“Please you have me to-morrow.”
My companion murmured that he might if he was a good man.
“Oh, yes; me very good man. Can run fast.”
“What is your name?”
“My name Eba; can run very fast.”
He had already given evidence of this, and he was told to be on
hand the next morning. He bowed again, and moved on. But he had
an unsatisfied air, and in a hesitating way he turned around and
approached us once more.
“Cho, you know,” he said, with an anxious though somewhat downcast
face, “Cho very good man too.”
And he looked at me appealingly.
“Yes,” I returned, “Cho is a very good man.”
“Cho not quick like me,” he returned, somewhat reassured; “but a very
good man. Cho old.”
After he had given us this information he waited for a few moments,
meditatively digging his bare toes into the sand. Finally he came to
the point.
“Me bring Cho to-morrow? Very good man. My friend.”
We told him that we would be very glad to see Cho also; and with a face
beaming with smiles, and the most exaggerated of bows, Eba took his
leave.
This was the beginning of our acquaintance with these two friends, and
we grew to be very fond of them during the weeks that followed. They
were most assiduous in their attentions, devoting to us all their
time. The first thing we saw every morning as we glanced out of the
window, were the forms of our coolies gracefully reposing in their
shafts, waiting until it was our pleasure to take a ride. Eba was of a
light-hearted temperament, and was always laughing and joking with Cho,
who received his advances with a sedate air more suited to his greater
age. We had already had a touching example of the filial care with
which the younger looked after the older man, and this was only one of
many. I tried several times to learn whether there was any particular
relationship which necessitated this attention, but never discovered
that there was anything beyond a congenial sense of comradeship. We may
be sure that Cho was not the only one who profited by this, for Eba
was of a more impulsive nature, which might have done many foolish
things had it not been for the sage advice of his senior. He always
treated him with the utmost respect, and his attentions were those of
an affectionate son.
[Illustration]
I had been frequently told that the Japanese were a people of little
natural emotion, and that their extreme expression of respect and
affection was merely the national idea of politeness. When I think of
this I always call to mind our two humble friends, and the genuine
attachment I am confident they still have for us. The two men’s
natures were as widely different as their ages; Cho was the practical
man, and thought that the best way he could manifest his affection
was by polishing up the _jinrikisha_ wheels to a dazzling brightness,
or by running up a difficult hill with unusual rapidity; but Eba more
romantically permitted himself little attentions in the way of Japanese
nosegays, and in pointing out unusual and attractive features of the
scene. Cho kept a careful eye on our business affairs, would drop
many a quiet hint on the practices of the shopmen, and thought that
the greatest kindness he could do us was to prevent the impositions
of his crafty countrymen. It was evident that he despised the more
artistic nature of his companion, and at one time I feared that their
friendship might suffer from the little rivalry that was going on. As
Eba’s nosegays increased in size, our carriage wheels grew brighter and
brighter, and when Eba was spending a large part of his time pointing
out new and interesting scenes, Cho seemed to be seeking unknown curio
shops from which to warn us to keep away.
Eba was more intelligent than Cho, and was always ready to talk. He
told me that he could read and write Japanese, having attended school
between the ages of eight and twelve. He was twenty-two years old,
and had dragged _’rikishas_ for about six years. He now worked for a
company at three yen a month, but he was working hard, and in time
hoped to save up enough money to buy his own carriage and be his own
master. In addition to his business capacity, he had a quick eye
for what was really fine, and always used the utmost taste in the
selection of his bouquets.
On one occasion he was delightfully æsthetic. We had been riding in
a suburban district, and the roads were lined with wild-flowers. We
paused a moment for a little rest, and lounged around in the grass in
various attitudes of ease. I grieve to record that Cho leaned his head
against a tree and went to sleep, but I have a better tale to tell of
Eba. I could see him wandering around at a short distance, picking now
and then a flower, which he arranged with the utmost care. He seemed
to bestow a large amount of thought on every fresh addition, rejecting
many a posy that he had selected, and starting on a new search for
something he had not yet found. Finally satisfied, he returned and
presented me with the result. It was a little bouquet not as large as
your thumb, but perfect in every detail. It was surrounded by a thin
border of green, and the flowers were the tiniest I had yet seen in
this land of tiny things. The production was a real work of art, and
could never have been accomplished but by a man of inherent delicacy.
It seemed almost a sacrilege after this that my tasteful friend should
be subjected to the indignity of lifting the _’rikisha_ shafts, and
toiling up the steep hills like an ordinary soul.
Eba’s attachment was a kind that manifested itself in smiles. The
profoundness of his bow was also an excellent gauge of his devotion;
had anything happened the day before to jar upon his sensitive nature,
his body would be sure to incline itself a little more stiffly
than usual. These little congelations would occur when the spray
of cherry-blossoms that he had laid on our sitting-room table had
remained unnoticed, or when we had declined an offer to take a sunset
ride. When all was sailing smoothly on, however, his bow was a thing
in which his whole body played a part, and his smile would often
degenerate into a grin. I was curious to know something about his
home-life; but my questions elicited no confidences. I often wondered
where he stole away in the night-time, and what his own domestic ties
might be. But I never learned; whenever the morning came, there he sat
between the shafts of his _jinrikisha_, with the sleepy Cho at his
side, and this was the only glance I could get into the manner of his
life.
