Kimono by John Paris

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Asako no longer felt like a Japanese. The sight of her countrymen in
their drab monotonous thousands sickened her. The hiss and cackle
of their incomprehensible tongue beat upon her brain with a deadly
incessant sound, like raindrops to one who is impatiently awaiting the
return of fine weather.

Here at Ikegami, the distant view of the sea and the Yokohama shipping
invited Asako to escape. But where could she escape to? To England.
She was an Englishwoman no longer. She had cast her husband off for
insufficient reasons. She had been cold, loveless, narrow-minded and
silly. She had acted, as she now recognised, largely on the suggestion
of others. Like a fool she had believed what had been told. She had
not trusted her love for her husband. As usual, her thoughts returned
to Geoffrey, and to the constant danger which threatened him. Lately,
she had started to write a letter to him several times, but had never
got further than "Dearest Geoffrey."

She was glad when the irritating day was over, when the rosy sunset
clouds showed through the trunks of the cryptomerias, when the night
fell and the great stars like lamps hung in the branches. But the
night brought no silence. Paper lanterns were lighted round the
temple; and rough acetylene flares lit up the tawdry fairings. The
chattering, the bargaining, the clatter of the _geta_ became more
terrifying even than in daytime. It was like being in the darkness in
a cage of wild beasts, heard, felt, but unseen.

The evening breeze was cold. In spite of the big wooden fireboxes
strewn over their stall, the Fujinami were shivering.

"Let us go for a walk," suggested cousin Sadako.

The two girls strolled along the ridge of the hill as far as the
five-storied pagoda. They passed the tea-house, so famous for its
plum-blossoms in early March. It was brightly lighted. The paper
rectangles of the _shoji_ were aglow like an illuminated honeycomb.
The wooden walls resounded with the jangle of the _samisen_, the high
screaming _geisha_ voices, and the rough laughter of the guests. From
one room the _shoji_ were pushed open; and drunken men could be seen
with kimonos thrown back from their shoulders showing a body reddened
with _sake_. They had taken the _geishas_' instruments from them, and
were performing an impromptu song and dance, while the girls clapped
their hands and writhed with laughter. Beyond the tea-house, the din
of the festival was hushed. Only from the distance came the echo of
the song, the rasp of the forced merriment, the clatter of the _geta_,
and the hum of the crowd.

Starlight revealed the landscape. The moon was rising through a
cloud's liquescence. Soon the hundreds of rice-plots would catch her
full reflection. The outline of the coast of Tokyo Bay was visible
as far as Yokohama; so were the broad pool of Ikegami and the lumpy
masses of the hills inland.

The landscape was alive with lights, lights dim, lights bright,
lights stationary, lights in swaying movement round each centre of
population. It looked as if the stars had fallen from heaven, and were
being shifted and sorted by careful gleaners. As each nebula of white
illumination assembled itself, it began to move across the vast plain,
drawn inwards towards Ikegami from every point of the compass as
though by a magnetic force. These were the lantern processions of
pilgrims. They looked like the souls of the righteous rising from
earth to heaven in a canto from Dante.

The clusters of lights started, moved onwards, paused, re-grouped
themselves, and struggled forward, until in the narrow street of
the village under the hill Asako could distinguish the shapes of the
lantern-bearers and their strange antics, and the sacred palanquin,
a kind of enormous wooden bee-hive, which was the centre of each
procession, borne on the sturdy shoulders of a swarm of young men to
the beat of drums and the inevitable chant.

_Namu my[=o]h[=o] renge ky[=o]_.

Slowly the procession jolted up the steep stairway, and came to rest
with their heavy burdens in front of the temple of Nichiren.

"It is very silly," said cousin Sadako, "to be so superstitious, I
think."

"Then why are we here?" asked Asako.

"My grandfather is very superstitious; and my father is afraid to say
'No' to him. My father does not believe in any gods or Buddhas; but
he says it does no harm, and it may do good. All our family is
_gohei-katsugi_ (brandishers of sacred symbols). We think that with
all this prayer we can turn away the trouble of Takeshi."

"Why, what is the matter with Mr. Takeshi? Why is he not here? and
Matsuko San and the children?"

"It is a great secret," said the Fujinami cousin, "you will tell no
one. You will pretend also even with me that you do not know. Takeshi
San is very sick. The doctor says that he is a leper."

