they found an inn in tonegawa, a huge building with great wings, many-storied, striving up the hillside, seeming, like the trees, to cling precariously thereto. the inn people were a little doubtful. yes, no. they had only one room left and that was really not a room at all; it was a banquet hall, not used for sleeping. the other hotels? no, they were crowded, too, with the unexpected rush of holiday seekers left stranded here. yes, he might have the big room.[pg 200] other refugees were approaching down the road. kent made up his mind. "shikataganai, sadako-san, we must make the best of it. all right, i'll take it."
a maid servant led them through long passages, up steps, along a long passage, up more steps, then through more corridors and stairways, ever upwards, bewilderingly; it seemed as if they must be mounting into the clouds. finally he noticed overhanging eaves; thank god, this must be the top story; they could mount no higher. the girl led them down a passage, drew aside shoji, ushered them into a vast room occupying the entire width of the building, showing a great tokonoma recess with a splendid scroll picture, a bronze statuette of ebisu, the fattest and jolliest of the seven lucky gods, grinning them welcome. there were great gilded screens, several huge mother-of-pearl inlaid hibachi. quite evidently this was a hall for special feasts.
the maid brought tea and comfortable kimono. "the bath?" she inquired. this was a hot-spring hotel, sought by people from all over japan for its natural hot mineral water. "i shall get dinner ready while you are in the bath," she added, evidently with the thought that this foreigner might not know the common custom.
"i want to arrange my hair first. there is no mirror here." sadako was already in the doorway. "please excuse me a moment."
she disappeared. he waited, not knowing just what to do. it was embarrassing, this bath suggestion. the maid became impatient. "will you not take your bath now?" she insisted. very well, he would solve the difficulty by going first. he got out of his clothes and into the kimono. the maid led him down through the maze of corridors, miles it seemed, to the ground floor, into a hall-like space, with shelves[pg 201] for clothing, where were standing half a dozen persons, men and women, half nude or nude, getting ready for or leaving the baths. he turned to the servant. "where?"
"oh, anywhere," she indicated a row of doors. "there are three baths, but they are all full. it is no use to wait. there are so many guests that there will be no empty rooms. please enter." she was in a hurry, began to untie his girdle. it was embarrassing. in other inns where he had been, the rule separating the sexes had been observed. still, they all seemed so unconcerned; he must do in japan as the japanese do.
he doffed his kimono and placed it on a shelf. the maid held open a door. as he started to enter some one from inside was about to pass out. he stood aside; a young matron, about thirty, and two little girls, all absolutely nude. he noted curiously that in his surprise there was no hint of being shocked, they were so natural, without hint of embarrassment. came to him instead an odd sense of purity; the impression was like that of a graceful doe with a couple of fawns, nothing more.
the room was spacious; three sides were of finely grained wood, the fourth wall being the natural hillside with small shrubs growing in the interstices among the mossy rocks whence jetted the hot spring water, effervescent, into a rill in the immaculate tile floor leading to the tank, a huge thing, about three feet deep, filled with crystal-clear water. the room was so large that there was not even the veil of steam which usually half obscures the bathers in such places. on the floor close to him were a couple of japanese men, rubbing themselves with towels, preparing to leave. a little farther over were three women, two very young, rinsing from their bodies the soap which[pg 202] covered them with a creamy foam; the third, a little older, was having her back rubbed by the old bath-man.
kent took a wooden bucket and dipped water from the tank, poured it over himself, found a diminutive wooden stool and sat down to soap himself. the men left and he was alone with the women. they paid no attention to him, ignored his presence altogether. what a graceful picture they made, holding high the small buckets whence they poured streams of the sparkling water over their smooth, slender bodies, ivory-gleaming, creamy, almost white. the bath-man poured water over the oldest girl, and all three climbed into the tank. then he turned to kent and began to massage his back. the girls were chatting gayly. he wished they would have finished before time came for him to enter the tank. but the bath-man had completed the rubbing; now he was sousing him with clean water. "please, danna-san, step in. this water is very healthful."
there was nothing for it. he went to the edge. the girls regarded him disinterestedly. "please, excuse me." he noted surprise in their glances; evidently apology had been superfluous, out of the ordinary. they said nothing. he started to climb in hurriedly, to hide his embarrassment, but drew back with an exclamation. the water was much hotter than he had expected. one of the two younger girls tittered, tried to control herself, but failed. the other became infected by it, tittered also uncontrollably; from giggles they went into laughter, grasped each other's hands, bodies shaking, sending ripples scurrying over the mirror-like surface.
