 | Chapter XVII Miss Spring Morning |  |
17. Chapter XVII
He found Madame Yamada in the same miserable house she had occupied when first he had seen Spring-morning.
Snarling over her tobacco-box, she scarcely returned the civil greetings of her caller, whom she, however, recognized.
“First of all,” said he abruptly, “I am going to ask you if you are the mother of—Spring-morning, the girl who used to live with you here and whom you tried to drive to the Yoshiwara.”
At the mention of Spring-morning the old woman hobbled to her feet excitedly. Mumbling incoherent curses in her own language, she finally shot out savagely at the intruder:
“‘It is better to nourish a dog than an unfaithful child,’ says the proverb. The gods will avenge me, rest assured.”
“You consider she has wronged you?” he asked quietly.
Then she was the mother of his wife! He felt gentler, kinder toward the fearful-looking old creature.
“Has she sent you no help at all during the past year?” he asked, as it seemed to him his wife had repeatedly told him of having sent the sums of money he gave her to her mother.
“Ha!” she cried, contemptuously. “Little sums of cash— enough to keep the food in the honorable insides—but what left for—my son?”
“You have a son?”
“A son! Gloriously a son! May his journey to the Lotus Land be one of bliss!”
“Is this—he?”
He had drawn out and held toward her the picture he had taken from his wife. The old woman clutched at it in a piteous excitement.
“Where got?” she cried as she tried to force it from his hands. “Give it to me, I pray you, Mister Foreigner.”
“One minute,” said the young man gently. “Tell me first: what is his name?”
“Omi! That is the name of my honorable son.” She put her face upon the portrait of the soldier and mumbled and sobbed against it.
Jamison watched her a moment in silence, intensely moved. After a moment, he said huskily:
“You've made me happy. I want to help you in some way.” He paused, debating just what proposition of help to make to the old woman, who was now looking up at him somewhat venomously from under her towering gray eyebrows.
“You are Spring-morning's mother, you say. She is my wife. If you wish—I offer you a home—with us.”
Upon the old woman's face a look of wild amazement swept. Suddenly she began to chuckle in a hideous fashion, rocking herself back and forth. The young man watched her in silence a moment. Then he took some coin from his pocket and laid them gravely down before her on the floor.
“No,” he said, “I take back that offer. I cannot have you near my wife. But here is money—and there will be more- -as much as you may need.”
Madame Yamada's fearful mirth stopped for a moment. She seized upon the coins avariciously, and began to toss them up and down on the hearth, listening eagerly to their clink as they fell. Assured that they were all right, she knotted them in her sleeve. She resumed her chuckling and muttered horribly to herself, and Jamison, who had got as far as the door, felt a sense of nausea at the thought that this fearful old witch should be the mother of his wife. Her words, as she hobbled to her feet, struck him strangely, and he paused a moment before going out. She shrieked at him with an almost wild defiance now:
“Mister White Man! You make better for my son than the Yoshiwara. That is very good. Very good. You are most excellent Yoshiwara for my son!”
He went out quickly, closing the door hard behind him. And the air of the street felt good to him as he almost fled[12] from the wretched locality.
| Chapter XVII Miss Spring Morning | |