by Isobel Chace
“We change subject,” she suggested amiably. “Does Jason travel with you? Or his aunt, Mrs. Tate?”
Jonquil shook her head. She wondered whether she ought to be firmer in saying that she had no interest in Edward Keeving, but that horrid tag about seeming to protest too much kept her silent. Mitchi Boko would surely have sufficient tact to keep her thoughts to herself! And even if she didn’t, Edward knew that she was not in love with him. But the thought nagged at her until she took it out and looked at it properly. It was not Edward that she was worried about, but Jason. That, of course, was ridiculous! She had firmly dismissed him from having any romantic meaning for her the minute they had arrived in Japan. There had been his relationship to her charge, Alexander, and—and his interest in Yoshiko. Jonquil forced herself to remember the way he had given in to her about coming to Kyoto. The gentleness on his face that was never there for her. It was abundant folly to allow herself even to think of him. But her thoughts, it seemed, were not in the least interested in being ruled by common sense.
“But Yoshiko go home because her father arrive back from India?”
“Yes,” Jonquil agreed abstractedly.
“She will be very happy to have him home again. Kagami-san will join the firm and all will be well.”
“Who is Kagami-san?” Jonquil asked bewildered.
“He betrothed Yoshiko,” Mitchi Boko told her, laughing at herself for finding the words difficult to say. “You not know?”
“I didn’t know his name,” Jonquil said wearily. It was dreadful to her, this calm acceptance that Yoshiko should fall in with her father’s plans for a husband for her. “Yoshiko doesn’t seem to know him very well,” she added diffidently.
Mitchi Boko laughed softly.
“Time enough after they marry,” she said. “Who can know before?”
Jonquil didn’t answer. The whole idea was foreign to her way of thinking and repugnant to her.
“I must return to my seat, otherwise it taken,” Mitchi Boko said regretfully. “Very happy to see you. See you many times in Kyoto? Show you many things you not see otherwise, yes?”
“Thank you very much,” Jonquil said automatically. It was dreadful, but she was quite glad the conversation was ending. She smiled as warmly as she could at the Japanese girl and watched her make her way up the aisle before she got up to go back to Yoshiko.
“You were gone forever!” Yoshiko greeted her as she slid back into her seat. “Didn’t Alex want to sleep?”
“I met Mitchi Boko,” Jonquil told her. “She’s on holiday and is going home to Kyoto.”
Yoshiko smiled, her eyes veiled.
“Oh, yes. Very beautiful girl. We have all told her many times that she ought to be a film star. Perhaps she would even get to Hollywood.”
“It was the first time I have seen her in Western clothes,” Jonquil went on. “They haven’t the same romance about them that the kimona has.”
Immediately Yoshiko was herself again.
“But they are so much more comfortable!” she giggled. “Boko only wears the kimono because it is so good for her restaurant. She changes whenever she is free. So do most of us now.”
“Edward Keeving is with her,” Jonquil found herself saying.
Yoshiko looked at her enigmatically.
“Shall we go to bed now,” she suggested, as though she had not heard. “It is only seven and a half hours to Osaka and we shall not get much sleep later.”
They went down the train together and it didn’t seem nearly such a long way as it had before. It was pleasant slipping into the made-up bunk, relaxing against the movement of the train rushing through the night, with the sounds of their fellow passengers muted in the distance. Jonquil’s eyes drooped drowsily as she wondered what lay before her at Kyoto. It would be fun staying in Jason’s own house, exploring the place where he lived. She turned over and settled herself down to sleep, just as the calorie callers shrieked their way once more down the length of the train.
The train drew into Osaka Central Station exactly on time. The passengers nodded happily to one another. The split-second schedule had been maintained and the pride of Japan was vindicated.
Cries of “akabo” went up the whole length of the platform and the red-capped porters rushed madly about, trying to carry as many pieces of luggage as they possibly could.
