Читать книгу The Garden of Vision - Elizabeth Louisa Moresby - Страница 11

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A letter from Marseille:

“My dear Eleanor:

“But if you knew and didn’t tell me it’s just as well the length of France is between us. The first person I saw when I went into the saloon was Ito, and honestly, in spite of my fury, I had to laugh when I saw his face. I assure you there was nothing flattering and I knew he would have bolted if he could. So I just walked up to him and said coolly—‘I hadn’t the least notion when you were going and since we quarrel whenever we meet and there’s no room for skirmishing in a boat I took the trouble to look over the passenger list of the Kagoshima Maru and to change to this boat when I saw your name. Could I do more?’ I saw by the caught look in his face that he had done exactly the same, and my very toes were twitching with laughter. Mercifully it was only my toes!

“With his awful politeness—perfectly frozen!—he said that if his company was so disagreeable to me he would change at Marseille, and I saw that in his Japanese way he felt himself a kind of host on board one of their own boats and really would bolt unless I were careful. And that would have been simply awful for the next doesn’t go for a fortnight. Indeed 83 if he had jumped overboard to oblige me I shouldn’t have been surprised—he looked so truly horrified. So I did my best. I said, ‘We needn’t meet more than you like. We need only bow and open our books, and the six weeks will go like a dream.’ And so we parted, and for the first two days that was exactly what happened.

“There is a nice library, and I made a palisade of books and tried not to look up when he passed talking melodious Japanese with one man after another. Oh, how I envied him and cursed my parents for not grounding me in Japanese from the cradle! Everyone was polite and smiling and interested—and I couldn’t say a word and was utterly at a disadvantage. So wholesome for me! I know you foresaw and planned that I should feel myself an unlettered oaf, and I did and took the full good of it. There were a few English—but of the cocktaily rowdy sort—and on their advances I turned a glassy eye. I could not stand the bland and brazen intolerance with which they regarded the presence of the Japanese on board their own ship, and if I would have let myself talk it would only have been to tell them luxuriously what I thought of them. So Bridgie and I sat alone. For the hundredth time of reading she has reached the Valley of Humiliation in ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and as she read it aloud with appropriate comments, as she has done since I was six, I really felt it very suitable to the occasion.

“Dear Eleanor, I had serious thoughts of retracing my steps from Marseille until the thought occurred that his pride of courtesy might be so wounded that he might commit hara-kiri on the spot (but now I find they call it seppuku), and then you would refuse to receive the murderess. But hear the end or rather the beginning. Four days out, seeing me sitting alone with Bridgie in a placid sleep beside me, he came 84 up and bowed with the most appalling seriousness and said these memorable words:

“‘Miss Brandon, I desire to apologize for all my past rudeness and to beg you to forgive me. When I think that you have trusted yourself to a Japanese boat and I, a Japanese man, have treated you with coldness and neglect I am indeed very sorry and humiliated. And when I think also that you are Mrs. Ascham’s friend, whom I love [he did not mean he loved me, Eleanor dear; that uncertainty is the fault of the English language], I believe I am past forgiveness and yet cannot be at peace unless I am forgiven.’

“Bridgie punctuated this discourse with soft little snores, and it was all inexpressibly comic and touching because he was so dreadfully in earnest. Now what do you think I did? Not even you will guess, so you have to be told. I was so lonely and miserable that at a kind word the tears came into my eyes and brimmed over. As Bridgie says—‘it came so unexpected-like’ that I could have killed myself. He looked perfectly horrified. I saw his hand make a wild motion for his handkerchief while I dashed at mine. Then he sped away and came back with a glass of wine, which I had to taste because he was so kind.

“‘If I have caused this—’ he said, hovering round me in an agony—And to shorten a long story I said I too was sorry and ashamed, and couldn’t we make friends in your holy name? He snatched at this. He sat down and began to talk in the most delightful way about Japan at large—the art treasures at Kyoto and Nara; everything you can think of—for an hour. If we had always been what Bridget calls ‘bosomers’ he could not have been kinder. Then he collected every Japanese in the boat who could speak English, French, 85 or German, and there were many, and ranged in a bowing queue, he introduced them one by one. Finally he pounced on two lovely little Japanese ladies who were emerging from their cabins and introduced them as his elder sister the widow of Arima’s brother and her daughter Sayoko. He begged them to teach me the most polite forms of Japanese, so that I might be able to speak when we arrive, and in the prettiest timidest English they promised. His sister looks old enough to be his mother, and her daughter has been some years at school in England.