"oh, do keep quiet," the older girl managed to repress a smile. "please, don't mind them. they're very rude, but they are so young. anyway," she[pg 203] added, "you should come into the water quickly; then you don't feel the heat so much."
"thank you very much." he plumped in. it was not so bad, after all. "it is hotter than any place i have ever been before," he explained, ashamed at having flinched.
"yes, it is hotter here than in most places," said the girl. "so you live in japan?"
one remark led to another. the younger girls joined in. soon they were conversing freely, hakone, the weather, and particularly the news of the strike, the great event of the day. as they sat there, letting the heat from the water seep into their bodies, an undercurrent of thought kept running through his mind, minutely probing analysis into his own thoughts, his impressions from this astonishing situation. yes, here he was, with these three young women, side by side almost, immersed in this water which offered no more concealment than glass, and yet his sense of embarrassment was leaving him, had left him; even the feeling of unconventionality disappeared. he felt no different than he might have, had he been sitting with them, fully clothed, in a café. curiously, there was not even hint of suggestive thought, erotic inspiration. the utter absence thereof puzzled him a little. men might experience such at the fashionable seasides of america where female beauty chose to adorn itself with wetly clinging textures, boldly cut garments, designedly piquant, stirring curiosity with artfully contrived faintness of concealment—while here the very absence of suggestion, of thought on the part of these women of the man-woman idea, produced an effect of naturalness, purity even; one would feel ashamed of harboring fancies of sensuality. and yet these girls—they were quite evidently gentlewomen—would have blushed in shame should they, when on[pg 204] the street or any place other than the bath, suffer accidental exposure of even the slightest bit of bosom; they would disdain being seen in the daringly cut evening gown of western fashion. in the bath this was natural, obvious; one did not bathe in clothes; this was evidently the idea.
they climbed out and prepared to leave. he watched them, as they stood erect or knelt in easy, graceful attitudes, as he might have looked at a picture. he was pleased that he had grasped the idea, the japanese attitude of mind, that a man might look at a woman, unclothed, without taint of thought of sex.
"sayonara." the girls smiled to him. an elderly couple came in. he climbed out, dried himself and passed out into the hall, donned his kimono and started back for the room. he mounted a flight of stairs, went down a corridor, climbed more stairs, occupied with his thought of the incident in the bath. presently he faced a storeroom filled with great heaps of quilts. he tried to retrace his steps, but wandered into another part of the house which was unknown to him. lost again, another labyrinth. he would inquire; but he did not even know the number of his room. the servants were all busy elsewhere. he asked a couple of young men who passed to show him to the top floor. they laughed at his predicament and undertook to guide him, but the floor they finally reached was as unknown to him as the rest had been. as they wandered along the corridors they could look into many rooms where withdrawn partitions showed each its separate little scene, parents with children, young couples, large families, groups of students, all eating, drinking, discussing the strike or their own more intimate affairs. here and there the two young men would make inquiry, explaining the contretemps. it[pg 205] excited merriment. others joined the search, became lost in their turn, pointing out directions, finding themselves baffled; still more joined the fun. it became a procession of young fellows and girls, highly amused, laughing, thoroughly enjoying the childish adventure. how likable they were, lovable in their ingenuousness; no hint here of racial antipathies. they took him in as one of themselves in this fine game which had happened so fortuitously to beguile the time. kent came to enter into the spirit of the thing, the infectious spirit of hilarity, with the assurance that they were laughing with him, not at him; that they were all friends. he was almost disappointed when a maid who knew where he belonged came to his rescue and led him back amid laughing calls of "good luck" and "go yukkuri nasai," "don't be in a hurry to leave," from his host of new friends.
a few moments later sadako-san returned to the room. "so you have bathed too, kent-san?"
"why, yes; and why did you give me the slip like that?"
"oh, i knew that it would be like that, with so many people here, bathing together. certainly, i did not want to bathe with you."
"but when you bathed, did you not bathe with men?"
"of course, but that—that's different."
