The following morning Kittrick dropped in to discuss the news. But
there was little to discuss; all Japan was unanimous in the belief
that the official statement constituted but a very crudely contrived
whitewash. "I think though that the Foreign Office might have summoned
courage to challenge the General Staff had it been able to get
irrefutable proof that it engineered the deal to Chang Tse-lin," said
Kittrick. "But they failed to get it, so they were in fact quite wise
in not making a charge which they could not back up. I think, though,
that the Premier made a mistake in issuing the statement over his
own signature. Now he has tarred himself with the same brush as the
militarists, and if the world loses whatever confidence it gained in
Japan at the Washington Conference, Japan has only herself to blame."
"I think----" began Kent, but he was interrupted by a noise at the
door, and the Great Nishimura strode in, radiant, flatulent with
self-importance.
"Hello, Nishimura-san," Kent waved him to a chair. "We were just
talking about the Premier's proclamation. What do you think of it?"
"Bunk!" He dismissed the matter with a scornful sweep of the hand.
"Gentlemen, congratulate me; I'm going to be a candidate for the House
of Representatives."
"Good for you; congratulations. What party will it be, Seiyukai or
Kenseikai?"
"Ah, that's a detail that hasn't been decided yet. We shall find out
first which party seems to be the strongest in my native place where
I'm going to run; we're a little uncertain yet. But the most important
part, the financial arrangement, has all been fixed up, so probably,
gentlemen, a short time from now you shall address me as the Honorable
Nishimura, and, who knows, some day it may be His Excellency Nishimura.
Finally my talents are being recognized by the people that count. I
know the game, and I shall go far--and I shan't forget my friends." He
smiled effusively. "In fact, that's what I came in about, to see if
you two gentlemen would care to join me in a little celebration, just
us three. Now, you know, it is not the common thing for us Japanese
gentlemen to go to the Yoshiwara. It isn't done, at least not openly.
We go to geisha houses when we want relaxation for 'the tired business
man,' as you Americans say. But the fact is, an old client of mine
owns one of the first-class houses in the Yoshiwara, and to tender his
respects to me he has invited me to come with a few friends to his
place--so I thought you might like to come."
"Why, thanks, Nishimura-san, I think I'd like to go." Kent had never
seen the Yoshiwara. He had meant to see it, just as he had meant to see
the Imperial Museum and the tombs of the Forty-seven Ronin, some day,
ever postponing with the knowledge that he might go at any time. "What
about you, Kittrick?"
"Sure I'll go. The Yoshiwara isn't what it used to be, is it,
Nishimura-san?" The great man shook his head sadly. "Still we shall
enjoy the excellent hospitality of the coming Premier of Japan."
"Who knows?" he smiled deprecatingly. "All right, gentlemen, I shall be
here at seven with a car."
The car he brought must have been one of the largest in Tokyo, an
enormous thing with an interior resplendent with mirrors, cut-glass
flower holders and manifold glittering nickel trimmings. "Not a hired
car, this," explained Nishimura. "It belongs to the Watanabe interests,
my backers, who are now assisting me. Step in."
They swept through Tokyo, through a dimly lighted section of narrow
streets, emerging presently into a quarter where great buildings,
brilliantly lighted, presented a vivid contrast to the surrounding
squalor. "Here we are," announced Nishimura. "The nightless city of
wine, and song, and beautiful women. You have nothing like that in
America."
"I'd like to take a look around before we go to your place," said Kent.
"Do you mind?"
"I shall show you the place, and then you two can walk about a bit. I
shall wait for you. I cannot well be seen in these streets, you know."
Their destination was an enormous house, three-storied, gorgeous
with elaborate carvings and gilt ornamentation. Kittrick and Kent
set out down the wide street, bright in the blaze thrown out from
the scintillating glare from the great buildings, all spotless,
prosperous looking, glittering with light and tinsel. Along the
front of each house ran a great hall-like space. One entered and
faced a show-window-like arrangement, where rows of large portraits
of women, each bearing a name, appeared, set in variously arranged
backgrounds of gilt screens, vases with flowers, heavy hangings of
brocade, excellently executed silk scroll pictures. At each end of
this was a small box, ludicrously like a pulpit, in which sat men, the
doorkeepers, who drove the bargains with the guests. Some sat silently,
impassively suffering the crowds to flow by, stirred to action only
when inquiries were made of them. Others were busy, after the fashion
of barkers at a fair, praising their wares, calling attention to the
beauties displayed, to the cheap prices. In some houses huge open
gateways allowed glimpses of gardens, meticulously arranged with stone
lanterns, miniature shrines, grotesquely gnarled pine trees throwing
their shadows in the soft light flooding the space from the windows
above, each a delicately contrived, entrancing little fairyland,
inviting, alluring.
