Kimono Part 50

"I always like people when I have once liked them," said Asako; "but everything is different now."

"I see, your heart changes quickly," said her cousin bitterly.

"No, I have tried to change, but I cannot change. I have tried to become j.a.panese, but I cannot even learn the j.a.panese language. I do not like the j.a.panese way of living. In France and in England I was always happy. I don't think I shall ever be happy again."

"You ought to be more grateful," said Sadako severely. "We have saved you from your husband, who was cruel and deceitful--"

"No, I don't believe that now. My husband and I loved each other always. You people came between us with wicked lies and separated us."

"Anyhow, you have made the choice. You have chosen to be j.a.panese. You can never be English again."

The Fujinami had hypnotized Asako with this phrase, as a hen can be hypnotized with a chalk line. Day after day it was dinned into her ears, cutting off all hope of escape from the country or of appeal to her English friends.

"You had better marry a j.a.panese," said Sadako, "or you will become old maid. Why not marry Ito San? He says he likes you. He is a clever man. He has plenty of money. He is used to foreign ways."

"Marry Mr. Ito!" Asako exclaimed, aghast; "but he has a wife already."

"They will divorce. It is no trouble. There are not even children."

"I would rather die than marry any j.a.panese," said Asako with conviction.

Sadako Fujinami turned her back and pretended to sleep; but long through the dark cold night Asako could feel her turning restlessly to and fro.

Some time about midnight Asako heard her name called:

"Asa Chan, are you awake?"

"Yes; is anything the matter?"

"Asa Chan, in your house by the river you will be lonely. You will not be afraid?"

"I am not afraid to be lonely," Asako answered; "I am afraid of people."

"Look!" said her cousin; "I give you this."

She drew from the bosom of her kimono the short sword in its sheath of s.h.a.green, which Asako had seen once or twice before.

"It is very old," she continued; "it belonged to my mother's people.

They were _samurai_ of the Sendai clan. In old j.a.pan every n.o.ble girl carried such a short sword; for she said, 'Better death than dishonour.' When the time came to die she would strike--here, in the throat, not too hard, but pus.h.i.+ng strongly. But first she would tie her feet together with the _obidome_, the silk string which you have to hold your _obi_ straight. That was in case the legs open too much; she must not die in immodest att.i.tude. So when General Nogi did _harakiri_ at Emperor Meiji's funeral, his wife, Countess Nogi, killed herself also with such a sword. I give you my sword because in the house by the river you will be lonely--and things might happen. I can never use the sword myself now. It was the sword of my ancestors. I am not pure now. I cannot use the sword. If I kill myself I throw myself into the river like a common _geisha_. I think it is best you marry Ito. In j.a.pan it is bad to have a husband; but to have no husband, it is worse."

CHAPTER XXVI

ALONE IN TOKYO

_Kuraki yori Kuraki michi ni zo Iri-nu-beki: Haruka ni terase Yuma no ha no tsuki!_

Out of the dark Into a dark path I now must enter: s.h.i.+ne (on me) from afar, Moon of the mountain fringe!

Some days before Christmas Asako had moved into her own little home.

To be free, to have escaped from the watchful eyes and the whispering tongues to be at liberty to walk about the streets and to visit the shops, as an independent lady of j.a.pan--these were such unfamiliar joys to her that for a time she forgot how unhappy she really was, and how she longed for Geoffrey's company as of old. Only in the evenings a sense of insecurity rose with the river mists, and a memory of Sadako's warning s.h.i.+vered through the lonely room with the bitter cold of the winter air. It was then that Asako felt for the little dagger resting hidden in her bosom just as Sadako had shown her how to wear it. It was then that she did not like to be alone, and that she summoned Tanaka to keep her company and to while away the time with his quaint loquacity.

Considering that he had been largely instrumental in breaking up her happy life, considering that every day he stole from her and lied to her, it was wonderful that his mistress was still so attached to him, that, in fact, she regarded him as her only friend. He was like a bad habit or an old disease, which we almost come to cherish since we cannot be delivered from it.

But, when Tanaka protested his devotion, did he mean what he said?

There is a bedrock of loyalty in the j.a.panese nature. Half-way down the road to shame, it will halt of a sudden, and bungle back its way to honour. Then there is the love of the _beau geste_ which is an even stronger motive very often than the love of right-doing for its own sake. The favorite character of the j.a.panese drama is the _otokodate_, the chivalrous champion of the common people who rescues beauty in distress from the lawless, bullying, two-sworded men. It tickled Tanaka's remarkable vanity to regard himself as the protector of this lonely and unfortunate lady. It might be said of him as of Lancelot, that--

"His honour rooted in dishonour stood, And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true."