Asako stared, uncomprehending. Sadako went on,--

"You saw this morning those ugly beggars. They were all so terrible
to see, and their bodies were so rotten. My brother is becoming like
that. It is a sickness. It cannot be cured. It will kill him very
slowly. Perhaps his wife Matsu and his children also have the
sickness. Perhaps we too are sick. No one can tell, not for many
years."

Ugly wings seemed to cover the night. The world beneath the hill had
become the Pit of Hell, and the points of light were devils' spears.
Asako trembled.

"What does it mean?" she asked. "How did Takeshi San become sick?"

"It was a _tenbatsu_ (judgment of heaven)," answered her cousin.
"Takeshi San was a bad man. He was rude to his father, and he was
cruel to his wife. He thought only of _geisha_ and bad women. No
doubt, he became sick from touching a woman who was sick. Besides,
it is the bad _inge_ of the Fujinami family. Did not the old woman of
Akabo say so? It is the curse of the Yoshiwara women. It will be our
turn next, yours and mine."

No wonder that poor Asako could not sleep that night in the cramped
promiscuity of the family dead.

Fujinami Takeshi had been sickly for some time; but then his course
of life could hardly be called a healthy one. On his return from his
summer holiday, red patches had appeared on the palms of his hands,
and afterwards on his forehead. He had complained of the irritation
caused by this "rash." Professor Kashio had been called in to
prescribe. A blood test was taken. The doctor then pronounced that
the son and heir was suffering from leprosy, and for that there was no
cure.

The disease is accompanied by irritation, but by little actual pain.
Constant application of compresses can allay the itching, and can
often save the patient from the more ghastly ravages of disfigurement.
But, slowly, the limbs lose their force, the fingers and toes drop
away, the hair falls, and merciful blindness comes to hide from the
sufferer the living corpse to which his spirit is bound. More merciful
yet, the slow decay attacks the organs of the body. Often consumption
intervenes. Often just a simple cold suffices to snuff out the
flickering life.

In the village of Kusatsu, beyond the Karuizawa mountains, there is a
natural hot spring, whose waters are beneficial for the alleviation of
the disease. In this place there is a settlement of well-to-do lepers.
Thither it was decided to banish poor Takeshi. His wife, Matsuko,
naturally was expected to accompany him, to nurse him and to make
life as comfortable for him as she could. Her eventual doom was almost
certain. But there was no question, no choice, no hesitation and no
praise. Every Japanese wife is obliged to become an Alcestis, if
her husband's well-being demand it. The children were sent to the
ancestral village of Akabo.

CHAPTER XXV

JAPANESE COURTSHIP

_O-bune no
Hatsuru-tomari no
Tayutai ni
Mono-omoi-yase-nu
Hito no ko yuye ni_.

With a rocking
(As) of great ships
Riding at anchor
I have at last become worn out with love,
Because of a child of a man.

When the Fujinami returned to Tokyo, the wing of the house in which
the unfortunate son had lived, had been demolished. An ugly scar
remained, a slab of charred concrete strewn with ashes and burned
beams. Saddest sight of all was the twisted iron work of Takeshi's
foreign bedstead, once the symbol of progress and of the _haikara_
spirit. The fire was supposed to have been accidental; but the ravages
had been carefully limited to the offending wing.

Mr. Fujinami Gentaro, disgusted at this unsightly wreckage wished to
rebuild at once. But the old grandfather had objected that this spot
of misfortune was situated in the northeast corner of the mansion, a
quarter notoriously exposed to the attacks of _oni_ (evil spirits). He
was in favor of total demolishment.

This was only one of the differences of opinion between the two
seniors of the house of Fujinami, which became more frequent as the
clouds of disaster gathered over the home in Akasaka. A far more
thorny problem was the question of the succession.

With the living death of Takeshi, there was no male heir. Several
family councils were held in the presence of the two Mr. Fujinami
generally in the lower-house, at which six or seven members of the
collateral branches were also present. Grandfather Gennosuke, who
despised Takeshi as a waster, would not listen to any plea on behalf
of his children.

"To a bad father a bad child," he enunciated, his restless jaw
masticating more ferociously than ever.

