CHAPTER XXXII
THE WOMAN OF SOREK
"And as to the foreigner named Philip Ware, that is all you know?"
"That is all, Ishida-_San_," Haru answered.
They stood in the cryptomeria shadows of Reinanzaka Hill, from which hehad stepped to her side as she came from the Embassy gate. It was dark,for the moon was not yet risen, and the evening was very still. Onesleepy _semi_ bubbled in the foliage and in the narrow street at thefoot of the hill, with its glimmering _shoji_, she could hear the fairytinkle of wind bells in the eaves.
Such an ambush by her lover, unjustified, would have been a dire affrontto the girl's rigid Japanese code of decorum. That he had seen Philgreet her at Mukojima the evening before had shamed her pride, and inspeaking of it to-night he had seemed at first to lay a rude finger onher maiden dignity. But she had seen in an instant that his errand wasinspired by neither anger nor jealousy. He had touched at once herinstinct of the momentous.
Her quick, clever brain and finely attuned perception read what laybeneath his questions. The great European expert whom Japan herselfemployed, and the young foreigner who had pursued her--were they, then,objects of question to that wonderful, many-sided governmental machinewhich was lifting Japan into the front rank of modern nations? Althoughshe had never shared the disfavor with which her father viewed herlover's duties, she had wondered at his present apparently menialposition. To-night she was gaining a quick glimpse beneath the surface.He told her nothing of the details which, though he could not himselfhave built a tangible indictment from them, had one by one clungtogether into a sharp suspicion that embraced the two men. But theagitation she felt in his words had sent a quick thrill through her, hadtapped that deep racial well of feeling, the _Yamato Damashii_, which isthe Japanese birthright. She felt a sudden passionate wish that she,though a woman, might pour herself into the mighty stream ofeffort--though she be but a whirling cherry-petal in the great wind ofher nation's destiny. He had come to her for any shred of informationthat might add to his knowledge of the youth who was now Bersonin'ssatellite. But she had been able to tell him nothing. She had often seenthe huge expert--his automobile had clanged past her that morning--buttill to-night she had not even known the other's name or where he lived."That is all, Ishida-_San_." It hurt her to say these words.
She bowed to his ceremonious farewell, a slim, misty figure that stoodlistening to his rapid footsteps till they died in the darkness. Shewalked up the dim slope with lagging pace. The steep road, alwaysdeserted at night, had no sound of grating cart or whirring _rick'sha_,but her paper lantern was unlighted and no song greeted the crow thatflapped his grating way above her head. She was thinking deeply.
At the top of the hill, opposite the huge, rivet-studded gate of thePrincess' compound, lay the lane on which the Chapel stood. An eveningservice was in progress and the faint sound of the organ was borne toher. As she turned into the darker shade she was aware of twopedestrians coming toward her,--of a voice which she recognized with ashiver of apprehension. The sentry-box by the great gate stood close athand. It was empty, and she stepped into it.
Doctor Bersonin and Phil paused at the turning, while the latter lit acigar from a match which he struck on the sentry-box. Haru's heart wasin her throat, but her dark _kimono_ blent with the wood and the flashthat showed her both faces blinded his eyes.
"See!" said the doctor. A mile away, from the low-lying darkness ofHibiya Park, a stream of fireworks shot to the zenith, to explodesilently in clusters of colored balls. "The first rocket in honor of theSquadron!"
"To-morrow the Admiral has an Imperial audience," said Phil, "and thesuperior officers are to be decorated."
"So!" said the other in a low, malignant voice. "And I--who havedesigned Japan's turrets and cheapened her arsenal processes--I may notwear the Cordon and Star of the Rising-Sun!" In the darkness a smile ofmalice crossed his face. "We shall see if she will hold her head sohigh--_then_! Whether war follow or not, it will damn her in the eyes ofthe nations! She will not recover her prestige in twenty years!"
