by Isobel Chace
Yoshiko gave three quick bows, her hands on her lap and a sweet smile on her face.
“Welcome to Japan,” she said in perfect English. “It is a great pleasure to have you among us.”
Jonquil was lost between the impulse to hold out her hand and the alternative of returning the bows. She laughed and everyone laughed with her.
“You must teach me what I should do,” she said.
“You can do either,” Yoshiko told her shyly.
At last Jason came up with the luggage and he and his brother-in-law stowed it away in the boot of the car while everyone else got in.
Yoshiko, Jonquil noticed, had succeeded in wedging herself between the two men in the front to give herself and Mrs. Buckmaster more room at the back. She was not as pretty as Mitchi Boko and she dressed in Western clothes, but she had that indefinable air of delicate femininity that had been so appealing in the other Japanese girl.
She turned round now to smile at them and Jonquil saw that her eyes were not the liquid dark brown that her features had led her to expect, but a beautiful jade green that sparkled magnificently beneath her long black eyelashes.
“It is sad that I shall only be here for one week,” she said now. “When my father returns I must go back to Kyoto, but you must come and see us there. Kyoto is much more beautiful than Tokyo.”
Jonquil glanced at Mrs. Buckmaster.
“Why not? Alex is quite old enough to go away to stay. I want you to enjoy your time in Japan, my dear, not spend all your evenings shut up in the house. My aunt lives with us and she can easily keep an eye on Alex when he is asleep, but it’s a little too much for her in the daytime. You see she’s confined to a wheelchair and can’t get about very much now.”
Jonquil’s expressive grey eyes told of her sympathy.
“How awful for her!” she said. “I’ll do my best not to get in her way.”
“She’s a dear really,” Mrs. Buckmaster went on. “But just a trifle difficult. She had a very hard time in the last war and has never quite got over it.”
Yoshiko made a wry face.
“She hates the Japanese,” she said quietly. “But I only laugh. It is natural with her!”
There was a sudden lull in the conversation and Jonquil took the opportunity to look more closely at the streets they were passing through. Some were broad and as well planned as any that one might find in the West, but some were intriguingly narrow, their signs written in the beautiful Japanese calligraphy looking more like pictures than a mundane street name or advertisement.
The Oriental love of noise was given full play too. By law every car had to hoot its horn before overtaking, and the Japanese indulged with a row that made Jonquil quite breathless. Half the community seemed to be taking their lives in their hands as bicycles skimmed through the traffic and cars passed one another on whichever side the driver fancied that he saw an opening.
“You grow accustomed to it,” Jason said, seeing her wide-eyed astonishment. “After you’ve been out in a taxi once or twice you become immune to any further wonder as to how anyone arrives anywhere!”
Tokyo, Jonquil discovered, was not a planned town. The districts ran into each other and were lost in a maze of tiny streets that appeared to lead nowhere. Hardly anyone knew any part of the city other than the area they themselves lived in, not even the postmen. But in the centre, a still hub to the rat race all around it, stood the Empeer’s Palace, surrounded by walls and beautifully set out gardens.
“Unfortunately one can’t go in and explore,” Janet Buckmaster said with real regret. “I should love to see it, just once.”
But Jonquil had no time for regrets, for they had no sooner skirted round the Palace than they were in the Ginza, the Piccadilly, the Fifth Avenue, of Tokyo. Tall Western-looking shops stood side by side with a multitude of theatres and eating houses, some of them draped with lanterns and all of them bright with neon strip lighting. Advertisements too were everywhere. One of a glass of beer was so realistic that Jonquil could quite well imagine herself drinking it as it slowly emptied, leaving only the dregs of the froth behind.
Then there was the “Asahi” newspaper building, giving the headlines endlessly in both English and Japanese. There was so much to look at that it was impossible to see everything. Two Japanese youths, dressed in Nazi uniforms, had a mock fight and then triumphantly held out a banner urging people to see the latest Hollywood war film. A swarm of sandwich men went up and down advertising something else, and then one of the stores let loose from the roof a whole barrage of balloons that caught the last rays of the sun and looked so lovely that it brought tears to Jonquil’s eyes.
