Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, amsibert, Ernest Schaal,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
SUNNY-SAN
* * * * *
ONOTO WATANNA
SUNNY-SAN
BY
ONOTO WATANNA
AUTHOR OF
"A JAPANESE NIGHTINGALE," "WOOING OF WISTARIA,"
"HEART OF HYACINTH," "TAMA," ETC.
McCLELLAND AND STEWART
PUBLISHERS : : TORONTO
COPYRIGHT, 1922,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
[Illustration]
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
MY FRIENDS
CONSUL AND MRS. SAMUEL C. REAT
IN REMEMBRANCE OF SUNNY ALBERTA DAYS
SUNNY-SAN
SUNNY-SAN
CHAPTER I
Madame Many Smiles was dead. The famous dancer of the House of a
Thousand Joys had fluttered out into the Land of Shadows. No longer
would poet or reveller vie with each other in doing homage to her whose
popularity had known no wane with the years, who had, indeed, become one
of the classic objects of art of the city. In a land where one's
ancestry is esteemed the all important thing, Madame Many Smiles had
stood alone, with neither living relatives nor ancestors to claim her.
Who she was, or whence she had come, none knew, but the legend of the
House was that on a night of festival she had appeared at the
illuminated gates, as a moth, who, beaten by the winds and storms
without, seeks shelter in the light and warmth of the joyhouse within.
Hirata had bonded her for a life term. Her remuneration was no more than
the geishas' meagre wage, but she was allowed the prerogative of
privacy. Her professional duties over, no admiring patron of the gardens
might claim her further service. She was free to return to her child,
whose cherry blossom skin and fair hair proclaimed clearly the taint of
her white blood. Hirata was lenient in his training of the child, for
the dancer had brought with her into the House of a Thousand Joys,
Daikoku, the God of Fortune, and Hirata could afford to abide the time
when the child of the dancer should step into her shoes. But the day had
come far ahead of his preparations, and while the dancer was at the
zenith of her fame. They were whispering about the gardens that the moth
that had fluttered against the House of Joy had fluttered back into the
darkness from which she had come. With her she had taken Daikoku.
A profound depression had settled upon the House of a Thousand Joys.
Geishas, apprentices and attendants moved aimlessly about their tasks,
their smiles mechanical and their motions automatic. The pulse and
inspiration of the house had vanished. In the gardens the effect of the
news was even more noticeable. Guests were hurriedly departing, turning
their cups upside down and calling for their clogs. Tea girls slid in
and out on hurried service to the departing guests, and despite the
furious orders of the master to affect a gaiety they did not feel, their
best efforts were unavailing to dispel the strange veil of gloom that
comes ever with death. The star of the House of a Thousand Joys had
twinkled out forever.
It was the night of the festival of the Full Moon. The cream of the city
were gathered to do honour to the shining Tsuki no Kami in the clear sky
above. But the death of the dancer had cast its shadow upon all, and
there was a superstitious feeling abroad that it was the omen of a bad
year for the city.
In the emptying gardens, Hirata saw impending ruin. Running hither and
thither, from house to garden, snapping his fingers, with irritation and
fury, he cursed the luck that had befallen him on this night of all
nights. The maids shrank before his glance, or silently scurried out of
his path. The geishas with automatic smile and quip vainly sought to
force a semblance of exhilaration, and the twang of the samisen failed
to drown that very low beat of a Buddhist drum in the temple beyond the
gardens, where especial honour was to be paid to the famous dancer, who
had given her services gratuitously to the temple.
In fury and despair, Hirata turned from the ingratiating women. Again he
sought the apartments where the dead dancer lay in state among her
robes. Here, with her face at her mother's feet, the child of the dancer
prayed unceasingly to the gods that they would permit her to attend her
mother upon the long journey to the Meido. Crushed and hurt by a grief
that nothing could assuage, only dimly the girl sensed the words of the
master, ordering her half peremptorily, half imploringly to prepare for
service to the House. Possibly it was his insinuation that for the sake
of her mother's honour it behooved her to step into her place, and
uphold the fame of the departed one, that aroused her to a mechanical
assent. Soon she was in the hands of the dressers, her mourning robes
stripped, and the skin tights of the trapese performer substituted.
Hirata, in the gardens, clapping his hands loudly to attract the
attention of the departing guests, took his stand upon the little
platform. Saluting his patrons with lavish compliments, he begged their
indulgence and patience. The light of his House, it was true, so he
said, had been temporarily extinguished, but the passing of a dancer
meant no more than the falling of a star; and just as there were other
stars in the firmament brighter than those that had fallen, so the House
of a Thousand Joys possessed in reserve greater beauty and talent than
that the guests had generously bestowed their favour upon. The successor
to the honourable dancer was bound to please, since she excelled her
mother in beauty even as the sun does the moon. He therefore entreated
his guests to transfer their gracious patronage to the humble descendant
of Madame Many Smiles.
