“The bee stings the weeping face,” they say in Japan, and Soichi proved
the truth of the proverb. It was a queer little procession that formed at
the house in Azalea Street to escort him to the railroad station whence
the train was to bear him away to a soldier’s life. A dismal rain was
sifting down from the sodden clouds that seemed to hang just above the
housetops. But the banner that set forth his name and the fact of his
service was borne none the less proudly by his old schoolmates, and the
friend who carried the small bundle of his treasured belongings held
his head none the less erect because he strode through muddy streets.
Already the Dragon was beginning to roar, and his voice rang from end to
end of the land. It was a last farewell these friends were taking of the
young soldier, and they honored him and envied the glory he would win.
There was nothing to say. In silence the little company walked along. But
as they passed the dilapidated old house in Timber Street, where the plum
tree stood bare and desolate in the corner of the yard, Soichi, daring
a hasty glance, raised his eyes for an instant to the balcony under the
gable end. Just for a moment he looked, but that was enough to set his
heart a-thumping as it had not done for many a day. For in that instant
he caught, at a parting of the _shoji_ (paper windows), a glimpse of a
beautiful face and the flash of eyes undimmed by tears, that sent him a
message of cheer and hope and constancy. His heart was strangely light
as he trudged along behind his banner, and though the rain fell never so
hard it was a day of sunshine for him.
Then came the weary miles of railway and the army. In the car he met some
others going up to join his regiment, and talk of peace and war beguiled
the miles until at last the train pulled into Tokyo and in a few minutes
Soichi was in barracks. The proverb of the bee and the weeping face came
home to him when he was assigned to the company in which Kudo Kokan was a
lieutenant, the old Kokan with the hot heart and ready insolence he knew
so well.
“_Shikata-ga-nai_” (it can’t be helped), said Soichi, and set himself to
do his work with all his heart, as becomes a member of the Guards.
Fortunately for him there was much to do and not much time which
Lieutenant Kudo could devote to personal animosity.
“Ha, the Commoner!” he cried with fine scorn when he first saw Soichi.
The young soldier wondered what would come next, but it was drill hour,
and Kokan had no chance for private spleen. He was hampered now by the
service, and the near, sure approach of war. It would not have surprised
Soichi to see the lieutenant swing his sword in execution of the revenge
he doubted not had been cherished all the years since that day at school.
But he did not comprehend fully as yet the restrictions that hedged
Kokan, and that first taunt of “Commoner” gave no clew. It was strange,
he thought, that the lieutenant had not said “Eta,” but the hours of
“goose step” and drill that followed left him no time to think of other
things. He had been adept at such work in his school, but now he found
that the intervening years had cost him much in facility and precision,
and it was hard work to be always ready for the sharp command, to make
himself again the machine needed for perfection. When it was over and he
got back to barracks, he was tired out, ready enough for his rice and
fish, and after that for his blankets. When he thought again of Kokan’s
taunt, there came to him also the recollection of his defense at the
school and he understood. It had been passed over lightly then that he
had accused Kokan of insulting the Emperor, but in the army it might not
go so easily again. It would be indeed a serious charge for an officer
to face. It made the boy smile as he recognized the new bridle on his
lieutenant’s insolence.
He understood now, also, that there would be no attempt at actual
violence. For himself he did not fear. Man to man, with equal arms, he
was ready to meet Kokan at any time. He dreaded disgrace far more than
death, and if Kokan should attack him the dishonor would affect also the
lieutenant and all his family, and that meant that O-Mitsu would suffer.
So he saw with deep relief the bearing of his officer, so different to
what he had expected.
In scores of ways, however, the lieutenant found occasion to give Soichi
a taste of his quality, and it was apparent that Kokan had been informed
how matters stood at home. His first detail to guard duty brought Soichi
a test. He had had time to canvass the whole situation and had reached
his decision. He was a soldier of the Emperor and war was coming on.
He would do his full duty always to the very utmost and no personal
distraction or injury should deflect him. He would bear the injustice of
Kokan without complaint, hoping only to win release by an honorable death
in battle. But if the persecution became more than he could endure he
would kill Kokan and himself.
From a course thus deliberately mapped out he was not the man to be
easily turned, and so he was ready when Kokan came by, inspecting the
posts, and greeted him with:
“So _hinin_!” (not human, outcast).
He brought his rifle sharply to salute, and held his head erect and his
eyes steadily front as if he had not heard the insult or the instant
correction to “_heimin_” (Commoner) of the cautious lieutenant. With
searching eyes Kokan looked him up and down, examined his rifle and
equipment, but could find no flaw. Then he demanded the orders and
listened intently as Soichi repeated without a slip the instructions he
had received. With a sinister smile the baffled officer passed on, and
his victim knew that was only the beginning.
