He was struck with the empty majesty of the interior. It had been
stripped of all its treasures, save the great stone images, which still
sat inscrutably upon their thrones.
The altar was devoid of vestments; no twinkling lights or swinging
censers burned their incense for the delectation of the gods; yet the
penetrating odor of sandalwood and the dim fragrance of umegaku and the
pine seemed to cling about the very air.
By the great main altar, the hideous old god Bunzura glared at them from
beneath his sleepy eyelids, resting fatuously upon his haunches. Before
him was the bar where once thousands of slips of paper containing
written prayers, were tied. Now it was entirely stripped and glittered
up in the face of the god in a mocking irony.
Tama moved softly by the image, pausing only to put her hand upon its
knee, caressing it gently, as if with a conciliating, loving pat. It was
evident she did not stand in awe of the gods. She had been born among
them; knew them as part of her own silent family, exiled like herself
upon the mountains.
She even put her cheek against the head of a peculiarly sinister-looking
image, who was attended by three smaller gods. The Tojin-san recognized
the group. They were in every Buddhist temple. Ema, the Lord of Hell,
with his assistant torturers, one of which wielded a sword, one a pen,
and one a priest’s staff.
Now she made her first prostration, bowing lowly, and slipping devoutly
to her knees. She was in a little alcove wherein no image whatever was
to be seen.
As he stood wondering why she should choose this empty corner for her
prayers, he perceived upon the wall a curious print or scroll. It was a
faded paper chromo, apparently many years old, the picture upon it
almost obliterated, the ends of the paper showing charred marks where it
must have once started to burn.
A curious sensation stirred within the Tojin, such a feeling as one
might only know when in a land of gods one sees for the first time an
emblem or a token of one’s own true God; for the tattered, shabby scroll
upon the wall was a picture of the Christ!
She seemed to sense his emotion and excitement, and, still kneeling,
raised a pair of smiling eyes:
“It is my father’s God,” she said. “To him, mos’ of all; I speag me my
petitions.”
“Why to him?” he asked, deeply moved.
“Because,” she answered simply, “he, too, lig’ me, knew trobble. Thas
why I speag to him my heart—account I _know_ he—listen!”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------