The Patriot (31 page)

And the next day everything had begun again, the building of houses and the cleaning away of wreckage and the putting up of the torn sea walls. Everyone worked as though at an old task, often done. And Tama said, “Now that we have to build again anyway, we may as well make the house bigger.”

He was ashamed of his own question. “But if it happens again—and again?”

“That is as it will be. We can always build again,” she answered.

He had not the face to complain of anything for himself when all over the city people were going back to wreckage and ruin. And those missing who had been swept out to sea…. He was drawn again and again during those days to the part of the city which lay on the shore.

“Are you building your house again exactly where it was?” he asked an old fisherman.

The man turned small somber black eyes upon him.

“Where else?” he answered. “My father’s house was here and my grandfather’s.”

“But if the same thing happens again?” I-wan asked.

“It will happen again—we know that,” the man said.

This took on a meaning for I-wan that was far beyond what he could then express. It seemed to him he saw Tama far more clearly than he ever had before. Beneath her woman’s ways and her gaiety there was something desperate and resolute, something that had nothing to do with what she might wish to have or to do. So, beneath the playfulness of these people who knew how to enjoy as children enjoy, was also this dogged resolve which made them able to endure anything if they must.

Years later when he heard it sworn that soon the war would be over he shook his head. No, not soon, and perhaps never. These island people had been trained to vaster foes than man. They had fought earthquake, fire, and typhoon. These had been the enemies who had trained them in war. He was always proud that through it all his own two sons had not once wept or been afraid.

It was not a war. The papers made that clear. It was not to be called a war. It was, in the Emperor’s name, nothing but an incident.

Certainly it seemed not so important to I-wan as the fact that to the house built new after the earthquake two years before he had this summer added a study for himself with firm wooden walls which could not be moved away. For the last year Tama had been urging him to it, since the two little boys were growing so noisy. He should have a place, she said, of his own. And when one day he found they had taken his paste and smeared it everywhere over his desk, in the main room, while Tama was bathing herself and the maid preparing the supper, he agreed. And it was pleasant to have his own room…. Besides, the papers made little enough of the incident—a few soldiers in a quarrel at a small town in North China.

“It will not last three months,” Bunji had declared the first day.

It was this which first made I-wan pause to wonder if this incident were graver than was said. Else why so long as three months? He waited for letters from his father, but his father did not write so often as he once had. I-wan wrote asking for what his father’s opinion was, but no answer came. This seemed strange, and yet he knew that it might mean nothing.

One day the clerk in his office resigned. He was, he said, called to army service, though he was his mother’s only support now that his elder brother had died.

“What will she do?” I-wan asked.

“Mr. Muraki is so kind,” little Mr. Tanaka replied. “He gives a weekly sum to all who must leave their families without support to fight for the Emperor.”

Two young women came to fill his place, and a partition was put up between them and I-wan, so that he had after a fashion a room of his own. He had a good deal of time now. Business began to decrease. There were few shipments. This, too, made I-wan wonder. If it were only a matter of a few soldiers, then why did Chinese exporters at once cease sending their goods to Japan? Shipments came in as usual during that month. Then suddenly nothing came in. Ships came to port and went on, and there was no business for the house of Muraki. But they had great stores unsold and these continued westward to America and to Europe. I-wan busied himself in checking off inventories and arranging for packing and shipping boxes and crates of rugs and tapestries, potteries and china, furniture and scrolls, and all the confusion of the cheap and valuable which made the business.

Then one day he received a cable from his father. Afterwards it seemed strange to him that it had come to him through Bunji. But at the moment he had not had time to think of that. Bunji sent for him one morning, and when I-wan went to see why he was wanted, Bunji handed him an envelope and sat watching as he tore it open. It was from his father. “I-ko arriving seventeenth at Yokohama on S.S.
Balmoral.
Meet him at dock.” The seventeenth was two days away.

“Your brother is coming?” Bunji asked.

“How did you know?” I-wan asked surprised.

“My father wishes to send a present to your father, if your brother will be so kind,” Bunji replied obliquely.

“How did Mr. Muraki know?” I-wan asked.

