Part 1

_A JAPANESE BLOSSOM_

_by_

ONOTO WATANNA

ILLUSTRATED BY

L. W. ZIEGLER

_NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS M-C-M-V-I_

Copyright, 1906, by HARPER & BROTHERS.

_All rights reserved_.

Published October, 1906.

_TO MY CHILDREN_

ILLUSTRATIONS

“THEY CALLED ACROSS MERRILY TO EACH _Frontispiece_ OTHER”

“MARION SAT ON A GIGANTIC 52 MOSS-GROWN ROCK, LOOKING ... AT THE CHILDREN IN THE FAMILY POND”

“THE LITTLE WAITRESS BROUGHT HER 170 SAMISEN, AND ... BEGAN TO PLAY AND SING”

“HE SEIZED HER HAND SUDDENLY IN HIS 226 OWN AND FELL ON HIS KNEES BEFORE HER”

_A JAPANESE BLOSSOM_

_A JAPANESE BLOSSOM_

I

THE children sat in a little semi-circle about their grandmother, listening intently as she read to them the last letter from their father in America. Ever since they could remember, his business as a tea merchant had taken him away from Japan on long visits to the foreign countries. His latest absence had continued for three years now, and little Juji—born a short time after his departure—had never seen him.

As the grandmother finished the letter, the children instinctively looked first of all at Juji, sitting there in placid indifference, stolidly sucking his thumb. Juji had ceased to be the baby of the Kurukawa family. Afar off in America a new, strange baby had been born, and had taken the place of Juji, just as its mother one year before had taken the place of Juji’s mother, who was dead.

When the old grandmother, with whom they made their home, had gently broken the news to the children that their father had taken a new wife from the daughters of America, she had impressed upon them the seriousness of their duty to their new parent. They must love her as a mother, revere her as their father’s wife, remember her with their father in their prayers, and endeavor to learn those things which would be pleasing to her.

Gozo, who was the eldest of the children—he was seventeen years of age—set his little brothers and sisters a bad example. He grew red with anger, allowing himself to be so overcome by his feelings that for a moment he could not speak. Finally, he snapped his fingers and said, as his eyes blazed:

“Very well. So my father has put a barbarian in my mother’s place. I cannot respect him. Therefore I cannot further obey him. _I_ shall leave his house at once!”

At these revolutionary words, his old grandfather commanded him sternly to keep his place while he taught him a lesson.

“To whom,” asked the old man, “do you owe your existence, and therefore your first duty in life?”

The hot-headed boy, who for a number of years had had neither father nor mother to guide him, answered, immediately:

“To the Emperor I owe my existence and duty, sir. _He_ comes even before my father. Therefore, in leaving my father’s house to enter the service of Ten-shi-sama [the Mikado] I am but doing my highest duty.”

The grandfather looked at the flushed face of the young boy.

“You will enlist?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are too young, my boy.”

“I can pass for much older,” said Gozo, proudly.

“You are but seventeen,” said his grandfather, quietly.

The boy’s heart heaved.

“Life would be unbearable here,” said he, “with such a change in the family.”

“Do not use such expressions before your young brothers and sisters,” said the grandfather, sternly. “You almost make me think you are unfit to be an elder brother.”

At this Gozo winced and became pale. He had always been proud of his position as the young master of the family.

Then his grandmother spoke, and her words reached the heart of the boy.

“Be not rash, my Gozo. Our dearest daughter, your mother, would have been the first to urge you to filial thought for your father.”

“Grandmother,” cried the boy, “I can’t bear—” He flung his hand across his eyes as though to hide the tears. Now all the children began to weep in sympathy with their big brother. Miss Summer, the daughter of their father’s friend, set up a great wail, declaring between her sobs that never, never, never could she be induced to wash the feet or be the slave of a barbarian woman. For Summer, though but twelve years old, was some day to marry Gozo—so their fathers had said—and in Japan a daughter-in-law is under the command of the mother-in-law.

