The Moonflower

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “Thank you for bringing her back!” she cried. “I was thinking of Ichiro and I forgot.”

  “Was it serious about your husband?” Marcia asked.

  Chiyo nodded. “Yes, serious. Talbot-san got them to let him off. For this one time. But nothing like this must happen again. Good night. I must go to my cousin now. Thank you again so very much.”

  Alan walked with Marcia around the corner to the Talbot gate. “Shall I come in with you?”

  She shook her head. “No. He won’t see you tonight. It’s better if you don’t.”

  “All right. But I’ll see you soon. We’ll work this out somehow.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him her hand, longing to say more, but this was not the time and she turned away, her eyes bright with tears, and hurried into the house.

  Jerome was in his own room and he did not come out. Apparently he had not yet been told that Haruka was missing. Marcia went into the bedroom she shared with Laurie and found the child awake. She was sitting up in bed, with Sumie-san beside her and they were playing jan-ken-po, the scissors-paper-stone game that Japanese children loved.

  When she saw her mother, Laurie got up in bed and flung her arms about her neck. “Why did you go out and leave me? What happened, Mommy?”

  Marcia held her tight and soothed her, while Sumie-san slipped away.

  “It was only for a few moments, darling. The lady next door, Madame Setsu, went out and Alan and I were afraid she might get hurt. So we brought her back. She isn’t very well, you know.”

  “The lady in white?” Laurie asked. “The dead lady?”

  “Honey, she isn’t dead,” Marcia protested, coaxing Laurie down into the bed with gentle hands. “She’s only ill.”

  Laurie’s slender arms twined about her neck again, holding her in a frantic clasp. “No, she’s dead! That’s why she always wears white like the Buddhists do for a funeral. She’s dead like my doll Tomi is dead. Mommy, what did you do with the doll?”

  “I have it,” Marcia said gently. “Snuggle under the sheet now, and I’ll sit here beside you. Would you like to hear how we found her in the temple grounds and brought her home?”

  Laurie always loved a story and Marcia turned this one into a romantic tale of a Japanese princess bewitched by a moon spell. Laurie listened and at length grew sleepy. But before she slept, there was a moment in which her eyes opened wide and she looked up into her mother’s face.

  “Does Mr. Cobb really wear a mask to hide what he is like? A nice mask that hides something cruel and ugly?”

  Marcia put her cheek against her daughter’s soft, warm one. “Whatever makes you think such a terrible thing? Of course there’s no mask. Mr. Cobb is very good and kind and …”

  “But Daddy says everyone wears a mask. You too, Mommy. Because everyone is wicked inside. Inside we’re all like that horrid face on the wall in Daddy’s room. If we didn’t try to hide our wickedness from one another we—we’d all go crazy and die. Like Madame Setsu.”

  The sickness of horror rose in Marcia’s throat. She could only hold Laurie close, denying her words fiercely, striving to reassure her. But how could she find words to undo such evil? At least Laurie seemed to take comfort in her closeness, her murmured reassurances and she slept at last in Marcia’s arms.

  Marcia tucked the sheet about her and turned off the lights in the room until only one was left burning. Then she pulled the window draperies against the eerie moonlight. She had no intention of undressing tonight. Someone must keep vigilance in this house, hold away the dark power that could emanate from the mind of one man.

  When she grew weary, she lay down fully clothed on the other bed, but her mind remained endlessly alert and it was as if every nerve in her body listened and waited.

  Once she got up and went softly to open the door into the dark hallway. The old house sighed and creaked, and she listened tensely for the sound of a door opening upstairs, for the sound of tabi on the wooden treads.

  But no door opened and she closed her own as soundlessly as she could. A half hour later she heard the quiet opening of Jerome’s door, and his step in the hallway. Her heart beat suffocatingly in her throat when his footsteps hesitated outside her door. But they went by and she heard him go up the stairs.

  Once more she opened her door and stood in listening stillness in the dark. Above, the “nightingale floor” of the gallery creaked, she heard a key turn in a lock and another door opened. It closed again quietly and everything was still.