“He received the cablegram, of course,” Bunji said calmly. “It was sent to the house and he read it.”

“Why?” I-wan asked.

“To know whether it was important, of course,” Bunji answered as if surprised.

I-wan was about to retort, “But it was my cablegram!” but this would be rude toward Mr. Muraki, who perhaps had no sense of wrong done. So instead he said, “Please thank Mr. Muraki.”

Did he imagine Bunji was watching him strangely?

“I suppose it is necessary for you to go,” he continued.

“Certainly I feel it is,” I-wan replied firmly.

He had been half thinking as he stood there that he might take Tama and the boys to show them off to one of his own family. Now, going out of Bunji’s office, he decided against it. He had better meet I-ko alone.

He stood craning his head to watch as the ship came into the harbor with the smooth slow grace of a great swan. He did not run instantly to the gangway. He suddenly felt very shy of I-ko. They had never been close. I-ko was too much older. And I-wan remembered still that Peony had hated him for things of which she would never speak. That hatred had long made I-wan feel that I-ko was mysteriously evil, so he could not love him, even yet. And now there were these years in Germany. Who knew what they had done to him? Still, he was excited, too, at the thought of seeing his brother. For the first time he felt he had been a long time away from home. While the ship docked he stared at the row of people along the ship’s rail, recognizing no one.

Then he saw I-ko coming down the gangplank. He could not believe this upright cleanly-cut figure was that I-ko who had gone away, the slender slouching young man with thin peevish lips, who could pout like a child when he was denied and even weep to get his own way. What had Germany done to I-ko? He saw I-wan and shouted, and now I-wan saw a straight upright man, a head higher than the swarming Japanese about him, a hard-looking man with a firm mouth and haughty eyes and a foreign bearing. Behind him was a white woman dressed in some sort of shining green silk, her arms bare to the shoulder, but I-wan did not look at her. There were other men and women coming down the gangway.

He went up to I-ko shyly and put out his hand.

“I-ko,” he said.

“I-wan!” I-ko cried, and then he seized the arm of the white woman behind him. “Frieda,” he said to her, in German, “here is my brother.”

This I-wan heard. He remembered a little of the German he had learned long ago from the tutor his grandfather had hired for him. But who this woman was he did not understand. He looked at her and at once hated her. She was young but already too fat and her cheeks were too red. Her eyes were a hard bright blue above these red cheeks, and her hair under a green hat was yellow. She put out a hand covered in a yellow leather glove.

“Ach, it is so wonderful to see you!” she cried in a loud voice. I-wan felt her seize his hand in a sharp upward German clasp, and then to his horror he saw her lean forward and upon his cheek he felt her painted lips. “Brother I-wan!” she said and giggled.

“This is my wife, I-wan,” I-ko said haughtily. “Her name is Frieda von Reichausen, and her father is a German military officer of high standing.”

His voice, his eyes fixed upon I-wan, were daring I-wan to say anything. There was nothing to be said, I-wan thought. If they were married, what could be said? He merely bowed, therefore. But within himself questions were whirling. Did their father know? What would their mother say? How could this stout, hard young woman fit into their family? Why had I-ko done this? And then he remembered Tama, whom all these years he had not wanted to take home. If he should ever say a word of disapproval to I-ko, would not I-ko say at once that at least he had not married a Japanese? And yet Tama—he knew by instinct that this woman was not fit to stand beside Tama!

“We are only bride and groom,” she was saying. “Everything is so wonderful!” And again she giggled, her eyes arch upon him.

He thought, “I must not look at I-ko. She is so silly he will be ashamed of her before me.”

Something, he felt, must be said quickly to help I-ko. They were standing on the dock waiting awkwardly for nothing, and people swept against them as they hurried to and fro. And yet what could he say? He was still dazed. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and secretly rubbed his cheek, lest her red lips had left a stain on him.

“I-ko,” he said at last, “I scarcely knew you.” He spoke in Chinese and his tongue felt stiff and strange. Not for years had he spoken his own language. And now he was glad to speak it because it shut out this foreign woman.

I-ko looked pleased.

“No, I am changed,” he replied. “In fact am I not improved?”

