 Chapter 7 A Prospective Bride With a lively shout announcing the master's return, Yamaki had been drawn up in a kuruma to the porch. Now, having taken a bath, he sat on a downy cushion in tailor fashion, with his back to the alcove, where early aris flowers were arranged in a vase, appearing at his ease, and as if he were now his own master. Dinner was set before him. First he took some sake, and, with his wife Osumi as waitress, he cast on her a glance which, though by no means discontented, seemed to take in her homely appearance. The maid brought in an evening paper. Well, about Korea, the uprising threatening, what, China sent soldiers? Good, Japan will be sure to send soldiers too, then we'll have war. Ah, that will be a great opportunity for money making. Osumi, you must have a cup also, in celebration of the event. Are we really going to have war? Yes, good, good. But Osumi, I have another good thing for you. I saw Chijima today, and he told me that the matter was progressing well. Is that so? Did Takeo-san give his consent? Why, no. He is still away, and there is no possibility of getting his consent. But Onami-san has had another hemorrhage, and the widow has given up her last hope, and has said that she will carry out her intention during Takeo-san's absence. The thing will surely be done if Chijima continues to ache her own. It would be extremely difficult to carry out the plan when Takeo-san is at home, and the widow intends to make short work of it while he is away. Everything then will work all right for our benefit. Here, your ladyship, fill up. Onami-san is to be pitied. Oh, you are very peculiar woman. You wanted to get rid of Onami-san, because Otoyo was to be pitied, and now the thing is about to succeed, and you begin to pit your Onami-san. Have done with such nonsense. Try to think how you can put Otoyo in her place. But I am afraid that Takeo-san will be very angry if he finds Onami-san divorced in his absence. Well, he may, but his anger will avail nothing if the matter is settled. And then Takeo-san is a good boy, so if the widow weeps, he will let the matter pass in silence. I am pretty sure of that. Well, so far so good. Now, as regards the matter of vital importance, that is, Lady Otoyo, we will wait a little till his fiery feeling is somewhat dampened, and then send her to him, invited or not, under the pretense of learning good manners. Of course, we shall pay board and all other expenses. Why, it is not so difficult as it first appears to be. All depends upon the widow's whim. If Otoyo be barren as Kabashima, she will obtain her dearest wish, and I, as a father in law, must supervise the property of Kabashima house, Takeo-san being a mere child, you know. That is nice. Well, too nice not to be troublesome. But let it be. Our immediate concern, however, is about Otoyo. Won't you take rice now? Never mind. This is a celebration, you know. But you must look after her manners a little more closely. If not, she will be spoiled. Such fretting every day will be sure to discourage any mother in law, even if she be a goddess of mercy. But then I can't instruct her by myself. You always, oh, don't. I hate that sort of excuse. Proof is better than argument, they say. I'll show you how to instruct. Call in Otoyo. Miss, your father wants to see you. At the voice of the maid Take, Toyo, who had just finished her evening toilet, but was still unable to leave the glass, turned around leisurely. All right, just a moment. Touching her hair. Say, Take, isn't it a little disarranged here? No, not at all. How charming you look. Thank you. She looked at the glass and smiled. Take, taking off her sleeve, with which she had covered her mouth, and composing herself said, Your father is waiting for you. I know. I am coming. Taking her last lingering look in the glass, she passed through several rooms in haste, and went to her father's room. Oh, Otoyo, we are waiting for you. Come here. Fill my cup in place of your mother. Oh, don't put down the bottle so roughly. That doesn't show you a training in tea-serving. That is right. Do it so, gracefully. Yamaki, already mellow with sake, drank again, in spite of his wife's warning, as he resumed, Otoyo looks charming if properly dressed like this, doesn't she, Osumi? Her complexion is fair. Otoyo smirked and twisted herself almost into the shape of the letter S. Graceful in form, and quite charming in speech, on a proper occasion. Only her front teeth, like her mother's, protrude a little. Hyozo! Osumi knit her brows. Otoyo, feeling as if she had drunk vinegar after eating candy, made a sweet sour face. Raise the ends of your eyes one-third of an inch, and you will improve your looks. Hyozo! Osumi would have wished to shut the door of his mouth if it had been provided with one. There! Why are you provoked Otoyo? That will spoil your looks. You need not look so unpleasant. See here. I have some good news for you. Fill up once more for my trouble, and I'll break it to you. Draining the cup filled to the brim, Yamaki proceeded with a cheerful smile. We were just talking about Takeo-san. Like a horse which had spent unhappy days by an empty manger, and at last awakened to the fragrance of spring weeds, Otoyo raised her head and pricked up her ears. You scratched Onami-san's picture, so she has at last been smitten with your curse. Hyozo! Madame Osumi knit her brows for the third time. Now to the point. At any rate, Onami-san is very ill, and for that reason she will be divorced. No, the matter has not yet been presented to her parents, and Onami-san herself does not know anything about it, but at all events it will soon be settled. There comes the trouble of finding a substitute. Now this is the point. Your mother and I want to let you step into the shoes of Onami-san. No, it cannot be so soon, so you will send you to Kawashima as a maid. Wait! Don't be so astonished, as a candidate, you know, that a pretext of learning good manners. Now your success hinges on the widow's pleasure, you understand? That is the point. He stopped for a breath, and glanced from his wife's face to that of his daughter. That is the point, Otoyo. It's a little early, but I want to impress it on you. As you know, Takeo-san's mother is known for her. Crossness, selfishness, obstinacy. Oh, excuse me, I am forgetting that she is your future mother. But at any rate, she is not a gentle lady, as is your mother sitting there. But she is not a devil or a snake, but a human being. If you only acquire tact, you can be a wife even to a devil or a snake. Why, if I were a woman, I could make the widow or anyone like her as soft as gingerbread in two days. Well, my pride will avail you nothing, but I can instruct you how to act. Now you must pay attention to what I say, Otoyo. If you go there as a maid, that is, as a disguised candidate for a bride, first of all you must not be so lazy as now. You will have to get up early in the morning, old persons, you know, are early risers, and attend carefully to the widow's things, though you neglect other matters. And secondly, you must not be easily provoked as you are now. You will have to yield in every case. Do you understand? You must yield when you are scolded. You must yield when any unreasonable demand is made. You even must yield when you are right. Then they will meet you halfway. This is what is meant by the saying to lose is to gain. You must never be provoked, you understand. Thirdly, this is rather too early, but I tell you now that I have the chance. Suppose at last you are married. You must be careful not to live happily with Takeo-san. No, I don't care what you do in secret, but I mean you must be careful how you act toward him openly. Be familiar with your mother-in-law, but to your husband you must be bold enough to read him a bit of a harmless lesson before her. A mother should be glad to see that her daughter-in-law is much attached to her son, but strange to say she does not generally like it. Well, it's jealousy or selfishness. But aside from that, if you care too much for your husband, you are apt to neglect your mother-in-law. At least, she thinks so. Onami-san may have made a blunder in that way, being too happy with Takeo-san. Oh, don't look so jealous. You must yield these, as I told you. So you must let the widow feel that you are her bride and not her son's. Quarrels between a mother and her daughter-in-law generally arise from the formless feeling of isolation on account of the too happy condition of the young couple. So think of yourself as the bride of the widow. After it is all over with her by and by, you may even walk about clinging to the neck of Takeo-san. But in the presence of the widow, you must not even smile upon him. I have some more advice for you, but I will reserve it until you are ready to go. These three things are quite enough at present. Since you are to be a wife to your dearest Takeo-san, you must do your best to deny yourself. Begin now, and do the best you can. Before he had concluded, the screen was opened and the maid Take brought in a letter. Yamaki broke the seal, ran his eye over the letter, and flourished it before the faces of his wife and daughter. Look here! Widow Kawashima wants to see me at once. Two weeks after Takeo went to the naval maneuver, and a few days before Yamaki was summoned to the house of Kawashima, Nami had another hemorrhage, and a doctor was called in a hurry. Luckily it was slight, and she was assured of her safety for the present, but this news gave no small incentive to Takeo's mother. A day or two later, the copulent figure of Widow Kawashima, rarely seen outside her gate, was on the way to Kato's at Iida Machi. On the evening the divorce question was discussed between the widow and her son, she met Takeo's unexpectedly firm opposition, and had promised to let the matter remain unsettled till his return. But she doubted if he would yield by that time. Indeed, on the contrary, she feared that time would rather strengthen his attachment to Nami, and, moreover, that some unforeseen obstacle might present itself. Therefore she thought it best to settle the matter at once in her son's absence, but, nevertheless, a vague sort of fear, as well as her promise, kept her from taking a step decisive enough to satisfy Chijiba, who came