The House of the Misty Star - Frances Little (ebook reader for manga txt) 📗

gratitude for my efforts to make some headway with Zura was very sincere. He supplemented his thanks by a large box of cake. The gift was decorated with a red string and a good-luck emblem and wrapped in a bright yellow cloth. From the atmosphere, all concerned needed not only good luck, but something the color of sunshine; one look into Kishimoto San's face assured me it was neither springtime nor rosetime in the path he was treading.

  My visitor was a busy man of many affairs, and I a woman much occupied; but custom said that a ceremonial visit must be just so long, and Kishimoto would rather break his neck once a week than a rule of etiquette once a life-time.

  So we fell to talking of a recent trip he had made to Yokohama. He said a great foreign fleet was visiting the port. The festivities and the gaieties were unending. He had been only a looker-on, but a deeply-interested observer.

  He spoke of how his country had strained its every resource to give welcome to this fleet, making a neighborly call, though armed to the ship's last rail. He continued:

  "The whole scene give me reminder of one very small boy who had grand record of good fight, also he has the great exhaustion of strength from last battle with tall giant. Small boy has poverty too, but he draw forth his many ancient toy for guest to play. Makes big debt of money to give him feast. He very much desire to keep face of big boy all covered with smiles."

  Then from the way my visitor half shut his eyes and looked at me, I knew something more was coming.

  "Americans are a great people, but disagree with their wonderfulness."

  "You mean they are inconsistent?" I suggested.

  Kishimoto San, being too much in earnest to search for the proper English, dropped into Japanese—

  "Yes, the old proverb fits them, 'A physician breaking the rules of health.'"

  "Why do you say that of my people?" I asked in a moment on the defensive.

  "Because you literally strain your bodies to hold very high a moral standard for other nations, that you, yourselves fail to follow."

  "What do you mean?"

  He went on slowly:

  "I was wondering if it is the custom in your country for ladies to smoke and drink liquor in public places?"

  "Ladies!" I repeated amazed. "American women smoke and drink in public or other places! Certainly not," I declared emphatically. "Why do you hint at such a thing?"

  Thirty years' absence from my country had glorified my ideal of its womanhood.

  "Only this," said Kishimoto San, "several times while in Yokohama I had occasion to visit the Ocean Hotel. On the broad veranda facing the sea were seated numbers of great men and ladies together, many of them were smoking and I could not count the number of cocktails they consumed."

  "They were not American women," was my vigorous protest.

  "Yes, madam, they were. First they were beautiful and sparkle with eyes and tongue. All men bow down to them same as we bow to our Empress. Then afterwards I examine register and clerk of hotel confirm my thought."

  "Possibly what you say is true, Kishimoto San, but hasn't it a flavor of littleness to label as a national habit the acts of a few exhilarated travelers? What have you to say of the vast army of American women who could not be forced into doing the things you mention?"

  "Nothing. Except I was just wondering how America could spare so many missionaries. You know we do not beg for their company."

  "It is not well for you to forget what your country of all others owes to the missionaries," I reminded him. "Though your beliefs are as far apart as the Poles, your sense of justice can but acknowledge that the unselfish service of the missionaries has led your people to heights they never could have reached without them."

  "True," he responded, "it was not of their work in this country I was speaking, but the need of more work in their own. You have very good story in your big book about the 'beam and mote.' Do not the morals of your own country need uplifting before you insist on sending emissaries to turn my people from the teachings of many centuries? Has your religion and system of education proved so infallible for yourselves that you must force it upon others? Ah, madam, America has led us far and high, but the West is for the West and the East is for the East. So far, on the road to progress they can march side by side. Further than that, the paths divide and are separated by insurmountable differences, because your country is ruled by the teachings of freedom which you cannot practise. We are governed by the will of our divine Emperor, and the spirit of our ancestors. And I pray the great Amida before my country is stripped of her love and reverence for these, my poor spirit will be annihilated. For if they are taken away, what can we put in their places save the liberty of the Occident, which means license in the Orient."

  I heard him in silence, for while there was much truth in what he said, many times we had argued ourselves into a fever over these questions and never got anywhere. We could no more agree than we could worship the same God.

  For my part, whatever might be the erratic actions of a few of its freakish individuals, my faith in my country and its people is my faith in my God. I was old fashioned enough to believe every man his brother's keeper. There was nothing more for me to say.