"because i'm a foreigner?" he was pleased enough that matters had turned out as they had. somehow, he felt, with her he should have experienced a shyness and uneasiness, such as had not occurred with the girls who were unknown to him; that it would in some odd, intangible way have vitiated the state of purity of intimacy which he wanted to maintain with her. but the suggestion that she, sadako-san, should feel the race difference, especially when these others[pg 206] had not thought thereof, irritated him. "just because i'm a foreigner?" he repeated.
she came close to him, took his face between her slim, small hands, looked at him intently, reprovingly. "hugh-san, you know that between you and me that doesn't matter. these other men, i didn't know them, but with you," she blushed furiously, "with you, i couldn't. can't you see? it's because you're a man you are so stupid. if you were a woman, you'd understand."
in his turn he brought his hands to her cheeks, brought her face close to his, looked deeply into these great, darkly luminous eyes which had ever held such a fascination for him. he sensed a thrill pass through him, delicious, suffusing his entire being. no; he caught himself. this wouldn't do; he was slipping into dangerous waters. "sadako-san," he said, holding control in his voice, "i understand, even if i am a man, and—you're a dear girl." but still they held each other. he felt a shivering, gasping tenseness, nervous, electrical, as if the next instant must bring some new, astounding, overwhelming development.
patter of feet in the corridor. they sprang apart, faced each other embarrassed, in reaction of surprise at the nearness of love to which their feelings had so unexpectedly brought them. the maid brought supper. it was necessary to make an effort to appear natural, to get back to the commonplace. the presence of the servant, unsuspecting, business-like, arranging the table, helped them. they seated themselves on their cushions, self-consciousness fell away; soon they were chatting as if nothing had taken place.
darkness had fallen. the lights were lit. the maid brought in huge bundles of futon and arranged beds, great heaps of wadded quilts on the floor, side by side. evidently these two were man and wife, or[pg 207] sweethearts; it was all the same to her. sadako-san went out on the narrow veranda, sat with her back turned to the room. the maid made the finishing touches. "good-night, o yasumi nasai." she left the room, closed the shoji, the patter of her feet faded away down the hallway.
kent went out to sadako-san. she was squatting on the floor, head resting against the low rail, staring abstractedly out over the scattered roofs below, towards the hillside over which was rising a white crescent moon, faintly silvering the trees along the ridges. "sadako-san." she gave no answer. far down below the stream was murmuring; cicada violins shrilled a quavering treble serenade. "sadako-san," he took her hand, drew her towards him, placed his arm about her, brought her close, held her tightly. she offered no resistance, her gaze directed fixedly, dreamily, into the distance, sadly. the poor, dear, lovely girl. suddenly all idea of abstaining from caresses, from love, seemed distant, a thing utterly of the past. as he felt the pulsating warmth of her body, sensed the beating of her heart, the heaving of her bosom, the implied consent of her inertness, that old thought of avoiding love seemed stupid, absurdly futile. she was beautiful, lovable; they were young, what was life for? he loved her. he turned her face towards his own. slowly, looking steadily, deeply into her eyes, he brought it close. then he kissed her. they clung lips to lips. her arms went about his neck. the murmur of the stream and the cicada violins faded into an indefinite, soft, distant obligato.
"sadako-san, i love you."
slowly she drew her face from his, eyes wide as if in surprise, fear. suddenly she threw his hands from her, held out her own against him, stared at him, lips parted. "hugh-san, oh, hugh-san, why did[pg 208] you do it?" her hands grasped the rail and she buried her face on her arms. he could hear her sobbing. with gentle hands he tried to soothe her, but the mere touch caused her to tremble convulsively, it seemed almost hysterically. "sadako-san, sadako-san." he spoke soothingly as he might have done to a frightened child. gradually the sobbing ceased, the nervous tenseness of her body gave way to passive inertness. he contrived to place his arm about her. "and now, sadako-san, little girl, don't be frightened of me. i shan't hurt you, or kiss you, or do anything you don't wish me to do. but don't you understand that i love you? don't you care for me at all?"
"hugh-san, i know you are good. i am not afraid of you. i'd do anything you want, but—i can't. it's impossible, oh, oh, hugh-san." he could see tears tremble on long, black lashes, enhancing the depth, the luster of these dark eyes, the quality that had so overcome him when he first saw her. beautiful, unhappy, wholly adorable. "sadako-san, of course, it is not impossible. dearest, i want to marry you."
but she shook her head, kept shaking it, rocked her whole body. again he soothed her, brought her cheek up against his. "sadako-san, little girl, what is the matter? tell me, dear, only tell me." presently she straightened, took his arm from her waist, grasped both his hands, held them, looked straight at him. "all right, hugh-san, i shall tell you all, all about myself. then you'll understand.