often to urge her own. The report of Nami's second hemorrhage, however, turned to scale completely, and induced the widow to call on Kato, who had acted as middleman in her son's marriage. Although they were neighbours, the widow hardly ever visited the Kato family, except the ones when she returned thanks for their assistance in the marriage. So her unexpected call naturally aroused the suspicion of Madame Kato that there was some unusual trouble on hand. She received the guest courteously. But when she heard what had brought the widow, she felt as if her heart were pierced, who would have thought that she should be asked to break the tyre's sander with the same hands that had joined the two houses of Kataoka and Kawashima. Madame Kato could only watch her guest, wondering what sort of assurance she possessed to come to her and utter unblushingly such heartless words. But the widow sat self-composed, with her body copulent and erect, and her hands locked on her knees. Surely Madame Kato thought the widow was not joking, nor was she out of her wits. But as she finally was compelled to admit that the widow was saying what she meant, her surprise was replaced by the kindling fire of her wrath. Harsh words to rebuke the widow for her to selfish position were about to escape from the lips of Madame Kato. But by an effort she was able to check them for the sake of Nami, who was dear to the lady as her own daughter, and instead she asked the reasons, combated them mildly, sympathized with the widow's position, and finally entreated her forbearance. This last, however, failed to reach the widow's ear. On the contrary, she showed by a glance her contempt for such useless locacity, and in that way reminded the lady that her business was merely to carry the widow's message to Nami's parents. Before Madame Kato's eyes, as she listened to the widow, floated the picture of her sick niece, of the deathbed of her sister, Nami's mother, and of the general, anxious for his daughter's welfare. And as her feelings gathered volume and her eyes were clouded with tears, Madame Kato rose up bravely and gave a flat refusal, without stopping to wait for her husband's opinion, saying that, though the house of Kato had had the honour of assisting the two families to unite in the bond of love, they could not defile their hands in such an unjust and unhuman cause. The widow went home enraged, and sent for Yamaki by letter that very evening. She thought that honest Tasaki was too slow for such important business. On Madame Kato's part, her husband being away, she was puzzled very much what to do, but, with the help of her daughter Chizu, did her best to ascertain the whereabouts of Takeo's ship, and wrote him in haste, thinking, in spite of the widow's statement, that he was opposed to such a step. While this was being done, the enraged widow made up her mind to make a direct application, and, having commissioned Yamaki for that purpose, his kuruma was soon on the way to the house of Kataoka. Chapter 8 The Recall Just as Yamaki's kuruma was entering the gate of Lieutenant General Kataoka's house at Akazaka, a brave-looking military officer emerged on horseback. Taking alarm at the noise made by the kuruma as it dashed in, the horse shied, and almost stood erect on his hind legs. The soldier, however, bringing him down easily by reigning in and circling once, rode out of the gate. Watching the elegant figure of the rider as he rode off, and clearing his throat, Yamaki neared the stately porch. He had been accustomed to visit the houses of many illustrious officials, but now he felt his heart strangely failing within him. The night before, when he was commissioned by the widow Kawashima for this day's business, he felt somewhat embarrassed, but when he came actually to face it, he pitied himself for the comparative weakness of his heart, which he had prided himself was as bold as brass. After his card had been sent in, and the attendant had appeared for the second time, Yamaki was shown to the reception room. On a table was spread a map of China and Korea, which, with burnt matches and a heap of ashes on the small tray, brought to mind the topic which must recently have been discussed. Indeed, the uprising in Korea, the movement of Chinese troops and the rumoured dispatch of the Japanese army was attracting the attention of the whole world at this time, and, though he was under reserved list, the general had so much to occupy his mind that he was entirely robbed of the time he used to spend over the English reader. Yamaki sat down and was looking around the room curiously, when the sound of footsteps like distant thunder was heard approaching, and a man, massive as a mountain, came into the room and took a seat at the further end. Yamaki rose up hurriedly at the general's entrance, and in doing so he upset his chair. With a word or two of surprise and excuse, he raised it confusedly, and made three or four courteous bows to the master. It is possible that he was saluting and apologising for his rudeness at the same time. Please take a seat. You are Yamaki-kun. I knew your name, but I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I am Hyozo Yamaki, adding, as one might in wishing to seem very humble, and an awkward person. He made a bow at the end of each phrase, and every time he did so, the chair creaked, as if it were amusedly exclaiming, that is right. A few informal words on unimportant topics and some remarks on Korean questions, and then the general formally asked Yamaki the object of his call. Yamaki first cleared his throat, trying to open his lips. He did so again, and for the third time before he could say a word. He wondered how his fluent words should stick in his throat only at that time. At last Yamaki spoke. I was sent by the house of Kawashima on a certain matter. The general fixed his narrowed eyes on Yamaki, as if in surprise. Well, without Kawashima was to come herself, but I was asked to call instead. I understand. Yamaki mopped his brow, the sweat oozing out in spite of him. They wanted Y Countess Kato to speak for them. He continued, but as she was unwilling they sent me instead. I see. And what about? It is about this. I hesitate to say it, but Madam Kawashima, your daughter, the general riveted his eyes on the speaker for a while without winking. Well, it is about the young Y Countess. We hesitate to say so, but we have been very anxious about her illness as you know, and though she is now somewhat bitter and we are very glad of it, I see. We hate to tell you ourselves as it presumes too much on your kindness, but as her illness is of very doubtful nature and as you know the Kawashima family is small and the present master Takeo-san is the only man in the house, the widow feels very anxious about him. We very much hesitate to say as it presumes too much on your kindness, but the nature of her illness is such that, if it should ever infect, why in all probability it may not happen, but it is better to be on the safe side, and if Pachan's Takeo-san, the master of the house, be in danger, it will result in the annihilation of the Kawashima line. Well, such an annihilation may not be of much account nowadays, but anyhow, to tell the truth, I loathe to say, but as the nature of her illness is such that Yamaki faltered, and beads of sweat stood on his brow as he stumbled further and further into his speech. The general who had watched him in silence raised his right hand at this moment. All right, I understand. In short, Nami's disease is dangerous, so you want me to call her back. All right, I understand. He nodded and, putting his close-burned cigar on the ashtray, folded his arms, feeling as if he had been helped out of the mire, Yamaki breathed freely and mopped his brow. You understand me rightly. It is very awkward for me to say, but I pray you will not take it amiss. And Takeo-san is back? No, he isn't. But of course he knows all about the matter, so I am sure you will not take it in bad part. Very well. The general nodded again and remained for a while with his eyes shut and his arms folded. Putting a good face on his comparatively easy success, Yamaki looked up and saw the general closing his eyes and compressing his lips. Then he felt that there was something awesome in the countenance of his host. Yamaki-kun. The general opened his eyes and studied the face of Yamaki. Yes, said Yamaki. You have children, I suppose, asked the general. Yamaki being unable to guess the real import of the question, but making a bow, yes, sir, a son and a daughter. Yamaki-kun, you know how dear a child is to you. Yes, very well. I will consent to the request. Please tell Widokawa Shima to be at ease. Nami shall be called back today. I am sorry to trouble you in this matter. Yamaki arose and bowed many times, presumably being glad at having fulfilled his mission and in part sorry for the trouble occasioned by his visit. The general saw the caller to the porch and, returning, shut himself up in his study. At last the wheat had been reaped and the time for wild lilies arrived. She lost heart over her condition for a time, but luckily the doctor reassured her and she soon regained her courage. Comforted by a recent letter from her husband at Hakodate, she did her best to follow the doctor's instructions and to get well and waited impatiently for Takeo's return. During the last few days, however, all communication with Tokyo had ceased and no word had reached her from her house at Bancho, from her parents, or from her aunt in Idamachi. She was now trying to arrange wild lilies in a vase in order to kill time. Speaking to her maid, who had just brought in some water, she said, Say, Ikku, isn't it strange that no male comes? I should say so, replied the old woman. Perhaps they are all well and have nothing to write us, but it will not long before you hear, and besides, someone may drop in this very morning. How beautiful the flowers are! How I wish our master would come back before they wither away. Nami looked at the lilies in her hand and said, Beautiful indeed, but better to have them stay where they were, I think. It seems cruel to cut them off like this. At this moment a Kuruma was heard approaching the gate of the villa. It was the Viscountess Kato. She had felt uneasy the day