  So Jerome had gone to Haruka again. But now she felt only a pitying sadness for the tragedies in Haruka’s life that had left her with a man so embittered and isolated. Yet perhaps he showed Haruka the tenderness she herself had once known from him, and perhaps Haruka brought him a certain peace he could not otherwise find.

  Nevertheless, long after, as Marcia lay awake beside Laurie, she heard another sound far away in the stillness of the night. It was the soft, heartbreaking sound of a woman weeping.

  20.

  In the morning Minato was gone.

  Chiyo came running over shortly after breakfast to tel. Jerome before he left the house. Marcia went to the door to let her in and as they stood in the entryway Chiyo blurted out the news.

  “He went away in the night,” she said. “Or before dawn this morning. He left a note for me on his bed and I found it when I woke up.”

  Jerome came into the hall and she turned toward him anxiously.

  “Ichiro has gone to Kobe. I wanted him to go, but now he has gone without telling me, without saying good-by.”

  Jerome’s face looked worn this morning and a little gray, but the burning in his eyes was bright as ever.

  “A good thing,” he told her. “For a long time I’ve said you ought to be rid of him. Now he’ll be off your hands.”

  “But I love him,” Chiyo said helplessly. “This is what you do not understand. He needs me. He cannot manage without me.”

  “A common notion with women,” Jerome said and threw Marcia a sardonic glance. “He’ll manage without you.”

  “Do you know the name of this place where he hopes to find work?” Chiyo asked.

  “Yes, I know. And if you insist, I can probably get him discharged and sent home. A few words about his reputation here, about …”

  “No, no!” Chiyo cried. “That is not what I wish.”

  Jerome shrugged. “If you’re wise you’ll get over him. He’s certainly not worth your attention. Let him go and forget him.”

  He went past them out of the house, and Chiyo sighed unhappily.

  “He doesn’t understand,” Marcia assured her. “You’ll surely hear from your husband. How is Madame Setsu this morning?”

  “Well enough,” Chiyo said sadly. “She always weeps after she has run away. But she will be quiet now. All the will to act has gone out of her. She will cry when she is alone, and read sad poetry. After a time she will write a new poem of her own and then she will feel better. This is the pattern. She never runs away twice in the same moon. But what am I to do about Ichiro?”

  The bell at the gate jangled as they stood there talking and Marcia looked up to see Alan crossing the stepping stones. Her quick surge of happiness told her that she had been longing for him to come.

  He greeted them cheerfully, but wasted no time in coming to the point of his visit. “Can you get over to Nan’s right away?” he asked Marcia. “She has a plan in mind for you.”

  “Of course,” Marcia said, and then glanced at Chiyo. “Come with me. Perhaps we can talk about your trouble too.”

  Chiyo agreed and Marcia called Laurie. They went over to Nan’s with Alan, but he did not come in with them.

  “I think you’d better do what Nan suggests,” he said. “Marcia, this is good-by for a little while.”

  “Good-by?” she repeated, startled.

  “You’ll be hearing from me,” he said. “And don’t worry—you’re in good hands.”

  She wanted to keep him there, but he was already on
his way, and there was nothing to do but go inside to see Nan.

  Isa-san took Laurie into the kitchen to play with a new kitten and Nan shut the study door so they could talk without interruption.

  Through Alan, Nan already knew what had happened the night before, but she had not heard about Ichiro and she listened in silence while Chiyo told her. Then she smoked soberly for a few minutes, lost in her own thoughts.

  “Until now,” she said at last, “I’ve always stood by Jerry Talbot. I’ve kept my own council and I’ve never sided against him. I’ve tried not to get involved.” She looked directly at Marcia. “But I am involved now. And I can’t believe that what he’s trying to do is right for anyone, including himself. Not in the long run.”

  She opened a drawer and drew out a strip of paper which seemed to be a ticket and held it out to Marcia.

  “I was leaving for my vacation tomorrow. You’ll go in my place. We’ll get another train ticket and Chiyo can go with you.”