"while i was still small, my mother died, and my father didn't marry again; he didn't want me to have a stepmother. oh, he was a good man, my father. he was a professor in the imperial university, in political economy, and all he lived for was to make me wise and good. i went to a good school and he taught me much himself, many things that he did not dare[pg 209] teach his classes, showing me how japan is being corrupted by the money evil, the big capitalist houses that are gradually sucking into themselves all the money, all the treasures, all the happiness of japan; and the narikins, the new profiteers, who are like jackals that take what the lions leave, so there's nothing at all left for the people. he told me that all that was good, all that was fine and noble about old japan was being thrust out of the way by the money worshipers; the samurai, the bushido code, the splendid old courtesy and customs, all were being sacrificed that these people might make money, by any means, fair or foul, by corrupting the government and by grinding down the common people. he told me so much about it because he dared not talk to others. he was afraid he might lose his position or even go to jail for harboring 'dangerous thoughts.' for himself he wouldn't have minded that, but he was saving up money for my education, for he wanted me to go to the big universities in america and europe, and every month he went down to yokohama and put money in the machi bank. i didn't care much about these things then, politics, economics; i wanted to be a doctor; but later i remembered everything he had said.
"then came the big crash in business and machi failed. we lost all we had; so did the other poor depositors. no one would do anything for us; the rich men and the other banks were all sorry for machi, who had lost so many millions. but he still has his automobiles and his villa at hayama—and we had nothing. my father had been failing for some time before that. then he died. i am sure that disappointment killed my father."
her voice died away in a whisper. she fell silent, looked out over the valley, absorbed in her memories. so she was another of the victims of the machi failure.[pg 210] he had reason to remember the incident well. the machi bank had been the first big concern to tumble in the crash, and in working up the story he had learned his first astounding lesson in japanese high finance. out of his bank's assets of some seventy million yen, machi had invested sixty millions in his own silk and menthol speculations, and had lost it all. the very point made by sadako-san, the wave of sympathy for machi on the part of the rest of the plutocrats, the absolute unconcern regarding the depositors, had caused him to wonder. he had interviewed one of japan's leading financial authorities, a high official in the treasury department, about it. but it had been very unsatisfactory. why, hadn't machi lost all his capital, millions and millions? of course, one must be sorry for him.
"then machi is lucky that he's in japan," kent had said. "if he had been in america, he would be in jail now." but the official had refused to believe it. why? had followed a long discussion. had they then no laws whereby bankers were prevented from gambling with funds placed in their care? the official had plainly thought that kent was childish in his ignorance of high finance. did he not understand then that bankers had to invest the funds entrusted to them; that was the very essence of banking. but was there then nothing to prevent a japanese banker from investing the funds in his charge in a poker game or in roulette, if he so pleased? no, naturally the japanese government did not wish to limit its financiers in the exercise of their talents. and, anyway, of course, the bankers did not put the money in poker games? no, possibly not, but what about machi? as a gamble, poker became a child's game as compared with silk and menthol. the great authority had shown signs of impatience; anyway, poker was gambling and silk[pg 211] was business; every one knew that, and, of course, there was always a certain element of chance in business. kent had tried once more. "but now that you have the example of the machi case before you, with more like that almost certain to come, don't you think it would be well to regulate such business by law? what do you trust to, anyway?" no, the japanese laws were quite satisfactory, quite, and the authority had drawn himself up with great dignity. "we trust," he had said solemnly, "we trust in the integrity of our bankers."
kent had picked up his hat and had left. what was the use? could you beat it? here machi had gambled away sixty millions, and still they babbled inanely about trusting in the integrity of such. at the time he had felt intense sympathy with the victims, unknown to him, orphans, widows, old men doubtless,—and now here he saw at first-hand one of the countless little tragedies left in the wake of japanese high finance indiscretion. so she really had good reason for her peculiar aversion to the plutocracy, poor little girl. he leaned forward, intercepted her glance. "and then?"
"then," she shrugged her shoulders. he hated to see the bitter smile on these childishly curved lips. "then i had no father, and i had no money, all because mr. machi had wanted to take a gambler's chance to increase his millions. but he kept his motor and his villa, and we, whose money he had used, we kept nothing. then i remembered what my father had so often told me, and then i decided that i would do what i could to help the poor against the rich, to do my share to put an end to a government which allows such things, that cares only for the plutocrats. so i got a job in a silk filature. i might have done better, of course, but i wanted to see first what the life of[pg 212] the workers was like, and i had no money, anyway, so it made no difference.
"i thought i would begin cautiously; so i found a position in one of the ohara 'model mills.' i thought i was lucky. of course, i didn't like the looks of the high board fence that surrounded the whole place and made it appear like a prison; and it was a prison, too, i soon found out. they never let us out except on what they called 'excursions' and then there were always guards with us. they made a great fuss about these excursions, but the fact is that most of us stayed home to sleep—we could never get enough sleep—and then they scolded us and said we were lazy and ungrateful. it was the same way with the flower garden and the tennis courts that they were always showing visitors—for it was a model factory, you remember. it is true, we had the right to use them, but we almost never did; we were too tired, we never had the time. we wanted to sleep, just rest.