after she rejected the request of Widokawashima, and accordingly she went to the house of Kataoka and learned to her great surprise that a deputy of the house of Kawashima had already been there, and had gone back with the consent of the general. She was very much annoyed that not only was her plan to wait for the return of Takeo frustrated, but that the matter had gone so far beyond her power. But since there was no help, she at least wanted to see her niece Setsushi, for Nami's father feared the shock to her when she learned the news so far from home and bring her to her father's house. Well, how glad I am to see you, dear aunt! We've just been talking of you. Very glad to see you, Viscountess, said Iku, and turning to Nami. Don't you see, madam, that Iku was right? How do you feel, my dear Nami's son? Nothing serious since the last attack, I hope. But she was unable to look straight into Nami's eyes. Nothing at all. Thank you, said Nami. I am getting better. But how are you, dear aunt? You do not look well. I? Why, I've got a little headache. Perhaps it's the weather. But have you heard from Takeo-san lately? Yes. He wrote me the day before yesterday from Hakodate. He's coming back pretty soon. No, the date is not fixed. He says he has something for me. Is that so? said madam Kato. It's... late now. Two o'clock, isn't it? Why are you in such a hurry? asked Nami. Make yourself quite at home. How is Ochizu-san? Oh, she sent her love to you. Saying this, her aunt took a cup of tea from Iku, but she was so abstracted that she forgot to drink it. Please make yourself at home, Iku begged. Madam, I'll get you some nice fish. Yes, please. Her aunt started, as if awakened, looked at Nami's face for a moment and then turned away her eyes. No, don't. I have not time today. Nami-san, you are to go with me. I am to go? Where? Nami was surprised. Yes, your father wants to see you about your illness on the doctor's advice. Your mother at Bancho, she also agrees. He wants to see me. What about? About your illness, as I told you. And then your father has missed you so long. Is that so? Nami wore a suspicious air and so did Iku. But you will remain here this evening, said Iku. No, I can't. The doctor is waiting, you know, and it's better to go before dark. We must start by the next train. Indeed! Old Iku was surprised. Nami also could not understand the situation. But it was her aunt who brought the message, and it was her father who sent for her, and besides, her mother-in-law knew of the summons. At any rate, she hastened her preparation without further questioning. What are you thinking about so much, aunt? There is no need for nurse to go, as I shall soon be back. Her aunt, leaving her seat and helping Nami to dress, said, take her with you. You will need her. By four o'clock, three Kuruma were ready at the gate. Presently they all came out. Nami put on a light-crape dress of silver-grey with a belt of sky-blue satin, a white flower of caped jasmine in her hair, and a tawny parasol in her right hand. Covering her mouth with a handkerchief as she cuffed, she said, Well, Iku, I shall be gone for a while. Yes, it's quite a long time since I lived there, and then that dress I have been making just a little of it is still left. Well, all right, I'll do it myself when I come back. It will certainly be ready before his return. Her aunt hid her face in the parasol, tears coming into her eyes before she could check them. There is a pit of fate silently awaiting our approach. We walk into it unconsciously and unavoidably. A cold feeling, however, of indescribable fear will assail us as we draw near the spot. Nami, who started home without much questioning on account of her trust in her aunt and her joy at the prospect of meeting her father, felt her heart throb no sooner than she was in the Kuruma. The more she thought over her situation, the more she found herself at sea. She doubted the truth of her aunt's words as to her unusual look, and she was unable to clear her mind while on the train. When she had arrived at Shimbashi station, her mind was so weighed with vague foreboding that she almost forgot the joy of returning home after a long absence. Nami alighted from the train and, assisted by her nurse, followed her aunt slowly at the end of the crowd. As she passed the gate, a military officer happened to be standing nearby. He was talking, and, turning toward Nami, suddenly he exchanged a look with her. It was Chijiwa. Looking at her intently, he uncovered his head purposely and smiled. That look and that smile sent a strange tremor into her heart, and, pairless ashes, Nami felt a disagreeable chill which did not come from her illness, a chill which continued till long after she drove off in the carriage. Her aunt did not speak, and Nami also remained silent. The evening sun that shone on the carriage window went down, and they reached the house of Katawuka in the dusky air, soft with the faint fragrance of chestnut blossoms. There were carts and litters near the gate, and a lamp burning bright at a side porch. Men were heard speaking inside, and the whole scene suggested a removal. Wondering what these things meant, Nami alighted from the carriage with the help of her aunt and nurse, when Madam Katawuka appeared at the porch to meet them, and said, Oh, so soon! I thank you for your trouble. The eyes of Madam Katawuka glided from the face of Nami to that of Madam Kataw. How do you do, Mother? asked Nami. And where's Father? He's in his study. Madam Katawuka answered, briefly. At this moment the merry voices of her younger brother and sister were heard, shouting Nami's name, and without heeding their mother's caution they rushed toward her. Koma also came out after them. Oh, Mi-chan and Ki-chan, how are you? Oh, here is Koma-chan. Michi, hanging on a sleeve of her sister, said, I am so happy! You will always stay here with us. Your things have all come. No one dared to hush the young speaker, and the gaze of her stepmother, aunt, Koma and maids were all focused on the face of Nami. What? Nami was astonished, and shifted her eyes from the face of her stepmother, over that of her aunt, to the things piled up in a room by the porch. There was no mistaking that they were her toilet stand, cabinets, and dress boxes, all of which had been left at her house. Nami trembled all over, and, staggering, gripped firmly her aunt's hand. All wept. Heavy footsteps being heard, her father now appeared on the scene. Oh, father! My dear child, how I have longed to see you. The general clasped Nami's little, shivering body into his broad breast. A half hour passed, and silence reigned in the house. In the general study were two persons, father and child. They were in the same position as on the day she left that house never to return, Nami listening to the last teaching of her father, the child kneeling and weeping on the knees of her father, and the father caressing gently his sobbing daughter. End of Section 16. Section 17 of Nami-ko by Roka Tokutomi. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Abaii in December 2019. Book 2, Chapter 10. Takeo and his mother. Extra! Extra! Extra on the Korean problem! Thus shouting, the newsboy went by ringing an alarm bell. And after him a Kuruma was seen drawing up at the gate of the house of Kawashima at Bancho. Takeo had returned home. The widow knew that Takeo would be angry when he learned what had been done during his absence, but he wins who trusts his sword first, and on the very day Yamaki had brought her the good news, she at once sent back to the house of Kataoka everything that belonged to Nami. She thought it a little cruel, but as nothing short of imperative measures would suffice, she was satisfied with the steps she had taken, and was in good spirits for two or three days thereafter. On the other hand, the servants, naturally siding with the young couple, held their breath at the ruthless act of the widow, and expected a scene on Takeo's return. And in the midst of the situation, Takeo came back. The letter Madame Kato sent hurriedly to inform Takeo of what had happened crossed him on the way, and of course his mother did not mention the subject to him in her letter. So he remained totally ignorant of his real position, and took the first opportunity to come home on reaching Yokosura Naval Station. A chambermaid who came from the direction of the sitting-room beckoned to a maid who was making tea and said, Say, Machan, our master does not seem to know anything about the matter. He even brought home something for his wife. Indeed, exclaimed Matsu, where on earth can you find another mother who would divorce her son's wife during his absence? But wait and see how angry he will get. She is an old devil. So she is, said the chambermaid. I have never seen such a cross, stingy, and unreasonable woman. She scolds us, but she doesn't know anything herself. The truth is that she was only the daughter of a poor farmer in Satsuma. I hate to stay in such a place. But isn't our master rather slow in finding out that his own wife is divorced? Well, I know that couldn't be helped, continued the chambermaid. He was far away, you know. No one would expect that a mother would drive her son's wife away without consulting him as if she were a mere servant. And then he is still young, you know. I feel sorry for him, but still more for his wife. How is she feeling, I wonder? Ah, there. The old woman has begun to roar. Machan, if you don't mind your business, you will be scolded. In an inner room the voices of the widow and her son were heard growing louder and louder. But you promised me to wait till my return, expostulated Takeo, and you did not even write me and have done this on your own responsibility. I cannot bear it. I stopped at Zushi on my way here, and as I did not find Nami, I asked Takeo about her. She said that Nami had come to Tokyo on some business. I felt queer about it, but I never dreamt that you... This is too much for me. I was wrong, the widow was heard to say, and I apologize. I didn't dislike Nami at all, but because I love you, you are always thinking of me, but have no regard for honor, reputation or human feelings. Takeo, you are a man and not a woman, I suppose. You still think of Nami despite your mother's humiliating herself? But