“Wasn’t this coals of fire? Didn’t I blush over the whole expanse of my body? Seriously, I was ashamed of myself and plunged heart and soul into the fray, and now I sit surrounded by eager kindly people all trying to teach me their delightful language, and even Bridgie has learned to say good morning and good night in Japanese. I am so much happier and more confident. If there were nothing more than this in Japan it will be a delightful change with all the beauty I know is there. And I will own up that I think you were right about Ito and I was wrong. I don’t think him conceited any more, nor unduly proud of his race. I think he is a manly man with a great great deal more than I suspected in him. I have not yet dared to talk of Naniwa and Arima, but I shall make a cautious venture soon.

“I invited him and a Mr. Kuroda, who is a distinguished poet and literary man, to come ashore with Bridgie and me here, and we lunched at the Hotel du Louvre. They don’t know the place and they enjoyed it. And then I took them for a drive along the Corniche, and they were half shocked, half delighted, to see how handy I was with the car. But it all cemented our friendship.

“I must finish now, for this must be posted, and 86 all I will say is that I love you, and I begin to see why you may have been the divinity that shapes my ends. I don’t know yet if they will stand shaping, but you may! Anyhow I shall like the people, and Bridgie says that if they weren’t heathens they would be the best of good Christians. I see the notion growing in her mind that Ito is to be the Mr. Greatheart of our expedition and devour all the dragons and Apollyons. Who would have thought it! Nothing less than my tears would have wrought the miracle, and I can’t imagine why I cried. It generally takes a Moses to wring water from my rock, but on this occasion a look did it. Gott bewahre!

Your loving Soma.”

“P. S. I believe Sayoko’s name means ‘Twilight.’ Don’t you like that?”

A letter from Ito lay beside this—brief and to the point.

“My dear Mrs. Ascham:

“I must confess myself to you, for I cannot deserve your friendship—perhaps you will never think me worthy of it again. I was angry when I found Miss Brandon was a passenger. I had the unworthy thought that she might have planned it for a practical joke to annoy me. I then resolved I would not speak. I was deeply wounded. I said to myself—‘There are English on board. Let her speak to them.’ Presently I saw she would not. They were not of the samurai type. But still I would not relent. Day after day I saw her sit alone, and at last Kuroda said to me. ‘On board this ship we are hosts. Indeed it is a shame!’ And then something struck fire in my heart, and I went and asked her pardon as I now humbly ask yours. What was my deepened shame when the tears fell 87 from her eyes for loneliness—she who had so many friends! If it had been blood I could not have more known the wound I had made—and to a young girl. Since then I beg you to believe I have done what I could, and it is the more reproach that she has accepted so graciously and has done all in her power to make me know forgiveness. All my people on board think her a most beautiful and graceful lady.

“They crowd to speak with her and to teach her Japanese, and my sister and niece, Mrs. Arima and her daughter, are much with her and consider her to be a beautiful princess. How could it be otherwise with your friend? How blind I have been, and how punished! Now I beg you to believe she will be taken all our care of as if she were a piece of delicate porcelain given by a queen.

“We do not speak yet of Naniwa, but that will come, and I shall tell Arima how young she is and kind, and he will give his best as we shall all. The old lady with her is a good Buddhist of the simple sort though she does not know it at all.

“I prostrate myself before you to ask forgiveness and to express my gratitude which will last through all my rebirths for the goodness you have invariably shown your friend and servant who begs you would command him to all you desire and thus confer a favor.

Yasujiro Ito.”

Both letters moved Eleanor. In both she could read between the lines—the stirrings of two generous hearts. For much she could trust Yasoma’s charm, but it would be the rebound of past cruelty of thought in both which would draw them together now, each eager to make reparation. She hoped for a true and lasting friendship and had no fear of anything warmer 88 and more dangerous. Not only was there a racial bar, but she had learned in those last few days to understand fully that Ito was as dedicated to his work as any Galahad. No floating beauty would obscure the enchantment of the vision which every stream of heredity and training had made the heart of his heart. That was safe. All was safe now. She would wait eagerly for the next letters from Naples. They came.

