Chapter 5 A CALL AND AN INVITATION

The weeks that followed were happy ones in "The House of the Misty Star." Page Hanaford dropped in frequently after supper, and my liking for the boy grew stronger with each visit. His good breeding and gentle rearing were as innate as the brightness of his eyes; and no less evident was his sore need of companionship, though when he talked it was on diversified subjects, never personal ones. If the time between visits were longer than I thought it should be, I invented excuses and sent for him.

I asked little favors of him which necessitated his coming to my house; then I asked more, which kept him.

Thus it was that many delightful hours were spent in the cozy, cheerful living-room of the little house perched high upon the hill. In one shadowy corner Jane Gray usually sat, busy with her endless knitting of bibs for babies. Close beside her the maids, Pine Tree and Maple Leaf, looked up from their seats upon the floor, intent on every movement of her flying fingers that they too might quickly learn and help to "bib" the small citizens of their country.

From my place on one side of the reading lamp I could look, unobserved, at Page Hanaford on the other side, as he sat in the deep chair and stretched his long limbs toward the glowing grate stove, while he read to us tales of travel and fiction. Jane said they were as delightful as his voice. I was often too busy studying the boy to give much heed to his reading, but when he spoke it was a different matter.

His familiarity with the remote places of the world, centers of commerce, and the names of men high in affairs, made me wonder and wonder again what had led him to choose for advance in fortune this Buddhist stronghold of moats and medieval castles, so limited in possibilities, so far from contact with foreign things. The teaching of English, as I had good reason to know, yielded many a hearty laugh, but a scant living. There was no other opening here for Europeans.

Every time I saw Page, the more certain I was, not only of his ability, but of his past experience in bigger things. The inconsistencies of his story began to irritate me like the pricking of a pin which the presence of company forbade my removing. However, I did not question him openly; I tried not to do so in my heart. I found for him more students as well as excuses to mend his clothes and have him with us. I scolded him for taking cold, filled him up with stews, brews, and tonics, and with Jane as chief enthusiast-she had fallen an easy victim-we managed to make something of a home life for him.

The boy could not hide his pleasure in our little parties; but it was with protest that he accepted so much waiting on and coddling. He was always deferential, but delighted in gently laughing at Jane and telling me stories that could not happen out of a book.

Sometimes his spirits ran high and found expression in song or a whistled tune. When there was a sudden knock or when he was definitely questioned, there was something in his attitude which I would have named fear, had not every line in his lean, muscular body contradicted the suggestion.

It had not happened very often, but when it did, a nameless something seemed to cover us, and in passing, left a shadow which turned our happy evenings cold and bleak.

It was the custom for every member of my household to assemble in the living-room after supper for evening prayer. Jane and I, the cook, and the two little maids were there because we found comfort and joy. Old Ishi, the gardener, attended because he hoped to discover the witch that made the music inside the baby organ. At the same time he propitiated the foreigner's god, though he kept on the good side of his own deities by going immediately afterwards to offer apology and incense at the temple.

Often Page Hanaford came in at this hour and quietly joined us.

It was an incongruous group, but touching with one accord the border of holier things, banished differences of creed and race and cemented a bond of friendship.

One evening after the service Jane-taking the maids and a heaped-up basket-went to answer a prayer for daily bread she had overheard coming from a hut that day. Page and I settled down for a long, pleasant evening, he with his pipe and book, I with a pile of English compositions to be corrected. "Change" was the subject of the first one I picked up, and I read the opening paragraph aloud: "The seasons change from one to the other without fuss or feather and obey the laws of nature. All mens change from one thing to other by spontaneous combustion and obey the universal laws of God."

My companion was still laughing at this remarkable statement and I puzzling over its meaning when Kishimoto San was announced. I found a possible translation of the sentence in his appearance. "Spontaneous combustion" nearly fitted the state of mind he disclosed to me. The change in him was startling. I had only seen the school superintendent outside his home. In times of difficulty when his will could not prevail, which was seldom, he dismissed the matter at once, and found refuge in that fatalistic word "Shikataganai" (it can't be helped).

But now his fort of stoicism was being besieged, and the walls breached by a girl-child in his home, who was proving a redoubtable foe to his will and his calm, for of course the trouble was Zura. I learned this after he had finished acknowledging his introduction to Page. The bowing, bending, and indrawing of breath, demanded by this ceremony, took time. But it had to be.

Then I asked after the general prosperity of his ancestors, the health of his relatives, finally working my way down to Zura.

The bowing, bending, and indrawing of breath

Ordinarily Kishimoto San would have scorned to mention his affairs before a stranger, but his world of tradition was upside down. In his haste to right it he broke other laws of convention. Page had withdrawn into the shadow of the window seat after the introduction, but listened intently to the conversation and soon caught the drift of it.

From accounts the situation between Kishimoto San and his granddaughter was not a happy one. The passing weeks had not brought reconciliation to them nor to the conditions. It had come almost to open warfare. "And," declared the troubled man, "if she does not render obedience I will reduce her to bread and water, and subject her to a lonely place, till she comprehends who is the master and acknowledges filial piety."

I protested that such a measure would only urge to desperation a girl of Zura's temperament and that, to my mind, people could not be made good by law, but by love.

The master of many women looked at me pityingly. "Madam, would you condescend to inform my ignorance how love is joined to obedience? Speaks the one great book of this land written for the guidance of women, 'The lifelong duty of women is obedience. Seeing that it is a girl's destiny on reaching womanhood to go to a new home and live in submission to her mother-in-law, it is incumbent upon her to reverence her parents' and elders' instruction at the peril of her life.'"