[Illustration]
In other more tangible ways, however, did Eba display his kindly
spirit. He early learned my admiration for the mountain of Fujiyama,
and the desire I felt to view it under the most promising
circumstances. It is not the easiest thing in the world to see this
capricious peak, owing to the dense mist that almost constantly
envelops it; you have to await your chance, which is not likely to
come many times. Eba took it upon himself to keep a careful watch of
affairs, and spent a large part of his time with his eyes towards
the West. One day he ran into my room in the utmost excitement, and
going to the window pulled the curtain aside, with the air of a
long-nourished wish fulfilled.
“Come, Mississy, quick,” he exclaimed. “See Fuji!”
And there was Fuji indeed, towering in the golden sunset, its outlines
clearly marked against the sky, and its summit wrapped in glistening
snow.
But his attachment still expressed itself most touchingly in flowers.
I know he kept a careful eye upon me to see what I did with his
offerings, and when I occasionally wore one of his bouquets, his smiles
and bows reached their highest extravagance. One morning he appeared
early at the door with a beaming face, though it bore evidence of some
anxiety, as if he had formed a plan of the success of which he was
doubtful.
“Come, Mississy,” he said, pointing to the awaiting _jinrikisha_.
But I was too busy that day, and told him I could not go. He seemed
almost ready to cry, and looked up to me again appealingly.
“Some other day, Eba,” I returned.
“No, no,--to-day. Cannot see to-morrow.”
After a little further conversation, I decided to spend a few moments
this way, and so stepped into the _jinrikisha_. He started off in high
glee, and ran at a pace that would have terrified me had any other than
Eba held the shafts. One or two small children who were so unfortunate
as to be in his way were overturned with a single thrust of his arm and
went rolling over into the gutter. Eba laughed loudly at his little
joke, and shouted lustily to Cho, who passed us with a perplexed and
disapproving shake of the head. Finally we drew up before a florist’s
shop, and Eba proudly led the way to the shrine of his peculiar
pilgrimage.
[Illustration]
He stopped before a small potted plant, and pointed at it with a
smile. I was amazed to see a tiny pine-tree not over six inches high,
but perfectly formed in the smallest detail. I had seen many other
Japanese experiments in minuteness, but this surpassed them all. Eba
was delighted with my satisfaction, and informed me that this thrifty
dwarf had been growing for many years. It was to be on exhibition for
that day only, and this explained his anxiety that I should visit the
shop that morning.
When I told my two friends that we were to leave Yokohama, and spend
a few weeks in China, their faces suddenly fell, and only brightened
when I added that our journey would be a short one, and that we should
expect to see them on our return. They carefully inquired when we were
to go, and the exact time we were to stay. We thought little of this
until, after having spent the allotted number of days in the land of
the pig-tail, we rode into the station at Yokohama. During my absence
I had given many a thought to the two friends, and wondered whether
their thoughts of us had vanished when we ourselves left their sight.
I was somewhat surprised, as well as pleased, as the train drew in, to
see two familiar figures enjoying the old-time repose between the same
_jinrikisha_ shafts. They were Cho and Eba, who eagerly came forward
as the train drew to a stop, and scanned the passengers. One or two
of those alighting tried to engage their services, but in vain. Eba
first caught sight of us, and came up bowing, smilingly followed by the
less demonstrative Cho, whose face, however, disclosed that he was a
delighted man. Eba later informed us that they had carefully counted
the days and the trains, and had hit upon the exact time that we should
return.
And now there were more bouquets, more smiles and bows, and more
polishing of _jinrikisha_ wheels. Again did Eba keep a watchful eye
upon Fuji, and many a glimpse of the majestic mountain did I owe to
him. But the time came when all this had to end, and when we must sail
away from Japan for home. They realised this with regret at least,
and during the last few days were more attentive than ever before.
Steamer-day came at last, when we should have to bid farewell to our
friends, perhaps forever. Eba and Cho were not the only ones to regret
the parting. They had become such familiar companions, and had served
us so faithfully, that we disliked to think that we should see them no
more.
Early in the morning of the day of separation I heard a gentle knock
at the door. When I opened it I could see nothing at first but a huge
bouquet of beautiful Japanese roses. Presently the roses bowed up
and down, and I heard a familiar voice come from behind them. “For
Mississy.” It was Eba’s farewell present!
Cho, softened a little at the thought of parting, was also without, and
both came into the room and helped us pack our trunks, and performed
various little acts of kindness. The ride along the Bund was the
slowest we ever took; Eba had lost much of his sprightliness, and Cho’s
poor old legs lagged more than ever. They insisted on going aboard the
boat with us, and tried to find pretext after pretext for remaining,
long after their usefulness was over. Finally the last blast of the
steam whistle was heard, and Cho and Eba reluctantly moved away.
“Good-bye, Eba! Good-bye, Cho! Perhaps we shall return some day.”
“Good-bye, Mississy.”
I offered Eba my hand. It was probably the first experience of the kind
he had ever had, and he looked at it with a puzzled air. Finally he
just touched it with the tips of his copper fingers, and sadly bowed
himself away.
[Illustration: SAYONARA]