They passed down narrower streets, mere alleys, where the lights were
dim, the houses smaller, some displaying but three or four portraits,
and where the barkers were more insistent. But throughout it all
was noticeable the almost entire absence of women. Here and there,
especially in the smaller places, a painted face might be glimpsed for
an instant between parted curtains, titters might be heard behind drawn
_shoji_, and from above would come the strident whimper of samisen and
high-pitched female voices; but that was all.
As they progressed, the sameness grew tiring; one became irritated
at the monotony of these rows and rows of stiffly smiling portraits
staring at one, all so curiously alike that soon they gave the
impression of a vast composite picture.
"I don't see much in it," commented Kent. "It seems to me drab,
tedious. Many of the settings are fine, beautiful even, but so much
of it is sordid, these barkers and the pictures, the gross commercial
hawking of women with as little feeling as if they were meat in a
butcher shop. I can't see the temptation."
"You came too late," said Kittrick. "You ought to have seen this place
a few years ago, when the women were displayed, when these fronts
faced right up to the street, showing the girls behind gilded bars.
You could look down an entire street, a blaze of light and gorgeous
color. Here would be a dozen girls with high coiffures, whitened faces
and painted lips, all clad alike in costly silks, gold and crimson,
set against a background of heavy brocade and among massive, carved
_hibachi_ and mirrors; here, in the next place, would be a score of
women in purple and silver, shimmering against hangings of soft-toned
velvet; farther on would be another row, in dark blue and white, in the
background marvelous carvings and dwarf pines and flowers, and so on,
as far as eye could see, a kaleidoscope of glittering and glimmering
gilt, and lacquer, and bronze, and constant, restless flittering of
soft textures, blazing colors, riotously bewildering, all decking and
displaying thousands of women for sale,--a truly barbaric phantasy of
the Orient, where, if one could forget the beastly commercialism of
it all, one might at least have a picture, flamingly, prismatically
dazzling eye and imagination. And then came the reformer. He pointed
out, quite rightly, of course, that it was degrading to the great
Japanese nation to have its women displayed, like animals, in cages. So
they put an end to that part of it, the beauty, the splendor, and did
away with the only excuse that the Yoshiwara ever had for existence;
for then, by the gods, you might well have called it one of the Seven
Wonders of the World."
They returned to the house where Nishimura was awaiting them. A flock
of servants, male and female, attended them. They were evidently
honored guests. In a large room, they found Nishimura and his host.
It was enormous, hall-like almost, with spotless _tatami_ matting, as
usual with only a low table, effulgent in crimson lacquer, some soft
silk _zabuton_, but the few ornaments, an ancient _kakemono_ in the
_tokonoma_ recess and a couple of vases, were evidently antiques of
great price. Nishimura introduced the host, a patriarchal gentleman in
rich, black silks, white-bearded, dignified, incongruously venerable
when one thought of the nature of his commerce.
"You understand, of course, that our coming here like this to-night is
altogether unusual," explained Nishimura. "Ordinarily guests to come
here must first have gone to the introducing house, to get admission.
This is one of the best houses, and it doesn't take in people just from
the street. But we're friends, and you don't even have to pick your
ladies from the portraits. You shall see them all in the flesh. It's a
great honor."
The old man smiled benignly, clapped his hands.
Patter of feet and swish of silks in the corridors beyond. Then
suddenly a sliding partition moved aside and a score of girls tripped
into the room, arranged themselves in a long, curved row about the men,
stood there, like soldiers for inspection, all clad alike in crimson
and gold, some haughtily indifferent, others smiling or tittering, a
flaunting picture of color, crimson lips, white faces, black hairdress,
shimmering wealth of soft undulating textures.
The old man swept out his hand towards the line of girls. "Please,
gentlemen, select from among these unworthy women the ones whom you
wish to serve you."
