Hidden Flower

by Pearl S. Buck

  The next day she did not feel well. It was a morning even lovelier than before but she woke feeling chilled and spiritless. She stayed in her room and when she did not come out, her mother sent Yumi to discover why this was.

  “I feel sad,” Josui said. “I think I am ill.”

  Yumi took this alarming news to the parents and they looked at each other.

  “You have been harsh with her,” Mrs. Sakai declared to her husband. So mild was she that even such a reproach was spoken in a gentle voice.

  “I was not harsh,” Dr. Sakai retorted. “I scarcely spoke to her yesterday except to praise the flower arrangement. You know I returned very late last night.”

  “It was the day before,” Mrs. Sakai persisted.

  “We were in agreement,” Dr. Sakai said firmly. “Remember how she looked yesterday morning and how well she arranged the tokonoma. She was entirely calm.”

  “This morning the flowers are dead,” Mrs. Sakai said. “Observe for yourself. This means her hands were feverish even yesterday,”

  She rose as she spoke and pattered away, her footsteps almost silent upon the mats. So she came into Josui’s room and stood looking down upon her daughter. Josui’s hands were lying outside the silk quilt, the fingers curled and motionless. Mrs. Sakai knelt and put three fingers into her right palm.

  “You are feverish, your skin is dry. I shall tell your father.”

  “He will only give me bitter medicine,” Josui complained.

  “It is for your own good,” her mother said.

  She stood up and continued to look anxiously at the pretty face on the white pillow. “Tell me what troubles you,” she coaxed.

  “Nothing,” Josui sighed. “That is the trouble—I feel nothing, nothing. I am empty of all feelings.”

  “This is bad,” Mrs. Sakai said. “You should feel something at your age, even if it is only discontent.”

  Josui did not reply and Mrs. Sakai went away, agitated, to her husband. “You must go and see for yourself. The child feels nothing. She lies there. Her palms are hot. She does not know what is wrong.”

  “Then it is nothing,” Dr. Sakai said briskly. He got up and went out of the room, stopping on the way for his physician’s bag. It was in order, ready to use, the thermometer in alcohol, everything sterile. He went to his daughter’s room, knocked lightly on the wooden lattice, and then went in.

  “So you feel nothing?” he said kindly.

  “Nothing,” Josui said without looking at him.

  “You are not hiding something from me again?” he asked sharply.

  “Nothing,” she repeated.

  He put the thermometer in her mouth and knelt beside her, his face severe with anxiety. “You did not see the American yesterday?” he inquired bluntly.

  Unable to speak she shook her head.

  He waited, then removed the thermometer. “I saw no one,” she told him. “I went to school, I worked, I came back.”

  “When did you feel this strange nothingness?” he inquired. “You have no fever.”

  “I woke this morning and did not want to get up.”

  He did not, in prudence, reveal to her what he was thinking. Was this nothingness because she had not seen the American yesterday?

  “It is wise to stay quietly here in your bed, if you feel so,” he said. “Eat very lightly, sleep if you can, and do not trouble your mind. I will come home at once if you send for me.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  He rose and continued to look down upon her listless face. She did not look at him. She let her eyelids drift slowly downward until they closed. Her face was pale, so much he acknowledged. Therefore a day’s rest would be good for her. He took his bag and went away, and finding her mother waiting outside the lattice, he said casually, “She is not ill. It is an exhaustion due perhaps to the intensity of spring. You know how late the winter was and how suddenly the air changed. This is always exhausting to a young girl like Josui, who is too sensitive. I have told her to stay in bed.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Sakai said gratefully. “Now I know what should be done.”

  The house was very still after he left. Mrs. Sakai changed the blue myrtle, then decided against the whole arrangement. She emptied the oblong bowl and washed it and put it away. In its place she chose a tall narrow vase into which she put a spare branch of bamboo, the new leaves very green, and two white starlike flowers that grew in the shade of the bamboo grove. She had never learned flower arrangement, and so very seldom did she try to make the arrangement. But this one pleased her, especially since her husband was not there to point out its flaws.

  When it was done she stood admiring it for a moment, and Yumi came in.

  “We have no fish,” she said flatly.

  “What do you say?” Mrs. Sakai asked in sudden agitation. “There was a fish yesterday. I put it into the small pond. It should be enough.”

  “It is dead,” Yumi said.

  “Impossible!” Mrs. Sakai exclaimed.

  But so it was. For some unknown reason the fish had died. Yumi had taken it from the little pond, which was only a far sunk into the earth by the kitchen and used to keep fish from the market fresh and alive. The fish lay in her hand, motionless, the eyes like marbles, the scales dull, the body swollen.

  “Bury it,” Mrs. Sakai said sadly. “I will go to the market myself and complain to the fishman. He must have fed it to make it weigh more.”

  The market was not far away, and Yumi was here in the house. Nevertheless she went to tell Josui that she was going. When she drew the screen, the girl was asleep. She lay on her back, her eyes closed, breathing peacefully, and Mrs. Sakai would not waken her. She slipped away softly, grateful that whatever Josui’s trouble was, it did not keep her awake.