  For him, intense loyal patriot that he was, his devotion to crumbling old standards was making his fight against the new a bitter and hopeless struggle. But I had never seen the man so stirred as he was this day. He went on:

  "What of the teachings for your young? They may do for your country, but not for mine! So far as I can see, your boys and girls are left to grow as weeds. They are as free as the foxes and learn their cunning without their wisdom. They are without filial piety. They reverence neither ancestors, the law, nor the great gods. Neither do they fear their own devil, nor the evil spirits."

  "How do you know this?" I inquired.

  "I know because I have seen their comings and goings. I have heard their free speech before the face of their parents and mothers-in-law. And I have seen them as visitors in the temples. Because"—the man's voice shook with feeling—"I have in my house a girl with the blood of the East in her veins and the influence of the West in her life. She is rebellious, rude and irreverent. Only this morning, when I gave warning what vengeance the great Buddha would send upon her for impiety, did she not toss her red head and laughingly scoff in my face." At this point I arose and rang for tea and my visitor continued: "Ah, I tremble at her daring. It is her foreign blood, her training. It will curse us yet."

  I cheerfully assured him that I thought it would unless he could bring himself to see that the girl was entitled to a few rights as well as himself. I inquired how things had gone since Zura's visit to me. He said she had not often referred to her visit; when she did it was in pleasant terms. But her attitude to him and his household was as disrespectful as ever and, he thought, more defiant.

  He then spoke of a great Buddhist festival that had begun that week and was to continue for several days. It was very important that each member of his family should attend and take part in every service. So far Zura had refused to go. With sketch-book in hand she disappeared from the house every morning. While he had not seen or heard of her being with the young officer man, he had no doubt she spent her time in his company.

  In as few words as possible I told Kishimoto of my interview with Mr. Chalmers, and his promise not to come again nor to further complicate matters.

  My listener was more than pleased. "I thank you," he said impressively. "You are a strong-minded woman."

  When I remarked that Japan was no place for a weak-minded one he seemed to think again about smiling, but changed his mind and asked me solemnly if I would not honor him by coming to his house the following evening and, with his family, attending the great festival on the last night.

  I accepted the invitation and he left.

  In the evening Page Hanaford came to dinner. When I told him Zura had returned to her home, the smile on his face faded. It spread to his lips and eyes as I rehearsed the close of my interview with Mr. Chalmers.

  "I sincerely hope that danger is passed," I said earnestly.

  "I would not consider Mr. Chalmers dangerous by nature, only by thoughtlessness," remarked Page; "his bravado needs seasoning like his youth. Will you not let me help you, Miss Gray?" he exclaimed as that lady came in almost smothered in the packages her frail arms held.

  "Oh! it's just grand—how many nice people there are in the world," the little missionary said enthusiastically, when relieved of her burdens and seated. "That druggist gentleman was lovely. I bought a jar of vaseline, and he found out I could talk English. Then I found out he was trying to talk it; I told him about my hospital, and he gave me all these splendid medicines I brought in. There's court-plaster and corn-salve and quinine and tooth-powder and a dozen milk bottles for the babies, and plenty of cans to put things in. That's a good start for my drug store."

  "The drug store and the patients, but the building!" I exclaimed. "Only a dream! I don't want to be a cold-water dasher but, Jane Gray, where will your visions lead you?"

  "To Heaven, Miss Jenkins; that's where they were meant to lead. My hospital is a dream now because it is not built. But it's going to be soon; I know it. Didn't that splendid Japanese man clothe and educate hundreds of orphans for years on faith, pure and simple? Of course my little hospital is on the way! What better proof does anybody want than the story of Mr. Hoda's Orphan Asylum?"

  "Give us the story," urged Page, sinking into a big chair, after he had made Jane comfortable.

  "Indeed I will. I love to tell it for Mr. Hoda certainly sold his soul for the highest price."

  "When he was a very young and ambitious man, doing without food to get his medical education, three homeless babies fell into his hands. He and his mother lived on a little less and made room for the children. Soon more waifs drifted in. Mr. Hoda couldn't turn them away, but he wondered where he was to get the food for them. Then he had a vision and a dream. In it a great famine was sweeping the land. He saw a Man beautiful, but sorrowful, toiling up a steep mountain, with His arms full of helpless children and more clinging to His white garments. This wonderful Being turned and saw the great pity in Mr. Hoda's eyes, then called back, 'Help me care for the many that are left. I will never forsake you nor them.' After that, Mr. Hoda knew what his work was. He fought so hard to follow his vision he burned all his doctor's books for fear he might be tempted. He had gone hungry to buy those books. A long time after, Mr. Hoda