Part 9

It was but two days. Yet in that time Hoshiko hastened to all the dear places where he had gone in the days he had told her of--when he held the hand of Yone instead of hers. It was on the second day, in the evening, at Shiba, that some one spoke his name behind her. The voice was a woman's--that she at once knew. And also at once, in that strange intelligence which we have of the spirit and not of any teaching, she knew that this was Yone--and that she had not forgotten all and married (as they had laughingly fancied), but was still waiting, as she had said. And suddenly for a moment, only a moment, she was no longer Arisuga the color-bearer, but again a woman of those who know the terror and weariness of hopeless waiting--such as only women, and never men, know. And she remembered. It was ten years. Yet this faithful one had waited while she had had her happiness. And what should she do? There was little question of that. Here she was confronted with the evidence of how she had destroyed the gods' balance by taking her overdue of joy, leaving to Yone an overdue of sorrow, and was given the opportunity to restore, in some part, the account. But how? It was quite plain upon the briefest reflection. She must be to her, also, Arisuga. She must touch her as he had done, take her hands as he once did, and then--perhaps--perhaps--Yone would be comforted and she might go.

For that moment she was a woman only--only Hoshiko--and the tears ran down her face. Now she might not turn. What? Tears on the face of a rough soldier!

"Shijiro," Yone was saying to Hoshiko's back, "I have waited--waited all the years. Yet had they been ten times ten they are all blotted out by this moment. Oh, the gods have been true, as they always are! I prayed them, and they let me know that they would bring you to me if I would but wait patiently. Turn and look at me. See whether I am grown too old for you to touch once more. See whether my hands are yet fit for yours. I have prayed Benten to keep me young and make me beautiful against this moment of your coming. And every day--every day, Ani-San--I have come here, whether it rained or the sun shone--every day--here or at Mukojima--or the other dear places of our youth. And yet my sandals are not worn, my kimono is new--see, because ever I renewed them, remembering that you liked me always so. Will you not look, beloved? Yone will not trouble you if you do not wish. She will let you go and will wait still."

Hoshiko slowly turned. Yone stepped back from her. So they stood a moment at gaze. Hoshiko saw a creature as small and fragile as she herself had once been, and more beautiful she thought--much more beautiful.

Yone saw a soldier whose face she knew, but whose soul, at first, was strange.

"I am Shijiro Arisuga," said Hoshiko.

"Yes," breathed Yone, "wait. There is something strange. Something I did not expect. Is it the years? Yes. But your voice is more gentle though less gay."

"I can make it harsh," smiled Hoshiko.

"Nay!" cried Yone, still at gaze. "Did you know me? Did you know my voice?"

"Yes," said Hoshiko.

"And you have a scar--you have fought."

"In many battles."

"Yet the gods did not send you the great red death, but sent you to me, as I prayed."

"Yes."

"It is all the gods' will."

Twilight had fallen and Yone came confidently closer.

"Will you walk with me as we used? It is the gods' will!"

"Yes."

"Will you take my hand?"

"Yes."

As Hoshiko felt the small hand curl in hers the tears fell again from her eyes. But they could not be seen now and she let them fall. Nor need she talk and thus betray herself. Yone had lost all fear in the giving of her hand and now chattered on.

"Come--to the tomb of Lord Esas, where we made the seat of a stone and moss. It is there yet. I have kept it as it was. Often I have sat there. Only once before were we here at night--hiding, as perhaps we shall to-night, when the watchman comes with his lantern and staff. Shall we go to the tomb of Lord Esas, beloved?"

"Yes," said Hoshiko.

"You speak as if you wept--and, when you turned, your face looked as if you had wept. Oh, it looked for a moment like a woman's--and not a soldier's! Soldiers do not weep."

"Soldiers weep. I do."

"Ani-San! For me?"

"For you."

"The waiting?"

"The waiting."

"But, then, weep no more, Ani-San. I am here--at your side. All the waiting is forgot. Blotted out by this one great moment. And perhaps--Here is the seat. Is it not all as it was? Though it is ten years--ten years of weary waiting. Here you sat, always, here I sat. And we are grown too old now to change."

She laughed timorously, and when Hoshiko had seated herself where Arisuga had once sat, she took her place as if there were no years between this and that. Then she went on:--

"--perhaps, to-night, you will be as sweet as you were on that other night--when--Do you remember?"

"I remember," said Hoshiko.

"But we have no samisen. Yet I can sing--if you ask me--"

"Sing."

"--the song of 'The Moon-and-the-Stork,' which we ourselves made--here--where the moon looked down upon us. See, it knows. It knows you are come. There it passes above the great criptomeria now. And--and--oh, it is an omen of all good! A stork flies over its face. Or it is a branch of the tree? No matter, the omen is the same, Ani-San; all is as it was, is it not?"