what you have done is more than I can stand, said Takeo. Nevertheless, it is too late now. They have agreed, and the matter is settled once for all. What can you now do against it? I tell you, if you do anything foolish, it will bring shame not only to your mother, but to yourself. Takeo, who was listening silently, bit his lip angrily. He rose suddenly and crashed to pieces a basket of choice apples brought for his sick wife. He said, Mother, you have killed Nami, and me too. I will never see you again. Takeo went back at once to his war-vessel at Yokosura. The Korean problem drawing near to a crisis, the Japanese government declared war against China about the middle of July. And on the 18th of the same month, Vice Admiral Kabayama was made Chief of the Ordnance Bureau, and the Matsushima, flag-vessel to the Combined Fleets, on board of which was Takeo, was ordered to meet the other vessels at Saseho. Preferring to be a target for a shell, rather than to preserve his useless life, Takeo immediately left on duty for the West. General Kataoka at once built a cozy house for Nami in a quiet, sunny nook of his spacious estate, and, calling old Ikku from Zushi, directed her to live there with his daughter. In September he was restored to duty, and, after entrusting Nami most tenderly to the care of his wife, he went down on the thirteenth of the months to the military headquarters at Hiroshima, in the Imperial Suite, and the next month sailed for the Liaotong Peninsula with General Ouyama, Yamaji, and others. All the passion and conflict in the minds of those whom we have followed thus far, were for a while carried away in the great national agitation over the China-Japan war. It was five o'clock in the afternoon of the 16th of September, 1894, when our combined squadrons, ready for action, steamed out of the mouth of the river Taidong toward the northwest. They went in search of the enemy's fleet, reported to have been seen near the river Yalu, protecting Chinese transports, and intended to engage in a decisive battle. With the Yoshino as flagship, the first flying squadron, consisting of the Takashiho, the Naniwa, and the Akitsushima sailed first, then followed the main squadron of the Chiyoda, Itsukushima, Hachidate, Hie, and Fuzo, with their Matsushima as flagship. Next came the gunboat Akagi and the armoured merchant vessel Saikyo Maru, with the chief of the Ordnance Bureau on board, who, it was said, wanted to see an engagement. The twelve vessels, in one long line, left the port that afternoon, and, plowing the waves of the Yellow Sea, moved on like a huge sea serpent. After a while the sun sank into the sea, and the full moon rose in the east, the ships riding on golden and silvery wavelets, and drifting in the clear moonlight. In the gun-room of the Matsushima, supper was over, and, though the officers on duty had left long ago, still a few lads remained and were engaged in a lively talk. The stern window is being tightly closed, so as not to let light escape, the room was warm, and the red faces of the full-blooded youths were deeply flushed. On a table were some cups and saucers, and a plate of cakes, which had been done justice to, all but one last slice, waiting its sad doom at the hands of some future admiral. The army may have already captured Pyongyang, said a small spirited ensign, as he looked around at his fellow officers, resting his cheek on his arm. But how about the navy? Look at these idle hours! A well-fed assistant paymaster smilingly remarked from his corner, don't you know that the play will be over no sooner that the curtain is raised? It's fun to have a long intermission. Oh, away with such idle talk! I'm tired of playing blind man's buff with the Pei-Yang. If we miss them again this time, I can't rest till we force our way into the Gulf of Pechili and visit the Fort of Taku with a shell. A certain cadet questioned him earnestly. That is the same thing as to enter into a bag. What will you do if you are blockaded? What? Blockaded? I wish we were. But I'm sorry to say they are not active enough to blockade us. I don't mean to discourage you, but it seems to me that our intended encounter this time will rather miscarry. I don't know what to do with the everlasting slowness of the Chinese. At this moment footsteps were heard and a tall ensign appeared at the doorway. The small ensign turned around. Hello, navigating officer. What news? Anything in sight? Only the moon. You'd better go to bed and get a good rest as soon as the roll is called. Eating the piece of cake left on the plate, he continued. Stay a little while on deck and you will get awfully hungry. Bring some more cake, boy. Another ensign with a red shirt on smiled and wandered at his appetite. The tall ensign remarked in reply, How about you, my dear friend? Isn't it our privilege, heroes of the gun room, to eat cakes and look down upon the veterans? But say, fellow, don't you know that the Marines could not sleep for joy tomorrow? If we blunder tomorrow it will not be the fault of the Marines, but of... Oh, we have no doubt of our courage. Asserted a mate, the oldest one of the group. What we desire is nothing but nerve. Beware of rashness. Speaking of that, I was surprised that the sub-captain of number Blanc Core remarked another of the group. Such industry! But though we make light of our lives, he goes too far in remarking that he is selling his life at a bargain. Oh, you mean Kawashima? Yes, I remember once. Oh, it was at a demonstration of way highway that he performed such a dangerous feat. If you made him commander in chief, he might, perhaps, like number three, lead our fleet into the Gulf of Pechili, and, not satisfied with Taku, would send them up the Pei Hall and try to capture old Li Hong Chang. And then he is quite changed. He gets angry at nothing. Once I joked him about the baroness Kawashima, when he turned black and was about to knock me down. I am more afraid of his blow than of a 30-centimeter shell from the Ting Wen. I suspect something has happened to him. Say, Garibaldi, you are his great friend and you know the secret. The navigating officer looked into the face of the man with a red shirt, nicknamed Garibaldi. At this moment the boy brought in a plate full of cakes, and the idle gangroom talk ended. At ten in the evening the roll was called. Those on duty reported at their respective quarters, and the rest went to bed. Loud talking and kindling of fire were prohibited. The upper and lower decks were silent as if deserted. Except the solitary commanding voice of the chief navigating officer, only the sound of the screw and the ceaseless beating of the engine, like that of an enormous heart, were heard, while the silent smoke from the funnels was drifting white in the moon. On the forward bridge two human shadows were seen. One remained standing at the left end of the bridge, the other was walking noiselessly to and fro. The latter was Takeo Kawashima. He was the sub-captain of number blank core, and with the chief navigating officer was keeping his four hours watch on the bridge. He now reached the right end. He raised his glass and looked far around him. Seeing nothing, he lowered his right hand and stood with his left hand on the rail. Two officers talking in low tones came from the front gun, and passing under the bridge disappeared into the shadow. Everything was quiet on the deck, the wind growing chill and the moon shedding her crystal light. Stretching beyond the dark figures of the watchers on the prow, nothing was visible but the white waters of the Yellow Sea, except the faint shadow of a rocky island on the port side, and the still fainter body of the Akitsushima ahead. The autumn sky high above the main mast, toward which the sparks from the funnels now hurried forth and vanished, was studded with scattered stars, and the milky way, shorn of its luster, stretched pale from sea to sea. Three months had passed since Takeo left his mother in anger. But what changes he had lived through during those days? First his mind had been stirred up by the threatening Korean problem, and then, on the bay of Saseho, his heart had been run by the sad strains of farewell music. The declaration of war had almost doubled his courage, and the bombardment of Weihai Wei had given him for the first time a baptism of fire. Things wonderful to his mind and eyes followed one after another, and did not allow him time even to stop to think. So much the better for him, for he was thereby able to avoid dwelling upon the one thing that consumed his soul. In his country's hour of trial his private affairs, though they were a question of life or death to him, were lost sight of. Thus he thought, and burying his grief followed his duty, and with all his desperate courage engaged in battle. To him, indeed, death was of no more value than a particle of dust. But whenever there came a peaceful evening on the bridge, or a sleepless night in his hammock, he was at the mercy of his unbearable feelings. Time went by, and now the intensity of the passion before which everything had given way was dulled, and his anger, hardened as it were, secretly consumed his soul. His mother wrote him twice and hoped for his safe return. Moody as he was, he thought how lonely his old mother was, and, apologizing for his rashness, wished her well. But his feeling toward her could never be changed. It was sunk deep in his breast, and night after night he saw, through his dream over the destruction of the Pei Yang Squadron and his death in the battle, the face of the sick girl wrapped in a snow-white shawl. Three months passed with no news about her. Was she still living? No? Yes, she was. As never a day passed without thinking of her, so it must be with her, too. Did they not pledge to live and die together? Takeo thought this, and he thought again of the time he had seen her last. Ah, where was she, who, on that dim evening at Zushi, cried after him to come back soon, as she stood at the gate to see him off? Pensively he looked up when he felt as if a slender form in a white shawl were about to step out of the clear moon. Perhaps tomorrow the fleet would meet the enemy, and, if he should be killed by a shell, his life would be but a dream. He thought of it, and then of his mother, who would be left behind him. He thought also of his dead father, and of the days he spent at Yeda Jima, and again his mind would turn to Nami-san. Kawashima Takeo hurriedly turned around at a slap on his shoulder. It was the chief navigating officer. How beautiful the night is! We can hardly believe that we are going to war. Notting ascent, Takeo brushed aside his tears and raised his glass. The moon was white, and nothing was visible but the vast expanse of the water. The moon had set, and the sky was turning purple. The 17th of September was dawning on the Yellow Sea. It was about six in the morning, and the fleet was already near Hayang Island. The gunboat Akagi had been ordered to reconnoiter the inlets of the island for no purpose. The fleet sailed along, and was soon off Taku-shan, with Talu and Seolu Islands on the port side. It was eleven o'clock. Takeo at that moment left the wardroom, and was about to step on deck, when a voice was heard crying, SMOKE! At the same time hurried footsteps were heard on deck. With his heart beating furiously, Takeo stopped on the stair. A seaman who happened to pass below also stopped and exchanged a look with him. Is the enemy inside? It seems so. Springing excitedly on deck, Takeo found men running right and left, whistles shrieking, and a signal flag being hoisted on the mast. At the bow, marines stood in groups, and on the bridge the commander, vice commander, and other officers all gazed intently in one direction. Far away on the horizon, black streaks of smoke could be counted. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. It was the enemy's fleet. An officer on the bridge looked at his watch and said, an hour and a half more. If things are ready, we can have a good dinner before we get to work. Another, in the middle of the group, nodded. They are keeping us waiting, but friends make the most of your time. As he said this, he twisted his moustache. Presently the imperial naval flag was hoisted high on the main mast, and the sound of the bugle from the bridge was heard all over the ship. Men rushed to their respective quarters, and those who were going to climb to the main top, to descend to the engine room, to enter the torpedo room, or to attend to the sick room, went to right and left, upon the bridge, and toward the stern. In an instant, preparations were complete, and they were ready for action. It was near noon, and luncheon was ordered before the fight. Takeo had been helping the captain, who was directing the gunners about the starboard quick-firing guns. He, therefore, entered the gun room a little late, and found his messmates already at the table. The short ensign looked earnest, and the mate mopped his forehead as he bent over the plate. Young cadets stole looks at their comrades as they now and then gave orders. Presently one of them rose noisily from his seat. It was the red-shirted ensign. Comrades, I love to see that your spirit is dauntless and that you can sit down to a hearty meal in the face of the enemy, but I doubt very much if we shall all meet at mess this evening. Let us, therefore, shake hands and save her well to one another. Thereupon he clasped the hand of Takeo, who was next to him, and shook it. At the same time, the others all rose and clasped each other's hands, two or three plates being thrown off the table in the commotion. One ensign, with a scar on his left cheek, took the hand of the surgeon. When we are wounded, you must handle us gently. This is to bribe you. And he shook the surgeon's hand four or five times. All laughed, but presently they became serious. One after another they went out, leaving the room with its piles of empty dishes. At twenty minutes past twelve, Takeo was ordered by the captain of his corps to go up on the front bridge to see the vice-commander. From that point of vantage he saw that the fleet was already disposed in single column. The four cruisers of the first flying squadron going first, about four thousand meters apart. The six vessels of the main squadron, with the Matsushima at the head, coming next, and the Akagi and Saikyo Maru following them on the left and under cover. The flag on the main mast was fluttering bravely to the wind. The funnels were sending forth a volume of black smoke, and the white waves at the bow were rising high in foam. The officers on the bridge, some with marine glasses at their eyes, and some with hands-on swords, were breasting the wind. Away to the north the ten streaks of smoke, first seen close to the horizon, gradually grew, and the enemy's fleet seemed to be springing out of the water. Masts, funnels, and hulls burst into view, and even the flags that the mast heads were now visible. The two huge iron clads, Tingyuan and Chengyuan, took the center position. The Qingyuan, Qi Yuan, Wei Yuan, and Qi Yuan formed the left wing, and the Lai Yuan, Qing Yuan, Chao Yuan, and Yang Wei, the right wing. And to the west, four more battleships, with six torpedo boats, were seen. The Japanese squadrons advanced in single column toward the center of the enemy, approaching them in like fashion, but when about 10,000 meters away the flying squadron veered to the left to attack the enemy's right. The rest of the fleet also went to port. The battle lines changed at once from a T to a V shape, and in this position they approached until they were within a distance of 6,000 meters. At this moment, white smoke was seen rising at the prow of the Chenyuan, and two 30-centimeter shells shrieked in the air and fell into the sea on the port side of the flying squadron. The water of the Yellow Sea rose in clouds. The Yellow Sea, whose water had been silvery in the moonlight the evening before, and had only this morning reflected in its calm surface the fleecy clouds, the blue islands, and peaceful birds, the Yellow Sea was now the scene of a dreadful battle. Takeo returned from the bridge to his quick-firing gun. The captain was busy with his glass, and the gunners had stripped off their jackets and were bearing their brown, sinewy arms up to the elbow. They all waited silently for orders. At this time the flying squadron, pouring fire into the right wing of the enemy, was about to pass it, and the Matsushima at the head of the main squadron was nearing it at full speed. The enemy now formed their battle line into a wedge, with the Chenyuan and Tingyuan at the apex. As they closed in on each other, the two great battleships became clearly visible to the unaided eye. All at once Takeo remembered them as he had seen them at Yokohama Harbour some years before, and he watched them with renewed interest. To be sure, the ships were the same. But seeing them now as they vomited forth black smoke, turned white waves into fury, belched forth fire from their guns, and approached threateningly, he felt an irrepressible aversion, unmingled with fear, as if they were a terrible beast in his way. Suddenly, a sound as of thunder was heard in the distance, and something boomed through the air close to the main mast of the Matsushima. Falling into the sea, it threw the water some twenty feet into the air. Takeo felt a chill run through his body, but he soon recovered himself. He noticed also that a row of his men wavered a little, but they soon regained their courage. The ship continued on its way. Three, four, five shells burst, one striking a boat on the port side, and the rest deluging the ship with water. Captain, must we hold our fire? asked Takeo impatiently. It was a few minutes past one. The order of four thousand meters was passed along the starboard line, the angle was adjusted, and the cords were grasped. The long expected bugle was heard. With the order of fire, the Matsushima poured forth the broadside. The vessel shook, and a thick volume of smoke rose along the starboard side. Just then, as if in reply, a huge shell from the enemy grazed the funnel and dropped into the sea. Two or three of the gunners ducked their heads involuntarily. The captain turned around and said, Who is it? Who made that bow? Takeo, the cadets, and gunners all laughed. Fire! Be steady! Fire! All the starboard guns were fired in succession. The big thirty-two-centimeter gun also roared, shaking the ship. The vessels behind now joined the fire. Suddenly, a shot from the enemy exploded near the gun, and one of the gunners who was carrying a shell fell down behind Takeo. He tried to rise and fell again, the blood gushed forth upon Takeo's uniform. Most of the gunners looked around. Who is it? asked one of them. Isn't it Nishiyama? It is he, said another. Killed? asked a third. Fire! roared the captain, and the gunner is crowded to the gun. Takeo hurriedly ordered the man to take the corpse away, and turned to his post, when the captain observed his uniform. Kawashima, are you wounded? Oh, no! This is only a splash. Well, let's avenge the dead. The guns were fired incessantly, and the ship steamed at full speed. The main squadron now swept in a great arc past the right wing to the rear of the enemy. The first encounter being ended, the second was about to begin. The starboard guns of the Matsushima were silent for the moment, and the officers and gunners mopped their faces. The Japanese vessels were thus arrayed. The flying squadron, having concentrated its attack on the right wing of the enemy, and having crippled the young Wei and Chaoyun, was about to follow the main squadron after circling once, in order to attack the enemy from the rear. The Hiei, fifth vessel of the main squadron, delayed by its low speed, was in danger of being rammed, and, wanting to shorten the distance which separated her from the rest, boldly resolved to pass through the Chinese line. She succeeded, but was retired from action on account of the severe fire. The Sakyomaru was also out of danger. Only the Akagi, a small vessel of six hundred tons, was left to face the enemy, and she was desperately fighting her way to join the Hiei. The four vessels of the flying squadron and the five of the main held the line in undisturbed order. On the enemy's side, the Chaoyun was on fire, the young Wei was disabled, and the right wing was in bad order. The three vessels on the left wing also got out of line in order to pursue the Hiei and Akagi, while the torpedo boats were separated and far off to one side. Several