The white men were a bit embarrassed. It was very difficult to choose
in such an array of beauty. They pointed, hesitatingly, almost at
random, to two girls, who left the row slowly, knelt on the mats before
them. One of the older girls was picked by Nishimura. "The oldest are
the best," he advised.
The other girls moved out, procession-like. "And now, would you care
to see my poor place?" The host rose and they followed him. It was a
vast building through which he led them, tier upon tier of rooms set
in a square about a garden, dark-green foliage refracting the soft
shimmer of light filtering on all sides through the rows of _shoji_;
through the verdure might be glimpsed clumps of flowers, a tiny stream
with a miniature red, high-curved bridge. They walked through a maze of
corridors over dark, brilliantly polished hardwood floors, a labyrinth
of passages and stairways, past score upon score of rooms. Throughout
was noticeable an air of taste, artistically planned arrangement of
pictures, furnishings and ornaments, all spotless. The whole thing
bore an air of refinement, delicately restrained artistry, perfection,
vitiated only by the uneasy thought lurking ever in the background of
the mind, the pity that all this beauty should be devoted to the most
sordid commerce of man.
They returned to the first room, and immediately a throng of servant
women, soberly clad in dark kimonos, their unpainted faces a relief
after the array of bedizened vendors of beauty, brought the bewildering
multitude of courses which made the banquet. Hot sake was served in
small stone bottles. At the elbow of each man sat the girl of his
selection, watchfully keeping his cup filled. Nishimura's handmaiden
was busy; he expanded in talk.
As he flowed on unendingly, he became interesting with the intimate
details of his affairs. It was informing; still it struck Kent that,
after all, he was their host, and he must not be allowed to unbosom
himself unwisely. He managed to whisper to him. "Aren't you a bit
frank, Nishimura-san; remember these women may talk."
Nishimura laughed. "How little you know about the customs of Japan,
Kent-san. Don't you know that we of Japan, we statesmen and business
men, transact our most important business to the pleasant accompaniment
of women, geisha generally, of course, but this is the same. Why,
big business deals are closed the best when the presence of beauty
stimulates the brain and makes more receptive the mind of the man you
deal with. That's why such is no business for striplings who would let
their thoughts wander, but for us maturer and wiser men. Have another
drink, Kent-san, and talk safely, as freely as you please. Or possibly
I have bored you?"
He hastened to reassure him. "No, not at all; on the contrary, it is
all intensely interesting; only I can't understand just why you're so
eager to get into the political game. You are making money from your
business, and politics must surely interfere."
"Ah, how little you know of politics. Now I shall instruct you." He
leaned back on his cushion, drew a deep breath, expanded, reminiscent
of the fabled bullfrog. The woman beside him hastened to fill his cup.
He drained it and held it out to her mechanically. She filled it again.
"You must know, surely, that in all countries business and politics,
economics, go together. That's why it's called political economy." He
had adopted a didactic tone, and frowned as if wrestling with ponderous
problems, pleased with his rôle as the instructor. "That's the way it
is in all civilized countries, only in Japan we have attained somewhat
greater perfection, coördination, yes, coördination." The word pleased
him. "Still even here it was until quite recently even better than it
is to-day. You remember the Manchuria Railway scandal, when such a fuss
was made because what had been gained, outside the rules--but what are
rules--had found its way to the coffers of the Seiyukai party; and the
Kwantung opium affair. Think of it, one official testified that he had
turned six million yen of opium money over to the party funds. That's
how parties may be made great and be able to see to it that trustworthy
men are elected to the Diet. But then the Kenseikai stepped in and
caused trouble, foolishly forgetting that some day they may be in power
themselves--still, possibly they were actuated by some higher motive, I
don't know yet."
Evidently he had remembered that presently he might find himself a
Kenseikai candidate. The same thought struck Kittrick.
"But you said that you didn't know whether you'd be a Seiyukai or a
Kenseikai candidate. Now, which party platform conforms the most with
your principles?" He grinned.
Nishimura waved his hand impatiently. "Oh, platforms! When I was in
the States I heard of that all the time. Platforms!" He snapped his
fingers. "In Japan we do not tie our statesmen's hands with foolish
platforms. We observe the events when they happen and shape our actions
accordingly. Wise men do not cross bridges till they come to them. We
have no party platforms, at least none to speak of."
