 section 21 of Namiko by Roka Tokutomi. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Abaii in January 2020. Book 3, Chapter 4, Temptation For the two months following the 1st of September, when the place had already been deserted by most of the town people who had thronged there during the summer, a lady might be seen taking a walk in the calm of the day on the sunny beach at Sushi, accompanied by a maid of over fifty. The fishermen on the shore and the invalids still staying there were accustomed to watch her shadow-like figure, and they bowed to her as often as they met. They all knew something of her sad story. The young lady was Nami. Although life held no hope for her, she still lingered on, and time soon brought to her again the weary autumn months. Nami had returned to Tokyo with her aunt in the previous June, and from the moment she learned of her unexpected fate, her illness grew worse and worse, and her hemorrhages increased. The doctor could do nothing. Her family was sorrow-stricken, and she herself cheerfully waited for death, her life hung by a thread. Being cast by a single blow into the darkness of a deep pit, she had hardly time for any feelings of hatred or love. Oppressed only by the horror of the situation, she merely sought release, and death was indeed the only way. So she longed for it, and while her body lay suffering on the sick bed, her mind was already in the world beyond. Today or tomorrow, so soon as this mortal coil should be shuffled off, leaving the weary world far behind, her soul would take flight to heaven through a vast expanse of space, and there she could weep to her heart's content at her dear mother's feet. The messenger of death was never more welcome than now. But even death was denied her. She thought every day would be her last, but the end did not come. And when about a month had passed, she was somewhat improved in spite of herself, and after another month she was better. Being compelled to live in this world, Nami had to live over her life of tears. Instead she was puzzled at her fate, for she had come to disbelief in the cheerfulness of life, and to think there was no horror in death. Why should she see the doctor, take medicine, and try to save her useless life? But there was her father's love. He tenderly visited her from time to time, gave her medicine himself, built a cozy house for her benefit, and tried to restore her health by all means in his power. As often as she heard her father's footsteps and saw his face brighten over her improvement, she could not restrain the tears from gliding down her cheeks. Unable to seek death recklessly, she took care of herself for his sake. And there was another reason. Nami could not doubt her husband. She knew his mind too well to lay the divorce at his door. When she heard from Takeo on her sickbed, she felt as if a seal was set on her belief, and was much comforted. Of course she did not know anything about her future. She hardly thought that the severed bond of marriage could again be made whole, even though she should get well. But she believed firmly in the emotional intercourse of their spiritual selves, and consoled herself with the idea that nothing could destroy their eternal love. So the love of her father and her hope in the unchanging love of Takeo, together with the skillful treatment of the doctor, helped to rekindle the fire of her nearly extinguished life. And in the early part of September, she again moved with Ikku and the nurse to the villa at Zushi. Nami felt better at Zushi, and the quietude of the place calmed her mind. When she was reclining in an easy chair after a bath, on those afternoons, while the roll of the sea receded in the distance, and listened soothingly to the sweet notes of the birds, she felt as if she had been carried back to the previous spring, and she almost felt that her husband might appear before her at any moment. Life at the villa was much the same as it had been six months before. With Ikku and the nurse as her companion, she daily attended to herself, and observed the rules prescribed by the doctor. Now and then she would amuse herself in making verses or arranging flowers. Once or twice a week the doctor came from Tokyo to see her. Less often she saw her aunt, or her cousin, or rarely her stepmother. Hearing of her illness, some of her old school friends wrote her letters of condolence, but they lacked sincerity. Nami, however, was impatient for the visit of her cousin Jizu. Everything that she wanted to know came through Jizu. Since the matrimonial tie had been broken, the Kawashima family was further and further removed from her. True, the thought of the beloved one who was hundreds of miles away crossed and recrossed her mind night and day, but she never thought of his mother. Indeed, she strove not to do so. If once her thought turned towards her old mother-in-law, she would be disturbed by a bitter feeling of horror and disgust. She was terrified even at the thought of her and tried to turn away from it. When she heard that Yamaki's daughter had been sent to the house of Kawashima, she naturally felt uneasy. But that was only for a moment. She knew that it had nothing to do with the beloved one in whom she believed firmly. Although she must remain in a small villa on the sandy beach of Sagami Bay, her heart turned constantly toward the western sky. The two men she loved most in this world were now engaged in the war with China. Her father went down to Hiroshima soon after she went to Zushi and was going over to the region's sword. She wanted very much to see him off, but he sent word to her that she must take good care of herself and get well enough to welcome him on his victorious return. Takeo, so she heard, was not on board the flagship of the combined squadrons. She feared that if a change in weather affected him he would be kept from his duty in time of need. Therefore, though she felt sure that she had no more to do with this world, Nami visit herself day and night with thoughts of war on land and sea and poured over newspapers with a heart anxious for the triumph of her country, the safety of her father, and the success of Takeo. Late in September she heard the news of the battle of the Yalu, and a few days later she found the name of Takeo among the wounded. Nami did not sleep that night. Her aunt in Tokyo, however, heard about his condition and informed her that Takeo's wounds were not fatal and that he was now in the hospital at Saseho. She felt greatly relieved, but as her mind wandered to his sick bed she was reminded of the meager sympathy she was able to bestow upon him. Heart to heart they remained the same, but on account of their divorce she could not even send him a cart of condolence. Nami was depressed by these thoughts. Prompted, however, by an irrepressible desire she discovered a way. With the help of Ikku Nami made dresses for Takeo, and together with some fruits she knew he was very fond of, sent them to Saseho under a famed name, hoping that her sorrowful heart might go with them. The days passed and about the middle of November a letter bearing the postmark of Saseho reached Nami. She read it and wept. In the morning Chizu and Nami's sister Koma, who had been with her since Saturday evening, went back to Tokyo. The house, which had resounded with their cheerful voices, now assumed its usual quiet and lonely aspect, and Nami shutting herself up on that gloomy day set alone opposite the picture of her dead mother. Today the 19th of November was the date of her mother's last day on earth. Nami took out the picture, hung it in a frame over the wall of the alcove, and decorated it with white chrysanthemums and full bloom which Chizu had brought. For a while she listened to the cheerful old stories Ikku had to tell, but now she was left alone before the picture to indulge in meditation. It was now ten years since Nami had last seen her mother in this world, and during these long years she never once forgot her. But never before had her heart yearned so much for the departed one. If mother were only alive, Nami thought, she would tell all her grief to her and lighten the burden resting too heavily on her weak shoulders. Why did she go away and leave the helpless child behind? The thought started the silent tears from her eyes. She remembered well a happy day several months before her mother died. She was eight years old and her sister five. Both were dressed exactly alike in pink crepe with patterns of cherry flowers, and they drove in a carriage with their mother between them to Suzaki's at Kudan. And this picture now in front of her had been taken then and there. The ten years had passed like a dream, her mother remaining to the memory as in the picture, and she she made up her mind never to think of herself, but in the miserable life she now led she could think of nothing else. She felt as if her hopeless self were in the midst of heavy clouds, and as if the room she was now