“Mitsukoshi are having a bargain sale,” Yoshiko translated .from one of the boards.
“What are the balloons for?” Jonquil asked her eagerly.
“They’re part of the advertisements. Look, there go some more!”
Shortly after the Ginza they drew up outside a house, set in a lovely little garden, filled with weeping willow trees and a small lake, in spite of its being almost in the centre of the city.
“Here we are!” Mrs. Buckmaster exclaimed. “You must be very glad to see where you’re going to live for the next few weeks. I’ll take you straight to your room and then I can show you around properly after we’ve had something to eat.”
To Jonquil’s joy, the house had been built in the Japanese style and the Buckmasters had furnished it accordingly, loving the sparing, modern lines that the Japanese have always held to be their ideal.
They passed through sliding doors into the hall and kicked off their shoes, replacing them with soft slippers, Yoshiko going down on to her knees to do the men’s for them, turning the gesture into a graceful compliment, welcoming them into the house.
Mrs. Buckmaster led the way down the wide corridor towards the bedrooms and slid open one of the doors.
“This will be where you’ll sleep,” she smiled. “Alexander’s room is next door, so that it will be handy for you.”
She showed Jonquil where she could hang her clothes and then left her to explore the room on her own.
“Just follow your nose when you’re ready,” she said. “Someone is sure to be in the living room.”
It was a perfectly simple room, with nothing more than a low divan in one corner. Everything was hidden away behind doors’ except for one Japanese print of a flower which held the place of honour in the centre of the wall.
As soon as she was ready, Jonquil made her way down the corridor and found the sitting room. Some attention had been paid to European comfort here, for occidentals just don t have the same ability to sit on their own legs for any length of time. It still had the appearance of uncluttered simplicity, though, that had made the rest of the house so pleasing.
Only Jason was sitting in the room. He stood up as she entered and placed a little bowl of warmed wine between them.
“Yoshiko insists that we go through the whole formula,” he smiled at her, “so we always do when she’s here.”
Carefully, he took a wine glass and held it out to her and, wondering a little, she took it so that he could fill it for her.
“Now sip it,” he instructed her.
Obediently she did so, draining the glass of the tiny amount of liquid that he had put in it.
“Now what do I do?” she asked.
“You swill it out in the bowl of water and hand it to me,” he told her, watching her solemnly to make sure that she did it properly.
Jonquil could see her hand trembling slightly and hoped that he hadn’t noticed. If only, she thought—but there was no good in thinking about what might have been. Jason had only been doing his duty, as had been made quite plain to her.
She poured out some of the liquid into the glass and watched him drink it.
“What is this stuff?” she asked.
“Sake. It’s made from rice. Don’t you like it?”
“Yes. Yes, of course I like it,” she insisted quickly.
He put th
e glass down on the table with a click and took her hand in his.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Don’t you think you’ll care for us in Japan?”
She was able to laugh quite naturally.
“I love it already!” she said sincerely. “There’s nothing wrong. Truly there isn’t.”
His navy blue eyes searched her face.
‘I wish I could believe you,” he said. “After last night—”
“Don’t!” she commanded him. “I had a wonderful day yesterday, the most wonderful day of my life, and I thank you for it. But that was yesterday, and today I’m your nephew’s governess—”
“And that’s the way you want it?” Could it really be that his voice sounded hurt and bewildered?
“That’s the way I want it,” she said bleakly.
“Very well, Miss Kennedy, that’s the way it’ll be!”
The silence that followed was unbearable. Jonquil timidly held out the wine glass to Jason, hoping that he would accept it as a peace offering, but he brushed it impatiently aside.