vessels, with the Chenyuan and Tingyuan at the head, turned their prowess as they saw the Japanese at their rear, and tried in column to attack the main squadron. The second encounter now began. The Sakyomaru, having signaled that the Akagi and Hiei were in danger, the fastest vessels of the flying squadron were ordered to the rescue. The main squadron, however, in a single column, described a great arc with the enemy at its center and poured forth its artillery. At half past two they had circled round the enemy's fleet, and had reached the other side. Then the flying squadron, having driven into the enemy's line, the three vessels that pressed on the Hiei and Akagi began to attack from the other side. Thus the Japanese squadrons had the enemy between them. The third and fiercest encounter of the whole battle was about to ensue. The two fleets, Japanese and Chinese, on which were centered the naval forces of each nation, steamed side by side, and were engaged in deadly battle. Like two monstrous serpents surrounding a huge whale, the water of the Yellow Sea seathed and foamed about them. The main squadron from the right, and the flying squadron from the left, pressed on the enemy in opposite directions, and the battle was raging furiously. The fiercer the battle became, the further Takeo forgot himself. He remembered well that he forgot everything at school in the heat of a baseball game, and that he felt as if something from above urged him on. And now he experienced a similar feeling. Except when the ship separated from the enemy's fleet, and again closed in, or when she turned around and faced to port, and consequently left the starboard guns unused, Takeo was constantly occupied, and his voice became hoarse at giving incessant orders. But he felt nothing. The enemy's shells burst upon the Matsushima until her iron shields were split, her woodwork scorched, and her decks smeared with blood. But Takeo felt nothing. The sound of the enemy's guns kept time with the beating of his heart, and a short lull and a conflict even made him uneasy. His men also minded nothing of exploding shells and loaded the gun, adjusted the angle, pulled the cord, and again loaded with the exactness of target practice and the earnestness of real fighting. A fire was extinguished no sooner than it broke out, shells was applied without waiting in order, and the dead and wounded were removed in a moment. The whole fighting mechanism operated as quickly and smoothly as possible. The scene at this moment was confusion itself. The grayish smoke covered the sea and sky, and from among its curling sheets, unexpected flags and masts were dimly visible. The thundering noise rented the skies second by second. The shells sometimes crashed and exploded in the air, and the sea incessantly rose in columns of seething spray. All at once, the captain shouted, Look! The Ting Yuan is on fire! Through a break in the smoke, the prow of the enemy's flagship, which bore a dragon flag, was seen enveloped in yellow smoke, and her crew, like so many aunts, hurried about in confusion. Takeo and his men cheered. Come on! Finish her up! With increased strength the guns were fired anew. Attacked from both sides, the enemy's fleet was now thrown into disorder. The Chaoying had already sunk on the fire, and the Yang Wei escaped disabled. The Qi Yuan was about to sink, the Ting Yuan was on fire, and the Lai Yuan also caught fire. The fleet could no longer hold together, and, leaving the Ting Yuan and Chen Yuan, the rest fled in several directions. The flying squadron at once started to give them chase, and the main squadron directed its fire on the Ting Yuan and Chen Yuan. The fourth encounter was imminent. It was three in the afternoon. The fire on the Ting Yuan spread, but she remained there. The Chen Yuan bravely stood by her, and the two large massive fields of iron confronted the Japanese vessels. But, as the light-mounted serocens rode around the crusaders, and shot in vain on their double-coated armours, so the Japanese shells rebounded from the 14-inch armor belts and exploded in the air. At about half past three, the Matsushima was opposite the enemy's flagship. When Takeo saw that the shots from his quick-firing gun struck her side, rebounded and exploded like fireworks, to no purpose, he was enraged. Biting his lips and grasping the handle of his sword, he exclaimed, Captain, it's damnable! Look! Look there! The devil! The captain, with bloodshot eyes, stamped about the deck. Fire! Aim at her deck! Her deck! Fire! roared Takeo. The maddened gunners sent their shots furiously to the mark. One more! shouted Takeo, when a terrible noise shook the whole vessel, as if a volcano had burst suddenly upon them. At the same time, something like scattered drops of rain hit him and threw him to the deck. The two 30-centimeter shells from the enemy had struck the quick-firing gun and exploded. God! ejaculated Takeo as he sprang up and then sank to the deck. He felt a terrible pain in the lower half of his body. He looked around as he fell. The place was covered with blood, fire and human flesh. The captain was not there. The gun shield looked like a cave in which something blue was seen moving. It was the sea. Oppressed with pain and the indescribable smell, Takeo shut his eyes. He could only hear the agonizing moan of the wounded, the cracking of the burning wood, the cries of fire, fire, ready with pumps, and at the same time footsteps hurrying toward him. Suddenly Takeo felt that strong hands were lifting him, as they touched his legs the intense pain shot up to his brain, and with a cry he fell back. A crimson vapour seemed to wreathe before his closed eyes, and in a moment he was insensible. Book III. Chapter II. In Time of War By the middle of October the First Division had already started for the region's sword from the military headquarters at Hiroshima, but the soldiers of the Second Division soon became too poor into the town. As a special diet had been summoned the 600 members also helped to swell the multitude. The streets everywhere resounded with the clatter of troops, the jingling of swords, and the rolling of Kuruma. Along the main street of the town, pieces of board with, his Imperial Highness the Chief of General Staff, Prime Minister Ito, Lieutenant General Kawakami, and similar names on them, were posted to indicate their lodgings. Far down the street almost every house was docketed with number and capacity of rooms, and those houses already occupied by soldiers who could not find room in the barracks were marked with the names of officers, number of men, and their company. Here and there new offices of private companies were alive with business, while in the big stores the packing of provisions was throwing everything into confusion. Through all this disturbance a general on horseback hastened towards the headquarters. After him a newspaper reporter hurried his Kuruma to the telegraph office, and then somebody from the direction of the railway station, with a valise and a sword wrapped in yellow cloth, crossed away in company with a man whose face was sunburned and who was dressed in a worn out summer suit. The latter appeared to have just landed at Ujina from the seat of war. Directly after them a minister of state, whose face was familiar to newspaper readers, drove along thoughtfully, making a peculiar contrast with a Cooley who was loitering and humming a tune. The town however heard during such a commotion two sorts of music, the war song of the northern soldiers with a peculiar twang, and the sweet tune of Hiroshima sung by gay maidens. Upon the main street stood a house over whose front a large signboard bearing in large character as the words supply merchants to the army was displayed with two or three others. Piles of cheap blankets, heavy coats and such things filled the space before the house, where some half a dozen men were engaged busily in packing them. Just then a middle-aged man with a somewhat bald forehead and a large red mole under his left eye came to the door with a visitor. He stopped to say a few words to the clerk who was directing the men and was about to go in when he observed a Kuruma going up the street. Instantly he recognized a man in it and cried, The Kuruma passed on without paying any attention to the call, but was soon brought back by a lad who hurried after it. The man in it seemed to be past fifty, with a reddish-dark complexion and a grey beard. He had on a darker woody of common material and a hat which seemed to have seen long service. He looked somewhat disconcerted at being called back, but immediately recognized the man at the entrance and asked in a surprised tone, Why it's Yamaki-san, isn't it? How do you do, Tazaki-san? When did you arrive? I'm just going back by the next train. Saying this, Tazaki alighted from his Kuruma and walked to the entrance over the straw and ropes scattered along the way. Going back? But where have you been? To Saseho. I stayed there a few days and am now on my way home. Saseho? Oh, to visit Takeo-san. Yes. Indeed, Yamaki went on, and you passed me by without so much as looking in on me. I am surprised that my daughter and the old baroness, too, they never wrote me a word about you. Oh, I've been in a great hurry. But then, continued Yamaki, it would not have been much trouble just to drop in. Well, come in now at any rate. Send back your Kuruma. You must, for I have got to talk with you. You can take the second train back, can't you? How is Takeo-san? I heard he was in the naval hospital at Saseho, and I wanted to visit him. But at that time the first division was going to start, and I was extremely busy and could only send him a letter of condolence. Oh, was it? The bone was not injured. His thigh was it. Well, I'm very glad to hear he is getting better. His mother will be relieved, I'm sure. Tazaki looked at his watch and immediately arose. Yamaki stopped him and said, Oh, don't hurry so fast. I have something for the baroness which I wish you to take with you. Go back by the night train, won't you? You'll have plenty of time for that. I'll finish my business up and then we'll go somewhere and have a talk over our sake. The fish here is especially fine. The evening sun was low on the river Amayasu, and its glow