They passed on down the dark slope, out of sight and hearing of the girlcrouched in a corner of the sentry-box. At the foot of the hill,Bersonin said:
"It will take some days longer to finish my work, but the ships willstay for a fortnight. To-morrow night I will mark the triangle on theroof of the bungalow, so that the angle of the tripod will be exact.There must be no bungling. You can go by an earlier train, so we shallnot be seen together, and I shall return here in time for the ball."
There was a fire in Haru's bosom as she went on along the thorn-hedges.She had heard every word, and she said the English sentences over andover to herself to fix them in her mind. What they had been talking ofwas the secret that lay beneath Ishida's questions--for an instant shehad almost touched it. A feeling of deep pride rose in her. Japan wasnot sleeping--it watched! And in the path of the plotting danger stoodher lover.
These two men hated Japan! War? They had used the word. Japan did notfear war! Had not that been proven? Her heart swelled. But the thingthey were planning was her country's enduring humiliation, "whether warfollow or not!" She felt a sudden deep horror. Could such plots be andtheir God--_her_ God now--not blast them with His thunder? And one ofthese men had spoken with her, touched her, _kissed_ her! She struckherself repeatedly and hard on the lips.
All at once she shivered. Might it be that in spite of all, such a blackdesign could succeed?
The Chapel was brilliantly lighted and the rose-window threw beautifultints, like shawls of many-colored gauze, over the shrubbery. Sheentered and slipped into a seat near the door, burning with herthoughts. The first evening service had brought a curious crowd and theplace was nearly filled. She rose for the singing and knelt for theprayer mechanically, her delicate fingers twisting the littlewhite-enamel cross hanging from its thin gold chain on the bosom of her_kimono_. Painful imaginings were running through her mind. The lessonwas being read: it was from the Old Testament, the modern, somewhatcolloquial translation.
This-after, Samson a Sorek Valley woman called Delilah did love.
Then the Princes of the Philistines the woman-to up-came, saying:
As for you, by sweet discourse prevail that where his great power is or by what means overcoming, to bind and torture him we may be able ...
It seemed to her suddenly that a great wind filled all the Chapel andthat the words sat on it. Slowly her face whitened till it was the hueof death.
_She_ might find out the secret!
And Delilah to Samson said: where your great power is or by what means overcoming to bind and torture you one may be able, this me tell.
She began to tremble in every limb. She, a _samurai's_ daughter? Shethought of her father, aged and broken, grieving that he had had no sonin the war. She had been but a useless girl-child, left to plant paperprayers at the cross-roads for the brave men who longed to achieve aglorious death. If she did this thing--would it not be for Japan?
And he at last-to his mind completely opened.
The woman's knees-upon Samson did sleep and she called a man who of his head the seven locks cut off ... and the power of him was lost.
If she did, would it avail? She remembered Phil's eyes on her face theday on the sands at Kamakura--their smouldering, reckless glow. Sheremembered the bamboo lane! In those daredevil kisses her woman'sinstinct had divined the force of the attraction she exercised overhim--had felt it with contempt and a self-humiliation that burned herlike an acid. To use that for her purpose? But she was a Christian! Fromthe Christian God's "_Thou shalt not_" there was no appeal.
She remembered suddenly her last service at the Buddhist temple acrossthe lane, and how the old priest had bade her a gentle farewell, wishingher peace and joy in her new religion, and saying smilingly that allreligions were augustly good, since they pointed the same way. She sawthe nunnery, with its tall clumps of ye
llow dahlias and wild hydrangeas;above which hung gauzy robes that waved like gray ghosts escaping fromthe mold into the sunshine. She saw the cherry-trees touched by thegolden summer light, the mossy monuments in the burying-ground, thepigeons fluttering about the lichened pavement.
The audience was singing now--the Japanese version of _Jesus, Lover ofMy Soul_:
_Waga tamashii wo Ai suru Yesu yo, Nami wa sakamaki, Kaze fuki-arete._
She could no longer be a Christian!
But the old gods of her people shining from their golden altars--theancient divinities who looked for ever down above the sound ofprayer--they would smile upon her!