’s another one. A woman goes running in the mountains, baby wrapped against her back. Dances in the tall grass. Comes up to a shaman, a fortuneteller, older than shit. She pays him ten yen for her fortune, drops it in his cup with a clink. Baby's fast asleep, doesn't make a sound. The shaman rubs his chin stubble for a long time, then announces with a single skyward finger, “You’ll have one child.” The woman scoffs at this so-called prophecy. Considers taking her money back, almost whacks him over the head with the begging cup. Then she realizes: the shaman is blind! She laughs hard and deep, she laughs until she cries, she wakes up the baby with her laughing and crying. Baby starts crying too. Shaman smiles.

Now the question. I hope you were listening, because this is an important question: which was the comfort, and which was the pain? If you don’t know, ask your husband when he returns from the business trip to Uruguay. Give him a cup of green tea and pay close attention.

When he tells you what marriage is, Taeko, agree with him. Always agree. Always say yes, and never compare. Never peek behind his soft, reliable eclipse. Never turn around to watch the city burn, or so help me God. Why can't you be satisfied? Doesn't my promotion please you? Leave her behind, Taeko. Leave the Girl.

You’re Wife now.

Stop there.