“Dear and kind Eleanor:

“I have had your letters. We lie in the blue bay with Vesuvius puffing a very tiny cigarette—no more—as he drowses in sunshine, and I write after a visit to Pompeii. Do you remember the day you and I went? Well—we made up a party, Mr. Ito and I. Bridgie came to weep over the tragic end of idolaters who ‘said their prayers to their old goddesses and the like that wouldn’t wag a finger to save them at a pinch,’ and Mr. Kuroda and the little Japanese ladies came too, and a man named Yamashima, who is a most fascinating artist—the loveliest brushwork. It was a brilliant day, and Ito told us a story of an earthquake and volcano business in Southern Japan that gave me a feeling of the heroism of the poor Japanese people that stirs me yet. But one touch I want to tell you. Do you remember when we went, you and I, and the guide beckoned the Englishmen of the party mysteriously into the house—the lupanar—which women may not see? Do you remember how we loathed the seriousness with which they all marched stiffly in with really a pious church-going air upon them, and you and I walked on and hated them for going when we were there. It seemed an insult to all women.

“Well, the guide was ready today. I saw the hateful little twinkle in his eye, anticipating his very especial 89 tip. The three Japanese men took no notice. He was a buzzing fly. ‘You do not know, zhentilmen. You do not understand!’—exactly like the guide in ‘Innocents Abroad.’ Ito waved him off sternly, and the others followed suit, and all came on serenely with us to the house of the baker and the sad petrified loaves that no one will eat forever. Now I don’t exalt the Japanese above Englishmen—I don’t know enough yet to judge. But I do say that was an excellent point of good manners, and I do say that the English attitude was revolting. If they wanted to see the filth—and no doubt they did—they should have stolen back after we had finished the round. Those things should be done as sneakingly as they are sneaking.

“Another thing. I was struck with the Japanese comments. The little ladies—they are quite at home with me now—looked with such pity at the poor lava-covered figures of the dead people who were once so gay. And the dog—do you remember the dog? I know you do—I know what you said. Well, little Sayoko said gently, ‘They shouldn’t show them. It is too cruel that all the world should stare.’ And Mrs. Arima laid a rose beside the woman, quietly, and went quickly on. Yes—I am beginning to know a new and very wonderful people, beautifully mannered, reserved yet tender-hearted. Shall I like them as well when I know better? No doubt there are snags ahead. I can always be trusted to provide them when they don’t exist naturally.

“Last night Ito told me of Arima’s garden. He only described it outwardly, and it must be enchanting, but under all he said there was a cold fine stream of something awe-striking. I felt it—I felt we were nearing something lovely, but perhaps terrible too. But I dared not ask, for with him things come in their right order. One must wait. He ended with 90 an odd saying: ‘I have heard from Mrs. Ascham that you are an expert in judō. That will help you very much—and us.’ But you shouldn’t have said my pawings are expert, Eleanor! What will he say when he sees? And I want to shine in his eyes. Badly, I want it!

“I said I knew a little and he then said that Sayoko is very good at it and I should practice with her. She has promised most kindly. I wonder which of us knows most! They used to say I was decent at it, you know.”

There was more, very personal to Eleanor, which need not be told. In every word she felt Yasoma nearer to her, felt a healthiness, the pulsing of upward-running sap. She had not been mistaken. This was the way—the road to Arima’s garden.

A long letter came from Ito at the same time, written during two or three days, eager and vibrant with hope of the things to be accomplished at Naniwa. At the end, speaking of Yasoma, he said:

“More and more do I realize my mistake about her. She has the courage of a samurai—you told me that and I did not believe—and is most quick to remark and rejoice in the fine things which stir the blood. My two ladies say she is gentle and kind in all she does, and they much respect her affection for her servant who is a good woman. This we take for the mark of a great lady who can value fidelity. I am truly glad she came. What I can do will be done.