The announcement caused as much of a sensation as the news of the
dancer's death had done. There was an element of disapproval and
consternation in the glances exchanged in the garden. Nevertheless there
was a disposition, governed by curiosity, to at least see the daughter
of the famous dancer, who appeared on the night of her mother's death.
A party of American students, with a tutor, were among those still
remaining in the gardens. Madame Many Smiles had been an especial
favourite with them, their interest possibly due to the fact that she
was said to be a half caste. Her beauty and fragility had appealed to
them as something especially rare, like a choice piece of cloisonnè, and
the romance and mystery that seemed ever about her, captivated their
interest, and set them speculating as to what was the true story of this
woman, whom the residents pointed to with pride as the masterpiece of
their city. An interpreter having translated the words of the manager,
there was a general growl of disapproval from the young Americans.
However, they, too, remained to see the daughter of Madame Many Smiles,
and pushed up near to the rope, along which now came the descendant.
She was a child of possibly fourteen years, her cheeks as vividly red as
the poppies in her hair, her long large eyes, with their shining black
lashes, strangely bright and feverish. She came tripping across the
rope, with a laugh upon her lips, her hair glistening, under the
spotlight, almost pure gold in colour. Bobbed and banged in the fashion
of the Japanese child, it yet curled about her exquisite young face, and
added the last touch of witchery to her beauty. Though her bright red
lips were parted in the smile that had made her mother famous, there was
something appealing in her wide, blank stare at her audience.
She was dressed in tights, without the customary cape above her, and her
graceful, slender limbs were those of extreme youth, supple as elastic
from training and ancestry, the lithe, pliable young body of the born
trapese performer and dancer. She tossed her parasol to her shoulder,
threw up her delicate little pointed chin and laughed across at that sea
of faces, throwing right and left her kisses; but the Americans, close
to the rope, were observing a phenomenon, for even as her charming
little teeth gleamed out in that so captivating smile, a dewdrop
appeared to glisten on the child's shining face. Even as she laughed and
postured to the music that burst out, there a-tiptoe on the tightrope,
the dewdrop fell down her face and disappeared into the sawdust.
Like a flower on the end of a long slender stalk, tossing in the wind,
her lovely little head swayed from side to side. Her small, speaking
hands, the wrists of which were lovelier than those celebrated by the
Japanese poet who for fifteen years had penned his one-line poems to her
mother, followed the rhythm of the music, and every part of that
delicate young body seemed to sensitively stir and move to the pantomime
dance of the tightrope.
In triumph, Hirata heard the loud "Hee-i-i-!" and the sharp indrawing
and expulsions of breaths. Scrambling across the room, puffing and
expressing his satisfaction, came the Lord of Negato, drunk with sake
and amorous for the child upon the rope. He pushed his way past the
besieging tea house maidens, who proffered him sweets and tea and sake.
His hands went deep into his sleeves, and drew forth a shining bauble.
With ingratiating cries to attract her attention, he flung the jewel to
the girl upon the rope. Returning his smile, she whirled her fan wide
open, caught the gift upon it, and, laughing, tossed it into the air.
Juggling and playing with the pretty toy, she kept it twirling in a
circle above her, caught it again on her fan, and dropped it down onto
the sawdust beneath. Then, like a naughty child, pleased over some
trick, she danced back and forth along the rope, as it swung wide with
her.
A grunt of anger came from Hirata, who approached near enough for her to
see and be intimidated by him, but she kept her gaze well above his
head, feigning neither to see him, nor the still pressing Negato. He was
calling up to her now, clucking as one might at a dog, and when at last
her glance swept his, he threw at her a handful of coin. This also she
caught neatly on her opened fan, and then, acting upon a sudden
impetuous and impish impulse, she threw right in the face of her
besieging admirer. Jumping from the rope to the ground, she smiled and
bowed right and left, kissed her hands to her audience, and vanished
into the teahouse.
With an imprecation, Hirata followed her into the house. The little
maiden, holding the tray, and pausing to solicit the patronage of the
Americans, had watched the girl's exit with troubled eyes, and now she
said in English:
"_Now_ Hirata will beat her."