"But," I remarked, "there is something like two centuries between your granddaughter and this unreasonable book. Its antiquated laws are as withered as the dead needles of a pine tree. Any one reading it would know that when old man Kaibara wrote it he was not feeling well or had quarreled with his cook."

In most things Kishimoto San was just; in many things he was kind. But he was as utterly devoid of humor as a pumpkin is of champagne. Without a flicker he went on. "Dead these sacred laws may be in practice, but the great spirit of them must live, else man in this land will cease to be master in his own house; the peace of our homes will pass. Also, does not your own holy book write plainly on this subject of obedience of women and children?"

Kishimoto San was a good fighter for what he believed was right, and as a warrior for his cause he had armed himself in every possible way. He had a passable knowledge of English and an amazing familiarity with the Scriptures. He also possessed a knack of interpreting any phase of it to strengthen the argument from his standpoint. But I, too, could fight for ideals; love of freedom and the divine right of the individual were themes as dear to me as they were hateful to Kishimoto San. It had occurred many times before, and we always argued in a circular process. Neither of us had ever given in.

But this night Kishimoto San gave me as a last shot: "The confusion of your religion is, it boasts only one God and numberless creeds. Each creed claims superiority. This brings inharmony and causes Christians to snap at each other like a pack of wolves. We have many gods and only one creed. We have knowledge and enlightenment which finally lead to Nirvana."

I could always let my friend have the last word but one. I now asked him if he could deny the enlightenment of which he boasted led as often to despair as it did to Nirvana. If his knowledge were so all-inclusive, why had it failed to suggest some path up or down which he could peacefully lead Zura Wingate?

Before he could answer I offered him a cup of tea, hoping it would cool him off, and asked him to tell me his special grievance.

He said it was the custom in his house for each member of the family to go before the house-shrine and, kneeling, bow the head to the floor three times. Zura had refused to approach the spot and, when he insisted, instead of bowing she had looked straight at the god and contorted her face till it looked like an Oni (a demon). It was most dangerous. The gods would surely avenge such disrespect.

It seemed incredible that keen intelligence and silly superstition could be such close neighbors in the same brain, for I knew Kishimoto San to be an honest man. He not only lived what he believed, he insisted on others believing all that he lived.

He continued his story-the girl not only refused to come to me for English lessons, but declined to go for her lessons in Japanese etiquette, necessary to fit her for her destiny as a wife. She absented herself from the house a whole day at a time. When she returned she said, without the slightest shame, that she had been racing with the naval cadets, or else had been for a picnic with the young officer from the ship. Like a chattering monkey she would relate what had been done or said.

At least, thought I, the girl makes no secret of her reckless doings. She is open and honest about it. I said as much to my visitor.

He was quietly savage. "Honest! Open you name it! There is but one definition for it. Immodesty! In a young girl that is deadlier than impiety. It is the wild blood of her father," he ended sadly.

I could have added, "Dashed with a full measure of grandpa's stubbornness." But I was truly sorry for Kishimoto San. His trouble was genuine. It was no small thing to be compelled to shoulder a problem begun in a foreign land, complicated by influences far removed from his understanding, then thrust upon him for solution. He was a faithful adherent of the old system where individuality counted for nothing and a woman for less. To his idea the salvation of a girl depended on her submission to the rules laid down by his ancestors for the women of his house. He was an ardent Buddhist and under old conditions its teachings had answered to his every need. But both law and religion failed him when it came to dealing with this child who had come to him from a free land across the sea and whose will had the same adamant quality as his own.

While I was turning over in my mind how I should help either the girl or the man, I ventured to change the subject by consulting Kishimoto San upon important school matters. The effort was useless. His mind stuck as fast to his worries as a wooden shoe in spring mud.

Not least among his vexations was the difficulty he would have in marrying Zura off. If she failed in filial piety and obedience to him, how could she ever learn that most needful lesson of abandoning herself to the direction of her mother-in-law?

The picture of Zura Wingate, whose early training had been free and unrestrained, being brought to order by a Japanese mother-in-law was almost too much for my gravity. It would be like a big black beetle ordering the life of a butterfly. Not without a struggle the conservative grandfather acknowledged that his system had failed. For the first time since I had known him Kishimoto San, with genuine humility, appealed for help. "Madam, my granddaughter is like new machineries. The complexities of her conduct causes my mind to suffer confusion of many strange thought. Condescend to extend to me the help of your great knowledge relating to girls reared with your flag of freedom."

I had always thought my ignorance on the subject as deep as a cave. I would begin at once to excavate my soul in search of that "great knowledge."

I proceeded a little loftily: "Oh, Kishimoto San, I am sure there is a way to right things. The fault lies in the fact that Zura and you do not understand each other. Suppose you permit her to come to me for a little visit without study. It would give us great pleasure and I could learn to know her better."

Pushing aside all hesitation and the apologies that etiquette required on such occasions, greatly relieved, he quickly accepted my invitation. "You do my house great honor to assume the mystery of Zura's conduct. I give you most honorable thanks."

When he said good-night the look on his face suggested that a smile might penetrate the gloom, if he lived long enough.

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"By Jove! is that what the women of this country have to go up against?" Page asked when the door had closed behind Kishimoto San.

"A very small part of them must do so, Mr. Hanaford. It is not so hard for the women born to it, as they know their fate and can accept it from babyhood. The suffering falls upon the alien, who runs afoul of their customs, especially one who has known the delight of liberty."

"Liberty!" repeated Page, gazing out of the window on the thousands of lights below, which were fluttering in the velvety darkness like a vast army of fireflies. "Without it, what is life to the smallest-moth!"

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