If becoming a member of my household was a turning-point in Zura's life,
in mine it was nothing less than a small-sized revolution, moving with
the speed of a typhoon.
The days piled into weeks; the weeks plunged head-foremost into
eternity, and before we could say "how d'y' do" to lovely summer, autumn
had put on her splendid robes of red and yellow and soft, dull brown.
If once I yearned for things to happen, I now sometimes pined for a
chance, as one of my students put it, "to shut the door of think and
rest my tired by suspended animation." For I had as much idea about
rearing girls as I had on the subject of training young kangaroos. But
it grew plainer to me every day my nearly ossified habits would have to
disintegrate. Also I must learn to manipulate the rôle of mother without
being one.
Soon after the girl's break with her family the ineffective child-woman
who had given Zura life passed quietly into the great Silence before the
daughter could be summoned. Though Zura was included among the mourners
at the stately funeral, she had no communication with her grandfather.
Afterwards the separation was final.
Once only I visited Kishimoto San's house and had an interview with him.
He was courteous, and his formality more sad than cold. He would never
again take Zura into his house; neither would he interfere with her. Her
name had been stricken from his family register. As long as I was kind
enough to give her shelter, he would provide for her. Further than that
he would not go, "for his memory had long ears and he could never
forget."
It was a painful hour which I did not care to repeat.
* * * * *