"there were hundreds of girls in the factory, most of them young, who had come there because they had been shown pictures of these fine flower gardens and tennis courts and thought they would have a much nicer time than they had on the farms or in the tenements where they came from. i worked in a room with over a hundred girls, taking the silk from the cocoons from the boiling water in great big kettles and winding it on machines. we couldn't sit down and we couldn't speak or hear others speak. we couldn't even look up from our task. the boiling kettles made the heat almost unbearable and the stench from the pupæ was nauseating. my head ached most of the time, and we had to work from four in the morning until seven at night. of course, i always wanted to sleep, and i was lucky that it was a model factory, for the dormitory was clean, even though there were[pg 213] sixteen of us in each room; and we were allowed a full tatami, a mat six by three, you know, each. but even there the futon were thin and hard like boards. there had been sheets once, some of the older girls said, but some had been stolen by girls leaving the factory, so they had done away with sheets.
"i became just like an animal, only thinking of time to rest. i had heard how in other factories the girls sometimes got better conditions by banding together or by complaining. in one of the textile mills the girls composed a song about the hem of the silk crepe shift of mrs. ohara being dyed crimson with blood from working girls' fingers, and i thought i would like to make up songs like that, do something to bring the girls together, but i was too weak to think. sometimes i was afraid i might get consumption, as so many of the working girls do, but if we were sick, they only scolded us and said we were shamming. i was sorry i had come there, but i couldn't get away till my time was up. that's what the fence was for. the food was poor, but i didn't mind that so much, for poor food costs very little, and i had decided to save my money so when i got out i might go to typewriter school."
again she paused. she was looking straight at kent; he could almost feel her gaze, as were she trying to look into his mind, appraising him.
"you poor, dear girl," he tried to draw her closer. the thought of that frail, sweet beauty being cooped up in that steaming hell that she had depicted incensed him, made him want to take her in his arms and hold her, protect her, comfort her. but she waved him aside impatiently.
"hugh-san, don't caress me. i am going to tell you something i have never told any one, and then, hugh-san, you'll understand why you and i can never[pg 214] be more than this, just friends. maybe you won't want to be even that then, but i'm going to tell you." there was an uncanny high pitch of excitement in her voice. she was becoming overwrought, possibly a little hysterical. he tried to quiet her. "no, sadako-san, don't think of these things. they are all over now. i don't want to hear any more about all that. i shall take care of you and protect you."
"but you must hear." he could feel the small hands lying in his clench tightly as she fought for self-control. she looked straight into his eyes. "in that factory the oharas themselves never came, but they had a banto, a young clerk, who came often to look after the business. once when i was so sick that i had not been able to drag myself to work, he inspected the dormitory and found me alone there. he was very kind. we talked and we became very friendly. he said he felt sorry for me, that i was different from the other girls and that he would get me better work. and he did. i got a job in the office, and gradually things became better with me. i saw him often then; and, hugh-san," by an effort of will she was keeping her gaze straight into his, "i came to think that i loved him.
"then one night, it was fine moonlight, and i walked out into the garden. my work was not so hard, and i didn't have to think of sleep always. there had been a little party over at the head overseer's house, and that man, the man i'm telling you about, came back from there, through the garden. he saw me. he had been drinking sake, but he was not drunk, and i was always glad to see him, and i ran up to him. but he just took me in his arms roughly, and pulled me over into the shadow and forced me down on the ground, and—oh, hugh-san——" her eyes wavered, fell. she threw herself forward, on his[pg 215] shoulder, voice half-smothered, sobbing. "and i had really loved him. there in that horrible factory, he had been good to me, and had helped me, and he was the only one in the world who cared for me, and—and i think that if he had only held me gently, and spoken softly to me and loved me,—yes, hugh-san, i think i should have done anything he wanted. but now i hated him, even more than i would have hated any other man, and i shall always hate him.
"and that's one more reason why i shall always hate capital and its men, and that's why i have made friends with those who feel like i do, the socialists, the communists and all those, the young men in tokyo, the labor leaders, the anti-militarists. that's why i finally managed to get into viscount kikuchi's office, so i might learn all i could about what they are doing, the bureaucrats and the plutocrats—and, hugh-san, that's the reason that i can't love you."