  “She is asleep,” she told Yumi. “I shall be back very soon.”

  “Good-by, Mistress,” Yumi said. She prepared to wash some clothes in the back yard. Then she would be ready to clean the fish and the vegetables when her mistress came back.

  The day was very fine. The sunshine in the back yard was warm and Yumi had risen early as usual. She felt overcome with sleep when the wash was done, which took only a few minutes. The house was quiet. She could sleep for a few minutes behind the kitchen stove and no one would find her. If her mistress came upon her she could say simply that she was waiting there to make the fire. So she laid herself down upon the floor, her head upon a stick of wood and was instantly asleep. She was a country girl, healthy, ready at any moment to eat or to sleep, and when she slept, it was so deeply that she could not be wakened. Thus she did not hear the sound of someone knocking at the front entrance. The garden gate was never locked, and Mrs. Sakai had left it slightly ajar.

  It was Josui who waked. She slept lightly and her room was around one side of the house only a few steps from the front door. She heard a hard thumping, first of a fist, then of the flat hand upon the wooden doors, then the clanging of the bell. She woke, listened, and called first her mother and then the maid. No one answered. The knocking went on more loudly than ever. She was compelled to get up herself, and putting on her pink kimono she smoothed her hair and went out and around the house on the narrow porch, to see who was there without being seen herself. She went noiselessly, and when she reached the corner of the house she peeped around the corner without indeed being seen.

  It was he! He was here, knocking at the door, and there was no one to answer him. She drew back, close to the wooden wall of the house, where he could not see her. If she kept still, he would not know she was here. He would go away again. She stood thus until the knocking stopped. Then she felt she must see if he were gone. She put out her head again, very carefully, only enough to see. He had not gone away. He was sitting down on the step, looking this way and that. She drew back quickly, but not quickly enough. She heard him laugh. She heard him say in his deep laughing voice, the words so slow, so teasing,

  “I see you—Josui Sakai!”

  She did not move. She co
uld not breathe. If she ran back to her room would he follow? But that would be very bad. He must not come to her room. Where was her mother? Where was Yumi? They would not both go out together, leaving her asleep.

  The deep voice spoke again lazily, still laughing.

  “Will you come to me or shall I come to you?”

  She gathered herself together at that. She fastened her kimono tightly at the belt and the throat. He would not see her bare feet thrust into pink slippers under the long skirt. She came out with dignity.

  “My mother is gone out for a moment. She will be back soon. I will send the maid to you.”

  With these words she went instantly away and into the house, looking for Yumi. “Yumi!” she called softly, but there was no answer. The kitchen seemed empty. Yumi was not to be found. So what could she do except go to the front door herself?

  “My mother will be back very soon,” she faltered again, her face all hot with blushes.

  “I don’t want to see your mother,” he said. He got up, took off his cap, and stood holding it in his hands, turning it round and round.

  She stood helplessly. What should she do with him? She could not ask him to come in. Her mother would not understand. No one would.

  “You didn’t go to school, Josui Sakai?” he asked.

  “No, I—I felt somewhat tired,” she faltered.

  “You look like a blooming rose,” he replied.

  She clasped her hands, wringing them without knowing it.

  “You don’t want me here, I reckon,” he said, seeing the hands.

  “It is not that,” she protested. It is that I am alone for the moment and so—”

  “You don’t know what to do with me, being a nice girl.”

  It was entirely wrong to tell him that she was alone. She had told him without thinking. “Please go away,” she whispered.

  She did not know, of course, that her eyes were shining, that her lips were soft and red, that her whole little face was a flower opening to the sun as she looked up at him. He took one step toward her, and all the agony of his desire, so long suppressed, came rushing up into his body. It could not be denied. He was suddenly blind with it. He could not see her face, he could not stop his feet. He leaned over her and above her, trying not to yield to the insatiable demand and knowing he must yield. To kiss her lips would be enough, a girl’s lips, delicate and pure, in this lovely garden, where the very air was fragrant, and the only sound was that of splashing water. She was alone. She had told him she was alone. He groaned and put his arms about her swiftly with a terrible tenderness, crushing her slowly against him. Then he saw her face beneath his, her lips there. He bent his head and put his lips upon hers, drinking in her gasping breath, freeing one hand to hold her head still, while she tried to turn it this way and that, until suddenly she ceased her struggle and let him hold her.

  This was the long moment of which he had dreamed all night, the long moment which she had not known enough even to imagine. She all but fainted in his arms at last, and gently he withdrew, though holding her in the circle of his arms.

  She would not look at him. She did not try to escape from him, but she turned her head away, her cheek against his shoulder, so that he could not see her face. He leaned his head down upon the crown of her head, upon her hair, so black, so soft.

  “It had to be,” he muttered.

  She could not speak, and when she did not, he turned her face up to his again, seizing her by the chin, a round soft chin. “You know it had to be?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I never did so before.”

  To hear her thus confess her innocence filled him with delight again.

  “Oh, you darling,” he muttered, and bent his head.

