ON the 15th of April the children dressed themselves in pink-and-white
kimonos, simulating cherry blossoms, and strolled abroad for _hanami_
(flower picnic). They had been looking forward to this delightful
occasion for weeks. The costumes had been prepared by their grandmother
some days in advance of the festival. Even Marion had a little, white
crêpe kimono embroidered with the pale pink flower, and with the sash or
obi of the same shade. She made quite a picture, as with her eyes
dancing and shining she came running into the garden to join her
step-sisters. The wings of the dainty sleeves of her dress fluttered
back and forth. Her cheeks were the color of the cherry blossom, and the
golden crown of her hair, drawn up into the Japanese fashion, glistened
in the sun. Plum Blossom wore a crêpe silk gown of deep pink, shading at
the ends to white. The sash was white with pale green leaves and stalks
embroidered on it. Iris, too, was in pink, and the bow of her obi was
tied to imitate a cherry blossom. The three little girls had flowers in
their hair—cherry blossoms, of course. They waited now in the garden for
their brothers and parents. As the festival was new to Marion, she was
the most eager of the girls.
From above their heads a voice rang out:
“Here, you, girls! get your masks and petals ready.”
“Where are you, Billy?” called Marion, looking everywhere about them.
“Here—up in the tree.”
He was perched in an old cherry-tree, where with vandal hand he was
plucking the blossoms.
“O-o-oo!” exclaimed Plum Blossom. “You ba’ boy! No can pig flower. Tha’s
nod ride!”
“Why, father _said_ we were to fill our sleeves—get all we could,”
called down Billy.
“Yes, pig from ground,” said Plum Blossom; “never mus’ pig from tree.”
“Billy, you vandal, what are you doing up there?”
Mr. Kurukawa had joined the children in the garden. He, too, was in
Japanese dress.
“Why,” said Billy, “you said—”
“Now, my boy, come down.”
Very promptly Billy obeyed.
Taking his step-son by the hand, Mr. Kurukawa taught him a lesson known
to all Japanese children.
“Never pluck the flowers wantonly, least of all the sacred cherry
blossom. When you wish the flower in your house, pluck out one branch,
one flower. See, you have filled the front of your kimono, your sleeves,
and your obi with the blossoms. Look at them!”
He held up the crushed branches to view. They drooped almost
reproachfully at Billy.
“But, father,” he began again. “You did tell me—”
“To gather all the cherry-blossom petals you could. See, the ground is
thick with them.”
“But they are all apart. They have no stalks.”
Mr. Kurukawa stooped and filled his hands full of petals. He held them a
moment and then lightly tossed them into the air.
“_That_ is how we want them, boy. We use them like confetti. Now fill
all your sleeves, children. Get as many as you can, and then we’ll
start.”
Soon the long sleeves of their dresses were filled with the petals, and
hung like little pillows. Mrs. Kurukawa was the last to join the merry
party. All the children helped her to fill her sleeves, for she, too,
wore the national kimono.
“Here are your masks, children,” said the father. With laughing chatter
they fastened on the grotesque masks and clambered into the jinrikishas.
It was a joyful day.
They passed numbers of picnickers, and exchanged showers of
cherry-blossom petals with them.
They ate a delicious luncheon under a tree fairly weighted down with the
heavenly flower. While they were in the midst of their repast, Taro and
Billy mounted into the tree and shook it till the lunch was almost
hidden under the petals, and the heads of all were crowned in cherry
pink.
The petals they slipped into their food purposely, declaring that it
added a delicious taste. Then the children played battledore and
shuttlecock. Later, there being a pleasant wind, Mr. Kurukawa sent up a
kite. Billy was permitted to hold the string. This was great fun,
especially when Taro’s kite had a race with Billy’s, and finally won. By
four in the afternoon they were all so refreshingly tired that nobody
wanted to go home, and soon “father” was besieged for a story.
“Make it modern, father,” said Billy, “for we like that kind best.”
“Well, let’s see. What shall it be about?”
“War,” shouted Taro.
For a while there was silence, and Mr. Kurukawa looked very grave. He
was thinking of Gozo.
“Very well,” said he, after a moment’s thought. “I will tell you a true
story of to-day which has to do with a war.”
“Make it very, very long, father,” said Plum Blossom.
“And exciting,” said Taro.
“With a little girl in it,” said Iris.
“No, no, a liddle boy,” growled Juji.
“It’s about a little woman,” said Mr. Kurukawa, “and she was called ‘The
Widow of Sanyo.’”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
X
THIS is the story the Japanese father told, in English, for his own
children understood the language better than they spoke it.
“You must know, children, that all loyal Japanese love and reverence
Ten-shi-sama (the Mikado). No true Japanese would hesitate to give his
life for the father of us all. That is why our boys go to war with faces
shining like the sun. That is why we bid them go, and do not weep
because we love them. We are proud and glad to give them for such
service.”
“Father,” put in little Iris very gently, “_we_ are glad to give our
Gozo, are we not?”