"But what do your parties amount to, then?"
"It's the men that count. Our people vote for the men whom they trust,
whom they know to be wise. It's the men that count."
"But you haven't explained yet why you're so eager to get into this
game?" broke in Kent.
The great man sighed and composed himself patiently to further
explanation, as might a man indulgently bear with the inept questions
of children. "Well, of course, you see there is power, and influence,
and also money, a great deal of money, if one knows the game."
"How much do you get as a member of the Diet?"
"Three thousand yen a year."
"And how much do you figure your election will cost you?"
"At least fifty thousand."
"Then I don't see it. You are elected for four years, but the Diet may
be dissolved at any time, and then you are out. In other words, you
risk fifty thousand on a chance to gain a maximum of twelve thousand
and possibly only three. And I thought you were a business man."
The criticism irritated Nishimura, drew him out entirely. With
outstretched hand he warded off further questions. He held out his cup;
the woman filled it, and he drained it, composing himself to the task
of explaining elementals.
"Of course I don't pay that fifty thousand. That comes from the
Watanabe interests. You know, of course, that the future of Japan
lies in industry and commerce, and that's in the hands of the great
interests, the Watanabes, the Katos, the Oharas and the other big ones
and some smaller ones. These interests are patriotic; they know that
to succeed Japan must have in the Diet men with experience and vision
who will help their industries and make Japan great. So they see to it
that the right men are elected. The Watanabes, for instance, are very
patriotic and always figure on having about ten men in the House, and
the rest all have their own men whom they can depend on. That's why
they are helping me."
"Still, if you are elected, you only get the three thousand. That's
mighty little to pay for your time and trouble."
Nishimura was almost at the end of his patience, still he made a last
effort. "But don't you know that there are many others to whom a Diet
member may be useful. Some one wants to help build up Japan's merchant
marine, and he naturally needs a subsidy. So he comes to me, and I look
into the proposition and it seems worthy, and he pays me for my trouble
in examining it, ten, twenty, thirty thousand yen. And another wants
the right to place signs on all the Government telegraph poles, and I
look into that, and I get another ten, twenty thousand yen. It is all
so plain; every one knows it."
"But it seems to me that comes pretty close to accepting bribes, and
you said just now that that proved unhealthy for the Manchuria and the
Kwantung officials."
"Oh, hell!" He had to resort to English for emphasis. The host, who had
been sitting by wonderingly, compassionately tendered him a drink with
his own hands. He swallowed it hastily. "That's altogether different.
These are officials under the law, and such are not allowed to take
bribes; but we legislators, we're not officials under that law. Do
you think we could be expected to work for nothing. Of course, nobody
expects that. And then even the officials, nobody cares much. In the
opium scandal, Kata got only six months for accepting a bribe, and
some of the other big men got about that or less--and, of course, in
many cases the sentences were very properly deferred. You must have
read in the papers how it was given out that some of the leaders held
such high orders that they could not be prosecuted, because it would
be a national disgrace to send to jail men holding such honorable
decorations. Ah, some day," he sighed and held out his cup for more
sake, "some day I may be such a high official myself."
The host had seen that the guest of honor was becoming wearied. He
clapped his hands, the _shoji_ slid aside and six geisha appeared,
with samisen and drums and bustled about, making ready for their
performance. The men stretched themselves out more comfortably. As the
geisha danced, the sake was passed ceaselessly. Nishimura was becoming
sleepy, yawned stentoriously.
The host took the hint. "And now, Nishimura-san, would you retire?"
"Yes, I think so. I'm sleepy and a little, just a little drunk."
The host waved his hand and the geisha disappeared. The men arose.
Nishimura was led off, leaning heavily on his woman, arm flung over
her shoulder. In the doorway he looked back, smiling flabbily,
insinuatingly. "Well, so-long, gentlemen. Have a pleasant rest. _O
yasumi nasai._"
The girl led him off, wobbling dangerously. Kent ran to her assistance,
and between them they managed to convey him precariously down stairways
and through long corridors, to her rooms. The woman sank to her knees,
bowed, her forehead almost touching the mats. "Thank you very much.