By patience and reasoning, the grandparents at last exacted from Gozo a promise that he would not leave home until his step-mother came to Japan. It was possible she might never come. Gozo, the proud and stubborn, sullenly gave the promise. During the months that followed, however, he seemed greatly changed in disposition. He became studious, quiet, given to gloomy moods, when he would lock himself up in his room and brood over what he considered the wrong and insult done to his mother’s memory. He would have found it hard enough to bear if his father had married a Japanese woman, but the thought of an American mother overwhelmed him with dismay. He pictured to his young mind her influence upon his sisters Plum Blossom and Iris, twelve and eight years old respectively; in boyish indignation he saw her punishing his little ten-year-old brother Taro, who could not keep his face and hands clean nor keep his clothes whole. One night Gozo dreamed he saw his step-mother in the guise of a hated fox-woman soundly switching with a bamboo stick his little, fat, baby brother Juji. When he awoke in the middle of the night to find it only a dream, he got up from his couch, and, going to where Juji slept, carried him to his own bed. He held the little, warm body closely in his arms. Juji slept on, and snuggled down comfortably in his brother’s arms for the rest of the night.

It was the following morning that the letter had come from America telling of the birth of the new baby. As if this news were not bad enough, the father, unconscious of the resentment he had awakened, announced his intention of returning at once to Japan with his wife, the new baby, and his two young step-children, for he had married a young American widow.

The children’s faces wore a frightened expression as the grandmother read the letter aloud. Little Plum Blossom glanced stealthily at her brother; then suddenly, to the surprise of them all, she spoke up:

“Well,” said she, “Daikoku [god of fortune] is good. He has given us another sister. _I_ shall make him a great offering this year.”

Iris, who was a mere echo of her sister, ventured a little sing-song assent.

“I shall make a big offering, too.”

Taro grinned apprehensively in the direction of his moody brother; then said, defiantly:

“As for me, _I_ shall beat every single day of the honorable year that barbarian step-brother”; for there was a little step-brother of the same age as Taro, and the latter, boylike, longed to try his powers upon him.

Gozo ground his teeth together.

“The gods only know,” said he, “what you poor little ones will do. As for me, I shall not be here to bow to the barbarian. My time has come. The Emperor needs me.”

“Oh, please don’t leave us, brother,” said Iris, resting her face on his hand; “I shall die of fear if you are not here to help us defy her.”

“Children, hush!” cried the old grandmother. “Never did I dream I should hear such words from my children. Ah, had my beloved daughter lived, you little ones would have had more filial principles.”

“It is not right to distress grandmother,” said Plum Blossom, “and it is very wrong to speak evil of one we do not even know. I, for one, am going to—to—love the foreign devil!”

“So am I,” sobbed Iris, still caressing Gozo’s hand, “b-but I shall hate her if she drives our Gozo away!”

Gozo patted the little girl’s head, but said nothing.

Meanwhile, little Juji’s thumb had fallen from his mouth. For some time he had been watching in perplexed wonder the expressions upon the faces of his brothers and sisters. He could not decide in his small mind just what was troubling them all; but troubled they surely were. The weeping Iris had finally decided Juji. Plainly something was wrong. The baby’s lower lip, unnoticed by any one, had gradually been swelling out. Suddenly a gasp escaped him, the next moment the room resounded with his cries. When Juji cried, it seemed as if the very house shook. Though not often given to these tempestuous storms, he seemed fairly convulsed when once started upon one. He would lie on his back on the floor, stiffened out. First he would hold his breath, then gasp, then roar. Juji’s crying could never be stopped until a pail of water was thrown in the face of the enraged child. This time, however, he became the object of intense commiseration. The children felt that he had acquired somehow a sense of their common calamity.

The screaming child was alternately hugged and petted and fanned, until finally, his fat little legs kicking out in every direction, he was carried from the room by Gozo. Out in the garden, the big brother ducked him in the family pond. Kind travellers in Japan have made the extraordinary statement that Japanese children never cry. Certainly they could never have heard Juji—and there are many Jujis in Japan, just as there are in every country.

Juji’s crying fit broke up the little family council for that day, but he was the only member of the family who slept soundly that night.