He hesitated a moment, and then said, simply:
“Yes, my child. But this story is not of Gozo.”
It was the first time since his return that he had mentioned his son’s
name, and he did it without any sign of bitterness. His wife reached out
and sought his hand, which she held for a moment closely.
“Go on,” urged Billy. “What do you want to interrupt for, Iris?”
She leaned against her father. He put his arm about her.
“Ten million egscuse,” said she to Billy.
“Where does the _widow_ come in?” asked Billy.
“Well, she was not a widow at the beginning. She was just a very young
and very beautiful girl. But she had the spirit of a man. You see,
before she came, her parents had prayed for a son to give to the service
of Ten-shi-sama; but they were unfortunate. Their gods gave them only a
girl, and they never felt quite the same to her as they would to a boy.
They were very powerful people, and of noble ancestry, so they did not
wish their race to die out. They prayed constantly for a son, and all
they got was one daughter. Quite unfairly, they neglected the girl, just
as if it were her fault that she were not born a boy. She grew up in the
great shiro (palace) all alone, under the care of servants and tutors.
None of the relatives cared to see her. Her mother died when she was
born, and her father, being in the cabinet service of the Mikado, rarely
saw her. But though a maiden, as I have said, she had the soul of a man,
and she yearned to do the deeds of a man and a hero. Every morning of
her life, as a little girl, she would prostrate herself before her
shrine and beseech the gods to perform some miracle whereby she might
indeed become a man. But that was a child’s prayer, and of course vain.
So from childhood she came to womanhood. Looking one day into her
mirror, she beheld the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Hitherto
she had scorned to loiter over her mirror. Her thoughts were on other
matters than her looks, she told herself. But this day she picked up her
mirror on a sudden impulse, and the face which looked back at her so
enthralled her that she could not put it down.
“‘Why,’ said she, ‘I am the most beautiful maiden in Japan!’ For a long
time she continued to look at her face. Then she spoke again:
“‘And to think,’ said she, ‘that no one but my servants have ever seen
me!’”
“What did she look like?” asked Marion.
“Well, let me see. I do not know whether Americans would regard her as
the highest type of beauty, but to the Japanese mind she would have been
considered peerless. Her hair was so black and shiny it was like
lacquer. Sometimes when her maid would take it down it fell to her knees
in a perfect glory of ebony. Her eyes were of the same color, almost
pure black, and they were very long and poetic looking, the thick lashes
veiling them. Her brows were perfectly formed, a slim, silky black line
above the eyes. Her nose was thin and very delicate. Her mouth was
small, the lower lip a trifle pointed, curling up just the least bit at
the corners. The lips were red as blood. The shape of her face was oval,
though her chin was delicately pointed. And she had tiny pink ears, as
pretty as a baby’s, and small, exquisite hands.”
“Kiyo,” said Mrs. Kurukawa, gently, “who is this Japanese Venus?” She
smiled.
“The Widow of Sanyo,” he replied as gently. “This is as she appeared
when she looked at her own image in the mirror.
“Well, it was on that very day that Japan proclaimed war against China,
and the country was pulsing with fever. Haru, as her name was, had spent
many wretched hours in her chamber. Her despair and impatience at being
unable to serve the Mikado and her country, was breaking her heart. What
could she do, a helpless maiden? All the employment left to women she
scorned. She wanted to do something more than a mere woman could
accomplish. Her soul was the soul of a man, not a maiden’s. All day she
prayed, and all night, and then she looked into her mirror and saw that
lovely face! Suddenly the face changed, became curiously illuminated. A
great idea had come to her. It was this:
“The gods had given her marvellous beauty. What man could resist her?
She would wed a man, bear him children, and give them all to the Mikado.
“That was her first thought.
“But the war would be over by the time her children were grown—and they
might not be men!
“No, that would never do!
“A better way presented itself to her. She sprang wildly to her feet,
and wildly she clapped her hands, so!”
He illustrated her action, and the children did likewise, as they moved
nearer their father to hear, their eyes wide with excitement.
“Her servants came running to answer her summons. She bade them dress
her in the most beautiful and luxurious garments. At once a dozen maids
waited on her. One brushed her glossy hair; dressed it in the most
becoming mode, placed long, golden daggers and pins with sparkling
stones glistening in them, and on either side of her ears set precious
kanzashi. Another manicured, perfumed, and massaged her little hands.
Still another softly kneaded her face until the blood sprang to the
surface, and made it more beautiful than any paint could do. Then they
robed her in a rosy gown—one fit only for a princess—as perhaps she
was.”
He paused here, and the impatient children prompted him.
“Well—well?”
“What did she do then?”
“She was carried from the house and gently lifted into a gorgeous
norimono.”
“A norimono!” cried Billy. “What’s a norimono?”
“Why—a little—something they used before jinrikishas.”
“But did not this all happen recently?” It was Marion’s question.
