The North Wind began a wild song through the trees in the night. It tore
at the mountains with the fury of an attacking army. It lashed the
waters of the sea into a frenzy. With the dawn came the snow. Softly and
tenderly it wrapped the earth in a great white coverlet, hushing the
troubled notes of the savage storm music into plaintive echoes of a
lullaby. As it grew light a world of magic beauty greeted my eyes.
Winter was King, but withal a tender monarch wooing as his handmaidens
the beauties of early spring. The great Camellia trees gave lavishly of
their waxen flowers, brocading the snow in crimson. Young bamboo
swinging low under the burden, edged its covering of white down with a
lacy fringe of delicate green. The scene should have called forth a hymn
of praise; but the feelings which gripped me more nearly matched the
clouds rolled in heavy gray masses over land and sea.
Page was to call for me at ten. Long before that time I was sitting on
the edge of the chair, ready and waiting, trying to coax into my
over-soul an ounce or so of poise, a measure of serenity. It needed no
fortune teller to forecast that this visit to the Kencho would be
productive of results, whether good or bad the coming hours alone could
tell.
Knowing the searching questions that would be put to Page Hanaford, I
was beginning to wonder if the offer of this position was not part of
the game Kobu was playing. I had never seen Japan's famous manhunter
till the day before, but by reputation I knew him to be relentless in
pursuit of victims to be offered as tribute to his genius. Thoughts of
Page Hanaford in prison garb behind barred doors made me shiver.
I was depressed in spirits and was trying to plan what I could possibly
do, when the sound of Zura's voice came to me as she moved about in the
upper story attending to her household duties. It was a foolish old
negro melody she sang, and one of its verses ran:
Ole Cap'n Noah a-feelin' mighty blue,
Kep' a sayin' to hisself, "Oh, what shall I do?"
'Long come a sparrow bird, spic 'n spin,
'N _he_ say, "Brer Noah, do de bes' you kin.
Yo' joy 'n yo' trouble is sho' gwine to bide
'N las' jes' as long as yo' own tough hide.
So say, Cap'n Noah, better laugh 'n grin;
Perk up yo' speerits 'n do de bes' yo kin.
The insistent note of happiness in the girl's voice and the humble
philosophy of the song so cheered me that, when my escort appeared on
the stroke of ten, hope came riding down on the streaks of sunshine that
were battling through the clouds.
While my companion had about him every mark of nervous restlessness that
so often precedes a crisis or an illness he also had the air of a man at
last determined to turn and face a pursuing enemy and stand, or fall by
the clash. Fear was absent from face and manner. He even lightly jested
as Jane, while greeting him, slipped into his pocket a tempting-looking
package.
"Page, dear," she twittered, "it is only cookies and sandwiches and
pickles and cake. But talking always makes people hungry. Those nice
gentlemen down at the Kencho are never in a hurry. They may keep you
till after lunchtime. You and Miss Jenkins can have a tea party."
Page laid a kindly hand on Jane's shoulder. "You dear little saint of a
woman! How good all of you are to me, and how I thank you. Well
good-by. When you see me again I'll be--"
With hand outstretched to open the door for me to pass, he paused. Once
again the sound of a song reached us:
"Before I slept, I thought of thee;
Then fell asleep and sought for thee
And found thee.
Had I but known 'twas only seeming,
I had not waked, but lay forever dreaming."
There was enough sweetness in Zura's voice to woo a man to Heaven or
lure him to the other place. Page listened till the last note, then
softly closed the door and walked beside me. The look on his face held
me speechless. It was a glorious something he had gained, yet never to
be his; a glimpse into paradise, then the falling of the shadows
between; but the vision was his reward.
Usually it takes endless time in Japan to unwind the huge ball of red
tape that is wrapped about the smallest official act. That morning, when
Page and I presented ourselves at the Government office, the end of the
tape seemed to have a pin stuck in it, so easily and swiftly was it
found. Promptly announced, we were ushered without delay into a small
inner office.
The walls of this room were lined with numberless shelves filled with
files and papers. Any remaining space was covered by pictures of famous
persons, people wanted or wanting, and a geisha girl or two.
I noticed two other things in the room. Adorning the center of the
table, before which we were seated, was a large cuspidor. The fresh
flowers inside matched the painted ones outside. To Japanese eyes the
only possible use for such an ornament was to hold blossoms. It was
neither beautiful nor artistic, but being foreign was the very thing
with which to welcome American guests. Anxious as I was I felt myself
smiling, if rather palely, at the many ways in which Kishimoto's
prophecy was being fulfilled.
The other thing was not amusing, only significant. Page sat opposite me
and I faced a heavily curtained recess, and some one was behind the
drapery. I had seen the folds move. I had no way of warning the boy. Had
we been alone, I doubt if I would have made the effort. Concealment for
Page, unendurable suspense for those who loved him, must end. I spoke
only when necessary to interpret an unusual word.
A small official with a big manner began by eulogizing Mr. Hanaford's
skill in teaching and his success in imparting English. He felt it a
great rudeness of manner to the honorable teacher gentleman, but the law
compelled applicant for the position of Professor of English in the
Normal College to answer many personal questions. For a moment he
dallied with a few preliminary statements; then, throwing aside all
reserve, the man began his probe as a skilled surgeon might search a
victim's body for hidden bullets.
Page, outwardly calm, answered steadily at first, but his knotted
fingers and swelling veins showed the strain. Once his lips trembled. I
had never seen a man's lips tremble before. It's no wonder mothers can
die for sons.
Inquiries as to quantity and quality of ancestors, place of birth, age,
calling now and formerly came with the precision of a marksman hunting
the center of the target. "How long have you been in this country?"
"About a year."
"From where did you come to Japan?"