AT the evening meal, which was served upon an open balcony because of
the intense heat, Ohano kept her eyes assiduously upon her food. The
mood of her mother-in-law had changed. There was nothing gentle in her
expression now as she savagely stabbed at the live fish upon her plate,
speared it in just the proper place, and then lifted a morsel of the
still palpitating flesh upon her chop-stick.
“This is excellent fish, Ohano,” she said, pleasantly. “Come, taste a
morsel while the live flavor is still upon it. Possibly it will remind
you of the brevity of life. Now we are here, possessed of tempestuous
passions and emotions—for even a fish, so it is said, has the soul of a
murderer. Then just think, one sharp pick of the knife—or sword—and,
like the honorable fish, we are—gone! The devils of hatred, envy,
desire, and malice can no longer torture us!”
Ohano said nothing. She gave one swift glance at the fish, then turned
away, nauseated.
Lady Saito grunted and fell to eating her meal as if hungry. Presently,
filled and refreshed, she began again:
“Of course it must be very plain to you, Ohano, that it will be
impossible for the Saitos to regain possession of my son’s child unless
we take into our household the mother also.”
Ohano sat up with a start, and as her mother-in-law continued, the
expression of intense fear on her face deepened.
“I know of no law in Japan—and I have been advised in the matter—by
which we can forcibly take a child from its mother, in the absence of
its father.”
Ohano did not move. She moistened her dry lips, and her eyes moved
furtively. She watched her mother-in-law’s face with a mute expression,
half of terror and half of defiance. In the going of the hated child of
the Spider, Ohano had not found the relief she had expected. Nay, there
loomed before her now the possibility of a greater menace to her peace
of mind. She felt the weight of the older woman’s tyrannical will as
never before. She stammered:
“Pardon my dullness. I do not understand your words.”
“It is better,” counseled the other, sternly, “that you not alone
understand my words, but that you study them well! Think awhile, Ohano!”
For a time there was silence between them; then Lady Saito continued:
“It is my wish, it is the wish of the ancestors, that the honorable
descendant of the Saitos be housed here in the home of his fathers. If
it is impossible to have my son’s son without the legal custodian of his
body, then we must face the matter gracefully, and solicit her, humbly
if need be, to come also!”
“That—would be—impossible!” gasped Ohano.
“Nay,” protested her mother, coldly, “it is done every day in Japan. The
honorable Moonlight will not be the first divorced wife who has been
again received in the home of the parents-in-law. You forget that until
recently there was even a custom among many families where the wife
failed in her duty to supply children to her husband, for an honorable
concubine to be chosen in her place duly to serve her lord.”
Ohano tried to smile, but it was a ghastly effort.
“That is an ancient custom. It is no longer tolerated in Japan. It would
be a matter of notorious gossip. We could not, with honor, she and I,
live under the same roof together.”
“That is true,” admitted Lady Saito, calmly, and now she met Ohano’s
eyes firmly.
“I refuse to be ‘returned,’” cried Ohano, shrilly. “My honorable
relatives will not permit you to divorce me for such a cause. It is not
possible to treat me in the manner accorded a geisha!”
“That, too, is true,” quietly assented her mother-in-law. “We, the
Saitos, desire to remain on terms of friendship with your most honorable
family. Now, therefore, we look to you, Ohano, for a solution of the
problem. You are right. These are not the times when honorable men
maintain concubines under the same roofs as their wives. We wish to
impress the Western people with our morality! Ha!” she broke off, to
laugh bitterly. “We follow the code set by them. Yet what are we to do
when confronted by such a condition as exists in our household now? When
a wife is childless, it is surely an excellent rule which allows a
humble one to bear the offspring and put them into the arms of the
exalted but childless wife. But we can do this no longer. Our war with
Russia—our victories, which are proclaimed daily—will make these matters
all the more a sensitive point with the nation. We must live according
to the code set down by the Westerners, as I have said. They have taught
us to fight! Our people desire to imitate their virtues!” She laughed in
hoarse derision. Then she continued:
“We bow, then, to this. It cannot be helped. Now, as we cannot take the
honorable Lord Taro by force from his mother, and we cannot permit two
wives of my son to remain under the one roof, we must seek some other
solution of our problem. Can you not offer some suggestion?”
“It is possible,” said Ohano, “that the Lord Saito Gonji may not give up
his life for Tenshi-sama. Many soldiers return. In that event—” She
stammered piteously. “I am young and very healthy. I will bear him
children yet!”
“We cannot count upon so unlikely a contingency, my girl. We Japanese
women, when we sacrifice our men to the Emperor’s service, _pray_ that
they may not return! It is a pious, patriotic prayer, Ohano. Be worthy
of it, my girl. Duty and honor to the ancestors are the watchwords of
our language.”
“Duty—and honor!” repeated Ohano, slowly.
A long silence fell between them, during which Ohano’s eyes never left
the face of her mother-in-law. A sick terror assailed her, so that she
could not move, but sat there rigidly, nursing her lame arm. What
dreadful project, she asked herself, did the stern mother-in-law now
meditate, that she should look at the unhappy Ohano with such a
peculiar, commanding expression?
Finally the older woman said, with quiet force:
“Ohano, you come of illustrious stock. There have been women of your
race who have found a solution to problems more tragic than yours. I
pray you reflect upon the text of the samourai, which, as you know, was
as binding upon the women as the men: ‘To die with honor, when one can
no longer live with honor!’”
She stood up, and leaned heavily upon her staff.
“Let me recommend,” she added, softly, “that you study and emulate—and
_emulate_”—she repeated the last word with deadly emphasis—“the lives of
your ancestors!”
Ohano’s mouth had dropped wide open. She came to her feet mechanically,
and mechanically she backed from her mother-in-law until she came to the
farthest screen; and against this she leaned like one about to faint.
Her mother-in-law’s voice seemed to reach her as from very far away, and
also it seemed to Ohano that a smile, jeering and cruel, was on the aged
woman’s face, marking it like a livid scar. It was as if she cried to
Ohano:
“I challenge you, as the daughter of a samourai, to do your duty!”
Ohano gasped out something, she knew not what.
“Ho!” cried Lady Saito, fiercely, “it does not matter to the true
daughter of a samourai whether the days of suppuku are passed or not. We
take refuge too much behind the new rules of life. The spark of heroes
is imperishable. If you are a worthy daughter of your ancestors it is
still within your insignificant body!”
Said Ohano, with chattering teeth:
“I—I—will—go—to the go-down (treasure-house), honorable mother-in-law,
and study the swords of my ancestors. I pray you ask the gods to give me
strength!”
When she was gone, the Lady Saito Ichigo summoned a maid. To her she
said curtly:
“You will bid the Samourai Asado”—it was the first time in years she had
referred to this old retainer as “samourai”—“unlock the doors of the
honorable go-down. The Lady Saito Gonji would examine the
treasure-chests of her ancestors!”
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