"but why, dear girl, why?" he gathered her into his arms. she did not resist, yet he sensed in her body a sort of stiffness, coldness; the flood tide of ecstatic emotion had passed. "but, sadako-san, why should you waste your future, why place your back on happiness because your past has been wretched? don't you care for me at all? couldn't you love me just a little if you tried?"
she raised her head, smiled up to him wistfully. "yes, i think i could love you, hugh-san. but i'm not going to. i won't try. can't you see how impossible it is. i'm unclean. i'm soiled. do you think that i should want to come to you like that?"
he started to answer, but she placed a hand over his mouth. "please, hugh-san, don't talk. just let us sit like this; yes, hold me, just a little while." she nestled close up to him, like a tired child, and he held her, wondering at the unexpected and strange [pg 216]perversities of women in matters of love, the impossibility of foreseeing or refuting the baffling obliquities of their reasoning. in old japan such a mishap might have been looked upon with the merciful eye of tolerance; and in new japan, the complaint of teachers in even the highest girl schools was that the maidens were babbling sophisticatedly of free love and the like. these young japanese obtained their ideas from the oddest corners of western modes of thought, from chance-bought or borrowed books, taking for gospel whatever they happened to absorb, be it from long antiquated volumes picked up in a kanda second-hand bookshop or from the misconstrued conceptions of western philosophy casually heard from these fanatic professors and students. but where could she have gotten this absurd idea that she was soiled, that her value, that wondrous gift of beauty and charm, had been vitiated, rendered utterly worthless, like that? at last he asked her, "sadako-san, how did you get such a foolish idea like that? of course, you're good, and sweet, and pure, and beautiful. you must never think of yourself as soiled, unclean; it's unhealthy, absurd. of course, you don't believe such nonsense."
she answered, a little wearily. "but, of course, i do know, and you know. i am a christian."
he almost shook her. "of all the foolish things! who ever taught you christianity like that?" he tried to argue with her, became voluble. he was not familiar with intricacies of doctrine, but surely this was a ridiculously antiquated interpretation of the spirit of christianity of to-day, absurd, monstrous. he became voluble, tried to break down or persuade. and, anyway, what was really christianity to her? he knew very well that many of the japanese christians were so merely because it was haikara, modern, placed them a little aside from the mob in the rôle of independent,[pg 217] advanced thinkers. but why should she be like the rest of the shallow fools?
"yes, i know what you say is true. there are many christians like that. even my father, who first taught me christianity, was like that. i know he really had more confidence in nichiren. but, hugh-san, i am so tired. i want to rest. go in and sleep. i shall sleep here."
the recollection of the two beds in there, side by side, suggestively, brought his mind to the problem of the moment. "of course not, dearest. go in and rest. i can sleep out here." but she would not have that. both grew insistent. it seemed an impasse. finally he went in and dragged the two beds apart, one to each end of the long room. around hers, designated by the curved wooden headrest designed to support woman's elaborate coiffure, he built a rampart with the screens.
"and now, sadako-san, here is a place for you. can't you trust me?"
she came up to him. "of course, i trust you." she raised herself on her toes, placed her hands to his head, pressed her cheek against his, warm, soft. he moved his arms to clasp her, but she slipped away, disappeared. he could hear the dropping of her garments to the tatami beyond the barrier of screens.
when he awoke sunlight was filtering in through the paper shoji. he called, "sadako-san," but there was no answer. he went over to the screens which guarded her, knocked, called again, but she had gone. evidently she had taken the opportunity to go to the bath.
he went out on the veranda, seated himself on the rail, back against a post, reflecting. what a rack of emotional storm and stress had suddenly swept upon them, engulfing them, unexpectedly, whirling them[pg 218] about like straws in a typhoon. so that had been the result of his carefully planned pure, passion-free relationship; how little man might control such things. and he had asked her to marry him. jun-san's words came to him. what if she had consented? he would then have been tied to her now, for life. for life, with this japanese girl! would happiness have come of it, not merely the swirling high tide of youthful passion of the first years, but during the long years, decades, when constant living together would reduce existence to the humdrum of every day. he tried to imagine the situation a score of years hence, when she would be over forty, when the glamor of youth, the sparkle of newness, the exotic charm of kimono and strange ornaments should have passed away, when her mode of thought would no longer be fresh and original to him, but when the oddness of her ideas would have become stale, irritating even. they might at such time be living in san francisco, or new york, or london; he did not intend to live the rest of his life in japan. how would life in such places be for them, an elderly-aged american and a middle-aged japanese woman? marriage must have a firmer foundation to build upon than mere attraction of beauty, spell, fascination of exotic charm; to last it must depend on the ingredient of intelligence, common growth of mind, ideals. his first marriage came back into his mind warningly, and even there chances for endurance of the relation had been so much stronger. and yet he did love this girl. were it not for the appalling thought of the possibility of what coming decades might bring, he would not hesitate. could he, for instance, be certain that he would live but three, or five years longer, he would have insisted, persuaded, won her by sheer impetuosity of wooing. but—— no, jun-san was probably right; did he venture to tie himself to this[pg 219] girl for life, he would be playing a game of chance with fate with the cards probably stacked against him. and still he wanted her, craved for her, would probably be able to overcome her misgivings; but what if he did? would not come the time when she might recall to him that she had been right, that he had brought only unhappiness to her? no, he must give her up.