“Seeing that you’re so anxious to do your duty by my nephew, perhaps you should meet him,” he said suddenly. “I’ll go and fetch him and bring him to you.”
When he was gone the room seemed incredibly empty. It hurt, too, that he should have looked at her with—well, not contempt exactly, but as though he was disappointed with her for some reason. It wasn’t fair when he was so obviously already involved with Yoshiko! Why else should Mrs. Buckmaster tell him, in just that particular way, that she was waiting outside in the car? And that slightly proprietorial air of Yoshiko’s towards him! What other possible explanation could there be?
Without thinking what she was doing, she filled the little wine glass with sake and tossed it back down her throat as she had seen other people do with gin. For an instant she thought she was going to choke and the tears came to her eyes as the warm liquid tore at the back of her throat.
“Sake is a Japanese drink, you should sip it,” a small solemn voice informed her. “You must drink it with ceremony.”
Jonquil jumped and turned round quickly to face the voice.
“I’m Alexander Buckmaster,” it continued. Who are you?”
He was too small to have such a gruff, serious way of speaking. He was dressed in jeans and an American shirt of some unknown tartan, with a crew-cut and large brown eyes, and she thought he was adorable.
“I’m Jonquil Kennedy,” she obliged.
“Jonquil? I never heard of a girl called that before.”
“It’s a flower,” Jonquil said weakly. “It grows in England and my mother was very fond of it.”
“Oh, I see.” That apparently explained everything to his satisfaction. “Do you think I was called after Alexander the Great?”
“The one who wept because he had no more worlds to conquer?”
The small boy grinned.
“I say, did he?” he asked. “He must have been an awful fool. Uncle Jason says there’s always something to look for. He was called after someone who spent all his time looking for a golden fleece. He told me so. But I don’t know what he’s looking for. He looks an awful lot!”
For someone of six years of age, Alexander was going to take some keeping up with, Jonquil thought. She wondered what sort of things he did in his lessons and hoped ardently that she was going to rise to the occasion.
“I expect he has to as a scientist,” she suggested.
“ ’Spect so,” he agreed.
It was unfortunate for Alexander that his mother should choose just that particular instant to enter the room, for he was standing plumb in the middle of the room, without even a chair for cover.
“Alexander!” her irate voice cried out.
“Yes, Mama.”
“Your boots!”
Alexander managed a very creditable air of surprise.
“Uncle Jason sent me inside to meet Jonquil,” he explained sturdily.
Mrs. Buckmaster took him by the hand and pointed down at the floor.
“Mud!” she said succinctly. “And you came by way of your bedroom. More mud! The tatami mats were not built for shoes, neither were these floors! Out!”
Alexander blinked.
“Jonquil didn’t say anything,” he said gruffly. “She was pleased to see me!”
His small form disappeared out of the doorway and turned in the direction of his bedroom.
“Little devil,” his mother said with real affection, “he hates changing his shoes!”
“I’m afraid I didn’t notice,” Jonquil apologized.
“Well, it wouldn’t matter at home,” Mrs. Buckmaster said reasonably. “Only here in Japan with these polished floors, every little mark shows, so they very sensibly make everyone change into slippers. Of course the bedrooms are even worse. They put these mats all over the floor, like very thin mattresses, only stuffed with rice straw, and then along comes Alexander, plus boots, and we have straw all over the house!” She laughed reminiscently and sat down in one of the chairs. “Now let’s talk about you,” she suggested.
Faced with such a prospect, Jonquil very naturally could think of nothing to say.
“I hope I shall manage all right for you,” she said uncertainly. “I’m afraid I don’t speak Japanese or anything.”
“Neither do I,” Mrs. Buckmaster reassured her. “But Jason does, so if ever you get into any difficulties ask him. I’m afraid that some things won’t be very easy for you, though, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.