The little girls cried softly together, as they whispered under the great padded coverlid of their bed. Taro was quite feverish in his imaginative battles with his step-brother.

As for Gozo, he sat up all night long, gazing with melancholy eyes at the stars, thinking himself the most miserable being on the face of the earth. He, too, like Juji, needed a little pail of something dashed upon him, and soon he was to have it!

II

“OH, dear, _how_ I can ever bear this corset!”

Plum Blossom subsided in a little, breathless heap on the floor.

Early in the day both she and Iris had been dressed in their best—a plum-colored crêpe kimono for little Plum Blossom, and an iris-colored crêpe one for little Iris. Their hair had been carefully arranged in the pretty mode at this time fashionable for little girls in Japan. Flower ornaments glistened at the sides of the glossy coiffures. The grandmother had regarded them with pride when the maid brought them before her.

“Certainly,” said she, “your father and mother will be proud to see you.”

“And _we_ have a great surprise, too, for her,” said Iris, her bright eyes dancing.

Plum Blossom put a plump little hand over her sister’s mouth.

“Hush! Not even grandmother shall know yet.”

Grandmother smiled knowingly.

“And now,” said she, “can you say all the big English words—you remember?”

“Yes, yes,” cried Iris, excitedly. At once she began to shout in her most sing-song voice:

“How de do! Ver’ glad see you two days. Thanzs your healt’ is good. Most honorable welcome at Japan. Pray seated be and egscuse the most unworthy house of my fadder.”

Plum Blossom was chanting her welcome before Iris had quite finished.

“Mos’ glad you cum. Come agin. Happy see you. Come agin. Liddle girl, welcome for sister. Liddle boy, too. Nize bebby! Please I will kees. So!”

She indicated the kiss by putting a little, open mouth against her sister’s cheek, leaving a wet spot behind. Iris wiped her cheek carefully with one of her paper handkerchiefs; then as carefully she repowdered the spot where her sister’s moist lips had rested.

Ever since their father had been in America, the family had been learning to speak English. Their teacher was a missionary priest, and now, at the end of three years, even the smallest child could speak the language, though imperfectly. In order to obtain fluency, they had made English the spoken language in the family. The speeches of welcome to the step-mother were composed: by the grandmother; the children had learned them like parrots. Madame Sano tapped both of the little girls on the shoulder and caressed them. Clinging to each other’s sleeves, off they tripped into the other room, where was the great “secret.” The secret consisted of a few articles of American attire, which the little girls had induced a jinrikiman to bring them from Tokio. All of the money Gozo had left behind for them as his parting gift had been expended thus. How the boy’s angry heart would have stormed had he known his little sisters had spent his gift for such a purpose!

Plum Blossom wore a corset outside her kimono. Some one had told her that this was the most important article of a barbarian woman’s wardrobe, and the tighter it was the better. So the little Japanese girl had tied herself by the corset-string to a post. By dint of hard pulling she had managed to encase her plump form so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. Iris, with hands clad in large kid gloves, was drawing on a pair of number five shoes. Her feet were those of the average American child of seven or eight years. At this juncture Miss Summer (who being engaged to Gozo was always called “Miss” by the little girls) opened the shoji and thrust a flushed and excited face between the partitions. She was six months older than when she had wailed aloud her determination not to wash the feet of a barbarian mother-in-law, but she seemed as childish and silly as ever as she came tittering into the room, an enormous straw hat, from which dangled ribbons and bedraggled ostrich-feathers, upon her head. The sisters gasped in admiration, their eyes purple with envy and wonder. Only in pictures had they seen anything so gorgeous as that hat.

“_Where_ did you get it?” inquired Plum Blossom, letting the corset out a bit by the simple method of breathing hard, hence snapping the fragile cord.

“Well,” said Summer, confidentially, “I will tell you if you will never, never repeat it to my future husband.”

“Gozo?”

Summer nodded. “Gozo hates much Otami Ichi,” said Summer, with meaning.

Plum Blossom’s scorn burst the last string of the corset. It slipped from her as she arose.

