University of Virginia Library

VI.

Ah, me! it is so pleasant even for an old jinrikisha to be loved. Many a time have I sighed for the days when the Lady Natsu had loved me for myself, and yes, even for the American girl, Beryl Evans. It was fifteen years since she had left Japan. How old, how very, very old I was getting! Well, well, I wonder why it is that while old people are supposed to be treated with so much care and respect, old things are cast aside and despised. Oh, you human beings, some of you prating about kindness that ought to be shown to this and that dumb animal, wild animals, birds, and even fishes and insects, I wonder if there ever were any of you who paused to realize that inanimate things, such as chairs and tables and old jinrikishas, etc., have feelings also and love to be loved. Take my case: I am extremely sensitive, and I never have forgotten any one in my life who has been kind to me, and I'll add to this, I have never forgotten any one who has been unkind. I am only an old jinrikisha, but my memory, it is white and black and bruised with the ill treatment I have received at the unscrupulous hands of the ignorant jinrikisha man who owned me for a number of years before that blessed earthquake, of which I have already told you, threw me before my new and most loved master of all. I'll only say this, that just previous to that I grew fretty and cranky, and began to feel and show my age so badly that even the children ceased to care to play in me.

“Bah!” said one impudent little fellow one day as he kicked me (that kick remains on me to-day), “the old thing's all broken down. Let's go and play somewhere else”; and off they went like the wind, fickle little jades, only to return the next day.

Soon after finding me, my master, who was somewhat of a lover of antiquities[9], began hunting up the records of my original family. He became very much

absorbed and interested in his task, tracing the family back one generation after another, back of even my dear master, Shomu Jokichi; and I am proud to tell you that the family record showed one long unbroken line of nobles, noted for their kindness, generosity, bravery, and goodness. My new master collected old family relics and heirlooms, and exhibited them very proudly as being once the property of the great Shomu family.

But the crowning act of interest in the family and their fallen fortunes was to search diligently in order to find if any member of the family were still alive. To this end, he employed the most expert lawyers and even detectives.

At the end of each week they would report to him. At the end of a couple of months the record consisted as follows—I mean dating from the Lady Natsu—as those who had gone before her I was not interested specially in, and doubtless you are not either:

“First: The Lady Natsu, a geisha girl—afterward married to a poor, but noble, young man in Kyoto, named Inouye; offspring from this issue, one child, also named Natsu.

“Second: Natsu, married twice, first to a worthy and well-to-do merchant of Tokyo, named Nosse, by whom she had one child, now living, named also Natsu; secondly, she married an Englishman, named Crowder, by whom she had one child, also living, named 'Koto.' This child had been adopted by English people, presumed to be the relatives of the said Crowder.”

My young master, whose name was Komatsu Taro, was very much pleased with all this.

“The next thing to be done,” he said, rubbing his hands cheerfully together, “is to find the two children now living. I wish to know them.”

Three days afterward he received communication that the eldest daughter, Natsu, had been found. She was living with relatives of her father.

Komatsu Taro gave an immense banquet, to which were invited all the nobles of his acquaintance, in order to meet the young girl, Natsu, and her relatives, who, though not themselves descendants of the Shomu family, were nevertheless, for her sake, welcome.

I can tell you I was nearly bursting with pride and delight, and my anxiety to see the young girl who bore the same name as my beloved little mistress of the past was unbounded.

About eight in the evening the guests began to arrive. I had a good position from where I could see each and all the guests. I could hardly contain myself in my eagerness to see the young girl. Scores of guests passed in at the gate, but the girl did not make her appearance till later in the evening. My master, who had worked himself up to such a state of interest in the family, kept coming over to my side, and looking about him expectantly.

When she finally arrived, she was accompanied by her relatives, about twenty or thirty in all.

As she came up the pathway toward me, for my master was receiving his guests at my side, I felt as if the ghost of my dear young mistress had risen from the grave, and was now sweeping down toward me.

I need not describe her to you. The picture of the dear Lady Natsu of the past will serve. The same refined, delicate beauty, the same sunny sweet smile, the same little hands and tiny feet. The gods were indeed good to me in my old age!

She bowed low with her relatives before Komatsu, murmuring her gratitude for what they termed his great condescension for deigning to notice any one so unworthy. And he looked at her long and earnestly.

It was permissible for him to address and converse with her. Modern etiquette permitted them this privilege. Komatsu was a much traveled man; he had been educated abroad in foreign lands, and his eyes had looked into those of women whose beauty could dazzle the senses, but I doubt me if ever before he had met any one who pleased him as the little figure that now stood before him, quietly and modestly. Maybe her style of beauty never would have appealed to a Western eye, but to a Japanese, everything about her, from the crown of her little shiny head to the tips of her tiny feet, was the ideal of what is meant by Japanese beauty.

“And you have a sister?”

“Yes, a little sister,” she told him. “She is an American.”

“And is she like you?”

“Yes—no; not so honorably homely—a little bit like me, but the sun is in her hair and eyes.”

“And the moon smiles in yours,” said Komatsu slowly.

“Ah, I thank you,” blushed Natsu. “You mean—that—I—I am beautiful?” She marveled at this, for she had been kept in great seclusion, and her beauty had been hidden from her by her careful relatives, but Komatsu had learned the Western art of flattery toward womankind.

“Yes—you are beautiful.”

“Ah-h!” she caught her breath. The flattery was very sweet. She wished he would say some more. “Thank you again,” she murmured, with her eyes cast down.

“Once your great- grandfather rode in and owned this jinrikisha,” he said. “See, here is his crest. You are of a great family.”

The girl examined it curiously.

“It is like what my mother ever worked on my kimono in gold braid. See?” She showed him a crest on the sleeve of her gown. He took a long time in examining it and then comparing it with that on my back, and his hands touched hers, and she blushed and looked down again.

“It is very good of you to come tonight,” he said, wishing to make her speak further.

“That was so good of you to invite,” she smiled.

And after she had gone out from his house, Komatsu rushed off to his relatives and to the nakoda like a possessed man.

“I must have her—all my goods, my land, everything I possess is hers. Haste thee! Make good labor to secure her for me for bride.” Komatsu's brain was filled with fire, a restlessness and desire to possess her, and after the formal fashion of the rich Japanese they became betrothed. The girl was not loath. She had been very much attracted by Komatsu, and her relatives smiled on the union also.

But one thing delayed the wedding. The girl, who had kept up a correspondence with her sister ever since they could write, was anxious to have her attend the wedding. They were waiting for her to come. At the time the news of her sister's betrothal reached her, the young girl was in England, where she was studying. It was such a sweet letter she wrote her sister that I want to reproduce it here:

“My little big sister,” it ran, “I know you are little even though you always like to call yourself my big sister, because, forsooth, you are two paltry years older than I! What can I say that will half express my heart's desire that all good happiness and joy may be yours?

“Yes, I am coming. I have written to him, my dear guardian, whom I have not seen now for nearly five years— ever since I have been studying my music, in fact, and he has cabled me to go at once. Moreover, he, too, is going to repeat his visit to Japan. He says it is fifteen years since he was there, and that he was a boy then. And for me? It is indeed about time that I visited my home that I love, though I may not remember it, for what are the memories of a child of two? Await me then, dear sister, and may all the gods of Japan, and all the world, smile on you. Koto.”