“Yes, that’s so,” admitted the romancer. “Now that I think of it, what
she did was to walk down to her gate and allow them to lift her into the
jinrikisha. That’s where the ‘lifting’ comes in.”
“Then where did she go?”
“I know,” said Taro.
“Where?” queried Billy.
“She go ad temple.”
“What for?”
“Pray to gods mek her man ride away.”
“Did she, father?”
“No. She drove to—” Again he paused.
“Where? Where?”
“To the house of the best known Nakoda in the town.”
“Nakoda!” Even Mrs. Kurukawa echoed the word.
“Professional match-maker.”
“Oh-h—what did she want there?” questioned Marion.
“A husband,” said Mr. Kurukawa. “Well, in she walked, and the Nakoda,
when he beheld her glorious beauty, was overcome with the honor of her
presence in his house. Said she:
“‘Honorable creature, cease to degrade yourself at my insignificant
feet. Pray arise.’
“He did so, humbly and apologetically.
“Now, in America, a girl might have said: ‘Have you any husbands for
sale?’ In Japan the girl said: ‘Deign to prepare a look-at meeting for
me. I wish to marry.’
“Then she proceeded to explain herself further by means of questions.
“‘Know you many men creatures so depraved of mind they prefer not to go
to the war?’
“‘I am, alas, acquainted with many such depraved reptiles,’ answered the
Nakoda.
“‘Ah! Well, it is such a one I would marry. Do you think I can secure
such a husband?’
“‘No man can look in the sublime direction of your serenity without
immediately being willing to do anything you might command,’ declared
the Nakoda.
“‘That is well, then,’ she smiled, graciously. ‘Bring forth a man-worm!’
“Well, a man-worm was brought forth and he fell at her feet. The thought
of his great fortune in being able to marry any one so beautiful nearly
drove him out of his senses.
“They were married at once, without much ceremony, and she took him
home. He was like one in a dream of heavenly bliss. Well, the first
thing she said to him as they entered the palace was:
“‘Man, dost thou adore me?’
“He fell on his face and kissed the hem of her robe.”
“Kiyo, I believe you’re making it all up as you go along,” interposed
his wife here.
“Hush! Hush! We are coming to the thrilling part.”
“What a story to tell children!”
“When does the war begin?” asked Billy.
“Oh, the war is going right on now. Well, then, he fell on his face; she
graciously bent over and lifted up his head, and she spoke in the most
wooing of voices:
“‘If you of a truth adore me, are you ready to die for me?’
“He said he wanted to live for her. She shook her head, and said she
wanted better proof of his affection than that. He then declared he
would do anything she asked.
“She thereupon said: ‘You must be a soldier!’ At this he began to
tremble, for he was a great coward at heart. However, she kept him in
her house for five days, teaching him the principles of bravery and
valor. At the end of that time she had so wrought upon his feelings that
she persuaded him to enlist. She went in person to see him march away,
which he did quite bravely for him! Her last words were the noble ones
Japanese women say to their men at such a time: ‘I give you to
Ten-shi-sama. Come not back to me. Glorious may be your end. The
blessings of Shahra upon you.’
“He was not a good soldier; he turned out to be a wretched one, indeed,
and in a short time was killed. She was free again to marry. Then she
chose another man-worm, and again she sacrificed him to her Emperor,
with the same result. He was one of those doomed in a transport sunk in
Chinese waters. She married again, and her third husband was killed. Her
fourth husband was blown to atoms, and her fifth met the fate of the
first. Her sixth died scarcely six months later, and her seventh died of
melancholia while in Manchuria.
“Now, seven is a lucky number, and she stopped there. She said: ‘If I
marry another I will have no more luck. He will live, and I have given
seven men already to the Emperor. What woman of Japan has done more?
Behold, I am a widow seven times over.’
“That is why she is called ‘The Widow of Sanyo.’”
So the story ended.
“Is she still beautiful?” questioned Plum Blossom, wistfully.
“Very.”
“Ugh!” said Marion, “I think she’s horrid.”
Taro rolled into Billy on the grass.
“I’ll be the next,” said Billy.
Iris was softly crying.
“Why, what’s the matter?” asked her father.
“Oh, father,” said she, “I—I’m afraid that _she_ was the fox-woman who
sent away our Gozo—and not—mother!”
He embraced her.
“There, it was a foolish story.”
“And told,” said his wife, “in the way an American would tell it—not a
Japanese!”
“Hm!” Mr. Kurukawa cleared his throat. “Well, I think you’ll admit I
began in the most approved Japanese style, but as I went on I fell under
your American influence, and by the time I reached the end the story was
just as you might have told it.”
They gathered up their baskets and piled them into the jinrikishas. Juji
was sound asleep on the grass. The cherry-blossom petals had fallen so
thickly upon him that he seemed half buried in them. Mr. Kurukawa bent
over him tenderly. He turned his head back towards his wife; at once she
came and knelt among the petals by his side. His voice was husky.
“That is how my Gozo looked as a little boy,” he said, softly.
She kissed the sleeping Juji.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------