“More and more do I wish you to know Arima. His teaching is no schoolmaster’s work. It is the art of flinging a man into the receptive condition where he catches the fire of wisdom from the universe as a match strikes on a box. A homely symbol. But the flame is engendered. He has all the brusquerie of the great Zen masters and uses it to startle, offend, shock 91 men out of the groove of ordinary thinking. I never knew a man so completely at one with nature and animals. He calls them The Gate of Ascending Consciousness, and conveys wisdom through them as the Buddha did through the flower he held in his hand when he smiled on the greatest of his disciples and thus bestowed absolute knowledge. Art grows at Naniwa like a flower of the moors. If Miss Brandon has eyes to see, and I think she has, delight is in store for her.”

Again Eleanor rejoiced for Yasoma. For herself also. Not only was that adventure beginning in hope instead of doubt but Arima’s project at Naniwa was steadily building itself into assurance. Ten more men had joined, and Arima himself was full of restrained hope and inspiration. All was to be modeled on the Zen monasteries of Japan, with hours set apart for teaching, study, meditation, concentration, and work in the fields which would provide their food. It was good rice-growing land, and they did not lack for water, for besides the stream in Arima’s garden there was a river famed for its rapids lower down, into which the garden stream ran and lost itself. One of the men had learned printing, and there was a printing outfit which would be useful for pamphlets and such small books. There was much more, and it strengthened her purpose to go and see for herself and her hope for Yasoma. Very eagerly she awaited the letters from Port Said:

“Dearest Eleanor:

“All goes well, but I have had a snub to my pride which I don’t like telling. Sayoko and I met in war, otherwise known as jujutsu, soon after leaving Naples. We were swinging down the Mediterranean on a lovely blue breeze, with tiny waves tipped with flying foam, 92 when she came and bowed and said, ‘Honorable conflict?’ In half an hour we were both in our gym kit and in my sitting-room where Mrs. Arima and Bridgie sat as umpires. You know Bridgie relishes it. I think she considers it a kind of physical preparation for meeting Apollyon when he stops the highway, and she was with me once when we were crossing a field near Abingdon when a young half-drunk farm laborer tried to frighten us and I gave him what for to his utter consternation.

“I shall never forget the pride of the moment when he came at me like a bull and expected to see me bolt or faint. ‘Aha, my friend,’ I thought, ‘this is a case for science!’—and it was. He literally bellowed as I sent him flying with a sprained wrist. He came on again, and I added a sprained knee to the outfit and told his master to send for him. Well—I know too much to flatter myself I could make hay of Sayoko. She is smaller than I, much more delicately built, little hands like leaves, sweet little egg-shaped face, and great eyes with that lovely Japanese rounding of the angle which gives such liquid depth to the look, and I could have picked her up and carried her off, if I could! But not a bit of it! We bowed deeply to each other—you know the etiquette—and then we advanced warily.

“I scored at first. I knew more than she allowed for and that put her on her mettle, and presently she began to puzzle me. I made a silly charge. She met it with a turn of the knee and I was down in a minute. You should have seen her apologizing for her superior knowledge—the dearest little soul! I really think she welcomed it when I got her once. But it was only once, and I think something outside caught her attention for a second, for she is really much the better man. But such a sport! She taught me a new 93 lock that very day. A wonderful one. I could guard you round the world with it and now I am nearly as good at it as she. Each day I learn something new, and she says that down the Red Sea I shall match her and really ought to try with one of the men if they would not be too polite to do their best. She spread my fame over the ship, and everyone is awfully interested, especially Ito.

“I was never so happy in my life as I am here. All the Japanese have made me feel one of them, and as there are very few who don’t speak one of the European languages we are in communication all the time. And furthermore let me tell you—we have two hours every evening after dinner when Sayoko and her mother and some of the men insist on teaching me Japanese, and I am beginning to learn a bit. The ship accepts this as a kind of game. Even the stewards when they bring me anything point to it with merry eyes and say the Japanese name for it before they set it down. Then I repeat it, and there are laughter and bows and as much delight as if I were a good child. I can even eat elegantly with hashi—chopsticks—now. I love being here. I am learning things all day long, and they like to teach me.”