“I’m perfectly happy that you’ll manage Alexander with the greatest of ease, he’s not a bad little boy, even if my own, but like all families we have our awkward members.” She paused, carefully considering what she was going to say. “My aunt has to live with us,” she said at last. “She has no other means of support, and, as she is a cripple, I’m naturally happier to have her under my eye, so to speak. But she’s not a very easy person and what I really want you to do is to smooth down everyone when she gets them ruffled.”
Jonquil had a sudden vision of Jason telling her that she would probably have a horde of friends and relations making sure that she did her job properly.
“Will Mrs. Tate be in charge of the house?” she asked quietly.
Mrs. Buckmaster’s eyes twinkled in a way that was very reminiscent of her brother.
“No,” she said briefly. “For everyday matters you will be in charge, and I’ve asked Jason to keep an eye on things in case you're uncertain about anything.”
Jonquil breathed a sigh of relief. Jason, she was sure, would be too busy with his test-tubes to bother her much.
“And when are you and your husband leaving?” she enquired, rather regretting that this pleasant woman would not be here during her stay in Japan.
“Tomorrow, I believe. Though to tell the truth Harvey’s changed plans so often that I feel as though we’ve been living out of suitcases for weeks now, instead of only just beginning!”
“I hope you’ll have a wonderful time,” Jonquil said sincerely.
“Oh, I shall,” Mrs. Buckmaster chuckled. “Especially now that I’ve seen you and know that I don’t have to worry about anything at this end.”
Then in ones and twos the household began to gather around the room, waiting for their evening meal. Jonquil looked at them with a mixture of nervousness and contentment. This was the beginning of her first night in Tokyo.
Mrs. Tate was not nearly as frightening as she had been led to expect. A small, astringent woman, she sat in her wheelchair, saying very little, but nevertheless planting her barbs of humour with an accuracy that delighted. Jonquil could see that not everybody would enjoy being made the target of one of her more unkind remarks. It had obviously never occurred to the old woman to forgo a joke because it might hurt someone. She was deliberately malicious, but very human in her interest in all that went on all round her.
“Sit next to me, Miss Kennedy,” she commanded Jonquil as they went in to dinner. “I hat
e shouting across the table—wasn’t done at all in my young days—and I want to find out all about you.”
And so Jonquil found herself seated between Jason on her left hand and Mrs. Tate on her right, with a clean and sleepy Alexander opposite, who had been allowed to stay up for the occasion.
The dining room led out of the drawing room, the sliding doors forming most of the wall between them, and this room too was a mixture of the Western world and Japan. The table and the chairs had been brought from Australia by Mrs. Buckmaster; the pictures were mostly of Harvey Buckmaster’s house in Virginia, and the sideboard was his also; but the rest of the room was Japanese, delicate pastel shades of colouring and pretty little shaded lamps.
“What a lovely room!” Jonquil exclaimed, her eyes lighting on the flower arrangement in the centre of the table. “Oh, who did those?” she asked.
“I did,” Yoshiko smiled across at her. “I was taught by my aunt. Doing flowers is a traditional art in Japan, but they must be done very well.” These were beautifully done—only a few flowers, but each one valued individually, calling out to the spectator to look at it.
“It’s a very beautiful art,” Jonquil said with feeling. “I had no idea that flowers could be made to look so lovely.”
“You should see my house at Kyoto,” Jason told her with a smile. “I don’t spoil the effect by having Western furniture there! Do I, Yoshiko?”
The Japanese girl cast him an adoring look.
“It’s beautiful,” she agreed, “but it is you that has made it so.”
Mrs. Tate stirred impatiently in her chair.
“I suppose it was a hovel before!” she said tartly.
Jason grinned, winking at Yoshiko.
“It had been occupied by a whole lot of women,” he said slyly. “It needed that little masculine touch to make it into a proper home.”
Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Tate, though her eyes were still snapping in the Japanese girl’s direction.
The conversation went on, with everyone trying to tell Jonquil all about Japan at the same moment until she was so confused that Mrs. Buckmaster called a halt and sent the reluctant Alexander to bed.