He was strongly of opinion that it was the curse of Asako's father
which had brought this sorrow upon his family. Katsundo and Asako were
representatives of the elder branch. Himself, Gentaro and Takeshi
were mere usurpers. Restore the elder branch to its rights, and the
indignant ghost would cease to plague them all.

Such was the argument of grandfather Gennosuke.

Fujinami Gentaro naturally supported the claims of his own progeny. If
Takeshi's children must be disinherited because of the leprous strain,
then, at least, Sadako remained. She was a well-educated and serious
girl. She knew foreign languages. She could make a brilliant marriage.
Her husband would be adopted as heir. Perhaps the Governor of Osaka?

The other members of the council shook their heads, and breathed
deeply. Were there no Fujinami left of the collateral branches? Why
adopt a _tanin_ (outside person)? So spoke the M.P., the man with a
wen, who had an axe of his own to grind.

It was decided to choose the son-in-law candidate first of all; and,
afterwards, to decide which of the girls he was to marry. Perhaps it
would be as well to consult the fortune tellers. At any rate, a list
of suitable applicants would be prepared for the next meeting.

"When men speak of the future," said grandfather Gennosuke, "the rats
in the ceiling laugh."

So the conference broke up.

Mr. Fujinami Gentaro had no sooner returned to the academic calm of
his chaste reading room, than Mr. Ito appeared on the threshold.

The oily face was more moist than usual, the buffalo-horn moustache
more truculent; and though the autumn day was cool, Ito was agitating
a fan. He was evidently nervous. Before approaching the sanctum, he
had blown his nose into a small square piece of soft paper, which is
the Japanese apology for a handkerchief. He had looked around for
some place where to cast the offence; but finding none along the trim
garden border, he had slipped it into his wide kimono sleeve.

Mr. Fujinami frowned. He was tired of business matters, and the worry
of other people's affairs. He longed for peace.

"Indeed, the weather becomes perceptibly cooler," said Mr. Ito, with a
low prostration.

"If there is business," his patron replied crisply, "please step up
into the room."

Mr. Ito slipped off his _geta_, and ascended from the garden path.
When he had settled himself in the correct attitude with legs
crossed and folded, Mr. Fujinami pushed over towards him a packet of
cigarettes, adding;

"Please, without embarrassment, speak quickly what you have to say."

Mr. Ito chose a cigarette, and slowly pinched together the cardboard
holder, which formed its lower half.

"Indeed, _sensei_, it is a difficult matter," he began. "It is a
matter which should be handled by an intermediary. If I speak face to
face like a foreigner the master will excuse my rudeness."

"Please, speak clearly."

"I owe my advancement in life entirely to the master. I was the son
of poor parents. I was an emigrant and a vagabond over three thousand
worlds. The master gave me a home and lucrative employment. I have
served the master for many years; with my poor effort the fortunes of
the family have perhaps increased. I have become as it were a _son_ to
the Fujinami."

He paused at the word "son." His employer had caught his meaning, and
was frowning more than ever. At last he answered:

"To expect too much is a dangerous thing. To choose a _yoshi_ (adopted
son) is a difficult question. I myself cannot decide such grave
matters. There must be consultation with the rest of the Fujinami
family. You yourself have suggested that Governor Sugiwara might
perhaps be a suitable person."

"At that time the talk was of Sada San; this time the talk is of Asa
San."

A flash of inspiration struck Mr. Fujinami Gentaro, and a gush of
relief. By giving her to Ito, he might be able to side-track Asako,
and leave the highway to inheritance free for his own daughter. But
Ito had grown too powerful to be altogether trusted.

"It must be clearly understood," said the master, "that it is the
husband of our Sada who will be the Fujinami _yoshi_."

Ito bowed.

"Thanks to the master," he said, "there is money in plenty. There is
no desire to speak of such matters. The request is for Asa San only.
Truly, the heart is speaking. That girl is a beautiful child, and
altogether a _haikara_ person. My wife is old and barren and of low
class. I wish to have a wife who is worthy of my position in the house
of Fujinami San."

The head of the family cackled with sudden laughter; he was much
relieved.

"Ha! Ha! Ito Kun! So it is love, is it? You are in love like a school
student. Well, indeed, love is a good thing. What you have said shall
be well considered."

So the lawyer was dismissed.