  “Not again,” she begged. “It is enough—for the first time. What shall I do? I must think what it means.”

  “It means I love you.”

  “You don’t know me!”

  “A man doesn’t need to know a woman to love her. He learns to know her by loving her.”

  “Ah, this is Japan!”

  “You and I—man and woman.”

  She was watching the gate. Her mother would be coming back. Doubtless she had gone to the market as she usually did, and Yumi perhaps had gone with her.

  “I cannot wait here. My mother will come back.”

  “Let me meet her,” he said at once.

  “No, no,” she said as quickly. “It is not easy like this. My father hates Americans. He loves me too much.”

  At the mention of her father she drew away and he let her go, feeling the change in her.

  “Do you always obey your father, Josui?”

  “I wish to do so.”

  “Will you give me a chance?”

  “A chance?’

  “To let you know me.”

  She sighed. “How can we?”

  “I will find the way, darling.”

  She had forgotten that word “darling,” but now she remembered it. Once Kensan had used it to the girl he was engaged to marry. It was a word of love. To hear it made her tremble, spoken in this deep voice, filled with yearning. Where could she find love like this? It was only in America that it could be found. They were not afraid there of love.

  She looked at him suddenly and fully. “I will trust you, Allenn. Do I say your name right?”

  “As I like to hear you say it.”

  She saw him bending to her again, “Ah, you must go—”

  “Where shall we meet? Shall I come here?”

  “No, no—I must think now.”

  “Under the wisteria again tomorrow,”

  “Yes!”

  He bent his head now and she felt his lips once more, gentle but how powerfully demanding. They were lost together. This time she knew. She loved him! Suddenly there was the sound of rustling leaves. They heard it and were startled. Their lips parted, they looked into the bamboos that hung their branches above the door. The new green leaves were twinkling and dancing, caught by a small circular breeze, a minute whirlwind. “How strange,” Josui cried softly.

  “Is something there?” he asked in wonder.

  For a moment they forgot each other, and watched the dancing leaves. Then remembering that she still stood within his arms, she pulled herself away and ran into the house.

  Her wickedness was inconceivable. How was it she had agreed to this? Miraculously recovered, she set forth for the college the next morning again in the yellow dress and carrying a small white parasol embroidered in yellow flowers. Her parents had said nothing and she said nothing, since she had an armful of books under her arm and a box of freshly sharpened pencils. It was evident that she was going to work hard. This she intended to do.

  He met her, however, before she reached the gate. He was there very early, waiting, his uniform this morning fresh and clean and he more handsome than ever. His eyes were as blue as sea water on a sunny day.

  “I am here to tempt you,” he said boldly when he saw her.

  She was frightened. On such a day could any temptation be resisted? She must remember that she was a good girl. She tried to look grave. She was sorry that she did not wear spectacles, as many of the girls did.

  “I am glad you are so beautiful,” he said. “It makes temptation easy.”

  “Please, I must go to school,” she entreated.

  He grew earnest. “Josui Sakai, I have only five days left of my vacation. I have seen nothing of Kyoto, one of the world’s most famous cities. Will you come with me today and show me what I ought to see—as a patriotic duty?”

  She was speechless with horror.

  “Is it not a noble thing to do?” he urged. “I am an ignorant American. I will not remind you that I am occupying your country. For the moment, let us say I am a visitor. I wish to carry home with me a good impression of Japan. So I have come to this most beautiful of all cities. When I am in America once more, never to see Japan again, I will tell everybody of Kyoto, how my visit here was one of the h
appiest times of my life, and how I saw all its beauties—that I shall never forget.”

  She broke down under his laughing bright blue eyes, not at once but with a preliminary of laughter running through her body, responding to his laughter. “You are too tempting, but I cannot. What will I tell my instructor? Suppose also someone should see us together? My father would be too angry.”

  He shrugged his immaculate shoulders. “Please forgive me. It is the woman, as usual, who takes the risk. We will forget the temptation. You should go to school.” The laughter went out of his eyes. They walked side by side toward the gate. He reached for her books and she remembered that in America boys had sometimes carried her books. It was the custom there. She walked along, ashamed that she wished he had not given up so easily. She was doing right but she wished that she were not so able to divide right from wrong. If one did not make such divisions, it would be pleasant to do wrong.

  She looked at him from the corners of her long eyes, and he was looking at her. His eyes were blue again, and his mouth pursed, as though he wanted to laugh.

  “I could put these books under the wisteria root,” he suggested. “It is thick and twisted and big enough almost to hide even you. I looked under it.”

  “I will do it,” she exclaimed. Incredible words!

  But she did hide the books. No one saw her. The hour was still early. She put the books under the roots and then she came back to him and they began quickly to walk down a small narrow side street.

  “Tell me about Kyoto,” he said, quite as though he wanted to know. She answered seriously to quiet her astonished conscience.

  “It is a very old city, once our capital for a thousand years. It has fourteen hundred old Buddhist temples. There are more than one million people living here. There are the ancient imperial palaces and the old gardens, the best in the world.”