"All is as it was, beloved," whispered Hoshiko.

Yone came diffidently closer at the dear word.

"When I sang that night I was in your arms--"

The arms of Hoshiko closed about the girl at her side almost with violence.

"That is it," she cried happily, nesting there. "Yes, that is quite it. Don't you remember how your violence frightened me until you explained that it was love? And we laughed. Now we are sad. We used to laugh then. And you could not play the samisen because I was in your arms. And I would not get out of them. So that I sang without the samisen that night. Therefore, all will be quite the same if I sing to-night without it. You have not forgotten the Moon-and-the-Stork song?"

"No"--for Arisuga had often sung it to her.

Then she sang:--

"O moon get out of my way," said the stork, "O stork get out of my light," said the moon. "I will not," said the stork, "I will not," said the moon: So that is why the stork is in the light of the moon, And that is why the moon is in the way of the stork.

It was a little voice, with no great melody, but well fitted for so frail a theme. Hoshiko joined her, stumbling upon a word, at which Yone chided her for forgetting, laughed happily and crept yet closer. Then she said, after a silence:--

"Now!"

"What?" asked Hoshiko; for that she did not know.

"Oh, have you forgotten--have you forgotten? That also? Alas--alas! After the song you spoke of--"

Her pretty head was burrowed deeply into the space beneath Hoshiko's chin.

"What?" Hoshiko had to ask again.

"Of marriage," whispered the girl, in terror. And the terror of Hoshiko was no less than that of Yone.

"You said, you swore by this sacred tomb of a hero, that if the gods did not send you the red death we should be married one to the other--"

"But, beloved," breathed Hoshiko, in further terror, "I am still a soldier, still bound to the great red death. I am here but this day. To-morrow, this night yet, I go to battle. Would you wish me to marry you and at once go to the field?"

"Yes," whispered the girl.

"And, perchance, fall and never return?"

"Yes."

"So that you will be a widow with blackened teeth?"

"Yes."

Hoshiko made no other protest. What had been first considered with a certain horror, seemed beautiful and merciful to this love-lorn maiden now. She need never know. She would live and die thinking herself married to Arisuga. At her death she would cut her hair and hang it at a shrine, and always keep the lamps alight, and always pray for the soul of Shijiro Arisuga. It was the way of the gods; and, as always, the way of the gods was best, was beautiful!

WHEN THE WATCH PASSED

XXXII

WHEN THE WATCH PASSED

"Sh! sh!" whispered Yone, suddenly, and crushed her small hand upon Hoshiko's mouth.

It was the watchman with staff and lantern, crying weirdly in the night. He passed near. He paused nearer. Yone drew a bit of shrubbery before them.

"I heard a song, by all the gods I heard a foolish song in this sacred place of tombs. Come forth," he cried aloud, "he who sings foolishly in a sacred place, come forth and be punished of the gods so that you may repent! Otherwise your punishment will wait until you are unready for it."

Now he moved on. His voice came muttering back:--

"Come forth, come forth! I heard a song, an unholy song in the sacred place of tombs."

Yone let the bush return and laughed happily in the arms of Hoshiko.

"Oh, is it not all as it was, beloved? It is the same watchman--older. And they are the same, almost the same, words--more eery. And we are close, close--as we were then. Oh, it is divine to be close with you! So--so, my beloved, another omen! Everything else is as it was. Shall not we be?"

Hoshiko was silent.

"Be not afraid, beloved," Yone said. "I will be true always until we meet in the heavens. Always I will be your widow with blackened teeth if you fall--my hair blowing at a shrine. Think! But for me there will be no one to keep the lamps alight before you if you die--but for me. And I--they shall never fail. For, if you fall, I will wait as I have done--keeping the lamps, hoping that you will hold out your hand in the black Meido when I pass to death, and that then we shall, somehow, never part. Oh, beloved, there have been suitors and suitors and always suitors! The nakado has worn bare the mat at the door. But was I not yours? How could I listen to any one else? And the wedding garments are all ready. And there is no one to stay us but the old deaf Hana, who will not even hear. If you must go quickly, to-night, there is the foreign minister--there is the new registry office--"

"And for this," said Hoshiko, "the few words of a foreign priest, nine cups of sake, a line in the registry office, you will give up your dear life to me?"

"I will give up all my souls--all my hope of a rest at last in Buddha's bosom if I must. Oh, Shijiro Arisuga, for this I have waited until it seemed that I could wait no more. Give it to me now--this night--before you go!"