“Hi,” she said, “Otami Ichi! _He_ says he is two years too young to be a soldier. He is older than Gozo. Did you take gifts from _him_!”

Summer giggled and shrugged her shoulders.

“Why not? His honorable father keeps a fine foreign store in Tokio.”

It was Plum Blossom’s turn to shrug. She undid her obi and tied the corset to her with the sash.

“What do you suppose Taro has been doing?” said Iris.

“Something bad?”

“No, not bad exactly,” said Plum Blossom, who disliked her future sister-in-law. “He has been learning jiu-jitsu.”

It was Summer’s turn to gasp, thus displacing her elaborate headgear.

“What! A baby of ten learn jiu-jitsu?”

“Eleven,” corrected Plum Blossom. “His grandfather was samurai. Ver’ well. That grandfather’s friend teach him jiu-jitsu—a few tricks of jiu-jitsu.”

“What for? Will he, too, fight the Russians?” inquired Miss Summer, sarcastically.

“N-no,” said Plum Blossom, dubiously, “but he says he will fight _somebody_.”

“And little Juji,” put in Iris, “has a fine present for our dear mother.”

“What is it?”

“A bag of peanuts!”

“That’s nize. _How_ can I keep this hat on. It falls off if I move.”

“You must pin it on,” suggested Plum Blossom, “for so the fashion-books say. There, take one of your hair-pins.” She adjusted the hat back to front on Summer’s head, and fixed it firmly in place with a long hair-dagger she took from the girl’s coiffure.

Summer found a seat and began to fan herself languidly. “My sleeves feel very heavy to-day,” said she.

“Why?”

“They are much weighted,” declared Summer; “I carry in them five love-letters.”

“Oh! Oh-h! From our Gozo? Why, has he already written to you, Summer?”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” said Summer, giggling. “No, you must not listen, Iris. You are too young.” She whispered into Plum Blossom’s ear. Suddenly the latter thrust out her little, plump hands.

“Go away. You are not good girl. Only my brother should write you love-letters!”

Plaintively Summer made a gesture of annoyance.

“I must spend a lifetime with Gozo,” said she. “Therefore, is it not better to have a little fun first of all?”

Iris cried out something in a very jeering voice. Summer pretended she did not hear.

“What is that?” cried her sister, excitedly.

“Oh, I know who wrote Summer’s love-letters to her.”

“Who did?”

“She wrote them herself.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

“I did _not_!”

“You did, for your cousin told me so.”

“Oh, the wicked little fiend!”

“Young ladies,” called a maid from below. “Come, come; come quickly. Your father is seen. The jinrikishas! Hurry! Your honorable grandmother wishes you to be at the door to welcome him!”

In a panic the little girls rushed about the room, gathering up their various articles. Then, grasping each other’s sleeves, they tripped down the stairs.

III

WHILE the husband assisted the children and nurse to alight from the jinrikishas, Mrs. Kurukawa the second stood looking about her.

She was a little woman, possibly thirty-five years old. Her face was expressive, showing a somewhat shy and timid nature. Her large, brown eyes had a look of appeal in them as she turned them towards her husband. He smiled reassuringly and put an affectionate hand upon her arm. Immediately her momentary restraint and fear left her.

“Is this the famous Plum Blossom Avenue?” she asked, indicating the budding trees under which they now passed, and which served as an exquisite pathway through the garden.

“This is Plum Blossom Avenue,” replied her husband, “and as you see, I keep my promise. You know I cabled to Japan to have the plum blossoms all in bud for us when we should arrive.”

“How good of you!” she laughed. “Just as if you didn’t know they bloom at the end of March! But where are the children? You also promised that they would be under the trees waiting for us.”

Mr. Kurukawa looked a bit worried.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Ah, here come my mother and father-in-law.”

His first wife’s father and mother hastened down the path to meet them.

To the delight of the little American children, the old man and woman favored them with the most wonderful bows they had ever seen. In fact, the boy afterwards insisted that the old man’s bald head had literally touched his own boots.

The new wife held out both her hands with a pretty impulse.