I am sorry that I have troubled you." She stepped into the room. The
partition closed behind her. Kent found himself alone. He looked about
for Kittrick, but no one was in sight. It was late. The samisen play
and singing had ceased. As he wandered through the long hallways he
lost his bearings in the vast, labyrinthic house. From the garden below
the soft plash of a fountain came up to him. In the silence the great
gilt carvings, intricately fashioned lanterns hanging from the eaves,
shining surfaces of lacquer refracting lustrously dim light filtering
through paper _shoji_, the air of beauty, still, dream-fraught, brought
the impression of a fairy palace asleep. But as he faltered on, seeking
the room whence he came, past row on row of rooms, closed _shoji_, he
sensed rather than heard a minute quaver of sound, the faint sibilance
of a multitude of whispers, coming from all about him, from behind
frail walls and paper partitions, stirring of unseen men and women,
titillation of restrained giggling, indefinite, intangible, blending
into a vague murmur, a composite, infinitely low, indistinct background
of sound.
"Oh, there you are. I have looked for you everywhere." He heard a soft
laugh behind him. It was the girl who had sat with him at the feast.
"Come." A soft little hand clasped his. He had been perplexed at his
helplessness, alone in that great house, silent except for the subdued
murmur of bought caresses, purchased kisses, the parody of love played
by these poor, painted houris behind the _shoji_. So he suffered her to
lead him on, uncertain as to what was about to come, still relieved at
having again definite destination.
"Where is my friend, the other foreigner?"
Her slim hand indicated vaguely the long row of closed sliding
partitions before them. "There, somewhere. Now, these are my rooms;
please enter." She placed a silk cushion in front of him, sank to the
floor, prostrated herself before him, face held low towards her hands
spread flat on the _tatami_, waiting.
"Thank you." He squatted on the cushion. She rose.
"Tea?"
"Please." With deft fingers she brought out the minute paraphernalia,
doll-like cups and teapot, poured hot water from the kettle simmering
over the glowing charcoal in the _hibachi_. He looked about; speckless
as usual, and dainty, cozy. She had managed to give the room an air
of personality, almost homelike, pathetic, with a doll enthroned on
a little couch of her own contrivance, her small cupboard showing
through glass doors frail china, figurines, temple charms, souvenirs
from little excursions which formed the great events of her life. The
partition to the next room had been slid aside. He glimpsed chests
of fine-grained, unpainted wood where she kept her finery. A pile of
crimson silk _futon_, great wadded quilts, formed a bed on the floor,
almost filling the tiny room. He finished his tea, then she indicated
the room beyond.
"And now, danna-san, if it pleases you to retire, I shall change my
kimono."
He looked at her. Through the evening he had hardly noticed her, as
she sat behind him, silent, self-effacive, like a brilliantly colored,
hardly perceived shadow. How young she was, and how expressionless
her face, unlined, untouched by the exactions of her sorry
trade--almost like that of the doll over there, vapidly pretty with
its eternal smile. "No, I think not, not now." He noted the wondering,
half-frightened expression on her face, and hurried on. "What's the
name of your doll?"
Her face brightened, became alive. "Oh, that's Tamayo-san, tamayo, egg,
you know, because she's so fat. I have two more. Would you like to see
them?" He would. She brought them out. This one had been sent her from
her father, from Kiryu. As she prattled on, he drew from her her little
history. Daughter of a tenant farmer; she had worked at silk spinning.
Then the house had been destroyed by a typhoon, and, like several other
girls in her village, she had gone to the Yoshiwara, snapped up by one
of the agile agents whom news of the disaster had brought to the spot,
alert for business. "They paid fifteen hundred yen for me," she said
proudly. "But then, this is one of the best houses, and then I was only
sixteen. I am eighteen now."
"Was she unhappy here? Would she not like to go home to her people?"
"Yes, of course, I'd like to go home. Sometimes it's bad here, when
the honorable guests are drunk and rough; and some of the other girls
are mean and tell lies, and cause trouble. They are jealous of me, and
of Yurike-san, and Ainosuke-san, because we are the most popular and
make the most money. You know, it's fun every month to go down and look
in the big book, for, you know, they must show us our accounts, and
see how much you have saved. For I am saving. I'm not like some of the
girls who spend all their money on clothes and foolish things and are
always in debt. But here the master is pretty good, and in a couple of
years I'll have a thousand yen all my own. In some places the masters
are cruel and bad and keep the girls in debt always, so they can never
get away. No," she cocked her head with a quaint judicious air as if
she were gravely weighing the pros and cons; "it isn't so bad."