  Both women stared at her and Chiyo began to shake her head. Nan stopped her at once.

  “Wait. Don’t tell me it isn’t possible because of Haruka Setsu or your children. Eventually you’ll have to leave her and go to your husband. Let Jerome deal with the problem himself. He has made it his problem and he has no business saddling you with it for life. And your children will be fine with the maids. You know they’ll be given good care.”

  “You don’t understand,” Chiyo began unhappily. “It is not for Mr. Talbot I wish to stay. I owe my cousin …”

  “Yes, I know,” Nan broke in a little impatiently. “You owe your cousin your life, and you have paid for it many times over since the war. Since that time she has come to owe you hers. Besides, she belongs to the past and you belong to the present, to the future. Your children and your husband are more important. I don’t see how Ichiro has stuck the situation for as long as he has. You should be proud that he got up the nerve to go away.”

  Plainly Nan’s firm manner abashed Chiyo, who said a little timidly, “But still, I don’t see.”

  “Go to Miyajima with Marcia,” Nan said. “It would be awkward for her to go alone when she speaks no Japanese. I was to stay at a Japanese inn there and the reservation is already made. They will take Marcia in my place, and you also, Chiyo. I’ve already phoned. It will not be expensive, and this will be a practice trip for you. You’ll be away only a short time and then you can see how your cousin manages in other hands. I know a friend of Yamada-san’s—a woman who was a nurse in wartime. I think she’ll come and stay with Madame Setsu. Let Jerry pay her. If it works out, you’ll have more confidence when Minato-san writes that he wants you in Kobe.”

  “But if he wants me while I am away?” Chiyo asked.

  Nan grinned at her. “Let him stew for a while. It won’t hurt him.”

  This time Chiyo managed a smile. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you with all my heart. Now I will go home. There are many things to be done.”

  She bowed herself out and when she had gone Marcia said, “But your holiday, Nan? What a shame for you to give up your own plans.”

  “I’m only postponing them,” Nan said. “Somebody’s got to stay here to keep an eye on Jerry. Maybe that’s my job. Alan’s right that you ought to leave Kyoto, get away to a quiet place where you can find your bearings and be out of Jerry’s reach.”

  Marcia smiled her gratitude. “Of course I’ll do what you say.”

  “Good!” said Nan matter-of-factly. “Suppose you go home now and get packed. You can bring any extra stuff you want to leave over here. Then you won’t have to return to the house at all before you catch your plane. Or even return to Kyoto. I can send your things along to Tokyo for you. Stay one more night in Jerry’s house so he won’t guess what you’re up to.”

  Marcia was glad to accept Nan’s suggestions, and that night she slept more peacefully than she had for a long time. Once, after midnight, Laurie wakened from a disturbing dream, crying aloud, and Marcia took the child into her own bed. One more night in this house, she thought, only one more. Then they would be free of it.

  Never again need she fear the brooding evil that centered in that mask in Jerome’s room. Never again would she step into the crowded Victorian drawing room that seemed so out of place in this age and this country. She would never need to listen again for creaking floors in the night, or for the melancholy sound of a samisen. She would be free of all this for good, once they were away.

  But even as she told herself these things, she could not quite believe them. It was as if the house held her in a closed fist and would not let her go. These were the gloom-ridden thoughts of the night, however. By morning she was able to throw them off and dismiss them as foolish.

  She did not get up until Jerome had left the house, and then she told Laurie casually of their plans. It sounded like an adventure to Laurie, a vacation visit, and she did not argue with the fact that they weren’t telling her father good-by. Marcia explained that he was working very hard and wouldn’t have time to see them off, hoping that her story would serve its purpose.

  Chiyo came over with a small straw suitcase and a few things for the trip tied up in a furoshiki, the cloth square which still served the Japanese as a carryall, even in this modern world.

  Nan drove them to the train and until the last moment Marcia hoped that Alan might find time to come to the station and wave them off. But Nan did not mention him and Marcia could not bring herself to ask if he knew when she was leaving.