“We will leave the luggage here and go round to the office first,” Yoshiko suggested. “My father s car is there and we can pick it up and then drive on to Kyoto.”
Jonquil sleepily agreed. It was far too early in the morning for her to be properly awake, though the bustle all around her was exciting, and she was conscious of Alexander’s tight little hand holding hers, while he drank in the scene through wide eyes.
Osaka has been called the Venice of the Orient. In the first light of dawn it was quite lovely. The network of canals reflected the first rays of the sun, pulling the pearly light towards the mouth of the great Yodo River. Already people were at work, standing knee-deep in the water and rinsing the long lengths of dyed fabric with slow, deliberate movements.
“Don’t they find it hard on their feet?” Jonquil asked.
Yoshiko shrugged her shoulders.
“Perhaps,” she said.
The offices of the chemical firm were in a large modern block, close to Nakonoshima, the civic centre of the city. It was the nearest thing to a skyscraper that Jonquil had ever seen. It seemed that Osaka was not as frightened of earthquakes as Tokyo, for the buildings towered up above the eight-story limit of the capital. Inside it was like stepping into America—fitted carpets, the very latest in office equipment and air conditioning. It was somehow surprising to Jonquil, who had not expected anything on that scale.
The porter smiled and bowed several times in quick succession, speaking in a rapid Japanese that Yoshiko answered in monosyllables, her eyes darting round the building as though she were nervous of running into someone.
“He says that someone will bring the car round for us,” she said at last. “I do hope they hurry, we still have quite a long drive in front of us.” Then almost as an afterthought, “You do drive, Jonquil?”
“Yes, but I haven’t a Japanese licence,” Jonquil said cautiously. What she had seen of the traffic had not inspired her with any desire to take the wheel.
“It doesn’t matter,” Yoshiko said carelessly. “My father has a chauffeur.”
Two young men came through the plate glass doors at that moment and walked towards them, chatting as they went. One of them went into the lift, but the other stopped, his black eyes watching Yoshiko intently. Immediately Yoshiko bowed to him, her smile fixed and her whole expression formal. The young man bowed back.
“This is Kagami-san, Jonquil,” Yoshiko murmured. “Miss Kennedy.”
The young man bowed again to Jonquil, but his eye never left Yoshiko’s face.
“What do you do in Osaka?” he asked at last in excellent English.
“I am going home to Kyoto, Yoshiko said demurely.
“Ah, yes. Matsui-san comes home tomorrow, I have heard.”
The young man took out a cigarette case and offered Jonquil one before taking one himself. Immediately Yoshiko was ready to light it for him, smilingly waving away the suggestion that she should take one herself. This was a new Yoshiko to Jonquil, and yet not entirely new, she thought, as she remembered how the other girl had stooped down to take off Jason’s shoes on one other occasion. Usually, though, she was so Europeanized that it came as all the more of a shock when her manners suddenly became Japanese.
“You are well, Yoshiko?” the young man was asking.
“O-kage-sama de—” she stopped suddenly and went on in English, her tone a little bitter. “By your honourable shadow I am well, thank you!”
The young man’s face remained enigmatic, his smile fixed.
“I think I hear your car,” he said softly, ignoring the fact that such a feat was obviously impossible. “I shall take you to it.”
“You sit in front, Alexander,” she said quickly. “You will see better from there.”
Nothing loth, the small boy hopped in beside the chauffeur, settling himself down on the seat with an amusingly grand air.
“Where will you sit, Jonquil?” he asked.
“She will sit beside me,” Yoshiko told him.
Jonquil offered her hand to Mr. Kagami, who shook it nervously as though he were unaccustomed to such an action. He bowed quickly at her to make up for his clumsiness and she found herself suddenly liking him.
“You are very welcome in Japan,” he told her seriously.
“I love it here,” she replied. She allowed him to hold the door for her and got in quickly beside Yoshiko. He was still bowing when the car moved off and joined the stream of traffic hurrying down the street.
