CHAPTER XII
IN THE STREET-OF-PRAYER-TO-THE-GODS
Haru unlatched a gate across which twisted a plum-branch with tarnished,silver bark. It hid a garden so tiny that it was scarcely more than arounded boulder set in moss, with a clump of golden _icho_ shrubs.Across the path, high in air, were stretched giant webs in whose centershung black spiders as big as Japanese sparrows. Beyond was a lowdoorway, shaded by a gnarled _kiri_ tree. The thin, white rice-paperpasted behind the bars of its sliding grill shone goldenly with thecandle-light within. She rang a bell which hung from a cord.
"_Hai-ai-ai-ai-ee!_" sounded a long-drawn voice from within, and in amoment a little maid slid back the _shoji_ and bobbed over to thethreshold.
Her mistress stepped from her _geta_ into the small anteroom. Here thefloor was covered with soft _tatame_,--the thick, springy rice-strawmats which, in Japan, play the part of carpets--and a bronze vase on alow lacquer stool held a branch of dark ground-pine and a single whitelily. A voice was audible, reciting in a droning monotone. It stoppedsuddenly and called Haru's name.
She answered instantly, and parting the panels, passed into the nextroom, where her father sat on his mat reading in the faint soft light ofan _andon_. He was an old man, with white head strongly poised on gauntshoulders. Broken in fortune and in health, the spirit of the _samurai_burned inextinguishably in the fire of his sunken eyes. He took her handand drew her down beside him. She knew what was in his mind.
"Be no longer troubled," she said. "The American _Ojo-San_ is as lovelyas Ama-terasu, the Sun Goddess, and as kind as she is beautiful. I shallbe happy to be each day with her."
"That is good," he said. "Yet I take no joy from it. You are the last ofa family that for a thousand seasons has served none save its Emperorand its _daimyo_."
"I am no servant," she answered quickly. "Rather am I, in sort, acompanion to the _Ojo-San_, to offer her my tasteless conversation andsomewhat to go about with her in this unfamiliar city. It is anhonorable way of acquiring gain, and thus I may unworthily pay mysupport, for which now from time to time you are brought to sell thepriceless classics in which your soul exaltedly delights."
His face softened. "I have lived too long," he said. "My hand ispalsied--I, a two-sword man of the old clan! I should have died in thewar, fighting for Nippon and my Emperor. But even then was I toodishonorably old! Why did not the gods grant me a son?--me, who weariedthem with my sacrifices?"
She did not answer for a moment. Nothing in her cried out at thisreiterated complaint, for she was of the same blood. If she had been ason, that wound in her father's heart had been healed. Through her armthe family would have fought. Her glorious death-name might even now bewritten on an _ihai_ on the Buddha-shelf, her glad soul swelling thenumbers of that ghostly legion whose spiritual force was the truevitality of her nation.
"Perhaps that, too, might be," she said presently in a low voice."Should I augustly marry one not of too exalted a station, he couldreceive adoption into our family."
He looked into her deeply flushing face. "You think of the LieutenantIshida Hetaro," he said. "It is true that the go-between has alreadydeigned to sit on my hard mats. He is, I think, in every way worthy ofour house. I would rather he were in the field, with a sword in hishand--I know not much of this 'Secret Service.' What are his presentduties? Doubtless"--with a spark of mischief in his hollow, oldeyes--"you are better informed than I."
"He is in the household of one named Bersonin, a man-mountain like ourwrestlers, whose service Japan pays with a wage."
His seamed face clouded. "To cunningly watch the foreigner's incomingsand his outgoings, and make august report to the Board of ExtraordinaryInformation," he said, with a trace of bitterness. "To play the clodwhen one is all eyes and ears. Honorable it is, no doubt, yet to my oldpalate it savors too much of the actor strutting on the circular stage.But times change, and if, to live, we must ape the foreigners, why, wemust borrow their ways till such time--the gods grant it be soon!--whenwe can throw them on the dust heap. And what am I to set my debasedignorance against my Princes and my Emperor!" He paused a moment andsighed. "Ishida is well esteemed," he continued presently. "He has dweltin America and learned its tongue--a necessity, it seems, in thesetopsy-turvy times. Yet, as for marriage, waiting still must be. Theseare evil days for us, my child. From whence would come the gifts whichmust be sent before the bride, to the husband's house? Your mother"--hepaused and bowed deeply toward the golden _butsu-dan_ in itsalcove--"may she rest on the lotos-terrace of _Amida_!--came to my poorhouse with a train of coolies bearing lacquer chests: silken _f'ton_,_kimono_ as soft and filmy as mist, gowns of cloth and of cotton,cushions of gold and silver patternings, jeweled girdles, velvet sandalsand all lovely garniture. Shall her daughter be sent to a husband with achest of rags? No, no!"
She leaned her dark head against his blue-clad shoulder and drew thescroll from his trembling fingers.
"I wind your words about my heart," she said. "Waiting is best. Perhapsthe evil times will withdraw. I have prayed to the Christian Godconcerning it. But your eyes are augustly wearied. Let me read to you awhile."
He settled himself back on the mat, his gaunt hands buried in hissleeves, and, snuffing the wick in the _andon_, she began to read thearchaic "grass-writing." It was the _Shundai Zatsuwa_ of Kyuso Moro.
"Be not _samurai_ through the wearing of two swords, but day and night have a care to bring no reproach on the name. When you cross your threshold and pass out through the gate, go as one who shall never return again. Thus shall you be ready for every adventure. The Buddhist is for ever to remember the five commandments and the _samurai_ the laws of chivalry.
"All born as _samurai_, men and women, are taught from childhood that fidelity must never be forgotten. And woman is ever taught that this, with submission, is her chief duty. If in unexpected strait her weak heart forsakes fidelity, all her other virtues will not atone.
"_Samurai_, men and women, the young and the old, regulate their conduct according to the precepts of Bushido, and a _samurai_, without hesitation, sacrifices life and family for lord and country."