There was a different sort of smile on Soichi’s face as he thought how
his lieutenant had tried to catch him.
“If he keeps that up,” he said to himself, “it will make me the best
soldier in the regiment to be always ready for him.” He nearly laughed
aloud at the idea. “I might even win promotion. How angry he would be at
that!”
The warning was valuable. Soichi kept himself ever on the alert, but in
his heart he began to despise the Samurai. It was a petty, dishonorable
trick he had played, saying _hinin_ and then correcting himself. Kudo-san
would never do such a thing, he thought, and how O-Mitsu’s pretty lips
would curl in scorn if she knew. There was compensation, after all, for
what he must endure. If he kept his own honor unstained Kokan could do
him no real harm.
The days wore on with many little stratagems of Kokan to catch the
Commoner napping. But Soichi, always vigilant, escaped. The endless
preparations for active service hurried along and there began to be talk
of the regiment being moved to a naval base, ready for transport oversea.
Suddenly from end to end a great hush fell over the land. It was as if
the nation were crouching, ready to leap and holding its breath as it
waited only the word to spring. War had come, and all men knew. The
gossip ceased that had filled minds and mouths, and men went to and fro
in solemn, awesome silence. Still there was no outward show, and the
stranger who looked on with inexperienced eyes saw only the old round of
trade and work and cheerful amusement, with never an indication of the
dreadful business at last undertaken.
Then came the first sign. From mouth to mouth the whisper ran—the
Reserves were summoned to the colors. From never a house to which the
fateful finger pointed came there a sound of grief or dismay. Gladly,
quickly, but in silence and in the night the men responded. In twos and
threes they took their way to their meeting-places and few they were who
saw or heard. Town and city wore their placid air of peace. Even the
winds of war, that had blown so roughly over the land, were stilled, as
in ghostly stealth the nation answered the call.
In the middle of the night Soichi found himself in full kit marching
swiftly to the station. No banners waved, no bands blared, no trumpets
sounded. No throngs of eager friends gathered to give the men farewell.
No loyal cheers encouraged them and urged them to duty’s task. Through
empty, silent streets, between houses barred and darkened, in the hush
of a march to the grave, the regiment passed to the waiting trains.
Noiselessly the men climbed into the cars and only the hushed, brief
orders of the officers broke the stillness. No ring of bell or scream of
whistle marked their departure. Morning dawned over a city ignorant of
what had been done, and only the Reservists coming to the empty barracks
knew that the forward movement had begun.
In the corner of his car Soichi threw off his heavy pack and curled
himself up in his great-coat. Near him no man spoke. In silent peace
they lay wrapped in their own thoughts or already soundly asleep. Ahead,
toward the center of the car, a little group gathered around the glow of
their cigarettes and talked in subdued, but excited whispers. So they
rumbled off down the road through the darkness, headed toward War.
With a tranquil mind Soichi lay in his comfortable corner and thought of
what had happened and what was to come. He had no fear of the future.
His only anxiety was lest he should fail unwittingly or his opportunity
should not come. He belonged to the Empire. It had made him all he was,
and now that it needed him he would give it cheerfully all he had of
muscle, brain, or life. He had no expectation of coming back. That day he
had written his parents his last good-by. He calmly and fully expected to
die on the field, and was concerned only to make his death count for the
most he could. He wondered how the end would come, and hoped it would be
in the first line of battle.
Yet not all the men would be killed! He knew that in the last war, when
he was a boy, only a few, comparatively, died. By far the majority of
them came back. What if it should be his fate to go through the dangerous
trial and come out unscathed! The human heart within him leaped at the
thought, and his mind came back with a start to the letter from O-Mitsu
he had received only that afternoon. He smiled now at his surprise in
getting it. He had not thought it possible that she could write to
him. In his inability to send letters to her it seemed, of course, she
could not reach him. He had even thought she did not know where he was.
Kokan must have written home about the new member of his company and
unconsciously given her the information he, most of all, would have
withheld. Soichi laughed at the thought of such a trick for fate to play
on the imperious lieutenant.
There the letter was now, safe in his pocket, and he felt again, as he
touched it, the thrill with which he had read her good-by; the simple
straightforward statement of her unchanging love for him, and how, after
her father’s discovery of his letter, there had been a scene of terrible
anger; how she had braved him with the point of her dagger at her heart
and told him she would never marry. The man for her was a soldier, as
befitted the daughter of a Samurai, and now her soldier was going away
to die for his country and hers. So then, good-by. He was a soldier and
would do a soldier’s duty.
Yes, he would do a soldier’s duty, he had no doubt of that. But suppose
after doing it to the utmost limit, life should still remain? Ah, that
would be the last crowning stroke of cruel fate. Even her constancy held
out no promise to him. The honor he coveted waited in a sable cloak on
some unknown battlefield. He shut his heart to other hope.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]