For a moment they sat in silence. Then Yoshiko began to speak, explosively, as though the words wanted to come out quicker than she could utter them.
“You see how impossible it would be!” she exclaimed. “Kagami-san is all Japanese—pre-war! Not at all democratic! When the Americans were here, he only wanted them to go, so that we could rule ourselves again. He resents it that women are now allowed to vote.” She paused, a little uncertain. “He never says so,” she added haltingly, “but he doesn’t have to. All the time I can feel it, it creeps into me and I find myself behaving like my grandmother! As though I weren’t half American at all!”
Jonquil said nothing, and in a moment Yoshiko was weeping.
“You see how I should disgrace him!” she said angrily. “In Japan it is not done to show one’s emotions. One must be like the carp. When it is dying, it awaits the knife with dignity, not like the other fishes that wriggle and show they are afraid! Jason must speak to my father. He is the only one who understands. I am miserable when I think that he does not care enough for me to risk offending him a little for my happiness!”
Jonquil, rather bewildered as to what exactly Yoshiko wanted Jason to do, felt sore at heart, for she was sure that he would be only too happy to oblige her. She liked Yoshiko very much, but she couldn’t help wishing that she had not chosen to be in love with Jason. He was so exactly what she obviously wanted—an Englishman, and yet so well acquainted with Japan that he would never be at a loss in her society. It was ideal! And if Jonquil could see it for herself, it must be plainer than ever to everyone else.
“He said he would come as soon as he could,' she said, a little alarmed by Yoshiko’s stricken expression.
“But that might be any time!” the other girl retorted. “And I am not made of stone or one of his wretched metals!” Then as suddenly as the storm had begun she began to smile. “I am so sorry to make trouble, Jonquil. You must forget that I ever said such things and admire the scenery instead.”
It was the first real countryside that Jonquil had passed through in daytime. The sun now was well up and the whole land was beginning to settle down to the day’s work. The paddy fields were being tended and everywhere people were getting down to the serious business of getting the harvest in. It seemed to Jonquil that every square inch was in use. Used as she was to the gigantic spaces of the Northern Territory, the fields seemed tiny and an impossible amount was being asked of the soil. But it was the houses that really caught her fancy. Nearly all of them were built of wood, with thatched roofs and surrounded by pretty little gardens.
And then there were the maple trees, trees that looked as though they were on fire with their scarlet leaves playing in the breeze, some of them grouped together in little copses, beside which were the inevitable notice-boards in both English and Japanese. “Being this state forest opened for the public pleasures to perpetual natural scenery, ladies and gentlemen are wanted to take care of the following inadmissible articles—”
“Did Edward make you angry inside at the Oeshiki Festival that you didn’t go and look for him in the train?” Yoshiko asked suddenly. Immediately she looked contrite. “I am not curious,” she said. “It is just, that I can’t understand why he is coming to Kyoto.”
“I thought he would be sleeping,” Jonquil answered. The question stirred up her conscience, making her wonder whether she should have looked him out to explain to him herself what had happened to her the night before.
“Not if he was with Mitchi Boko,” Yoshiko said, shaking her head. “Boko is very good company. Everyone says so. Perhaps Edward is too? His father once came to Osaka to see my father, and he was very dull. But the Keeving Chemicals are making a great deal of money, so he must be very clever.”
“I don’t know why he is coming,” Jonquil found herself admitting. She had an uneasy suspicion that Yoshiko thought that he was going to stay with Mitchi Boko.
“Perhaps because he is so fond of you?” Yoshiko suggested.
Jonquil shook her head.
“He didn’t know I was coming,” she reminded her.
“Perhaps he already knows Mitchi Boko’s family. They are very charming people.”
Jonquil wanted to tell her that she didn’t care why Edward had come to Kyoto. At the back of her mind she was worried about Mitchi Boko and yet unutterably glad that they were both going to be in Kyoto while Jason was still in Tokyo.