“Oh,” she said, “I have heard all about you—how very, very good you have been to the children.”

The old couple did not quite understand what she said, but feeling assured that it was something complimentary, they began a fresh series of bows, repeating over and over again one of the English words they had learned.

“Thangs, thangs, very thangs.”

Mr. Kurukawa now inquired anxiously for his children. He had certainly expected they would be at the gate to meet them. The grandmother explained that only a moment before the two little boys had been with her, and she had sent immediately for the little girls. But just as they came to the door the little boys had run away in fright, and were now shyly hiding somewhere.

“Gozo? What of Gozo?”

The two old people looked at each other. They did not know what to say.

“Pray come into the house, my son,” said Madame Sano. “We can better speak there.”

They had been talking in Japanese. Noting her husband’s look of worry, Mrs. Kurukawa anxiously inquired the reason. Without explaining, he led her into the house. As they entered they were startled by the strange sound that greeted them. It was like the sharp sigh of a wind in an empty house. In reality it was the panic-stricken flight from the hallway of the children of Mr. Kurukawa.

Grouped closely together, the four children and Miss Summer had retreated to the far end of the hall, where they awaited the advent of the dreaded “barbarian” step-mother, for such Gozo had made them believe she must be. For many months they had conjured up in imagination pictures of their step-mother and her children.

They had seen but one foreigner in their town, the missionary, who had been their teacher. Him they had held in as much awe and fear as they would a strange animal.

Now their father appeared in the hall, holding by the arm what seemed to the children a most extraordinary looking creature, while behind them came, hand in hand, the strangest-looking little boy and girl, with eyes so big that Plum Blossom thought them like those of a goblin. The face, however, which frightened them most was that of the Irish nurse, who bore the baby in her arms. The children gazed only a moment at this outlandish group; then with one accord they fled, each in a different direction.

The strangers coming from the out-door sunlight into the darkened hall had barely time to see the children ere they were gone. They had a hazy glimpse of a patch of color at the end of the hall, and then its sudden, wild dispersion. For a moment they stood looking about them in blank astonishment. Suddenly Mr. Kurukawa, who was ebullient with humor and good-nature, burst into laughter. He laughed so hard, indeed, that his wife, the children, and the nurse joined him. This unusual mirth in the house brought the children cautiously back, too curious and inquisitive to withstand the novelty of the situation.

Through the paper walls little fingers were cautiously thrust; little black eyes peered at the new-comers from behind these frail retrenchments.

When his mirth had subsided, Mr. Kurukawa favored his wife with a sly wink, and then quick as a flash he pushed back one of the shojis, disclosing the little figure behind it. He lifted it up by the bow of its obi. Something strange stuck closely to it and invited the gaze of Mrs. Kurukawa. It was the corset!

At the same time the father perceived it, and, pulling it off, held it aloft.

“Ah, ha!” he cried, “here is surely a little flag of truce.”

He threw it aside and caught the little, trembling Plum Blossom in his arms, hugging her tightly. She hid her face in his bosom. After a time he set her down upon the floor.

“This,” he said, “is Plum Blossom. In America she would be called Roly-poly—she is so fat, and, like her father, good-natured,” and he pinched her cheek. “Go now,” he bade her, “and kiss your new mother.”

She went obediently, but with fear in her eyes, towards Mrs. Kurukawa. The latter knelt and held out both her arms. She was crying a bit, and possibly it was the tears and the sweet sound of her voice that won Plum Blossom. She tried to remember the speech she had learned, but the only words that came to her lips were:

“Come agin,” and this she kept mechanically reiterating. “Come agin—come agin—come agin.”

Here it is painful to relate that the young son of Mrs. Kurukawa chose to make himself heard in uncouth American slang. Billy spoke almost reflectively, as if he had heard that “Come agin” somewhere before. “Come agin, on agin, gone agin, Finnegan!” said Billy, promptly.

“Oh, Billy, hush!” said his mother, reprovingly, but Plum Blossom’s face radiated. Here was a kindred spirit, one who had repeated her own words. “Come agin,” and then possibly finer ones.