“THEY CALLED ACROSS MERRILY TO EACH _Frontispiece_
OTHER”
“MARION SAT ON A GIGANTIC 52
MOSS-GROWN ROCK, LOOKING ... AT
THE CHILDREN IN THE FAMILY POND”
“THE LITTLE WAITRESS BROUGHT HER 170
SAMISEN, AND ... BEGAN TO PLAY
AND SING”
“HE SEIZED HER HAND SUDDENLY IN HIS 226
OWN AND FELL ON HIS KNEES BEFORE
HER”
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_A JAPANESE BLOSSOM_
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_A JAPANESE BLOSSOM_
I
THE children sat in a little semi-circle about their grandmother,
listening intently as she read to them the last letter from their father
in America. Ever since they could remember, his business as a tea
merchant had taken him away from Japan on long visits to the foreign
countries. His latest absence had continued for three years now, and
little Juji—born a short time after his departure—had never seen him.
As the grandmother finished the letter, the children instinctively
looked first of all at Juji, sitting there in placid indifference,
stolidly sucking his thumb. Juji had ceased to be the baby of the
Kurukawa family. Afar off in America a new, strange baby had been born,
and had taken the place of Juji, just as its mother one year before had
taken the place of Juji’s mother, who was dead.
When the old grandmother, with whom they made their home, had gently
broken the news to the children that their father had taken a new wife
from the daughters of America, she had impressed upon them the
seriousness of their duty to their new parent. They must love her as a
mother, revere her as their father’s wife, remember her with their
father in their prayers, and endeavor to learn those things which would
be pleasing to her.
Gozo, who was the eldest of the children—he was seventeen years of
age—set his little brothers and sisters a bad example. He grew red with
anger, allowing himself to be so overcome by his feelings that for a
moment he could not speak. Finally, he snapped his fingers and said, as
his eyes blazed:
“Very well. So my father has put a barbarian in my mother’s place. I
cannot respect him. Therefore I cannot further obey him. _I_ shall leave
his house at once!”
At these revolutionary words, his old grandfather commanded him sternly
to keep his place while he taught him a lesson.
“To whom,” asked the old man, “do you owe your existence, and therefore
your first duty in life?”
The hot-headed boy, who for a number of years had had neither father nor
mother to guide him, answered, immediately:
“To the Emperor I owe my existence and duty, sir. _He_ comes even before
my father. Therefore, in leaving my father’s house to enter the service
of Ten-shi-sama [the Mikado] I am but doing my highest duty.”
The grandfather looked at the flushed face of the young boy.
“You will enlist?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are too young, my boy.”
“I can pass for much older,” said Gozo, proudly.
“You are but seventeen,” said his grandfather, quietly.
The boy’s heart heaved.
“Life would be unbearable here,” said he, “with such a change in the
family.”
“Do not use such expressions before your young brothers and sisters,”
said the grandfather, sternly. “You almost make me think you are unfit
to be an elder brother.”
At this Gozo winced and became pale. He had always been proud of his
position as the young master of the family.
Then his grandmother spoke, and her words reached the heart of the boy.
“Be not rash, my Gozo. Our dearest daughter, your mother, would have
been the first to urge you to filial thought for your father.”
“Grandmother,” cried the boy, “I can’t bear—” He flung his hand across
his eyes as though to hide the tears. Now all the children began to weep
in sympathy with their big brother. Miss Summer, the daughter of their
father’s friend, set up a great wail, declaring between her sobs that
never, never, never could she be induced to wash the feet or be the
slave of a barbarian woman. For Summer, though but twelve years old, was
some day to marry Gozo—so their fathers had said—and in Japan a
daughter-in-law is under the command of the mother-in-law.
