The sounds and sights of the great capital were dear to Ando Uchida.
In five years of busy exile among remote mountains he felt that he had
earned, as it were, indulgence for an interval of leisurely enjoyment.
His initial visit to old Kano had been made not so much to renew an
illustrious acquaintance, as to relieve his own mind of its exciting
news, and his hands of a parcel which, at every stage of the journey,
had been an incubus. Ando knew the paintings to be unusual. He had
hoped for and received from Kano the highest confirmation of this
belief.
At that time, now a week ago, he had been pleased, and Kano irradiated.
Already he was cursing himself for his pains, and crying aloud that,
had he dreamed the consequences, never had the name of Tatsu crossed
his lips! Ando's anticipated joys in Yeddo lay, as yet, before him.
Hourly was he tormented by visits from the impatient Kano. Neither
midnight nor dawn were safe from intrusion. Always the same questions
were asked, the same fears spoken, the same glorious future prophesied;
until finally, in despair, one night Ando arose between the hours of
two and three, betaking himself to a small suburban hotel. Here he
lived, for a time, in peace, under the protection of an assumed name.
A letter had been dispatched that first day, to Tatsu of Kiu Shiu, with
a sum of money for the defraying of travelling expenses, and the
petition that the youth should come as quickly as possible for a visit
to Kano Indara, since the old man could not, of himself, attempt so
long a journey. After what seemed to the impatient writer (and in
equal degree to the harassed Uchida) an endless cycle of existence, an
answer came, not, indeed from Tatsu, but from the "Mura osa," or head
of the village, saying that the Mad Painter had started at once upon
his journey, taking not even a change of clothes. By what route he
would travel or on what date arrive, only the gods could tell.
Kano's rapture in these tidings was assailed, at once, by a swarm of
black conjectures. Might the boy not lose himself by the way? If he
attempted to ride upon the hideous foreign trains he was certain to be
injured; if on the other hand, he did not come by train, weeks, even
months, might be consumed in the journey. Again, should he essay to
come by boat! Then there were dangers of wind and storm. Visions of
Tatsu drowned; of Tatsu heaped under a wreck of burning cars; starved
to death in a solitary forest; set upon, robbed, and slain by footpads,
all spun--black silhouettes in a revolving lantern--through Kano's
frenzied imagination. It was at this point that Uchida had hid
himself, and assumed a false name.
In another week the gentle Umè began to grow pale and silent under the
small tyrannies of her father. Mata openly declared her belief that it
was a demon now on the way to them, since he had power to change the
place into a cave of torment even before arrival. After Uchida's
defection old Kano remained constantly at home. Many hours at a time
he stood upon the moon-viewing hillock of his garden, staring up, then
down the street, up and down, up and down, until it was weariness to
watch him. Within the rooms he was merely one curved ear, bent in the
direction of the entrance gate. His nervousness communicated itself to
the women of the house. They, too, were listening. More than one
innocent visitor had been thrown into panic by the sight of three
strained faces at the gate, and three pairs of shining eyes set
instantly upon them.
One twilight hour, late in August, Tatsu came. After an eager day of
watching, old Kano had just begun to tell himself that hope was over.
Tatsu had certainly been killed. The ihai might as well be set up, and
prayers offered for the dead man's soul. Umè-ko, wearied by the heat,
and the incessant strain, lay prone upon her matted floor, listening to
the chirp of a bell cricket that hung in a tiny bamboo cage near by.
The clear notes of the refrain, struck regularly with the sound of a
fairy bell, had begun to help and soothe her. Mata sat dozing on the
kitchen step.
A loud, sudden knock shattered in an instant this precarious calm.
Kano went through the house like a storm. Mata, being nearest, flung
the panel of the gate aside. There stood a creature with tattered blue
robe just to the knees, bare feet, bare head, with wild, tossing locks
of hair, and eyes that gleamed with a panther's light.
"Is it--is it--Tatsu?" screamed the old man, hurling his voice before
him.
"It is a madman," declared the servant, and flattened herself against
the hedge.
Umè said nothing at all. After one look into the stranger's face she
had withdrawn, herself unseen, into the shadowy rooms.
"I am Tatsu of Kiu Shiu," announced the apparition, in a voice of
strange depth and sweetness. "Is this the home of Kano Indara?"
"Yes, yes, I am Kano Indara," said the artist, almost grovelling on the
stones. "Enter, dear sir, I beseech. You must be weary. Accompany me
in this direction, august youth. Mata, bring tea to the guest-room."
Tatsu followed his tempestuous host in silence. As they gained the
room Kano motioned him to a cushion, and prepared to take a seat
opposite. Tatsu suddenly sank to his knees, bowing again and again,
stiffly, in a manner long forgotten in fashionable Yeddo.
"Discard the ceremony of bowing, I entreat," said Kano.
"Why? Is it not a custom here?"
"Yes,--to a lesser extent. But between us, dear youth, it is
unnecessary."
"Why should it be unnecessary between us?" persisted the unsmiling
guest.
"Because we are artists, therefore brothers," explained Kano, in an
encouraging voice.