in had turned into a cold dungeon where not a ray of sunlight could find its way. Suddenly the clock struck two. Awakened from her reverie, she hastened out into the adjoining room as if in flight. There was no one there, and Ikku and the nurse was heard talking in the rear. She stood there undecided for a moment, but again stepped out of the room into the garden, and thence through the gate to the beach. The sky was gloomy. Although it was autumn, the clouds lay low and heavy, and the sea frowned black. The atmosphere was calm, and not a breath of wind stirred the water. On the whole expanse of the sea not a sail was to be seen. Nami went on and on. Today there were no fishermen, and nobody taking exercise on the beach, except one little girl with a child on her back, singing and gathering shells. The girl saw Nami, smiled and bowed to her, and Nami on her part returned a sad smile. But sinking again into deep thought she walked on with downcast eyes. Presently she stopped. She came to where the sandy beach ended, and to where a narrow path over the rocks led to the Hudo Shrine by a waterfall which she had visited with her husband the previous spring. She walked along that path. Nami passed by the Hudo Shrine and sat down on a rock. It was the same rock on which she had sat last spring with her husband. Then the sky was bright and clear, and the sea was more glossy than a mirror. But now the dark clouds in strange shapes filled the sky, the tide flowed high up to the very foot of the rock, and not a speck of white sail broke the leaden surface of the sea. Nami drew out the letter. It contained only a few scribbled lines in bold handwriting, but to Nami they appeared far more eloquent than pages of finely phrased sentences. And as often as she read the simple confession of Takeo, not a day passes without thinking of Nami-san, her heart would thrill as if it would burst. Why does the world treat me so? she asked. I love him so much, and am almost dying of a broken heart. And he still loves me. And how could it happen that our bond was broken? Isn't his heart's blood in this letter? Here on this very rock we both plighted our faith last spring. The sea knows it, and the rock itself marks it. But why was the world so cruel as to crush us under its iron heel? Oh, my dearest husband, here on this rock, last spring, last spring. Nami opened her eyes. She was sitting alone on the rock. The silent sea lay before her, and only the noise of the waterfall was heard drearily behind. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. The tears flowed unchecked through her slender fingers. Her head throbbed, and her heart grew cold as the thoughts moved through her mind, quick as a shuttle. Nami thought of the days when she was here with her husband, the time she first fell ill, the time she spent at Ikao, and the time she was a bride. The day she went back to Tokyo with her aunt, the day she lost her mother many, many years ago, the face of her mother, the face of her father, and the faces of her stepmother, sister, brother, and many others persistently flashed like lightning across her mind. Nami's thought now turned to one of her friends, whom Chizu told about yesterday. She was older than Nami by two years and had been married the year before her to a certain clever young count. She was much liked by her mother-in-law, but somehow was not loved at all by her husband. She had one child, but on account of the debauched life of her husband she had secured a divorce last spring and died not long after. On the one hand her friend had died for a second by her husband, and on the other Nami led a life of tears, torn from her husband. Varied was the human lot, but all was but sorrow and distress. Nami drew a troubled sigh and looked at the darkened sea. The more she thought, the more she felt as if there were no more room for her in this world. Born into a well-to-do family, she had lost her mother at the age of eight, past ten hard years under the eyes of her stepmother, and no sooner had she been blessed with the crowning joy of human hearts than she had contracted this horrible disease. And then followed the sentence, more cruel than that of death, and though the man of her heart remained true to her, she could no longer call him her husband, or be called his wife. If she must lead such an ill-fated life, why was she born at all? Why did she not die with her mother? Why was she married to Takeo? Why did she not die in his arms when she first contracted the disease? Why did she not die when she learned of her fate? Was life still worth living to one who was suffering from an incurable disease, and was yearning after an impossible love? Suppose her disease should be cured, she would be sure to die of a broken heart if she could not be restored to her husband. Ah, to die, to die, there was no hope but in death. Without trying to wipe away her falling tears, Nami looked on the sea. In the direction of Oshima, black clouds were suddenly rising, and an indescribable noise came from a far-off corner of the sky. The face of the wide sea was all at once in a tumult. A gust of wind had risen. No sooner had it passed than a mass of snowy foam appeared suddenly in the midst of the black water, reared itself like a mad horse, and dashed against the rock on which Nami was seated. The vast expanse of the Sagami Sea was suddenly turned into seething water, weltering waves chasing one after another. Without minding the scattering spray, Nami still watched the sea. Beneath that sea, thought she, is death. Death may be freer than life. Is it not better to be constantly with my husband in a formless shadow than to linger hopelessly in this life? He is now on the yellow sea, though it is far away this water flows there. Let me vanish as a foam of the sea, and my spirit fly to him. Putting Takeo's letter securely in a fold of her belt, and letting her hair fall loose in the wind, Nami rose from her seat. The wind from the depth of heaven blew steadily by this time, and Nami was barely able to stand. Above, the clouds were chasing hurriedly one after another, and in front of her the sea was tossing in a rage. The wind roared over Sakura Hill, and the pines shook like the mane of a horse. The wind howled, the sea roared, the hill wailed, and a confusing thundering noise filled the heaven and earth. Now is the time. Now is the time. Oh, lead me, dear mother! Forgive your daughter, oh father. My short life will vanish like a dream. Drawing her dress about her, and taking off her clogs, Nami was about to throw herself into the seething water as it broke against the rock. Just at this moment she heard a cry behind her, and felt herself in a strong grasp. Ikku, make the tea. She will be here soon, said Nami to the old woman who was cleaning the room. She's so nice, said Ikku, but I am surprised to hear that she is Yasuo. Footnote. Yasuo, from Yezu, meaning in vulgar Japanese either a Christian or Christianity, rather contemptuous term. End of footnote. Yes, I hear so. I did not even dream that such a nice lady was Yasuo, and then she cuts her hair short, you know. What of it? asked Nami. You know that believers in Yasuo never cut their hair short when their husbands die. Instead they dress themselves still more nicely and aren't a lookout for second husbands. Who told you so? Oh, I know it, declared Ikku. I tell you, in that religion even young girls grow conceited. I knew a girl living next door to one of my relatives. She had been a very gentle girl, but after she went to a mission school she was changed so much that on Sundays, when her mother needed her help most, she would go to church without the least consideration. And then she would say that she did not like her house because it was not as clean as her school, and she would tell her mother that she was obstinate. Although she went to school, she did not know how to write even a receipt, and she could not sew a single seam straight. Her parents were very anxious over her future. She was so vain as to say that she would not marry a man who got less than 250 yen a month. Isn't it really astonishing? She had been such a good child that the change in her was all the more market. It may be that this was due to some witchcraft that religion is said to exercise. Nami laughed and said, That's bad enough. But every question has two sides to it, and you cannot judge rightly without knowing both. Don't you think so? Ikku nodded her head as if to say that she could hardly believe Nami. Looking earnestly at Nami, she continued, You had better keep away from Yasuo. Nami smiled. You mean that you don't want me to talk with that lady? Why, if all Yasuo were like her, there might be no harm, but Ikku hesitated, as a human shadow was seen on the paper screen. Excuse me, if I come in by the garden gate? was heard in a soft voice. Ikku arose hurriedly, opened the screen, and a rather small woman of about 50 entered. She looked old for her age. Her