She spoke of the whole thing as if it were an ordinary business
proposition, as she might speak of work in a cotton-spinning mill,
or any other occupation. Did she then fail utterly to sense the
degradation of her sorry occupation?
"But what about the men then, these scores and scores of guests,
caressing you, fondling you----?"
"Oh, of course, that _is_ unpleasant, but then I don't think of them.
_Shikataganai_, it can't be helped. I don't give my heart to them; and
then in a few years I shall go home, with lots of money, and I shall
marry a nice man, and I shall have only him and love him. And then I
shall have babies, real babies, instead of dolls."
He was glad that she was like that, that the sordidness and shame
passed by her unnoticed, not thought of. Here was surely a "lotus
in the mud," as the proverb had it about these women, who, oddly
innocent, mind apparently untouched by the grime and depravity of her
surroundings, contrived to keep her spirit untouched, apart from it
all. But then, she was only a simple peasant girl, ignorant of moral
codes, undisturbed by considerations above physical comfort. But there
must be others, more imaginative, more complex, with minds sensitive
to the constant insult offered by sensuous leer, sake-fraught breaths
in their faces, the compulsion of offering love, or the semblance
thereof, for a consideration of money, to a succession of unknown
men, unsympathetic, contemptuous, careless of their womanhood. As
the thought came to him that here, within the space of a few squares
of houses, were thousands of these women, many of them surely with
delicately adjusted girl souls, enslaved by circumstance to sacrifice
what would have been pure, sweet love aspirations, in this vast market
place of meretricious caresses, he could understand the indignation
of the reformer whom he had heretofore regarded, superciliously, as a
well-meaning meddler.
He was relieved at the arrival of Kittrick. His girl was with him. She
and Kent's companion whispered together animatedly. Kittrick yawned.
"Well, what about it?"
"I'm glad you came. In fact, I was just wondering how I might manage to
slip out of this."
"All right, why not? We can make some excuse surely." Kittrick turned
to the girls. "It's getting late, and my friend has just got a bride, a
new one, and it's foreign fashion always to come home before midnight
during the first six weeks after marriage. My friend always does that
with all his brides."
"Really?" Had he told them that Kent has as many wives as Solomon they
would have believed it. The customs of foreigners were peculiar; they
might do anything. "How many has he?"
Kent counted his fingers. "Six, yes, six or maybe seven. So you see
it's time to go home."
"Bad man, that's not good to have so many wives; one, and possibly a
_mekake_, concubine, but one only is better." The small doll face was
very serious, a little shocked. So she had a code of morals, after
all. "But you're not angry?" The tone was solicitous, frightened. "Have
I not pleased you?"
"You poor little thing." He fished out a ten yen note, grasped both her
hands and slipped the bill between them. "See, that's for you. Go and
buy another doll, a foreign doll, and when you play with it, you can
think of me. It's a souvenir."
She came up to him, placed both her arms about his neck, raised herself
on her toes and pressed her warm, whitened cheek against his. "How good
you are. Are all foreigners like that? I wish you were not going. It's
too bad you have so many wives."
"I expect we had better go and say good-by to Nishimura," remarked
Kittrick. The girls led them to the room, but he was dead to the world,
snoring noisily, sprawling, arms outstretched over the disordered
_futon_, the woman sitting beside him, patiently stirring a fan. The
girls took them to the entrance. The streets were no longer crowded,
but a few stragglers gathered and watched them curiously as they sat
there, in full view, lacing their shoes. Of course, one knew what was
in their minds. The embarrassment of the situation was the finishing
touch.
"Whew, I'm glad to get out of this." In the silence of the deserted
street, dim now and drab, as the brilliance of the lights had given
way to a faint glimmer, the only sounds were their footsteps and, in a
distance, the clamor of a watchman's clappers. Kent was ill at ease and
wanted to get away from these great, quiet houses, from the sense of
knowledge of the sordidness, of the lives of all these women stirring
fitfully behind these walls. A policeman obligingly found them an
automobile and they started home.