Then all her worries vanished and a feeling of excitement crept into her, for there, standing before them, was the magical and ancient city of Kyoto.
Some people claim that the city was planned to be the same shape as a Buddhist monk’s apron, others say merely that the planning was imported from China in the distant centuries, but whichever is true the result is certainly lovely. The city of ten thousand Buddhist temples and perhaps two hundred Shinto shrines has a street plan similar to that of New York. First Avenue, Second Avenue intersect with First Street and Second Street as though it had been planned yesterday and not some time in the ninth century.
The chauffeur drove them rapidly through the suburbs and then almost out into the country again.
“We are going to Jason’s house first,” Yoshiko explained. “Alexander will be tired after his late night and you will be able to get him settled in while I am away.”
It was a good idea and Jonquil was grateful for her thought. Alexander’s head was beginning to nod and although like most small boys he regarded sleep as an enemy to be fought off for as long as possible, she didn’t want him to get overtired and fractious. So when they drew up outside Jason’s house only she and Alexander got out and the car went on, leaving them to find their own way into the strange building.
The house was typically Japanese, with a tiled roof that kicked up at the edges, and walls that were almost more screens, so easily could they be slid back and forth. Inside too there were no real walls, only partitions made of a lattice of wood and covered with thin paper, and a complete absence of furniture that bewildered Jonquil as to how they were going to manage.
The Japanese servant came running from the kitchen part of the house and put out an array of slippers for Jonquil to try on before she entered and walked on the precious tatami mats, for these ones were so finely woven that they reminded her of a panama hat, and were bound at the edges with a beautiful brocaded material that was lovely to look at.
“My name is Nobuko,” the Japanese woman told her, ushering her into the house. She was not a beautiful woman, but her face was so kindly that Jonquil took to her immediately. “Jason-san telephone to say you are coming. Arex-san, you go to bed, no?”
Alexander yawned sleepily.
“In a little while,” he pleaded. “I want to go out and look at the goldfish.”
“They will be hungry at lunchtime,” Nobuko mur
mured slyly.
Jonquil smiled conspiratorially at Alexander, who chuckled.
“Jonquil won’t know where we sleep,” he announced. “You could show her and then when everything is ready she could call me.”
Nobuko smiled broadly.
“He is good boy,” she said, nodding her head at his disappearing back. “But you want him to sleep a little, I think?”
Jonquil watched in astonishment as the Japanese woman went to a cupboard and rolled out a thick mattress complete with bedding, pulling some screens round to form a bedroom for Alexander with the minimum of trouble.
“It is warm enough, you think?” she asked. “Or shall I bring charcoal for the hibachi?”
This turned out to be a big bowl about two feet high and filled with a fine white ash in the middle of which charcoal was burnt. It was too nice a day to use it, however, for the sun poured in through outer glass walls, making the whole house beautifully warm.
“I don’t think we’ll need it,” Jonquil said with a smile, secretly dying to know how the thing worked. “I’ll go and call Alexander.”
The small boy was really quite willing to go to bed and snuggled down into the mattress with a pleased smile.
“Uncle Jason’s house is nice, isn’t it?” he said.
“Very nice,” Jonquil agreed, and left him to sleep.
When she was alone she began to wonder whether she should telephone Mrs. Tate to tell her that they had arrived safely and also to mention that Mitchi Boko was now in Kyoto. Little prickles of fear had been with her ever since she had seen the Japanese girl getting on to the tram, and no amount of telling herself not to be silly had dispelled them. She did not know why she believed Mrs. Tate’s theory that something was going on, but at every moment she was becoming more and more certain in her own mind. It would be a relief to speak to the older woman and find out if anything had happened in Tokyo.
It took her a long time to get through to the Buckmasters’ house in Tokyo. The exchange tried hard to understand her English numbers, but it took them some time to find an English-speaking girl who could help her. At last, however, she heard the familiar English, “trying to connect you’, and the next moment a strong man’s voice answered at the other end: “Moshi-Moshi.”