gray hair was cut short, and she was dressed in black. Lean and careworn, she appeared rather sad, but her eyes looked kind, and her lips were smiling. She was the very person Ikku had been talking about. And besides, she was the very person who had rescued Nami from drowning the week before. She never made the slightest attempt to force herself upon the attention of others, but those who knew her bore strong testimony to her remarkable personality. Her name was Kiyo Ogawa, and she lived at Meguro in charge of a large family of orphans, taking delight in looking after the little souls of deserted children. She had been at Zushi since the end of the last month, seeking recovery from an attack of pleurisy. It was by the merest chance that she happened to be able to save Nami, whom she gave at once, into Ikku's care. Ikku had brought in the tea, and was just about to leave the room when she exclaimed in a surprised tone. Are you going back tomorrow? What a pity! We have just got acquainted with you! The old lady, looking at Nami with her mild eyes, answered, I wish I could stay a little longer and have the opportunity to talk with you, for I do not want to go back until you are better. Taking out a small book, she added, This is the Bible. You haven't read it, I suppose. Nami had not read it. Her stepmother had been known as a Christian while in England, but upon her return she had renounced her faith and had left her Bible at her lodging in London, together with her old shoes and papers. No, I haven't read it. Nami replied. Ikku, unable to go, stared with open eyes at the book. She was probably thinking that there was witchcraft in it. If you read it, the old lady continued, When you feel well, I am sure you will be much benefited. If I could stay a little longer, I would take time to talk with you about many things in it, but as this is my last day, I wanted to tell you how I came to read this book. Don't you feel tired? Please lie down if you prefer. Thank you, but I am not tired, said Nami. Please tell me your story. Ikku now changed the tea and went away. The old lady looked down for a moment, felt off her knees, and then, gazing up into Nami's face, began her story. Life is short, but if you consider the amount of experience you can have, it is indeed very long. My father was a lord under the last Chogun and was quite well off. Perhaps you remember the little piece of ground with the great many elm trees growing on it, just beyond Suido Bridge at Koishikawa. Of course it went into another's possession long, long ago, but I was born in a house there. Mother died when I was twelve years old. Father was very sad over his loss, and he did not take a second wife. So, young as I was, I had to look after all the household matters. My brother was married, and I was soon given away in marriage to a certain Ogawa, also a general, but a little higher in rank. It was when I was twenty-one, some ten years before you were born, I suppose. I was disciplined in our code of morals for young women, and thought that I was never behind anybody in matters of self-sacrifice. But when I came to deal with real things, I found them often simply unbearable. It was just before the restoration. My husband could rarely be at home, and as I had parents in law, and two sisters in law, I had five elders in the family to serve. I cannot tell you how much I was worried. My father-in-law was a good-natured man, but my mother-in-law was very hard to please. My husband had had a wife before me, so I understood, but she was frightened away not long after she came. I don't like to speak ill of anyone in the grave, but my mother-in-law was really a violent and strong-headed woman, and in spite of my efforts to deny myself, I sometimes shed many secret tears. To make things still worse, they often discovered that I wept, and I was scolded over and over again. It was, however, not long before the restoration war broke out, and the city of Yedo was all in commotion. My husband, father, and brother all joined the anti-restoration volunteers at Weno. My father-in-law was dangerously ill, and my child was about to be born. Indeed, I did not know what to do under the circumstances. At last, Weno was stormed. My husband fled northward to Hakodate. My father disappeared. My brother died at Weno, and his family were also lost. In the meanwhile, my father-in-law died, and my child was born. Everything came at once. I was almost overwhelmed with trouble. And then, as our annuity from the Shogun seized and our property was confiscated, my mother-in-law, with the baby and myself, accompanied by an old servant, started on a journey to Shizuoka, the old town of the Tokugawa's, over the Hakone Hills. I felt as if I were struggling under the weight of a horrible dream. At this time, the nurse came in, made a bow, and, after giving medicine to Nami, left the room. The old lady closed her eyes for a while. At last, she looked at Nami and continued. The distress of the vassals of Tokugawa House at Shizuoka was simply indescribable. The Shogun was so reduced in power and in income, that even Count Katsu was then obliged to live in retirement. The rations for three men allotted us in place of the annuity of 10,000 bushels of rice we had hitherto received was considered very liberal. I am almost ashamed to tell you that we could hardly afford to buy more than half a loaf of bean cake at a time. My mother-in-law had been used to luxurious living, so I was very much troubled about her. I did what I could to help my family by giving sewing and writing lessons to little girls, and by making dresses for other people. I did not mind it much, but my mother-in-law, being still in a violent temper, my husband then in prison, and the whereabouts of my father still undiscovered, I was so much distressed that I would willingly have died, but for my little child. Indeed I was so warned with care that by the end of the year I looked 10 years older. After a while, however, my husband was released and entered the army. So again we crossed the Hakone Hills and returned to Tokyo. The name had already been changed, you know? It was the spring of 1871. A year after my husband was sent abroad. We fared very well, except for the unchanging temper of my mother-in-law. And then there was one thing that constantly troubled me, and that was the whereabouts of my father. In the fall of the year my husband sailed for Europe. One rainy day I went to see a certain acquaintance of mine at Koishikawa, and came home in a kuruma they hired for me. It was already dark and it was storming outside. I sat timidly in the kuruma while the man drew it lazily along. I could see him with his round projecting headgear and the wrinkled oil-paper coat from which the rain dripped. The light of the lantern he held in his hand glided over the muddy road, and his splashing footsteps were heard mingled with the occasional groans he uttered. Just as we came to Suido Bridge, the lantern went out. The man stopped his kuruma and asked to be allowed to take a box of matches from under the cushion. I could not hear him very well on account of the wind, but his voice seemed familiar, and as the light he struck showed me his face, I saw before me my own father. The old lady covered her face involuntarily, Nami burst into tears, and someone in the adjoining room was also heard sobbing. Wiping her eyes, the old lady went on. I took him to a lunch house nearby at once, and there he told me his story. He said that after the fall of Ueno he had wandered around the country, earning his living in several ways. At times he had been sick and always poor. He was now staying at the house of a poor gardener, who had been one of our retainers in his better days, and he gained his livelihood by drawing kuruma every day. Feelings of surprise, joy, alarm and sadness swept over me by turns, and I could say little. That evening, however, we parted, my father suggesting to me the recklessness of staying out too late. It was quite late when I got home. My mother-in-law had been impatient for my return, and she no sooner saw me than she burst out in all her fury. She even called me a disreputable name. Suppressing my emotion, I told her about my father. Far from sympathizing with me, she still continued to call me disreputable names. I was so much hurt that I made up my mind to leave the house and go at once to my father. After she had gone to bed, I changed my clothes and began to write a note to my mother-in-law at the bedside of my boy, who was then six years old. He cried out all at once in sleep, and stretching his right hands toward me, muttered, Mama, don't go away. He must have been dreaming over the experiences of the day as I had left him at home in going to Koishikawa. I was surprised and watched for a while the face of the sleeping child when it gradually turned out to be a very copy of my husband's face. I dropped my writing brush and wept. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly I was reminded of the old story of a bride and her mother-in-law I used to hear in my childhood from my mother, and it fitted my case exactly. I thought that everything would be all right only through my forbearance, and so I gave up my first idea. I am not worrying you. Nami, who had been listening with deep interest, could only give a scent with her tearful eyes. The old lady now resumed her story. Such being the case, I could not provide for my father as I wanted to, and so very secretly I sold my spare things and sent him a little money, but of course that could not last long. Luckily, however, I was introduced to a certain foreign minister's wife who desired to learn Japanese music, and so I gave her lessons, and thus was able to support my father. The foreign lady was very kind to me, and we were soon good friends. She would talk with me in her broken Japanese, and one day she gave me a book and wanted me to read it. It was the Gospel of Matthew. You will find it at the beginning of this Bible, which at that time had just been translated into Japanese. I tried to read it, but as it was full of strange stories, I laid it aside without paying further attention to it. Early in the following year, my mother-in-law was stricken suddenly with paralysis, and this brought a complete change in her temper. Hard-hearted as she had been, she now became meek as a child, and wanted my company so much that she would call me back every time I left her aside. As I watched her sleeping there helpless, I was sorry that I had ever felt revengeful towards her, and wanting to make her well, if possible, I did what I could for her, but all to no purpose. Not long after my mother-in-law died, my husband came home. My father was to join us pretty soon, but he suddenly fell ill and died peacefully a few days after. He told me that no one was more fortunate than he in meeting his lost daughter and in receiving such tender treatment from her. But I was sorry that I could not do for him one-tenth of what I had intended to do. Things went along very well thereafter, my husband being promoted gradually, and my son growing up well. But I was not without anxiety. My husband was too much given to drink, as often is the case with army officers. And then in those days men were especially loose, and though my husband was better than the average, having profited by western manners, he was in many ways no exception to the general rule. Being humiliated by his dissipation, I often took occasion to give him some advice, but he only laughed at my words. We had now come to the outbreak of the civil war in 1876, and my husband, being major captain of the Imperial Guard, was sent south. In his absence my boy became ill with scarlet fever, and I had to nurse him day and night. It was the evening of the 18th of April. My boy was somewhat bitter and was sleeping quietly, so dismissing the maids, I sat alone by his bedside and was doing a bit of needlework. I gradually became very drowsy and felt almost soulless when I heard someone come and sit on the bed. I wondered who it was and looked up. It was my husband, dressed in his uniform, covered with blood and deadly pale. I cried and awakened by my voice, I looked around me, but no one was there. The light of the paper lantern burned dim and my boy was sleeping still. My heart palpitated and cold sweat stood on my brow. The day following my boy was very much worse and died in the evening. I was overcome with sorrow and was crying with him in my arms when a telegram reached me from the seat of war. It announced the death of my husband in battle. The speaker was silent, the listener held her breath, and a deep quiet fell upon the room. After a while the old lady took up the thread of her story again. Everything was now as dark as if the sun and moon had both sunk together. If this was the result of all my patience, I thought, I felt that I would rather die without recovering, for I had fallen ill soon after that. But luckily or not, I recovered slowly. The world was now empty to me and I merely breathed in it. After a while, however, I was persuaded to dispose of my house and to live with a certain friend of mine. With that in view, I was busy packing my things when I happened to find a book under my son's dress in a cabinet. It was the Bible the foreign minister's wife had given me years ago. I opened and looked at it without intending so much as to read it, when I came across a little phrase which strangely appealed to me. I marked it, and it was that which induced me to look more into the book now and then. I could not understand it very well at first, but I soon felt as if I saw a gleam of light somewhere. My foreign friend had already gone, but I wanted to get someone to explain to me fully about the book. Not long after, I was offered a position as matron in a girl's school. It happened to be a Christian institution, and I soon made friends with a young man and his wife who were teaching there. They were very good Christians, and they kindly made everything clear to me. It is now sixteen years since I began to believe in the new faith, and I have hardly been able to pass a day without the book. It is the very staff of my life. The world which I thought ended with death widened in my knowledge of immortality. My father was given back in our heavenly father. My son was returned to me through the working of love, and all my sufferings are sweetened in the belief in hope. This is briefly how I came to read this book. She said, watching Nami's face for a few moments. I knew, she added, something of your story, and as I saw you often on the beach, I wanted very much to visit you. And now that I have grown to know you, I feel very sorry to leave you so soon. But I shall never think of you as a mere acquaintance. Something deeper than that seems to exist between us. I wish you would take good care of yourself and never think of life as too sad to live. And when you feel well, just read this book. I go back to Tokyo, but I am thinking of you day and night. The old lady left for Tokyo the next day. The book she had given Nami was always by her bedside. Nami felt consolation in thinking that there was somebody in this wide world, not her mother or her aunt, but one who, having herself tasted of the bitterness of life, took delight in comforting and sympathizing with her. She often thought of her story and turned over the book she so sincerely loved. In January 2020. Book 3, Chapter 6, Port Arthur. On the 22nd of November, the Second Army captured Port Arthur. Mother! Mother! Holding a newspaper in her hand, Chizu called to her mother in a startled tone. What is the matter? You ought not to speak so loud. Chizu blushed a little at being reprimanded by her mother. Then she smiled. But again she became grave and said, Mother! He is dead! Chijiva! Chijiva! exclaimed Madame Cato. Chijiva! How? Killed in battle? Yes, his name is among the killed. Good enough for him. You must not say such things. Chijiva died in battle. But how could he be so brave? It was better for him to die, observed Chizu. Madame Cato was silent. Isn't it sad to have no one to weep for us after we die, Chizu-san? But the widow Kawashima will weep for him, Chizu remarked sarcastically. Talking of Kawashima, Mother, Oto-yo-san has left the house at last. Are you sure? Her mother was surprised. Yes. Yesterday she had further trouble with the widow. She could stand it no longer and returned home weeping, I hear. I am glad she has left there. No one can stay there for long, I presume. Madame Cato sighed and Chizu was silent. Chijiva was dead. Twenty days after the foregoing conversation, a letter and a piece of human bone reached the chielles house of Kawashima. The bone was Chijiva's and the letter was from Takeo. Two days after the capture of Port Arthur, he said, All the vessels and the dockyards were to be placed in charge of the navy, and I landed with some other officers from my vessel for that purpose. The bloody scenes after the fierce battle were beyond description. I happened to pass in front of a temporary field hospital, when I saw men carrying a corpse on a litter. It was covered with a blue blanket, a piece of white cloth being placed over the face. The mouth and chin seen under the cover seemed to remind me of somebody I knew, and I asked the name. You may well imagine my astonishment when I was told that it was Lieutenant Chijiva. I uncovered him and saw his face pale, and his teeth clenched. He had been badly wounded by bullets at the attack of Itsushan Fortress, and was conscious till morning, but he died at last. I asked some of his fellow officers about him. They said that he was not liked at all in his company, but that he fought well in the battle, and that at the attack of Chinchou, he and his men were the first to break through the northern gate. But he was often unsoldierly in his behaviour, and had with him a considerable sum of money. Once