  Chiyo seemed nervous and uneasy. Nan assured her that all arrangements had been made, and that she would hardly be out of the house before the nurse would come. She could count on the woman’s tact and sympathy, since Yamada-san vouched for her. Living in her own dream world, Madame Setsu might not miss her cousin as much as Chiyo expected.

  Japanese trains were remarkable for their efficiency and this one left Kyoto at the exact moment the schedule called for. Once the station platform had been left behind, Marcia drew a deep breath and began to feel the strain go out of her. For a little while she and Laurie were safe. This breathing space would serve to renew and strengthen them for whatever lay ahead.

  Throughout the car passengers were making themselves comfortable for the trip. All the electric fans had been promptly turned off and several windows opened. This seemed to make everything hotter and dirtier, but no one seemed to mind. The passengers were good-natured and as informal as the Japanese ever became in public. There were no first class cars these days, only second and third. First class had been discontinued as undemocratic after the war, and with its abolishment had gone certain refinements of travel.

  As the train left Kyoto’s environs it turned toward the seacoast, the great industrial city of Osaka, and the seaport of Kobe. Chiyo leaned against the window, studying the landscape with interest. The last time she had seen these cities the bombing had left everything devastated. But now look at them, she cried—completely built up and thriving. Ma-ah! it was amazing.

  After Kobe the towns were small and the sea curled inland, dotted now with the tiny improbable islands of a Japanese print. The neat small hills rolled along on the land side, with mountains beyond, and occasional volcanic cones rising abruptly in solitary independence. How green Japan was, how brightly green, with the ever-present paddy field, and the darker green of pine-forested hills.

  Now and then the train stewardess, neat in her blue-gray uniform, her cap set jauntily on one side of her bobbed and permanented hair, would come through to see that all was well.

  At lunchtime two girls rolled a cart of refreshments back and forth throughout the train. But though there was a dining car as well, Chiyo suggested that they get a Japanese bento at the next station. When the train pulled to a stop she leaned out the window and waved her hand to a woman with a tray slung about her neck and piled high with flat wooden boxes. For a few yen—the equivalent of cents in America—Chiyo purchased three boxes and three small earthenware pots of tea.

&nb
sp; Laurie loved the fun of such an unusual picnic and Marcia was grateful for the distraction which kept the little girl occupied and happy. For her own taste the bento was prettier to look at than to eat. It was made up mostly of neat rolls of cold rice, wrapped in thin black sheets of seaweed and decorated with bits of fish, vegetables and briny pickle. Wooden chopsticks were provided and the covers of the little teapots made tiny cups. When lunch was finished, one simply disposed of the remains by dumping them somewhat casually into the aisles, through which a porter came along eventually and swept everything up.

  In the afternoon as the train sped along the beautiful Inland Sea, Marcia saw that Chiyo was, for some reason, becoming nervous again. She watched the flying countryside intently, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her mouth pinched as if she suppressed some inward emotion. When Laurie tried to attract her attention to some sight out the window, Chiyo seemed hardly to hear her.

  At length Marcia leaned toward her in the seat opposite. “Are you feeling all right, Chiyo? Is anything wrong?”

  Chiyo moistened her lips with her tongue and her eyes looked a little strange, as if they saw past Marcia to something only she could glimpse.

  “It is the place we are coming to. I lived here after our home was destroyed in Tokyo.”

  They were running through city environs now—a city that sprawled over a wide level plain, with hills partly rimming it.

  “It is like six islands,” Chiyo said, “built on the arms of a river delta.”

  In the distance Marcia could see what had once been a domed building. Now the dome was only naked girders, the concrete walls broken, windows standing empty to the sky. The glimpse vanished as newer buildings cut in, but somehow that dome had a familiar look to Marcia. Quite suddenly she knew where they were. She had seen that building before in a picture.

  “Ground zero,” she said softly.

  Chiyo threw her a quick, half-frightened look, and when she spoke her voice was hushed. “This is Hiroshima.”