Asako was glad on the whole that she had no visitors. The Fujinami were busy with their New Year preparations. Christmas Day pa.s.sed by, unheeded by the j.a.panese, though the personality and appearance of Santa Claus are not unknown to them. He stands in the big shop windows in Tokyo as in London, with his red cloak, his long white beard and his sack full of toys. Sometimes he is to be seen chatting with Buddhist deities, with the hammer-bearing Daikoku, with Ebisu the fisherman, with fat naked Hotei, and with Benten, the fair but frail.

In fact, with the American Billiken, Santa Claus may be considered as the latest addition to the tolerant theocracy of j.a.pan.

Asako attended High Ma.s.s at the Catholic Cathedral in Tsukiji, the old foreign settlement. The music was crude; and there was a long sermon in j.a.panese. The magnificent bearded bishop, who officiated, was flanked by two native priests. But the familiar sounds and movements of the office soothed her, and the fragrance of the incense. The centre of the aisle was covered with straw mats where the j.a.panese congregation was squatting. Chairs for the foreigners were placed in the side aisles These were mostly members of the various Emba.s.sy and Legation staffs. For a moment Asako feared recognition. Then she remembered how entirely j.a.panese she had become--in appearance.

Mr. Ito called during the afternoon to wish a Merry Christmas. Asako regaled him with thin green tea and little square cakes of ground rice, filled with a kind of bean paste called "_an_." She kept Tanaka in the room all the time; for Sadako's remarks about marriage with Ito had alarmed her. He was most agreeable, however, and most courteous.

He amused Asako with stories of his experiences abroad. He admired the pretty little house and its position on the river bank; and, when he bowed his thanks for Asako's hospitality, he expressed a wish that he might come again many times in future.

"I am afraid of him," Asako had confided to Tanaka, when the guest had departed, "because Sada San said that he wants to divorce his wife and marry me. You are to stop here with me in the room whenever he comes.

Do not leave me alone, please."

"Ladys.h.i.+p is _daimyo_," the round face answered; "Tanaka is faithful _samurai_. Tanaka gives life for Ladys.h.i.+p!"

It was the week before New Year. All along the Ginza, which is the main thoroughfare of Tokyo, along the avenue of slender willow trees which do their gallant utmost to break the monotony of the wide ramshackle street, were spread every evening the stock-in-trade of the _yomise_, the night shops, which cater their most diverse wares for the aimless mult.i.tudes sauntering up and down the sidewalks. There are quack medicines and stylograph pens, clean wooden altar cabinets for the kitchen G.o.ds, and images of Daikoku and Ebisu; there are cheap underclothing and old hats, food of various kinds, boots and books and toys. But most fascinating of all are the antiquities. Strewn over a square six feet of ground are curios, most attractive to the unwary, especially by the deceptive light of kerosene lamps. One in a thousand perhaps may be a piece of real value; but almost every object has a character and a charm of its own. There are old gold screens, lacquer tables and cabinets, bronze vases, gilded Buddhas, fans, woodcuts, porcelains, _kakemono_ (hanging pictures), _makimono_ (ill.u.s.trated scrolls), _inro_ (lacquer medicine boxes for the pocket), _netsuke_ (ivory or bone b.u.t.tons, through which the cords of the tobacco pouch are slung), _tsuba_ (sword hilts of iron ornamented with delightful landscapes of gold and silver inlay). The Ginza at night-time is a paradise for the minor collector.

"_Kore wa ikura_? (How much is this?)" asked Asako, picking up a tiny silver box, which could slip into a waistcoat pocket. Inside were enshrined three gentle Buddhas of old creamy ivory, perfectly carved to the minutest petal of the full-blown lotus upon which each reposed.

"Indeed, it is the end of the year. We must sell all things cheaply,"

answered the merchant. "It is asked sixty _yen_ for true ancient artistic object."

"Such a thing is not said," replied Asako, her j.a.panese becoming quite fluent with the return of her light-heartedness. "Perhaps a joke is being made. It would be possible to give ten _yen_."

The old curio vender, with the face and spare figure of Julius Caesar, turned aside from such idle talk with a shrug of hopelessness. He affected to be more interested in lighting his slender pipe over the chimney of the lamp which hung suspended over his wares.

"Ten _yen_! Please see!" said Asako, showing a banknote. The merchant shook his head and puffed. Asako turned away into the stream of pa.s.sers-by. She had not gone, ten yards, however, before she felt a touch on her kimono sleeve. It was Julius Caesar with his curio.

"Indeed, _okusan_, there must be reduction. Thirty _yen_; take it, please."

He pressed the little box into Asako's hand.

"Twenty _yen_," she bargained, holding out two notes.

"It is loss! It is loss!" he murmured; but he shuffled back to his stall again, very well content.