"Well, what do you think of it, Kent?"
"I am mainly disgusted, old man, still, I am just now too confused
by clashing impressions to know just what to think. I feel so damned
sorry for these women, and yet, oddly enough, that little girl of mine
was not particularly unhappy. The shame and the hideousness of it all
passed right by her. She might have been far more unhappy in a spinning
mill. In a few years she'll pass out of it, marry, and forget all about
it. But, of course, there must be others, girls who are fine-souled
enough to suffer from the constant degradation that is offered them day
after day, every day. The whole damned thing ought to be abolished."
"Yes, that's one side of it," said Kittrick. "Sometimes I'm inclined
to agree with you; but then again, at other times I'm not. It's the
old question of regulation or no regulation, and it is still an open
one. At home we have taken the other tack, but I wonder if we're much
better off. You know San Francisco, where you may go out any night
and pick up girls, just like these, not held in such bondage perhaps,
but, on the other hand, furtive, frightened poor devils who are no
better off, who have not even the sense of security that the girls
have here. We hear of Piccadilly and Leicester Square. The trouble is
that as long as men, or at least a great many men, are what they are,
women will be sacrificed. The question is the same here as elsewhere;
there's something to be said on both sides. It's rotten either way.
I've never been able quite to make up my mind which is best, or worst.
But, here in Japan, there is at least one thing in their favor, and
that's the marvelous way in which the Japanese manage to place a veneer
of artistry, of beauty, externally anyway, over this thing. Of course,
we have our opulently gorgeous palaces of sin and all that but they
seem flaunting and garish when compared with Japan, where even in
this they manage to convey a surface of estheticism, delicate beauty,
cleanness, with their spotless rooms, fairy gardens and the rest. It is
reflected even in these girls who seldom show the loose sensuousness,
the brazen, commercial harlotry of our women of that class. And one
thing is certain, these girls here in the case of the lower classes,
and the geisha in that of the more well-to-do, have served to preserve
the purity of the Japanese married woman. It's the existence of the
Yoshiwara and the _machiai_ that turns the Japanese philanderer away
from the other man's wife. And seeing the tangles and triangles of our
cities, the rotten divorce cases, and knowing that the Japanese family,
the unsullied virtue of the matron, is the corner-stone of the Japanese
Empire, I'm hanged if I can't at least understand the reluctance of the
Japanese in tackling this matter, disgusting and tragic as it is."
It was after midnight when he reached the house, but Jun-san was
waiting for him. She never retired to her own little house in the
garden until the men were safely home.
"You are late, Kent-san." She smiled, stepped closer, peered at him.
"Ah, so you have found one at last. The other night it was a rose,
and now---- So she is Japanese." The smile left her face. "Kent-san,"
she took his hand in her earnestness, "Kent-san, it is so seldom that
happiness comes from this, a foreign man and a Japanese girl, but, if
you must go on, be kind to her, please."
She slipped away. He shivered a little. Poor girl; it was distressing,
this air of tragedy which always seemed to cling like a shadow to this
beautiful, lovable woman, uncomplaining, with her soft dark eyes. He
could envy Karsten to have the love of a woman like that. He felt
lonely. Life was drab, tedious, selfish. Would he ever gain such love
from some woman. So Jun-san thought he was traveling on that road. The
rose, yes, but what could she have seen to-night? Women were always
like that, even Jun-san, ever imagining.
He went to his room, began to undress. A glimpse in the mirror made
him look more closely,--a white smudge on his cheek. Ah, that was it,
a smear of _o shiroi_, powder from the cheek of the Yoshiwara girl.
He wiped it away hurriedly. Damn it, if he should enter into love
relations with some Japanese girl, it would not be one like that. The
thought of Adachi-san came to him. Yes, a girl such as she; still, his
mind insisted, this was not the sort of relation he wished to enter
into with her. And if, after all, he did, what would come of it, how
would it end? He thought of Jun-san's words, "so seldom happiness comes
from this." How devilishly complicated life was, a Scylla or Charybdis;
did one steer clear of one rock one banged into the other. He turned
off the light impatiently and climbed into bed, but thoughts would not
leave him, the oppressive, stifling atmosphere of sorrow which lay
broodingly over the household--why could not happiness come from a
relationship like this?