"What do you mean?" demanded the young man, who had rejected the
proffered cup, and was staring at her with such angry eyes that Spring
Morning dropped her own, and bobbed her knees in apology for possible
offence.
"What do you mean?" repeated Jerry Hammond, determined upon securing an
answer, while his friends crowded about interested also in the reply.
Half shielding her face with her fan, the girl replied in a low voice:
"Always the master beats the apprentice who do wrong. When her mother
live, he do not touch her child, but now Madame Many Smiles is dead, and
Hirata is very angry. He will surely put the lash to-night upon her."
"Do you mean to tell me that that little girl is being beaten because
she threw back that dirty gorilla's coin to him?"
Spring Morning nodded, and the tears that came suddenly to her eyes
revealed that the girl within had all of her sympathy.
"The devil she is!" Jerry Hammond turned to his friends, "Are we going
to stand for this?" demanded Jerry.
"Not by a dashed sight!" shrilly responded the youngest of the party, a
youth of seventeen, whose heavy bone-ribbed glasses gave him a
preternaturally wise look.
The older man of the party here interposed with an admonitory warning:
"Now, boys, I advise you to keep out of these oriental scraps. We don't
want to get mixed up in any teahouse brawls. These Japanese girls are
used----"
"She's not a Japanese girl," furiously denied Jerry. "She's as white as
we are. Did you see her hair?"
"Nevertheless----" began Professor Barrowes, but was instantly silenced
by his clamouring young charges.
"I," said Jerry, "propose to go on a privately conducted tour of
investigation into the infernal regions of that house of alleged joys.
If any of you fellows have cold feet, stay right here snug with papa.
I'll go it alone."
That was quite enough for the impetuous youngsters. With a whoop of
derision at the idea of their having "cold feet," they were soon
following Jerry in a rush upon the house that was reminiscent of
football days.
In the main hall of the teahouse a bevy of girls were running about
agitatedly, some of them with their sleeves before their faces, crying.
Two little apprentices crouched up against a screen, loudly moaning.
There was every evidence of upset and distress in the House of a
Thousand Joys. To Jerry's demand for Hirata, he was met by a frightened
silence from the girls, and a stony faced, sinister-eyed woman attempted
to block the passage of the young men, thus unconsciously revealing the
direction Hirata had gone. Instantly Jerry was upon the screen and with
rough hand had shoved it aside. They penetrated to an interior room that
opened upon an outbuilding, which was strung out like a pavilion across
the garden. At the end of this long, empty structure, lit only by a
single lantern, the Americans found what they sought. Kneeling on the
floor, in her skin tights, her hands tied behind her with red cords that
cut into the delicate flesh, was the girl who had danced on the rope.
Through the thin silk of her tights showed a red welt where one stroke
of the lash had fallen. Before her, squatting on his heels, Hirata, one
hand holding the whip, and the other his suspended pipe, was waiting for
his slave to come to terms. She had felt the first stroke of the lash.
It should be her first or last, according to her promise.
As the Americans broke into the apartment, Hirata arose partly to his
knees and then to his feet, and as he realized their intention, he began
to leap up and down shouting lustily:
"Oi!--Oi! Oi-i-i-!"
Jerry's fist found him under the chin, and silenced him. With murmurs of
sympathy and anger, the young men cut the bonds of the little girl. She
fell limply upon the floor, breathlessly sighing:
"Arigato! Arigato! Arigato!" (Thank you.)
"Hustle. Did you hear that gong! They're summoning the police. Let's
beat it."
"And leave her here at his mercy? Nothing doing."
Jerry had lifted the child bodily in his arms, and tossed her across his
shoulder. They came out of the house and the gardens through a hue and
cry of alarmed attendants and inmates. Hirata had crawled on hands and
knees into the main dance hall, and every drum was beating upon the
place. Above the beat of the drums came the shrill outcry of Hirata,
yelling at the top of his voice:
"Hotogoroshi!" (Murder.)
Through a protecting lane made by his friends, fled Jerry Hammond, the
girl upon his shoulder, a chattering, clattering, screeching mob at his
heels, out of the gardens and into the dusky streets, under the
benignant eye of the Lady Moon, in whose honour a thousand revellers and
banquetters were celebrating. Fleet of foot and strong as a young Atlas,
Jerry, buoyed up with excitement and rage, fled like the wind before his
pursuers, till presently he came to the big brick house, the building of
which had been such a source of wonder and amusement to the Japanese,
but which had ever afterwards housed white residents sojourning in the
city. With one foot Jerry kicked peremptorily upon the door, and a
moment later a startled young Japanese butler flung the heavy doors
apart, and Jerry rushed in.