"O love," whispered Hoshiko, "what is like you in all the earths, in all the heavens! There is no other miracle but you alone. Come! My hour is almost here. But were it already past, and though a soldier but obeys the hours, yet you should be a wife before I go."

And even to that moment Hoshiko had not known how Yone yearned for that one word to be added to her. Suddenly she grovelled on the earth and caught the hands and knees of her who had been wife to him they both loved.

"All the gods bless you--all the gods--for giving me that one name. For in all the earths and heavens together there is none so sweet as--wife to Shijiro Arisuga."

And there, that night, Hoshiko married little Yone.

"Now go and die," she wept at farewell, "and here I will wait--wait, until I, also, die--wait for that touch of your spirit on my arm, wait for your hand in the dark Meido. But if you do not die? if the gods are not ready yet for you--you will come?"

"I will come again," said Hoshiko, weeping, too, which was strange for a soldier.

And there they parted, only a moment after they were married, and Hoshiko was ordered to join the Guards and hurry to the Yalu, where their prey was fattening.

TEIKOKU BANZAI

XXXIII

TEIKOKU BANZAI

Then, at last, after three months of marching and wading and six days of fighting, they faced the Russian intrenchments at that place beyond Wiju, which some call, to this day, Hamatan, but which is Yujuho. And the Imperial Guards were there. Shijiro Arisuga, if he were there, also, must have observed with joy that the Guards had the right of the line and would reach the Russian intrenchments first--perhaps off toward Kiuliencheng, where the battery of six pieces was still stubbornly firing. He would know that the Guards must give many happy ones their opportunity for the great red death. Perhaps he could, then, see far enough into the future to know that his own regiment would have the advance and be cut to pieces. It would hurl itself straight upon those stubborn guns. They would tear bloody lanes in its ranks. And Hoshiko would be in the forefront of it.

Kuroki's artillery ceased, Zassuliche's ceased, and that stillness which the soldier knows for the prelude to the assault fell. The two shots from the right was the advance. Zanzi raised his hand, and into the smoke raced Hoshiko with the colors. And she did not forget Arisuga's glory--nor his father's--nor that dream of his when the small white death was closing down upon him. She understood that he was there. And not only he.

His ancestors were looking on--the stately samurai. And hers--the humble eta. His father whom she here redeemed. The emperor with his thousand eyes. The myriads of the gods. The army. The world. The heavens!

Yet she forgot nothing which Arisuga had taught her. She went forward with two others. To her right, to her left, were other threes zigzagging onward. But always she was in their front--steadily, carefully, almost to where the battery of six pieces had fixed a point to reach her, as she passed. There her three dropped and dug. And there they rested until the battery lost them. Up then and out again till the gunners once more noted her like a moving lump of earth and corrected their elevation in her favor. And so twice more. At the last she dared to look back. Behind her stretched two lines of trenches. In the nearest a little fringe of rifle muzzles already showed. She had brought these there. Further back was a thin line of blue racing for the first trenches. She had set these going. Still further back the army in vast masses of blue was moving into position from behind the willows on the bank of the river.

And these waited also upon the little sun-flag on which Hoshiko lay. She felt for the first time the soldier's ecstasy, and she understood better and forgave more the latter years of Arisuga.

She and her two had rested, and had made of their chain of holes a shallow trench. They meant to dig this deeper for those who were to come after them. But the two vast armies they had set in motion began to move with accelerated speed toward each other, and they stopped the trench where it was.

There would be no more digging. Any one might see that. The Russian battery had again found them. One of the guns was exploding shrapnel over their heads. The rest were trying for the thin blue line further back. The willows which yet hid the army were too far away. The moment was ripe. Hoshiko threw aside the spade and everything else which might impede action, and went toward the battery.

From behind her rose the hoarse mongolian yell she had learned to love. There was no need now for concealment. Their own guns had located the battery in her front. A wicked shell had just burst over it. She could hear the song of the fragments. And but three men stood by the gun afterward. The little figure with the sun-flag raced down upon them, firing. It was quite alone. The three gave her a weak, magnanimous cheer and retired, leaving their gun.

Her own men answered from the rear. And even amid the "Banzais" she could hear the wild song of Arisuga. One line clanged in her mad brain:--

"Death-wound spurting--"

Further up the hill a single rapid-fire gun which knew her only as an enemy came into action. It found her at once and riddled her with bullets, as, flag in hand, she leaped into the first of the Russian trenches.