at Pitsuo, he acted very cruelly toward some of the natives, trying to rob them in spite of strict orders, and he was to be punished for that. At any rate, his death on the battlefield is said to have redeemed his reputation. As you know, he caused me a great deal of trouble, and I had given up all intercourse with him, but I have nothing against his memory. And when I think of the days we passed like brothers, I pity him very much. So I got permission to cremate his body, and send you a piece of his bone with this. I hope you will inter it properly. This, however, was not all that Takeo came across at Port Arthur. There was one more incident which he purposely omitted to mention in his letter. The day he discovered Chijiwa's corpse, Takeo was delaying in going back toward the pier. The sun had set. He passed by sentinels with gleaming bayonets, generals riding on horseback, petty officers receiving orders from their superiors, Chinaman standing open-mouthed, and army subordinates going to and fro. And finally he came to where some koolies were making a big fire. It's cold, said one of them. If we were home we should have a drink and a hot dish of stewed fish. Kichi, that's a fine thing you have on. Kichi was wearing a beautiful quilted coat of purple satin which he had probably confiscated. Say, look again, Kichi said in reply. He has a fur coat on worth 400 yen. Happy again, the first one they coat. No one is as lucky as he. He never loses his game, is never hit by a bullet, and is rewarded for doing nothing. Look at me. Nothing but this thin thing. Damn it. I lost everything at Tailyen One. I must get something before long. Be careful, observed another. I entered a house this afternoon when suddenly a pig-tailed soldier jumped out from behind a box with a drawn sword. He thought I was going to murder him, but as a matter of fact I was almost frightened to death. Luckily our soldiers came along and soon made short work of him. If not I should have been sent to hell right away. Fools. Why do they still remain here to be butchered? Only a day or two had passed since the fall of Port Arthur, and not a few fugitive Chinese soldiers who had hidden themselves in houses were killed for offering resistance. Overhearing the talk of the common soldiers, Takeo went along toward the pier. The lights were now few and men were rarely seen. On one side the long wall of the arsenal threw a dark shadow on the ground, and on the other a street lamp cast a dim, uncertain light upon a lean dog as he went along smelling the earth. As Takeo walked in the shadow he described two human figures about fifty yards ahead. He was sure that they were officers. One was broad-shouldered and the other was slim and built. As they walked along they were talking. Suddenly Takeo noticed someone stealthily tracking them. He felt his heart throb strangely. He could not see clearly, but suddenly the man in the shadow went a step, hesitated, took another step, and looked as if awaiting his opportunity. The figure now came to a lighted space between houses, disclosing itself to be a Chinese. At the same time something glittered in his hand. Takeo hastened after him excitedly. The two men ahead now came to the end of the street when the black figure in the shade stepped boldly out of the dark and ran toward them. Alarmed Takeo dashed forward. The Chinese, however, approached within ten yards of the men, raised his arm, and brought the slim officer to the earth with a shot. He was about to pull the trigger upon the other officer, who turned around suddenly, just as Takeo reached a spot and gave a hard blow on the right arm of the murderer. The pistol dropped to the ground. Infuriated the man turned on him and the two fought. The broad-shouldered officer came to his aid and the band of Japanese soldiers, attracted by the noise of the shot, came running to the spot and immediately bound the assassin. Takeo was breathless after the struggle and stood gazing at the broad-shouldered officer, who now turned towards him. The light of a street lamp shown in the face of Lieutenant General Kataoka. Takeo exclaimed, You! You! The general in his turn was surprised. Unexpectedly, Takeo had saved the life of Nami's father. When the news reached Nami's ears, Ikku rejoiced beyond measure and said, You! See how much we owe him! Do try hard to get well! Nami smiled gloomily. End of Section 23 Section 24 of Nami Ko by Roka Tokutomi This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Avae in January 2020. Book 3 Chapter 7 Takeo's Return The year began and ended in war. In the first two months, Wei Highway was captured and the Pei Yang Squadron was annihilated. In March the Pescadores fell into the Japanese power and in the north the Imperial Army swept like a tide until not the shadow of the enemy was to be seen to the east of the river Yao. The peace embassy came to Japan and in the middle of April the peace treaty was awaiting the signatures. The intervention of the three powers was rumoured and that Yao Teng Peninsula was finally restored. By the end of May, his Imperial Majesty, Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy, returned triumphantly to the capital and the war was ended with the impressiveness of an eagle gathering its wings for flight. After burying the ashes of Chijiba at Port Arthur and saving the life of General Kataoka, Takeo was at the bombardment of Wei Highway and also at the occupation of the Pescadores. At the beginning of June, however, his vessel reached Yokosura and he returned home. It was over a year since he had left his mother in anger. So many thrilling incidents had been crowded into that period, however, that his hard feelings were softened and on rainy days at the Saseho Hospital or on the bitter cold nights at Wei Highway his homeless heart would turn to its older boat in Tokyo. Takeo did not notice any change at home except the face of a maid who met him at the door. His mother was as large as ever and was confined to her bed with rheumatism. Tazaki came daily and, in his little office, attended to the household business as usual. Everything Takeo saw or heard remained just the same. And Takeo could not find anything to enliven his spirits. Although he had seen his mother again after a long absence, had taken a comfortable bath in his old home, had sat on a thick, downy cushion, had eaten his favourite dishes, and had laid his head on a soft pillow in a comfortable bed, he could not go to sleep. The clock struck one, two. Yet his eyes were clear and his heart was heavy. A year's time had healed the breach between mother and son. At least it seemed to have done so. The mother, of course, welcomed her son home and Takeo also felt relieved at seeing her. But both perceived, even at their first meeting, that they had nothing in common. He did not ask her anything about Nami nor did she speak of her, not because he did not wish to ask or she did not know, but because they both knew that danger lurked in that topic. And, as they noticed that it was careful to avoid it, they naturally felt uneasy whenever the conversation came to a halt. Takeo, however, needed no incentive to keep Nami constantly in his mind. Now that he had returned to their old abode, everything seemed to keep her alive in his memory and his heart yearned for her. Where was she now? Did she know of his return? Love indeed knows no distance, but now that the bond was broken the house of Kataroka, though only two miles away, was to Takeo further than the stars. He could not visit even her aunt to ask about Nami. Little did he know when he stopped at Zushi to take his leave of her in May of the previous year that it was to be their parting for life. The cry, come back soon, which she uttered at the gate of the villa, still rang in his ears. But to whom could he now say, I have returned? Turning these thoughts over in his mind, Takeo alighted one day at Zushi on his way to Yokosura and wandered towards the villa. He found the front gate closed. Thinking that the occupant must have gone to Tokyo, he went around to the back of the house, where he saw the old servant weeding alone in the garden. The old man looked around at the sound of footsteps and, recognizing his visitor, took off his headcloth as if surprised and bowed courteously, saying, Good morning, sir. When did you come back? A few days ago answered Takeo. You're always well, Mohe. Yes, sir. Thank you, said the old man. You are staying here alone? Takeo asked. Why, the barrenness, miss, my sick lady was here with Ikku till the end of last month. Since then I have kept the house alone. Returned last month, then she is now in Tokyo, muttered Takeo to himself. She went back to Tokyo, the old man went on, before my lord returned from China. Yes, and then she went to Kyoto with my lord, but I suppose she is not yet back. To Kyoto? Then she must be better, murmured Takeo to himself. And when did she go to Kyoto? About a week ago. The old man