Accordingly, at the next family council Mr. Fujinami put forward
the proposal that Asako should be married forthwith to the family
factotum, who should be given a lump sum down in consideration for a
surrender of all further claim in his own name or his wife's to any
share in the family capital.

"Ito Kun," he concluded, "is the brain of our business. He is the
family _karo_ (prime minister). I think it would be well to give this
Asa to him."

To his surprise, the proposal met with unanimous opposition. The
rest of the family envied and disliked Ito, who was regarded as Mr.
Fujinami's pampered favourite.

Grandfather Gennosuke was especially indignant.

"What?" he exploded in one of those fits of rage common to old men in
Japan; "give the daughter of the elder branch to a butler, to a man
whose father ran between rickshaw shafts. If the spirit of Katsundo
has not heard this foolish talk it would be a good thing for us.
Already there is a bad _inge_. By doing such a thing it will become
worse and worse, until the whole house of Fujinami is ruined. This Ito
is a rascal, a thief, a good-for-nothing, a----"

The old gentleman collapsed.

Again the council separated, still undecided except for one thing that
the claim of Mr. Ito to the hand of Asako was quite inadmissible.

When the "family prime minister" next pressed his master on the
subject, Mr. Fujinami had to confess that the proposal had been
rejected.

Then Ito unmasked his batteries, and his patron had to realize that
the servant was a servant no longer.

Ito said that it was necessary for him to have Asa San and that before
the end of the year. He was in love with this girl. Passion was an
overwhelming thing.

"Two things have ever been the same
Since the Age of the Gods--
The flowing of water,
And the way of Love."

This old Japanese poem he quoted as his excuse for what would
otherwise be an inexcusable impertinence. The master was aware that
politics in Japan were in an unsettled state, and that the new Cabinet
was scarcely established; that a storm would overthrow it, and that
the Opposition were already looking about for a suitable scandal
to use for their revenge. He, Ito, held the evidence which they
desired--the full story of the Tobita concession, with the names and
details of the enormous bribes distributed by the Fujinami. If these
things were published, the Government would certainly fall; also the
Tobita concession would be lost and the whole of that great outlay;
also the Fujinami's leading political friends would be discredited
and ruined. There would be a big trial, and exposure, and outcry, and
judgment, and prison. The master must excuse his servant for speaking
so rudely to his benefactor. But in love there are no scruples; and he
must have Asa San. After all, after his long service, was his request
so unreasonable?

Mr. Fujinami Gentaro, thoroughly scared, protested that he himself was
in favour of the match. He begged for time so as to be able to convert
the other members of the family council.

"Perhaps," suggested Ito, "if Asa San were sent away from Akasaka,
perhaps if she were living alone, it would be more easy to manage.
What is absent is soon forgotten. Mr. Fujinami Gennosuke is a very old
gentleman; he would soon forget. Sada San could then take her proper
position as the only daughter of the Fujinami. Was there not a small
house by the river side at Mukojima, which had been rented for Asa
San? Perhaps she would like to live there--quite alone."

"Perhaps Ito Kun would visit her from time to time," said Mr.
Fujinami, pleased with the idea; "she will be so lonely; there is no
knowing."

The one person who was never consulted, and who had not the remotest
notion of what was going on, was Asako herself.

* * * * *

Asako was most unhappy. The disappearance of Fujinami Takeshi
exasperated the competition between herself and her cousin. Just
as formerly all Sadako's intelligence and charm had been exerted
to attract her English relative to the house in Akasaka, so now she
applied all her force to drive her cousin out of the family circle.
For many weeks now Asako had been ignored; but after the return from
Ikegami a positive persecution commenced. Although the nights were
growing chilly, she was given no extra bedding. Her meals were no
longer served to her; she had to get what she could from the kitchen.
The servants, imitating their mistress's attitude were deliberately
disobliging and rude to the little foreigner.

Sadako and her mother would sneer at her awkwardness and at her
ignorance of Japanese customs. Her _obi_ was tied anyhow; for she had
no maid. Her hair was untidy; for she was not allowed a hairdresser.

They nicknamed her _rashamen_ (goat face), using an ugly slang word
for a foreigner's Japanese mistress; and they would pretend that she
smelt like a European.

"_Kusai! Kusai_! (Stink! Stink!)" they would say.

The war even was used to bait Asako. Every German success was greeted
with acclamation. The exploits of the _Emden_ were loudly praised; and
the tragedy of Coronel was gloated over with satisfaction.