That line was in her last articulate consciousness:--

"Death-wound spurting--"

Perhaps it only remained in her ears--Arisuga's song. But she fancied that she could feel her own warm blood spurting into her own face. Was it as glorious as he had thought it? Or was it only terrible? At that moment, first, she knew. Perhaps she became in that last instant all woman once more. Perhaps she saw something not for mortal eyes. Perhaps she was not as brave with death as she had taught herself to be--gentle Hoshiko! Her lips moaned, piteously, when she ought to have been dead, "Arisuga!"

So that one of the two who had gone forward with her bent hastily and said to the other, with a pleasant smile:--

"He speaks his own name!"

"Nembutsu," answered the other. "Take the flag."

The first one tried, but it held fast in her hand.

"There is no need," he said; "the battle is won. Let him keep it!"

But they covered her face. For the peace, the ecstasy, of a glorious death was not on it! What did she learn in that death-instant?

Others caught at the flag. But her hand held it fast. So that when that dense line of blue which she had started from the willows reached her, at first it parted chivalrously at the flag and passed on either side. But at last it could not part. Some one trod upon the little color-bearer. Then many. The thick-massed line passed over her. It could not be helped. Some one took the flag from her hand and planted it on the Russian redoubt. At last she seemed but part of the earth beneath their feet, and they who trod on her did not even look down.

AFTERWARD

XXXIV

AFTERWARD

Afterward there was a great funeral. The hillside was a temple. The summer blue was its roof. The jagged mountains were its eaves. Evergreen trees were its walls. A torii made of firs was its gate. Blossoming trees held the gohei strips which pledged purity to the august shades which waited near. The altar was of rifles and a soldier's blanket. The offerings were the vapors of the simple grains and flowers, of the country.

Beyond it was the great pyre--not grim, as death is, but more beautiful than that on which Dido perished, adorned, perfumed, with aromatic spring firs and blossoming trees. In the temple, first, the shades of those who had fought with them were worshipped and exalted by the brocaded priests. Then fealty was sworn to those who had just died, and whose shades yet lingered by their greatest incarnation.

Last, Nisshi read the names of those who had died with glory. And first among them was that of Shijiro Arisuga. Then with others they put the blackened, riven little body they had found, upon the pyre, and, lighting it, gave Hoshiko's ashes to the earth, her spirit to oblivion, and Arisuga's name to honor.

It began the next day. Shijiro Arisuga was in the Tokyo newspapers, upon the dead walls, and in the hoarse voices of the people. It was a story like the terrible courage of their old warriors, and they loved it. His medal was hung in a temple. And to-day there is a record of his heroism, on the brass where it can never fade--though Shijiro Arisuga lies dead, unknown, in America.

And that was the fifth time that Shijiro Arisuga must have thought the happiest moment of his life had come.

And now we may speculate a little, before we forget, upon this last of the five occasions. For there may be those who think that Shijiro could not have been happy in seeing what he saw that day. But we are to remember that, then, he had knowledge of many things which he had not on earth. And among these was a more intimate knowing of the heart of Hoshiko. And in that, it seems to me, he ought to have been happiest of all. Yet--who knows?

Perhaps, too, the merciful gods permitted themselves to be deceived into thinking that the Shijiro Arisuga who died at Hamatan is, indeed, the one who died at Jokoji. For the life name is the same. Or perhaps they are only complaisant, and, in the passing years, will permit the people to think that this is so. Who knows?

At all events, Shijiro Arisuga, father and son, will take their way hand in hand from the dark Meido to the heavens.

And for these some one will reverently write a splendid death name upon a golden tablet at a beautiful shrine. And before it will burn always the lights and the incense. Perhaps this happiness will be for gentle Yone. Perhaps the spirit of her who died at Hamatan, in its boundless compassion, will also come and touch the little Yone on the arm as she wanders, lonely, by the tomb of Lord Esas, so that she, too, may have her heart's desire, and only one, she who bought her happiness with an eternity of obliteration, have nothing. For, who knows?

And one wishes it were possible for Shijiro to have defied O-Emma of the hells and to have taken Hoshiko straight from the great red death, past all the lesser heavens, to be forever lost in the bosom of the Lord Buddha in the lotus fields--if the souls of mortals ever fly straight from earth to the last white heaven. But this could not be. There was that eternal penance for over-joy to accomplish.

For Hoshiko there never can be again, in the heavens above or on the earth beneath or the hells below, a being. All her existences--all her thousands of years of life--whether of the earths or the heavens or the hells, were given for Shijiro Arisuga, whom she loved--and who once, for a little while, loved her. Shijiro Arisuga lives, and the father in the son will live on the brass forever.

The Dream-of-a-Star is forever vanished, save for the moment I write here--save for the moment you read here.

Transcriber's note:

The following have been changed:

Myagi=>Miyagi

Damashi=>Damashii