fell on the paper screen of a tea house by the water. The second floor of the house was now occupied by a noisy crowd from the diet, assembled for some special purpose. While, in a small room downstairs, Yamaki and Tazaki were so busily engaged in a quiet talk over their sake that they even compelled the waitress to keep her distance. Tazaki had been steward to the house of Kawashima from the time of Takeo's father. He still served in that capacity, attending to his duty daily from his house nearby. He was not an especially clever fellow, but he scorned to fill his purse with a part of his master's income. And so he was much trusted by the widow and Takeo, and had been sent upon this errand to visit his wounded master at Saseho. Yamaki put down his cup of sake, and with his hand on his forehead said, The fact is, I stayed in Tokyo only one day, and had to return immediately to Hiroshima, and so had no chance to hear the news. Then it seems that Nami Kousan was very ill? Well, it was a cruel deed, but at any rate it had to be done for the good of the house of Kawashima. Oh, is that so? She's better now, and again it's sushi. But you can't tell anything about that disease. It's generally fatal, you know. How about Takeo-san? Is he still angry? Tazaki uncovered the bowl of fish soup from which the smell of mushrooms arose, and took a sip of the tempting liquid, as he said. Well, that is the difficult point. The widow did everything for the good of the house, and that may be easily forgiven. But Yamaki-san, don't you think she exceeded her mother's right a little in taking advantage of our master's absence, and divorcing her without his consent? Of course, I advised her to wait till his return, but you know her temper. She can't wait for anything if she once sets her heart on it. And so this was the consequence. I rather sympathize with our master in his anger. But I have a great deal of trouble with Chijiba. I hear that he is now in China. Yamaki looked at the face of his companion. Chijiba! Yes, he went over the other day. But I had a great deal of trouble with him, too. I had to pay a heavy price for our mere acquaintance. He was bold enough to ask me to give him a parting present, explaining that, in case of his death, it might serve as the customary obituary gift. If he survived, he would come back with the order of the golden kite, he said. And in this way he squeezed out of me about a hundred yen. But Takeo-san, he will go back to Tokyo as soon as he gets well, won't he? Oh no, he intends to go to war again. Well, I admire his pluck, anyway. But, Tazaki-san, don't you think you ought to go home and be reconciled to his mother? I don't know how much he liked Namiko-san, but now that the marriage tie is broken and she is suffering from such a fatal disease, he could not, I think, very well renew the relation. There is really no way but to overlook the past and heal the breach between them. What do you think, Tazaki-san? Tazaki replied rather thoughtfully. Our master has such a good disposition that, though his mother was wrong, he seems to think that he did not behave right himself. My visit this time, however, was at the wish of the baroness, so there is no need to talk about her reconciliation. But... No, it hardly seems the proper thing to talk about an engagement during the war. Yamaki began. But it seems best for him to take a second wife. How is it, Tazaki-san? Couldn't he forget Namiko-san, and at the same time make peace with his mother? A young man is apt to think a great deal of his first love, but when he meets another, he easily falls into love with her. Well, the baroness is thinking of that, too, but you say it would be difficult. He is so strong-willed, you know. But it is for the good of his house and himself, too, you see. The talk was dropped for a moment. Upstairs, someone appeared to have finished his speech, for thunders of applause were resounding. The evening light on the screen was softened, and the sound of the trumpets at the barracks seemed far away. Yamaki dipped his sake-cup into a water basin and passed it to Tazaki. Tazaki-san, how about my daughter, who is at Kawashima? She is so slow that she might not easily get into the favour of the baroness. About a month after Nami had been divorced, Yamaki had sent his daughter Toyo to the house of Kawashima to be trained by the widow according to his plan, and he was now very anxious to hear about her. But Tazaki smiled. He must have recalled something funny. When Takeo left his house in anger, his mother cast a wrathful look as he turned from her and said, You are a disobedient son, leave me instantly. The widow knew that Takeo had always been a good child, and that he had never hesitated to comply with her most exacting demands. And so, though she also knew that he loved Nami greatly, she believed firmly that, in case his love for his wife and his duty to his parents should conflict, he would, of course, prefer the latter. Believing this, though she really thought the step she was to take was rather too bold, she dared to divorce Nami, saying that she was doing it for the sake of Takeo and the family. But when she saw the extent of Takeo's anger, she discovered for the first time that she had made a mistake, and that a mother had no absolute power over her son. Formerly she had looked on her son's love toward Nami with a jealous eye, but now, seeing that her love, esteem and authority could not compete with the love of one dying woman, she felt as if her power were utterly destroyed, and as if she had been cheated out of her prize. Her resentment at Takeo's action was unabated, and she persisted in reviling Nami long after she had left the house. One thing more added fuel to the flame. She had indeed a slight fear lurking in a corner of her heart that she had been unjust. To her, Takeo's displeasure was absolutely unreasonable, but she began to feel that possibly she had overstepped the rights of a mother. As she lay sleepless by night, watching a one disc of light thrown by a lantern on the ceiling, she felt as if a small voice were whispering to her, You are wrong, you are to blame, and was made very uneasy. Nothing in the world makes us feel so strong as the belief that we are doing right, and nothing is so unpleasant as to be on the point of humbling ourselves under constraint. When injured severely beasts will roar, when reminded of his guilt, man will rage. Takeo's mother was now in this condition, and her irrepressible anger was even increased by this very feeling. As the days went by, Takeo did not return. Neither did he write to tell her that he was in the wrong. As the only way to get rid of her uneasiness, the widow gave full vent to her anger, and was barely able even then to justify herself. She raged at Takeo, at Nami, at the thought of the past and the future, at her own isolation and loneliness, and ultimately at her own helplessness, till she would finally wear herself out and fall asleep. At the house of Kabashima the servants were often tempted to pack up their things on account of the widow's continual ill temper. At last the news of the battles at Fang Island and Asan stirred the capital. The widow was deeply offended, because Takeo had neglected to send her a farewell letter on going to the war, and the accounts of other mothers coming up to Tokyo to see off their sons in the army, or writing to encourage them, made her lamentable situation all the worse. She even thought of the possibility that death might separate them forever, and, being moved somewhat, she reluctantly condescended to write two letters to her son, and to send them to him at the front. Takeo's answer soon came. About a month later a telegram reached her from the naval hospital at Saseho, telling of his injury. Her hand trembled in spite of her as she held the paper. And, though she learned soon afterward that he was getting better, she sent Tazaki to report on his condition. The widow felt relieved when Tazaki returned from Saseho, but she earnestly desired to see her son on his recovery, and thought it best to get a second wife for him as soon as the war was over. In that way she hoped to remove Nami from Takeo's mind, to maintain the house of Kawashima, and to make amends, as she thought, for her rather rash act. To find a good second wife for Takeo was the problem she had had in mind since the very day of Nami's divorce. For that purpose she canvassed a whole list of young daughters of her few acquaintances, but could not find one who pleased her. While she was at a loss, Yamaki suddenly sent his daughter Toyo to her house to be instructed in good manners. Of course she was soon aware of Yamaki's purpose, and of the fact that Toyo was by no means a faultless girl, but a drowning man grasps at a straw. The widow, who was at her wit's end, finally complied with Yamaki's request, and received Toyo for trial. The result of her examination was the cause of Tazaki's smile. Neither the widow nor Toyo was satisfied, and the servants heard so much that they made merry over the poor girl. At first calmness, then despairing use of bird-shot, and finally a terrific bombardment, such was the stratagem widow Kawashima employed against everybody. Nami herself had been the object of such an attack, and, as she had been sensitive, she had felt it keenly. Now it was Toyo's turn. Having a happy disposition, which made it possible for her to remain quite indifferent to her surroundings, she did not care for the bird-shot any more than for the spattering of raindrops. This naturally impelled the widow to take more severe steps. Toyo was by nature easy going, as if she were always wrapped in spring haze. Her mind was dull, and not only had she no ambition, but often she seemed to have no individuality. As she stood in a garden on a spring evening, her body and soul seemed to dissolve into mist and to elude the grasp of hands. Such as she was, since she first awoke to love, Toyo began to learn what she had to pay for it at the house of Kawashima. As soon as she got up in the morning, she would be ordered to do this or that kind of work, and in the end she would be rewarded only with hard words and taunts. Of course she was generally impervious to light attacks, but even she could not withstand continuous harsh