O-SODE-SAN
Obaa-San—we have been hurting. I never knew—I am sorry, Obaa-San.
O-KATSU-SAN
You have been lonely, Obaa-San, but you have always been lonely. I know the having and I know the losing.
O-SODE-SAN
Ay. 'Tis better to long for love than to have it—and then lose. Look at me, whom the villagers call the bitter one. He came to me so long ago.—It was spring, Obaa-San, and perfume filled the air and birds were singing and his voice was like the voice from the sky-dome—all clear and wonderful. Together we saw the cherry trees bloom—once: and on a summer night we saw the wonder of the firefly fête. My heart was young and life was beautiful. We watched the summer moon—and when the autumn came—Ai! Ai! Ai! Obaa-San.—I knew a time of love—and oh, the time of hopelessness! And I shut my heart. I did not see, Obaa-San.
OBAA-SAN
You knew his love, O-Sode-San. You touched his hand.
O-KATSU-SAN
But what is that? To her—my little girl—I gave all my dreams. I felt her baby hands in mine and in the night I could reach out to her. I lived for her. And then, one day—Obaa-San, I had known the joy of motherhood and I had known the ecstasy of—child—and now—Her little life with me was only a dream of spring, but still my back is warm with the touch of her babyhood. The little toys still dance before my eyes. Oh, that was long ago.—Now all is black.