By patience and reasoning, the grandparents at last exacted from Gozo a
promise that he would not leave home until his step-mother came to
Japan. It was possible she might never come. Gozo, the proud and
stubborn, sullenly gave the promise. During the months that followed,
however, he seemed greatly changed in disposition. He became studious,
quiet, given to gloomy moods, when he would lock himself up in his room
and brood over what he considered the wrong and insult done to his
mother’s memory. He would have found it hard enough to bear if his
father had married a Japanese woman, but the thought of an American
mother overwhelmed him with dismay. He pictured to his young mind her
influence upon his sisters Plum Blossom and Iris, twelve and eight years
old respectively; in boyish indignation he saw her punishing his little
ten-year-old brother Taro, who could not keep his face and hands clean
nor keep his clothes whole. One night Gozo dreamed he saw his
step-mother in the guise of a hated fox-woman soundly switching with a
bamboo stick his little, fat, baby brother Juji. When he awoke in the
middle of the night to find it only a dream, he got up from his couch,
and, going to where Juji slept, carried him to his own bed. He held the
little, warm body closely in his arms. Juji slept on, and snuggled down
comfortably in his brother’s arms for the rest of the night.
It was the following morning that the letter had come from America
telling of the birth of the new baby. As if this news were not bad
enough, the father, unconscious of the resentment he had awakened,
announced his intention of returning at once to Japan with his wife, the
new baby, and his two young step-children, for he had married a young
American widow.
The children’s faces wore a frightened expression as the grandmother
read the letter aloud. Little Plum Blossom glanced stealthily at her
brother; then suddenly, to the surprise of them all, she spoke up:
“Well,” said she, “Daikoku [god of fortune] is good. He has given us
another sister. _I_ shall make him a great offering this year.”
Iris, who was a mere echo of her sister, ventured a little sing-song
assent.
“I shall make a big offering, too.”
Taro grinned apprehensively in the direction of his moody brother; then
said, defiantly:
“As for me, _I_ shall beat every single day of the honorable year that
barbarian step-brother”; for there was a little step-brother of the same
age as Taro, and the latter, boylike, longed to try his powers upon him.
Gozo ground his teeth together.
“The gods only know,” said he, “what you poor little ones will do. As
for me, I shall not be here to bow to the barbarian. My time has come.
The Emperor needs me.”
“Oh, please don’t leave us, brother,” said Iris, resting her face on his
hand; “I shall die of fear if you are not here to help us defy her.”
“Children, hush!” cried the old grandmother. “Never did I dream I should
hear such words from my children. Ah, had my beloved daughter lived, you
little ones would have had more filial principles.”
“It is not right to distress grandmother,” said Plum Blossom, “and it is
very wrong to speak evil of one we do not even know. I, for one, am
going to—to—love the foreign devil!”
“So am I,” sobbed Iris, still caressing Gozo’s hand, “b-but I shall hate
her if she drives our Gozo away!”
Gozo patted the little girl’s head, but said nothing.
Meanwhile, little Juji’s thumb had fallen from his mouth. For some time
he had been watching in perplexed wonder the expressions upon the faces
of his brothers and sisters. He could not decide in his small mind just
what was troubling them all; but troubled they surely were. The weeping
Iris had finally decided Juji. Plainly something was wrong. The baby’s
lower lip, unnoticed by any one, had gradually been swelling out.
Suddenly a gasp escaped him, the next moment the room resounded with his
cries. When Juji cried, it seemed as if the very house shook. Though not
often given to these tempestuous storms, he seemed fairly convulsed when
once started upon one. He would lie on his back on the floor, stiffened
out. First he would hold his breath, then gasp, then roar. Juji’s crying
could never be stopped until a pail of water was thrown in the face of
the enraged child. This time, however, he became the object of intense
commiseration. The children felt that he had acquired somehow a sense of
their common calamity.
The screaming child was alternately hugged and petted and fanned, until
finally, his fat little legs kicking out in every direction, he was
carried from the room by Gozo. Out in the garden, the big brother ducked
him in the family pond. Kind travellers in Japan have made the
extraordinary statement that Japanese children never cry. Certainly they
could never have heard Juji—and there are many Jujis in Japan, just as
there are in every country.
Juji’s crying fit broke up the little family council for that day, but
he was the only member of the family who slept soundly that night.
The little girls cried softly together, as they whispered under the
great padded coverlid of their bed. Taro was quite feverish in his
imaginative battles with his step-brother.
As for Gozo, he sat up all night long, gazing with melancholy eyes at
the stars, thinking himself the most miserable being on the face of the
earth. He, too, like Juji, needed a little pail of something dashed upon
him, and soon he was to have it!
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[Illustration]
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