"good-morning, asenebo-san, sleepy-head." she had crept up to him playfully, like a child and stood beside him laughing, radiant, with a freshness like a flower from the bath. not a trace of the soul-stirring emotions of the night before. "soon we shall have breakfast, and after lunch we shall go back to tokyo."
"you forget that the trains may not be running then. have they had any news down below?"
"oh, it will be only a twenty-four hour strike. that was decided. of course, they don't know anything, the inn people, but i know." she was enjoying her superiority of knowledge. "that was decided on some time ago, only i didn't know it would come so soon. don't you know that while workers are allowed to organize unions, the imperial railways men are not allowed to form them, because they are government employees. that's just why we wanted this strike, the first real nation-wide strike, to come from them, just to strike fear into these governing classes, to show them how powerless they really are. so a lot of the most important railroad men, engineers and conductors, all over japan, wherever we could find them, were organized secretly, and we trusted that when they struck the others would come along, for they are all resentful since the government cut the freight rates and cut their wages for the benefit of the rich people who own the freight. of course, the authorities suspected something, but they couldn't find out just what was going to happen and when it was[pg 220] going to come off. and they will punish a lot of the leaders, no doubt. but let them put them in jail; it will only make us stronger. i'm so glad that this really happened; we thought it would be almost impossible to bring it through."
how intensely he disliked hearing her talk like this. who the devil were these "we"? why should this beautiful, slender girl be stirring her white fingers in this mess. these words, the sordid jargon of class passion and hate, seemed so grotesquely incongruous issuing from rose-petal child lips that should have been humming the lilting songs of maidenhood.
"sadako-san," he could not keep impatience out of his voice, "what the deuce are you doing in this mess, anyway? such things are not for girls like you. it will bring you only unhappiness. why don't you drop it?"
"i have told you. some one must do this work. i have no one who cares for me; and there are many other girls in this, just as in your country where women do their share. why shouldn't japanese women be as brave and strong as yours?"
damn this craze after modernity! he wished japan had never been opened to the western civilization, to suffering the pangs of re-birth, the seething flux of reconstruction that sucked so many lives inexorably into the maelstrom.
she noticed his frown. "you are angry with me, hugh-san. is it because i didn't tell you about this before?"
"no, i want none of your confidences about all that stuff; i don't want to hear you talk about it." he snapped his fingers impatiently. hang it all!
"don't be angry, hugh-san. i was so afraid that this would happen. i liked you so much. you seemed so honest, and then when i heard the viscount lying[pg 221] to you, why, i just couldn't help telling you. i hate all these militaristic plots, their subtle plans, keeping up to the letter of their promise, but preparing all the time, in so many ways, for war, for building up their machine in other ways. and so i told you. i wanted to do anything to help stopping them, to hurt their plans. but then, afterwards, i came to think it over. i'm japanese, and you're a foreigner. oh, i trust you, but, after all, had i the right to go against my own people, my own country? oh, i thought over it so long, and sometimes one thing seemed right and sometimes the other, and i couldn't make up my mind, and i grew afraid; so i decided to say nothing more till i was sure what was right. now, don't be angry. i do trust you, but——" from the floor where she was kneeling she reached up, grasped his hands, pulled him down towards her. he sensed the trembling of her tightly clasping fingers, tenseness of her body. she brought her face close to his, eyes intense, staring into his.
"hugh-san, if you say that it is right, i'll tell you all that i know. anyway, i am afraid that soon i shall not be able to tell much, for i think that they are watching me, that they will send me from kikuchi's office. but i don't care," her voice broke. "oh, hugh-san, don't be angry with me. i'll tell you everything if only you say that it is right."
her face had become drawn; the eyes staring into his were bright with luminous tears. it was as if he could feel on himself infection of quivering approach of hysteria. he shook himself together. by the gods, he'd have no more of these high-pitched, feverish scenes with their trembling reactions. he wanted no news at such a cost. the girl, this poor, fanatical flower-like thing, frantic under her visionary obsessions, she was the only thing that mattered now.
