"The local authorities say they want to keep a watch over any radical elements in the church," Ikuo said, "but I'm more worried about the oppo- site-that now we've finally started to get things rolling the church will turn into an old ladies' club."
Ikuo's sarcastic remarks may have been a bit exaggerated, but they weren't unfounded. Though they might be hiding some militant attitudes, the first former radical members that were coming were, it was fair to say, a group that was completely into repentance at the end of the world. Rather than theoretical researchers, they were made up of the older experimental scientists who, even at the Izu Research Institute, had dubbed themselves the Technicians.
As for the old ladies' club, as Ikuo called them, actually he wasn't too far off the mark. It was made up of about half of the women Kizu had visited in their commune along the Odakyu Line, and though they had lived together with their children there, only the women would be moving to this new loca- tion. When he heard that the women would be occupying the monastery that surrounded the inner garden, Kizu had naively assumed that this was a tem- porary arrangement until the children joined them. But that wasn't the case.
Kizu had a chance to talk directly with the women in the church's new office, set up in the annex to the chapel, built outside the cylindrical building itself but separate from the monastery. That afternoon, after he'd finished having an early lunch in the cafeteria-which they'd constructed by tearing down the walls between three smaller rooms-Kizu popped his head into the office, expecting to find Ikuo but finding Ogi and Dancer instead, welcom- ing some women Kizu remembered seeing before.
Among them was Mrs. Shigeno, the widow of the hospital director and donor of the property, who greeted Kizu very pleasantly. "How was your lunch in the cafeteria? I'm sure it wasn't anything like the faculty dining room in your U. S. university, though I daresay it compared favorably to student cafeterias over there."
"It was very nice," Kizu said. "There isn't much difference between the faculty dining room and the student cafeteria in America."
"I'm happy to hear you liked it. We'll be the ones in charge of the church's cafeteria from now on."
As he talked with her, memories came back to Kizu of the greenhouse where they had been packing lilies into boxes and of the memorial service in his apartment's basement. A vivid memory came to him of Mrs. Shigeno speaking at the service, and he clearly remembered the other two women with her from the greenhouse. One of them was Ms. Takada, the young woman with the skin covering one of her eyes; the other was one of the leaders dur- ing the prayer time at the greenhouse, a Ms. Oyama.
Vaguely aware that Kizu might already know them, Dancer still went ahead and introduced each woman in turn. She explained that Kizu had been a longtime art educator in the United States, despite the fact that when he had visited their commune he'd given them his business card, and Mrs. Shigeno, in the way she had addressed him now, was obviously aware of his background.
"I'm really happy to hear that you'll be in charge of the cafeteria," Kizu said. "I've been fixing my own meals for far too long."
Mrs. Shigeno, explaining what they'd been discussing with Dancer, said, "It seems, however, that some people have raised objections about our faith.
Though they're happy we'll be running the cafeteria, they wonder why we emphasize our own sort of exclusive group prayer."
"To the point that they've even dubbed us the Quiet Women," Ms. Oyama added in a bemused way; a small woman, her build and expression suggested she was stalwart and dependable. "In political and religious movements alike, these factional nicknames usually start as a kind of insult, which then get fixed permanently. Like the names Anarchists and Quakers. The name Quiet Women, too, is somewhat negative, suggesting women who maintain a weird silence and aren't entirely to be trusted."
"When Ikuo-who's come with me here-and I visited you on that snowy day," Kizu said, "we were very impressed by your lifestyle. Your chil- dren were so quiet, it was like some nostalgic scene from the past… When they join you, I imagine things will get much more lively around here."
Kizu had addressed this to Mrs. Shigeno, who looked at her two col- leagues and then urged Ms. Oyama to reply.
"For the time being we're not planning to have the children join us.
Maybe we will just accept the name that's been given to us and carry on as the Quiet Women."
Kizu couldn't quite follow this, but he hesitated to ask further questions.
"We've been living communally for the last ten years, deepening our faith along with the children. And after these ten years, Patron has, on Guide's martrydom, started up a new religious movement and called us to join him.
This is extremely important. Being allowed to live together once again with Patron means accepting his teachings. Which means we have a lot of learn- ing to do to connect his denial of our doctrine and faith with the activities of his new church. We have come here with great hopes and resolve.
"We've lived together for ten years, but when this change in direction came about, differences of opinion started to surface in our group. Some women were opposed to an unconditional return. They felt that since we'd been abandoned by Patron and Guide we should continue down our own spiritual path and that remaining in the church Patron created was not the honorable thing to do. They wanted Patron first of all to give a thorough self-critique of his actions at the time of the Somersault. I can understand their reaction. This sort of opposition arose even in regard to whether or not we should partici- pate in the memorial service, and we came to Tokyo at that time without coming to any sort of agreement. At the service the adults from our commune sat in two separate groups. Ogi kept the former Izu research group from saying anything, and we kept our opposing faction from speaking up, let- ting Mrs. Shigeno speak for us from the floor. This allowed the service to take place without incident.
"When we returned to our commune, nearly half the women said Patron hadn't criticized himself enough and they were against returning to the church.
So we ended up leaving them behind. But we'll be sending faxes to them every day regarding the teachings of Patron's new church. We're hoping this will convince some of them, who could then form a second group and move here… That brings you up to date on what's been happening with us."
"You've given it a lot of thought, obviously, and I think your response is unique-and very logical, too," Kizu said, reevaluating this Quiet Women's group, who were unlike any Japanese women he'd ever known. "But why aren't any of the children participating? Are you afraid the church will try to take over their education?"
"We listened to the children's opinion," Mrs. Shigeno answered.
"Through our communal life together the children have grown very close.
Most of them said they didn't want to be separated, so we decided to let the children in the two groups be entrusted to whichever side the majority of them voted for, which would then take responsibility for their education. I'm an optimistic person and I was sure the children would want to come with us.
But when the votes were counted they'd decided to stay."
"But you were quite decisive about it, weren't you," Kizu said, his defenses down in the face of the elegant Mrs. Shigeno's smile.
Ms. Takada didn't let this go by. Her right eye wide open, she turned it and her blank left side toward Kizu and said, quite resolutely, "We may have been decisive, but that meant we gave our lives over to faith only to be aban- doned by our leaders. From our perspective, that's what the Somersault was.
Pondering this over the past ten years, our initial hatred and resentment dis- appeared, but to be truthful, right now we're not sure how the faith we've kept for the past decade can merge with this new movement.