reflected suddenly on the present situation and stopped short, fearing that he was telling too much. Takeo understood what was passing in the mind of the old servant and flushed. They stood there for a while without words. The old man however felt sorry for him and said, as if recollecting himself, I will open the doors, perhaps you will step in and take some tea. Oh, don't trouble yourself, said Takeo. I just looked in on my way back to Yokosura. Takeo turned to look around the familiar garden. As there was a keeper, things did not look wild, but the doors were all shut and the water in the basin was gone. The leaves were dense and yellow plums were falling and were scattered on the ground. On the lawn the late roses were half withered, filling the garden with their faint fragrance. No human trace was to be found and the jarring cry of the locusts on a pine tree was the only sound that met the ear. Takeo soon parted with the old man and went away thoughtfully. A few days later he was again ordered to leave for the south. He passed two weeks at home, but not in the customary celebrations over a victorious return. His home had seemed to him the best place on earth while he was away from it, but, try as he might, it could not fill the gap in his heart. His mother understood his feelings and her displeasure gave voice to itself in words. Takeo also observed that his mother could read his mind, and whenever they were talking he always felt as if there were a wall between them. He was to sail from Yokusura, but he missed his train thence. Thereupon he determined to catch his ship at Kure and on the 10th of June he left by the Tokaido train, lonely. Section 25 of Nami-ko by Roka Tokutomi This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Awaii in January 2020. Book 3 Chapter 8 Passing Trains Three people were coming out of the Obakuzan temples at Uji, a portly gentleman of over fifty in foreign dress and with a gold-capped cane, a lady of about twenty carrying a black parasol and an elderly appearing maid with a small bag. As soon as they emerged the three Kuruma men waiting at the gate brought them their vehicles. The old gentleman looked at the lady and said, Fine weather, what do you say to walking a little bit? All right. Won't you get tired? the maid asked of the lady. No, I'd rather walk a little way, the lady replied. Then we will go slowly and take the Kuruma when we get tired. The three walked along leisurely, followed by the three Kuruma. The party was, of course, General Kataoka, Nami and Iku. They had arrived yesterday from Nara and were now going toward Yamashima station on their way to Otsu. The general had returned from the region's sword the last of May. One day he saw Nami's doctor privately, and two days after, taking his daughter and the maid Iku went down to Kyoto. Selecting a quiet hotel by the river as his headquarters, he spent several days in sightseeing with Nami at her pleasure, clad in private dress instead of uniform, avoiding his friends and refusing all invitations to public meetings. The world lost sight of the general for a while, and Nami alone possessed her father. Stepping out of Obak, low Japanese tea-picking. Footnote Obakku, the name given to the temples after the famous Chinese temples of the same name. Uji, where the temples are, is a noted tea-producing district, hence the contrast. End of footnote The best season for tea-picking had already passed, but the wind brought now and then the fragrance of drying tea, and a few country girls were seen starting a second picking. Here and there among the tea-fields, the fields of wheat were also turning yellow, and the rustling sound of sickles was heard. The distant hills of Yamato were veiled in a soft summer mist, while the river Uji betrayed itself by the white sails gliding over the wheat fields far away. From a low-roofed village nearby, the noontide crowing was wafted peacefully, and in the sky overhead, a lavender cloud remained motionless. Nami gave a sigh. Presently from a path on the left, a farmer and his wife appeared talking. They were returning to their work after lunch. The man had a sickle in his belt, and the woman was made noticeable by her blackened teeth, and by her head covering of a piece of white cloth. She carried a large teapot in her hand. She stopped short as she met the party, looked at them for a while, and, catching up with the man, whispered something to him. Both looked back, the woman smiling and showing her beautifully coloured teeth. Still talking, they passed along into a field path where the pistols bloomed wild. Nami's eyes followed them. The large round straw-head gear and the white cloth sank gradually into the yellow of the wheat field, and finally disappeared. From that direction a voice came, singing, Nami looked upon the ground with sorrowful eyes. The general turned towards her. You must be tired, he said, and took her hand in his. The general talked to Nami as they walked along. Time passes very fast. Nami, do you still remember the time when Nami and Nami were walking together? Time passes very fast. Nami, do you still remember that when you were a little girl, you used to kick my sides as I carried you on my back? It was when you were only five or six years old, I am sure. I remember, chimed in Ikku lightly. When my lord took you on his back, the young miss wanted to be carried too. At this time she is also wishing very much to be with us, I am sure. Nami only smiled gloomily. Koma, said the general. We are going to take her plenty of souvenirs instead. But Nami, Jizusan wanted to come more than Koma, didn't she? I believe so, Ikku spoke again. If she could be with us, we should be so merry. I wanted to ask my lord some questions. Is that river we just crossed the Uji? Then it is noted for fireworms. And it is where Koma Zaba met his lady love, Miyuki. Why, Ikku, you are quite a scholar, aren't you? The general asked smilingly. Well, the world changes rapidly. When I was young, the traveling from Osaka to Kyoto was always done in a junk. Passengers being packed into it as in a box. Now I had an even more interesting experience when I was twenty years old. Immediately after Saigo and Kaeda took priest Gesho to Osaka, an important matter arose and I had to go after them. But I started so hastily that I left all my money behind. And there being no help, I ran barefooted all the way through Osaka. It was night, you know, along the river bank. And he laughed. Isn't it warm? Nami, you mustn't walk too much. We must try it now. Ikku beckoned the Krumamen who were lagging behind. Then the three rode along slowly through the tea and wheat fields towards Yamashima. Looking at the gray hair of her father as he passed before her, Nami thought deeply. Was this trip with her father happy or sad? She was unfortunate in being deprived of all hope and pleasure in this world and in having to wait for not remote death. But it was easy to feel that her father's heart yearned for her. She thought of his boundless love towards her and she was troubled because she could find no way to return it. The most she could do was to return in spirit to her bygone childhood and to share it with her father away from worldly care. So she sought novel sites with the eagerness of a child. When she bought pieces of silk at Kyoto, she knew they would be of no use to her, but she selected especially showy ones so that her sister might have them as a keepsake. Although she felt deeply for her father, she never forgot Takeo. The bare report that he had saved her father's life at Port Arthur was the only news that reached her about him. Her thoughts wandered everywhere and her dreams brought him to her, but she did not know where he was. She wanted to meet him, to meet him once, only once in her lifetime but alas. The touching song she had just heard rang in her ears at this thought and the figures of the farmer and his young wife talking happily floated before her eyes. Ah, they were blessed in their rags, she thought, but she, in her soft silk, tears came to her eyes. She tried so hard to check the emotion that the only result was a severe cuffing spell. The general looked back anxiously. It is all right now, she said, smiling in spite of her pain. At Yamashina they took an eastbound train. They were alone in a first class compartment and Nami sat by an open window with her father in front of her, looking at a paper. Presently a Corbett train came rolling in from the east and stopped alongside their train. As the noise of the slamming doors and the voice of a porter calling, Yamashima, Yamashima, were heard on the other side, the engine of their train whistled and the train began to move slowly. Nami was looking at the opposite train from the window. As she came in front of a second class car, her eyes met those of a young man resting his cheek on his arm. Ah, Nami could scarcely speak. Oh, Nami-san! cried the young man. It was Takeo. The train was passing. She madly thrust herself out of the window and tossed her violet-colored handkerchief to him. Look out, miss! alarmed Ikku held Nami's sleeve. The general also looked out of the window with paper in hand. The trains drew slowly away from each other. Nami thrust herself still farther out of the window and saw Takeo waving the handkerchief wildly and saying something. Suddenly the train curved around a hill. On both sides there was now nothing but leafy slopes. A sound was heard behind as of tearing linen. The other train had just steamed off to the west. Nami covered her face and bent over the knees of her father. End of section 25. Section 26 of Nami-ko by Roka Tokutomi. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Avae in January 2020. Book 3 Chapter 9 Sayonara On the evening of the 7th of July, a good many people were assembled at the house of General Kataoka. They talked in subdued tones, for his daughter Nami was dying. When the general and Nami came back unexpectedly at the end of last month from their trip to the old capital, those who received them at the porch saw at once that she was much worse. Naturally the doctor was surprised. He found that not only had her health failed considerably in a short time, but that there was an alarming change in her heart. From that time on, even at midnight, a light was kept burning at the house of Kataoka, and the doctors came and went almost incessantly. Madame Kataoka was to go to a summer resort, but she had to give up her plans for a time. In spite of the skillful treatment of the doctors and the tearful prayers of Ikku by day and by night, she grew worse and worse. She had several hemorrhages and convulsions of the heart. After a severe attack, she would remain half asleep and talking to herself. She was growing weaker and weaker. Whenever her father was awakened by hearing her cough and came in to see her, Nami would smile faintly and speak clearly in spite of her short breath. In her semi-conscious condition, she muttered the name of Takeo constantly. The day the doctor dreaded was coming to an end. The rooms were all lighted, but as no one dared to speak aloud, all was silent as the grave. Two ladies came out of the sick room in order to leave the patient undisturbed. One was Madame Kato and the other was the old lady who had once saved Nami at Sushi. She had not seen Nami since the last fall, but had now been sent for by her special desire. I thank you very much for your kindness to her. She wanted to see you once more, and I am sure she is very glad that you came. Madame Kato could barely speak. The old lady only sighed and scarcely knew what to say. Presently she asked in a low voice, and where is he now? He is in Formosa, I hear. Formosa! The old lady heaved another sigh. Madame Kato was barely able to check her tears as she said, If he is not too far away, as she is always thinking of him, we will summon him by some means so that she may take leave of him. But I fear that he has already reached there, and besides, he is on board a war vessel. At this moment Madame Kataoka came in, followed by Chizu, who hurriedly spoke to her mother. A large room was dimly lighted with candles, and Nami was lying on a snow-white bed with her eyes closed. She had now been ill for almost two years, and was worn to a shadow. Her pallid face was almost transparent, but her black hair was as glossy as ever. At her bedside a nurse was sitting and wetting her lips with cold wine, while Iku, with dark eyes and lean cheeks, was rubbing her with the help of another nurse. The room was silent, and only Nami's breath was heard. Suddenly she drew a long sigh, and reopening her eyes said faintly, Is aunt here? I am here. Madame Kato drew her chair near the bed and said to Nami, Did you sleep any? What? All right. Now, looking at the nurse and Iku, please leave the room for a little while. When the three women had gone, the lady drew her chair closer to the bed, and, brushing aside the hair on Nami's brow, she looked sadly into the face of her knees. Nami also gazed at her aunt. Presently with her sigh, Nami took out a sealed letter with her trembling hand from under her pillow. Give this after I'm gone. Madame Kato wiped her eyes as she put it securely in her breast. Certainly I will give it to Takeo-san myself. There, this ring. Nami put her left hand on her aunt's knee. On her third finger the diamond ring which Takeo gave her at her wedding shown brightly. She had sent back everything that belonged to the house when she was divorced, but she could not part with her ring. This I shall take with me, Nami said. Wiping her eyes, Madame Kato only nodded. Nami closed her eyes. After a while she opened them again. What is he doing? I wonder. Takeo-san has already arrived at Formosa and is working, I believe, and always thinking of us. If possible we are going to summon him, so your father says. But Nami-san, I will tell him about you and give him this letter too. A faint smile rose to Nami's lips. Presently her bloodless cheeks buttinged with red, her breast throbbed and burning tears started from her eyes. With an effort she exclaimed, Oh my heart, such a torture. Knitting her brow and pressing her hand to her breast, Nami writhed in agony. She started up in bed seizing the hands of Madame Kato who was just going to call the doctor and with agonizing cuffs was overcome by a hemorrhage. She fell back, helpless. The doctor and all the rest came into the room. With the help of the nurses, the doctor gave her immediate relief. They opened a window near the bed. The cool night air poured into the room. Outside the moon had just risen and its light shone through the branches of the trees. The general, the Viscountess, Madame Kato, Chizu, Koma and Ikku all sat by the bed. A soft breeze stirred Nami's hair and she lay as if already dead. The doctor watched her face closely and felt her pulse while the nurse stood by him with a candle whose flame flickered in her hand. Ten, fifteen minutes passed. A slight sigh was heard through the room and Nami's lips moved. The doctor gave her a spoonful of wine. A long breath was again heard and Nami muttered, let's go back, let's go back, my dear. Mother, we are coming, we are coming. Oh, still, here. Nami opened her eyes. The moon, just rising over the garden, cast a weird light and touched Nami's face. The doctor glanced at the general and left the bedside. The general now took Nami's hand. Nami, listen, I am your father, we are all here. Nami looked up vaguely, moved and gazed into the general's eyes, misty with tears. Father, don't break down, she said. Weeping quietly, Nami moved her right hand weakly and grasped her father's hand, which held her left. Mother, Nami asked. The Viscountess came nearer and wiped Nami's tears. Nami took her hand. Mother, I am going. I am going. The Viscountess's lips quivered and, covering her face, she left the room without a word. Encouraging her weeping daughter, Madame Cato drew nearer and took Nami's hands in her own. Koma also came and knelt by her sister's bed. Raising a trembling hand, Nami put it on Koma's head. Koma-chan. Sayonara. Nami breathed painfully and Koma, shuddering, gave her sister a spoonful of wine. She now opened her eyes and looked around. Ki-chan. Mi-chan. Asked Nami. The two children had already been sent away for the summer by the Viscountess. Nami nodded and scarcely seemed to know what was going on about her. At this time Ikku, who was in tears, stepped forward and seized Nami's helpless hand. Ikku said Nami. Mi-miss, let me go with you. After sending Ikku with difficulty into the adjoining room, all was silent. Nami closed her mouth and eyes and the shadow of death seemed about to descend upon her face. The general drew nearer for the second time. Nami. Is there anything more you want to say? Don't give way. Called back by a familiar voice, Nami opened her eyes and looked at her aunt. Nami-san said her aunt. I will do everything for you. Be at peace and go to your mother's home. A faint smile rose to her lips and she soon shut her eyes and breathed her last. The cold moonlight streamed in and shone on her pale face. The smile was still on her lips, but Nami was sleeping her long sleep. Three days after, Nami was buried in Aoyama Cemetery. General Kataoka being a man of wide social acquaintance, the funeral was widely attended, and not a few of Nami's old friends came to bid her farewell. Those who knew her story were saddened to see the general standing disconsolate by the coffin and even the strangest present wept at the sight of Ikku crying over it. The deceased being a young lady, many flowers were sent. The only ones refused were brought by a man of about forty. They bore the card of Kawashima House. End of section 26 Section 27 of Nami-ko by Roka Tokutomi This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Awae in January 2020. Book 3, Chapter 10 The Meeting at Aoyama Over four months had now passed. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, the shadow of the frost-tinged sumak lay long in the garden. Widow Kawashima, portly as ever, opened a screen, and coming out on the veranda stood by a water basin. She was provoked at finding no water in it. Matsu! Take! she called. At the call one servant came running from the garden wicket and the other from the veranda. There was a panic-stricken colour on their faces. What's the matter with you? I have told you often. Look here! She took up a dipper and rolled it inside the empty basin. The maids only stood breathless. Hurry up! she exclaimed. Terrified, the two went away. Mattering something to herself, the widow was about to go in, washing her hands with the water just brought when the other maid appeared and bowed low. What is it? asked the widow. A gentleman, Yamakisama. At the mention of the name, a sarcastic smile and a look of displeasure appeared on the broad face of the widow. To tell the truth, since Toyo had left the fall before, Yamaki rarely visited the widow. Hearing of the immense fortune he had made in the late war, the widow was all the more provoked at him, and, as often as she lectured to the servants on the feeling of obligation, she made of him a living example. But then her displeasure now had to give way to custom. Show him in, said the widow. Yamaki seated himself and appeared to be somewhat embarrassed. Yamaki-san, you are quite a stranger. Why, Yamaki apologized, I have long been a stranger without intending to be one. I should have come to see you before, but I have been busily occupied with my business after the war. I am very happy to see you so well. Yamaki-san, you made a great deal of money in the war, I hear. Why, it is very easy to say, but just enough to pay for my trouble. A maid brought in some things tied up with red and white strings on a tray, saying, from the gentleman, she placed them before the widow and retired. The widow glanced at them and smiled rather contentedly, as she said, Thank you very much. Not at all, they are nothing but trifles. Why, I haven't yet congratulated you on the young master's promotion to the rank of lieutenant. I also read in the paper the other day that he has been decorated and given a sum of money. You must be very proud of him. Where is he now, at Saseho? Take, he came back yesterday. And is he well? Yes, but just as boyish as ever, today he went out in the morning and is not back yet. You must be glad that he has returned. At General Kataoka's they were very unfortunate. It is over a hundred days, I believe. But you can't do anything against that disease. You were very wise to foresee it. Widokawa Shima looked stern at the mention of Kataoka. She said, You don't know how much trouble she caused us. We spent a good deal of money, even had a quarrel in the house, and after all they call me a devil. Just think of it, Yamaki-san. More than that, when we heard of the funeral we sent Tazaki with flowers. What do you think they did? They sent them back. Was it not very rude, Yamaki-san? When she had learned of the death of Nami, the widow had felt somewhat sorry. But, on finding that her flowers were returned unceremoniously, all her softer feelings vanished, and only the bitterness remained. That wasn't right. Surely anybody would be hurt at that. Now, Madam, sipping the tea which a maid offered him, I want to announce to you the marriage of my daughter Toyo. Your daughter to marry? I congratulate you. And whom? A graduate of the Imperial University, now Chief of a Bureau in the Department of Agriculture and Commerce. I think you know him. His name is, um, he used to be a patron of Chijiba. Oh, talking of Chijiba, I am very sorry for his untimely death. A slight shadow passed over the widow's forehead. War is an evil thing, isn't it? And when does the ceremony take place? We have fixed it, Yamaki replied, for the day after tomorrow. I desire your presence very much. We shall be proud to have you come. My wife ought to come to ask you, but she's very sorry that she's unable to. And the young master too will honour us with his presence. We hope. The widow nodded. She looked at the clock which was just striking five. What is Takke doing, I wonder? A naval officer with white chrysanthemums in his hand entered the Aoyama Cemetery from Minamicho Street. The autumnal sky was clear, and the light of the afternoon sun flooded the cemetery. A frost-stricken leaf descended noiselessly from a cherry tree. Japonica's blooming in the hedges perfumed the air, incense arose in slender threads, and a bird was heard chirping timidly. After the noise of a kuruma wailing toward Kokagicho had died away, the stillness of the place was felt all the more. And only the distant noise of the city was murmuring dreamily a dirge of human life. Somebody was passing behind a hedge. Presently there appeared a lady of about thirty. Her eyes were red, and she was holding the hand of a boy about seven in a sailor's suit. They had passed by the naval officer a short distance when the boy called the attention of his mother to him. Mama, he belongs to the navy too, doesn't he? The lady went away, covering her face with her handkerchief. The naval officer, without noticing them, went on, stopping many times as if to find his way and reading the newly erected grave-posts. At last he reached a lot hedged in with low shrubs and shaded by pines and cherry trees. He nodded and moved the wicket which opened at his touch. In front there was an old tombstone. The officer looked around and stood before a new grave-post at his side. A graceful pine-tree woven evergreen covering over the grave, and red and yellow cherry leaves were falling around it. On the post was written, in the blackest of ink, tomb of Nami Kataoka. The officer looked at the post and stood as immovable as a stone. Presently his face quivered and sobs escaped from his trembling lips. Takeo had returned yesterday from Formosa. Five months ago he had caught a glimpse of Nami as he was on his way to the Formosa exhibition, and later, in that far-off island, he had heard from Madame Kato that she was no more. As soon as he returned he sought Madame Kato and implored her to tell him everything about his beloved wife's final hours on earth. Takeo stood before the grave and burst into tears. Memories of three years floated before his misty eyes, the day of his marriage, the sunlight at Ikao, the vow at the Fudo shrine, the last evening at Zushi, and, last of all, the chance-meeting at Yamashima. The voice that cried, Come back soon, was still fresh in his ears, but when he came back she was no more his wife. He came back for the second time, and now she was gone. Oh Nami-san, why did you die? he exclaimed, weeping bitterly. A gust of wind passed overhead, and cherry leaves rustled down on the grave-post. As if awakened Takeo wiped his eyes and approached the grave. He took some withered flowers from the stands, and cleaning the fallen leaves away replaced them with the chrysanthemums he had brought. He now took out something from his pocket. It was Nami's last letter. His feelings when he read it, receiving it from the hand of Madame Kato, had been overwhelming. He opened it. Not a trace of her beautiful handwriting was to be seen. The letters were wavering, the ink smeared, and the stains of sorrowful tears remained. My days being numbered, I wish to leave you a few words. I hardly hoped to see you in this world, but was so glad that we happened to meet the other day by the mercy of heaven, but I scarcely knew how to use that single moment. A picture of Nami struggling at the window and throwing her violet handkerchief to him stood clearly before his eyes. Takeo looked up. In front of him there was only the grave post. Everything has gone against us, but I blame nobody, and though my body will return to dust, my spirit will ever be at your side. Papa, somebody is here. The ringing voice of a boy was heard. The same voice again announced, Papa, Takeo-san! And the boy with flowers came running to meet him. Surprised, Takeo stood with Nami's letter in hand and looked back, his eyes meeting those of General Kataoka at the wicket. Takeo's head was bowed to the ground. Suddenly he felt his hand in a warm grasp. On looking up, he found himself standing face-to-face with the general. Takeo-san, I too, am broken hearted. Grasping hands both stood weeping. After a while, the general wiped his tears. Laying his hand on Takeo's shoulder, he broke the silence in a firm voice. Takeo-san, I too, am broken hearted. Takeo-san, though Nami is dead, I am still your father. But come, be a man, Takeo-san, and look into the future. All our misfortunes have been to prepare us for a greater work. Indeed, it's a long time since we met. Come with me, Takeo-san, and let me hear what happened to you at Formosa. Finish. End of section 27. End of Nami Ko by Kenjiro Tokutomi. Translated by Sakai Shioya and Edwin Edgert. Read by Awaii. Thanks for listening.