"The Germans will win because they are brave," said Sadako.

"The English lose too many prisoners; Japanese soldiers are never
taken prisoner."

"When the Japanese general ordered the attack on Tsingtao, the English
regiment ran away!"

Cousin Sadako announced her intention of studying German.

"Nobody will speak English now," she said. "The English are disgraced.
They cannot fight."

"I wish Japan would make war on the English," Asako answered bitterly,
"you would get such a beating that you would never boast again. Look
at my husband," she added proudly; "he is so big and strong and brave.
He could pick up two or three Japanese generals like toys and knock
their heads together."

Even Mr. Fujinami Gentaro joined once or twice in these debates, and
announced sententiously:

"Twenty years ago Japan defeated China and took Korea. Ten years ago
we defeated Russia and took Manchuria. This year we defeat Germany and
take Tsingtao. In ten years we shall defeat America and take Hawaii
and the Philippines. In twenty years we shall defeat England and
take India and Australia. Then we Japanese shall be the most powerful
nation in the world. This is our divine mission."

It was characteristic of the loyalty of Asako's nature, that, although
very ignorant of the war, of its causes and its vicissitudes, yet
she remained fiercely true to England and the Allies, and could
never accept the Japanese detachment. Above all, the thought of her
husband's danger haunted her. Waking and sleeping she could see him,
sword in hand, leading his men to desperate hand-to-hand struggles,
like those portrayed in the crude Japanese chromographs, which Sadako
showed her to play upon her fears. Poor Asako! How she hated Japan
now! How she loathed the cramped, draughty, uncomfortable life! How
she feared the smiling faces and the watchful eyes, from which it
seemed she never could escape!

Christmas was at hand, the season of pretty presents and good things
to eat. Her last Christmas she had spent with Geoffrey on the Riviera.
Lady Everington had been there. They had watched the pigeon
shooting in the warm sunlight. They had gone to the opera in the
evening--_Madame Butterfly!_ Asako had imagined herself in the role of
the heroine, so gentle, so faithful, waiting and waiting in her little
wooden house for the big white husband--who never came. What was that?
She heard the guns of his ship saluting the harbour. He was coming
back to her at last--but not alone! A woman was with him, a white
woman!

Alone, in her bare room--her only companion a flaky yellow
chrysanthemum nodding in the draught--Asako sobbed and sobbed as
though her heart were breaking. Somebody tapped at the sliding
shutter. Asako could not answer. The _shoji_ was pushed open, and
Tanaka entered.

Asako was glad to see him. Alone of the household Tanaka was still
deferential in his attitude towards his late mistress. He was always
ready to talk about the old times which gave her a bitter pleasure.

"If Ladyship is so sad," he began, as he had been coached in his part
beforehand by the Fujinami, "why Ladyship stay in this house? Change
house, change trouble, we say."

"But where can I go?" Asako asked helplessly.

"Ladyship has pretty house by river brink," suggested Tanaka.
"Ladyship can stay two month, three month. Then the springtime come
and Ladyship feel quite happy again. Even I, in the winter season, I
find the mind very distress. It is often so."

To be alone, to be free from the daily insults and cruelty; this in
itself would be happiness to Asako.

"But will Mr. Fujinami allow me to go?" she asked, timorously.

"Ladyship must be brave," said the counselor. "Ladyship is not
prisoner. Ladyship must say, I go. But perhaps I can arrange matter
for Ladyship."

"Oh, Tanaka, please, please do. I'm so unhappy here."

"I will hire cook and maid for Ladyship. I myself will be seneschal!"

Mr. Fujinami Gentaro and his family were delighted to hear that their
plan was working so smoothly, and that they could so easily get rid of
their embarrassing cousin. The "seneschal" was instructed at once
to see about arrangements for the house, which had not been lived in
since its new tenancy.

Next evening, when Asako had spread the two quilts on the golden
matting, when she had lit the rushlight in the square _andon_,
when the two girls were lying side by side under the heavy wadded
bedclothes, Sadako said to her cousin:

"Asa Chan, I do not think you like me now as much as you used to like
me."

"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 Japanese, but I cannot even learn the Japanese language. I do
not like the Japanese 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 Japanese. 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 Japanese," 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."

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