[pg 222]
he rose, lifted her and carried her high in his arms up and down the length of the great room. "you dear baby," he rocked her back and forth soothingly. "you dear pretty little baby. 'rock-a-by baby in the tree top.' that's how we sing to naughty little babies in my country." she had struggled a moment when he picked her up, surprised, frightened, but now she lay quiet; the tremble had left her, the flicker of overwrought excitation in her eyes had given place to wonder; her body relaxed, a wistful smile crept over her lips. "but, hugh-san, i'm not a baby, don't——"
"keep quiet, you're only a baby, my baby, cry-baby. listen, 'when the wind blows, the cradle will rock. when the wind blows, the cradle will fall, and,'" he gave her a great swing, "'down comes baby, cradle and all.'"
he tumbled her into the nest of soft silk futon. she lay there, laughing. "oh, but you are silly, hugh-san. i had never thought that you could be like that. and what a funny song. sing me some more like that, and tell me what they mean."
he was overjoyed that the remedy had been so potent. he would have her all right in a jiffy. out of his almost forgotten store of mother goose rimes he conjured the old woman who lived in a shoe, the ride a cock horse, and others; he remembered the fairy tales which had delighted kimiko-san and brought them to bear. but she liked the songs best, insisted on his singing an odd potpourri of nursery nonsense transformed into labored japanese. the maid coming with breakfast found them in high spirits.
after the meal, they went for a walk through the village. there they heard the news; the trains would be running that afternoon. "i told you so," triumphed sadako-san, but he turned her attention to a bent-backed crone who, he insisted, was the living image of[pg 223] the old woman in the shoe. he wanted no more of the other. at luncheon they had more nursery entertainment. she was as happy, as eagerly receptive as a young bird stretching out its beak clamorous for ever more food. it was wholly delightful. why could she not always be like that, this entrancing, absurd girl revolutionist who could be enticed in a moment from karl marx to mother goose?
they left for tokyo in the afternoon, but the trains were crowded and there was opportunity for only commonplace talk. from the tokyo station they walked towards kanda-bashi. seriousness had returned to her; she said very little. "kent-san, you have been very, very good to me. i shall never forget it; and, i shall never forget you. and you won't forget me, will you, not altogether?"
"but what are you talking about, sadako-san? i shall see you again often, as usual." he took her hand, but she was looking away from him, over her shoulder. she pulled her hand away quickly. he followed her gaze. in the shadow of the buildings on the other side of the street he detected a slinking figure, indefinite, sinister in its stealthy movement.
she turned to him. "so you can see yourself now, hugh-san. it was just as i thought. that man over there, he has been following me before. i knew this must come sooner or later. no, come on, walk quietly. it can't be helped." they reached the bridge. she took his hand, held it between her slim fingers, gripping it tightly. "good-by, hugh-san. you have been too good to me. how i wish—— i shall never forget how good you have been. and don't forget me, hugh-san—dear."
she pressed his hand again, turned, and disappeared in the shadows on the other side of the bridge. from the other sidewalk the dark form of the spy was [pg 224]watching. the swine! what filthy curs they were, these masters of armies and battleships, to pester and harry a slight, frail thing like this girl! he started for home and turned down a side street. suddenly he wheeled about. yes, the fellow was following him, inexpertly, but doggedly. well, he would show the brute that shadowing a man, a foreigner, was not such an easy game as badgering a girl. abruptly he stepped into the dark shadow of a narrow alley, waited, fist clenched. what if he were a policeman; of course, trouble might follow, but he would at least give him the drubbing of his life, the swine! he waited, bent forward for assault, strangely elated, expectant. but the minutes passed; he peered out. the fellow was not in sight. kent stepped out from the alley. no, he had disappeared. he had smelt a rat, the damned coward!
whew, what a day, and what a night! what a grotesque bedlam this was becoming to be, this japan in transition that he had begun to pry into, this monstrous anamorphosis where the rare quaintness and daintiness of feudal richness of thought and beauty were anachronistically intermingled with the crass, clamorous ugliness of riotous, strident cry, uneasy, hectic pulsing of dissatisfaction, hating mob thought. and then this girl; she was like a flower ground in the relentless wheels of some gigantic, pitiless machine—and he couldn't drag her out. what a price japan was paying for her modernism, with the fair, sweet souls of girlhood tattered and wasted as a part of the sacrifice. this, then, was the end of this relationship that he had hoped so much from. the premonition was uncanny, overwhelming; he could not ward it off. this, then, was the end.