treatment. Had she not been serving in the house of her lover, she would have run away long ago. But, remembering the repeated instructions of her parents, she bravely maintained her stand before the assault, and passed many a cheerless day. At times her situation was almost unbearable, and then she was warned to think what a hard thing love was, and that she would never be in love again. The widow Kawashima made poor Toyo a safety valve for her disturbed temper, and the servants made a laughing stock of her. Without even being able to see the face of her lover, she vainly awaited better days with the patience she had never known before. With the coming of Toyo, the widow found a new source of displeasure. A gem lost is invaluable, a wife gone is faultless, so the saying goes. Though far from being Nami's equal, Toyo, whose every act caused much trouble to the widow, would remind her mistress regretfully of the one whom she had formally maltreated. Nami was a modest girl, spearing of words, and gentle in demeanour, not so showy at first glance, but very considerate and clever. The widow, taking advantage of her meekness, had never hesitated to scold her, and yet she secretly admitted that Nami was exceptionally bright for her age. Of her the widow thought, in spite of herself, whenever the comparison was forced on her by the presence of Toyo. Every time something unpleasant happened, when Toyo was near with her vague and indecisive personality, sitting with her eyes half-closed and her lips powerlessly parted, the widow would see before her the pale face and jet-black hair of Nami, who would look up and innocently ask her pleasure. The widow's heart quivered with an odd sense of reproach, and she tried hard to turn her thoughts away by sheer force of the excuse that was wrong of her to get ill. Still, the strange feeling would increase, the feeling which she mistook for a fit of her ill-humour, and which thus made her burst out angrily upon poor Toyo. It therefore happened that at the very moment Yamaki told Tazaki that his aspiration was to make his daughter the second wife of Takeo, the relations between Toyo and the widow Kawashima had reached a crisis more imminent than even the struggle between Japan and China. He stretched his arm across the bed and pushed the curtain aside, the morning sun just rising over the hills shown brightly through the window. The hills were still veiled in morning mist, but the autumnal sky above was clear and brought into relief the branches of a cherry tree standing in crimson attire before the window. Two or three little birds were chirping and hopping on the branches. At last they all peeped into the room, exchanged a look with Takeo, as he half reclined on the bed, and suddenly flew away, as if taken by surprise, leaving behind them a single yellow leaf falling in the windless air. Takeo smiled at the thought of the morning messengers who had aroused him from sleep, and, trying to lay his head again on the pillow, he knitted his forehead as if in pain. At last he adjusted himself comfortably and closed his eyes. The morning was quiet and there was nothing to disturb him. Presently a cock crowed, and the fisherman's song was heard in the distance. Takeo opened his eyes, smiled, and again closed them as if he were deep in thought. It was now more than a month since he had been wounded in battle, and had been sent to Saseho Hospital. Hit by fragments of the enemy's shell, which had exploded just within the gun-shield, he had fallen insensible to the deck. Luckily the wounds in his leg did not reach the bone, while the remaining injuries were nothing but mere bruises. The captain of his corps had been blown to pieces, and the rest of his fellow officers were all killed, although a few of his gunners escaped unhurt. Under these circumstances it was indeed miraculous that Takeo did not lose his life. On being sent to the naval hospital he was delirious at first, on account of high fever, but as he was young his condition improved with the return of the cooled season. After the lapse of over a month, though he still felt some pain, he had recovered sufficiently to attempt to leave the room filled with the smell of carbolic acid, and get out into the open autumnal air, even at the risk of offending the surgeon. He was now only waiting for the day when he could go back to the seat of war once more. The life he had spurned, as if it were as worthless as dust, did not forsake him after all. With the abatement of his fever and pain the love for life returned in spite of himself, and with it the old care and sorrow. The locust changes its skin, but man cannot do the like, and the threat of Takeo's memory, temporarily buried in the heat of battle and suffering, now returned gradually as he recovered his health and his mind grew calmer. But as a severe disease renews our bodily tissues, so the experience Takeo had had in meeting death face to face gave a new colour to his feeling. The great battle and the extraordinary events he had met before and after it, the great battle and the extraordinary events he had met before and after it, shook his mind as if in a storm. The storm was now over, but its effect yet remained in the sea of his heart, and the feeling that floated on it took a different aspect. Takeo was no longer angry at his mother. He enshrined the memory of Nami in the recesses of his heart as if she were no more, and, as his thought turned toward her, he felt as if he were listening to a sad but sweet strain of music wafted from a distant hill. Takeo came to visit him, and Takeo heard from him about his mother, and also something about Nami. Fearing to displease him, Takeo did not tell Takeo about Yamaki's daughter, but that something was enough to draw tears from him. They are glided into his nightly dream the figure of the sick girl staying alone at a villa where the wind mourned sadly among the pines, and this vision alternated with his dreams of the battle of the Yalu. Takeo was thinking of what had happened a week ago. He had thrown away the newspaper he had been reading, and, yawning, looked out of the window. His roommate had gone off the day before, and now he was left alone. It was late in the afternoon. The room was rather dark, and the autumn rain was pouring outside. A patient in the adjoining room must have been under electrical treatment. The humming noise of the instrument blended continually with the rain and added to the loneliness of the hour. Listening to the noise without effort, he watched the window pains as the rain splashed upon them like a fountain, and the wet trees and shrubs outside came into view and then vanished. He looked at them dreamily for a while and then suddenly covered his head with the blanket. Here are a package and a box for you. Are you asleep? Takeo thrust out his head and saw a boy by the bedstead. He stood there with a paper package and a heavy box tied round with rope. Oh, something for me? asked Takeo. Where are they from? The boy read the name of the sender. Takeo had never heard it. Open them for me, please. The oil paper being removed a bundle wrapped in purple cloth was produced. On untying it there appeared a woolen light dress, a soft silk medium dress, a belt of white crepe, a pair of snow white socks, a broad sleeved negligee shirt, and a soft shoulder pad. And what was in the box? It was full of the large pairs and fresh bananas of which he was very fond. Takeo's heart began to throb. And no letter in it, he asked. The boy looked everywhere, but not a piece of written paper could be found. Just let me see that oiled paper. Takeo looked at his name on the paper and his heart leaped to his mouth. He recognized the handwriting. It is she. It is she. Who else but she? Do you not see in every stitch of the clothes the precious mark of her tears? Do you not see the writing tremble with the feebleness of her hand? Hardly waiting to be left alone, Takeo burst into tears. Takeo now realized that Nami dwelt forever in his soul and that it was overflowing with endless love. By day he thought of her and by night he dreamed of her. But the world was not free as in his dream. Takeo believed that even death could not sever her from him, much less the trifling conventionalities of the world. But in trying to materialize his belief, he could only be persuaded that those trifling conventionalities and customs formed an insurmountable barrier between the dream and reality. No matter what the world would do she was forever his wife. But his mother had divorced her in his name and her father had recalled the sanction in her stead. There was no more connection between them in the eyes of the world. Would it be possible for him to see her again on his recovery and to try to take her again as his wife? Deceive himself as he might, Takeo was scarcely able to believe that in spite of a so-called social formality such things might or could be done. On the contrary he knew that not only every such trial would fail but it would widen still further the gap between his mother and himself. He had already tasted enough of bitterness in opposing his mother. Living in this wide universe Takeo thought it unbearable to be thus fettered in his freedom of love but he could not find the way out. From day to day he lived in this uneasiness and could only console himself by vowing in his heart that Nami was his wife, in life or death. Of this Takeo was thinking as he awoke that morning. The surgeon came in presently on his regular visit and went away satisfied that the wound would be healed before long. Then a letter from his mother was brought to him. It expressed her pleasure in hearing from Tazaki of Takeo's improved condition and went on to say that she wanted him to come back as soon as the doctor would allow as she had something to talk over with him. Something to talk over? Might it not be the thing he most shunned and feared? Takeo pondered and he did not go back to Tokyo. Early in November, not long after the Matsushima which had been repaired after the battle in the Yellow Sea had started again for the war, Takeo left the hospital and sailed on board a transport for his own vessel at Taillian One. The day before he started from Saseho, Takeo mailed two letters, one of them to his mother. End of section 20