CHAPTER IX.

THE TEA-HOUSE.

In one of the suburbs of Osaka, not far from the beach whose white sandy slope stretches down to the sea, stood an immense building, whose roofs, of various heights, rose far above the level of the neighboring houses. The front of this edifice opened full upon a busy street, always crowded, and full of noise and confusion.

The first floor had a series of broad windows, closed by gay-colored blinds, which were often opened wide by a push from one of the inquisitive young women whose peals of laughter rang upon the air.

At the corners of the various roofs banners floated and large lozenge-shaped lanterns swung; the ground-floor consisted of a wide gallery open to the street and protected from the sun and wind by a light roof. Three big black characters, inscribed on a gilded panel, formed the sign of the establishment, and ran as follows,--"The Day-Break Inn. Tea and Saki."

Towards noon the balcony was crowded with customers; they sat with crossed legs upon the mat which covered the floor; they drank saki, or hid their faces in the cloud of steam rising from the cup of tea, upon which they blew lustily, to cool it. Women, coquettishly arrayed and carefully painted, moved gracefully about from group to group, carrying the hot drink. In the background you might see smoking stoves and pretty china cups and dishes arranged upon sets of red lacquer shelves.

Every moment fresh passers-by, cango-bearers, and men carrying burdens would stop, ask for a drink, pay, and hurry off again.

Sometimes a quarrel would arise in front of the inn and degenerate into a brawl, to the great delight of the patrons.

For instance, a pedler ran against a dealer in shells and cuttle-fish; his basket of wares was upset, and all the fish fell to the ground and rolled in the dirt.

High words rained on either side, traffic was hindered, a crowd collected and took sides with one or the other of the contending parties, and soon two hostile armies were ready to try the fate of arms.

But a shout arose: "The cable! the cable! Don't fight; bring a cable!"

Some of the spectators hurried off, bustled into one house after another, and at last, finding what they wanted, came running back with a large rope.

Then the lookers-on took up their stand in front of the houses, leaving a free space for those who were to struggle. The latter seized the rope in both hands, there being fifteen on each side, and began to pull with all their might and main. The rope stretched and shook, then held firm.

"Courage! Hold tight! Don't let go!" was the cry on every side.

However, after struggling long against fatigue, one of the parties suddenly let go the rope. The victors fell all together in a heap, with their legs in the air, amidst the shouts and laughter of the mob, who ran to their rescue. They were helped to their feet, and a reconciliation was signed and sealed by copious draughts of saki.

The inn was thronged, and the maids were beside themselves with such an overflow of custom.

Just then an old man, leading a girl by the hand, contrived to stop a waitress as she passed, and catch her by the sleeve.

"I want to speak to the master of this establishment," he said.

"You choose your time well," said the girl, with a roar of laughter.

By a sudden movement she freed herself, and was gone before the old man could add another word.

"I will wait," said he.

A cask of saki was staved in, and the jolly drinkers talked and laughed noisily.

But all at once silence fell upon them; the shrill sound of a flute and the music of a stringed instrument were heard. The sounds came from the rooms above.

"Listen! listen!" was the general cry.

Some of the passers stopped to hear. The sound of a woman's voice was heard. The words of the song were clearly audible:--

"When Iza-Na-Gui descended to earth, his companion, Iza-Na-Mi, met him in a garden.

"'How delightful to meet such a handsome young man!' she exclaimed.

"But the God, in displeasure, replied: 'It is not fitting for the woman to speak first; meet me again.'

"They parted, and they met each other once more.

"'How agreeable to meet such a lovely girl!' said Iza-Na-Gui.

"Which of the two spoke first?'"

The voice ceased; the accompaniment went on for a few moments more.

A discussion ensued among the drinkers; they replied to the question asked by the singer.

"Of course the God was saluted first," said some.

"No, no! It was the Goddess!" shouted others. "The will of the God cancelled the first salutation."

"Did he cancel it?"

"To be sure I to be sure! They began again, as if nothing had ever happened."

"Which does not annul what had occurred; and so the woman spoke first."

The argument threatened to wax warm; but all ended by a larger number of cups being emptied. Soon the throng thinned off, and the tavern grew quiet again.

A servant woman then noticed the old man leaning against an upright post, and still holding the young girl by the hand.

"Do you want a cup of tea or saki?" asked the woman.

"I wish to speak to the keeper of the tea-house," answered the man.

The servant looked at the old man. His head was covered with a large hat of woven reeds, like the cover of a round basket; his costume, much worn, was of brown cotton. He held in his hand a fan, on which was marked the road from Yeddo to Osaka, the distance from one village to another, the number and importance of the inns, etc. The woman then examined the young girl. She was shabbily dressed. Her robe, of faded blue, was torn and dirty; a fragment of white stuff twisted about her head partially concealed her face. She leaned on a black-and-red paper parasol, torn in various places; but she was strangely beautiful and graceful.

"Have you come to make a sale?" asked the maid of the inn.

The old man made a sign that he had.

"I will tell the master."

She went off, and soon returned. The master followed her.

He was a man of repulsive plainness. His little squinting black eyes were scarcely visible between the narrow fissure of his absurdly wrinkled eyelids; his mouth, widely removed from his long, thin nose, destitute of teeth and adorned with a few stiff sparse hairs, gave a sly and mean expression to his pock-marked countenance.

"You want to get rid of that young woman?" said he, rolling one eyeball, while the other one disappeared round the corner of his nose.

"To get rid of my child!" screamed the old man. "I only consent to part from her to protect her from misery and want."

"Unfortunately I have more women now than I need; and they are every one of them quite as pretty as she is. My house is entirely full."

"I will look elsewhere," said the old man, making a pretence of going.

"Don't be in such a hurry," said the landlord; "if your demands are not too extravagant, perhaps we can come to terms."

He made the man a sign to follow him into the entrance hall from which he had just come; this hall looked out on a garden, and was quite empty.

"What can your girl do, I say?" asked the frightful squint-eyed fellow.

"She can embroider, she can sing, and play on several instruments; she can even compose a quatrain at a pinch."

"Ah-ha! is that so? And how much do you want for her?"

"Four kobangs."

The innkeeper was about to exclaim, "No more!" but he restrained himself.

"That's exactly what I was going to offer you," said he.

"Well, it's a bargain," said the old man; "I hire her to you to do whatever you bid her, for a term of twenty years."

The buyer hurriedly brought brushes and a roll of paper, and drew up a bill of sale, which the old man readily signed.

The young girl meantime stood like a statue; she did not waste a look on the old man, who pretended to wipe away a tear as he pocketed the kobangs.

Before leaving, he bent towards the innkeeper's ear and whispered: "Keep your eye on her; watch her well; she will try to escape."

Then he quitted the Day-Break Tea-house; and whoever saw him, as he turned the corner of the street, change his pace, rubbing his hands and outstepping the nimblest, might well have suspected the reality of his old age and his white beard.