“You look—much older,” I-wan said diffidently.

“Oh, I am a man now,” I-ko replied, smiling slightly. “I am very grateful to my father. I hated Germany for the first year and then liked it. I-wan, where can we talk? I have much to say—and the ship’s stay is very short. They are staying one hour instead of four.”

“But can’t you wait over a few days and take another ship?” I-wan asked politely. What would he do if I-ko accepted—with
her!

I-ko shook his head. “There is no time,” he answered. “It is imperative that I get home. Where can we go?”

“I suppose we could go to that little restaurant,” I-wan said, doubtfully. A small restaurant was near the dock and it had a few outdoor tables. I-ko nodded his head vigorously.

“Yes, that will do,” he decided. “Come, Frieda!” he called in German. He strode across the street ahead of I-wan, his shoulders set square, and when they sat down he beckoned imperiously for a waiter. Behind them she came. They sat down and I-wan at once felt the stare of people—a white woman with two Chinese men! But I-ko seemed not to notice.

“Beer,” I-ko said to the waiter, and scarcely waiting a moment, he leaned toward I-wan.

“I-wan,” he said, “you cannot stay here. You must come home at once.” He spoke in Chinese and he paid no heed to his wife. But she seemed used to this and while they talked she sat looking about her with hard and curious eyes. If she cared that other people wondered at her she made no sign of it.

“But—but—,” I-wan stammered, meeting I-ko’s look. He drew back a little. I-ko’s face was almost menacing. “I—it is impossible—my family—”

“Can it be you, too, don’t know?” I-ko exclaimed.

“Know what?” I-wan asked. The old premonition had him by the throat and his mouth went suddenly dry.

“Haven’t you heard?” I-ko cried.

“I haven’t heard anything,” I-wan faltered.

“The Japanese are going to take Peking!” I-ko whispered.

“Peking!” I-wan repeated stupidly.

“Has there been nothing told even about that?” I-ko exclaimed. Around them Japanese were sitting at the small tables, talking and laughing, and drinking tea and wine. Above them the sky was blue, without a cloud. There were women in bright kimonos, and at one side sat a little group of Americans, having tea with an officer from the ship. And beside them the German woman sat, her plump elbows on the table. She had already drunk her beer, and now she sat eating small cakes.

“It was just troop movements, they said,” I-wan replied, looking away from her. No, but perhaps he had missed something. He did not always read the papers these days. He dreaded them. And Tama never spoke of such things. No, rather it was as if together they did not speak of them. But he could not tell I-ko this.

But I-ko was hurrying on. “Father foresaw everything weeks ago and cabled me. The Generalissimo wants me to come home. The army is being reorganized on a huge scale. There will be war! We will resist to the end. At last it has been decided!”

I-wan could scarcely comprehend what I-ko was saying in his low hurried whispering Chinese.

“But—no one knows—anything here,” he stammered. He felt as though his breath had been driven out of him. “There hasn’t been much in the papers—people are just going on—some mention of a little difficulty, but not—”

“These people!” I-ko said contemptuously. “The ones at the top don’t tell them anything. I tell you, I-wan, mobilization has begun. It’s going to be the greatest war of our history. I-wan, come home with me!”

“Now?” I-wan cried.

“Now!” I-ko said strongly. “I have money for your passage. We can get your ticket on the ship, if need be. Father told me—”

“But my family—” I-wan began.

“There are no claims on you now but this one,” I-ko insisted. “You have no obligations to any Japanese except to hate them forever!” I-ko’s teeth shone in a dramatic snarl, as white as a fox’s teeth. Even at this moment, while they stared at each other, I-wan could stop to remember that I-ko loved to be dramatic, and this made him the more cautious.

… Tama, I-wan was saying to himself, Tama was a Japanese and he loved her. She seemed more than ever gentle and faithful and good, now that I-ko had—had married such a one as this. He could not leave Tama. He would have to think what to do.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I can’t see why—why should there be war? We aren’t enemies—”

“We are enemies!” I-ko answered firmly. “Where have you been, I-wan, not to know that this war has been hurrying upon us for months—years? Have you heard of the outrage at Lukow-chiao?”