There was an addition two days later:

“Two men did consent to meet us at jujutsu. One was Ito, the other a cousin of Sayoko’s. Only two or three lookers-on were allowed, and a place hung round with flags on deck. I shouldn’t have minded publicity myself, but I saw they thought this right. Well, it was a great time and I felt sort of inspired. Sayoko got me twice, but I got her once. She beat her cousin, and then Ito sent her flying, but so beautifully that she was not hurt. And then he tried me. Of course he was only playing, though you could not see how. But he is simply magnificent. The instructor in London 94 is nothing to him. He is gentle, so courteous, that you think nothing can possibly happen, and in a moment it is over and you are done. Oh, if I had known this when I was being so rude to him in London! Ass that I was; double-distilled ass! But so kind! He took great pains to show me his locks and grips and sleights, and I learned more than I ever have before in my life. He let me throw him several times for practice and he will take on Sayoko and me every day. It makes you feel so strong and wise and splendid. There is nothing like it—nothing, and I feel—how shall I say?—as if there were so much more beneath it than one can know yet. A whole philosophy of life.

“You will understand, for you know that all the time one is conquering the enemy by his own strength and not by yours. It is wisdom that wins against the brute force. I begin to realize the truth of what you told me about the man who invented one great school of it—how he noticed that the weight of snow broke the great pine-boughs, but slipped off the pliant willows. I am hunting something elusive in my thoughts about it, and Ito smiles and says I shall know one day. He says that Arima is the greatest master of judo in Japan. I long to meet him if for that only. But there will be more. I see—and don’t know how I see—that I am going into Wonderland.

“Well, then we stopped, and two more men came in, and none could beat Ito. He is simply superb and never a fussy look—only intent and quiet. But always the master. When I said so, he said: ‘But I am nothing to Arima. You shall see that he can teach you things I have not yet learned. What will you say if he orders you to go through the ordeal of choking—strangling? It is not done to women, but if you prove yourself a great soul he will perhaps say you should.’ You 95 had told me of that strange thing and how they revive you in some mysterious way. So I said I would think it an honor if Arima thought I could stand it. I would not be a bit afraid, any more than of taking the big jumps out hunting. But I begin to think—No, I won’t tell you that yet. You always say it’s better not to talk about a thing until one’s mind is settled. I can tell you Sayoko is a very unusual girl—very different from the London specimen. She is strong and courageous in mind. I can fancy heroic things for her and I know she is a bit of a—shall I say mystic? For she too talks of Arima’s garden though she has never seen it. What is there about that place? What do they mean? They will not tell me yet. And tonight Sayoko said:

“‘My mother loves me very much. If I ask she cannot deny. I have said let us come to Naniwa for a while near my uncle. Let us make a garden there. Better than Tokyo. I wish this very much, and she has said yes.’ So they are going. Is it a place of gardens? I don’t know, but already it draws me. I discovered today from Kuroda that Arima is a seventh-grade man in jujutsu, and there are only four seventh-grade men living. Neither Ito nor the Arimas would ever have told me this. Also Kuroda told me that Ito has given all he has to Arima’s work. I like strength, don’t you?”

By that mail Ito did not write, but Eleanor read Yasoma’s letter with delight. It was like watching the healthy growth of a plant unconscious of its growth and the lovelier. She understood, if Yasoma did not, that the Arimas were going to Naniwa because in that way a door could be opened for Yasoma which must have been closed otherwise. But she would not speak of it. That would be to interfere with Ito’s silent guidance. Who could have foreseen his wisdom and 96 goodness? “But I may thank him one day,” thought Eleanor.

Her thoughts turned to Bridget. She would have liked to know that her heart was at rest about her child. But Bridget was no writer. As a matter of fact, she was perfectly happy about Yasoma.

To her simple faithful thinking it was as though burning had ceased and a great coolness set in. All day she could watch, and it seemed that all the girl’s interests and amusements were simple and healthy as when she was fourteen. Early in the morning she would be marching round the deck, with Sayoko imitating the longer Western step as best she could. There were swimming and jujutsu and long talks with Ito and other men who clustered about her. There was fencing! She had always excelled there, and she won applause from those who were themselves experts. True, the English exalted their noses in air and closed their little circle firmly against Asiatic contamination and the still worse pollution of Europeans who countenanced Asiatic existence. But that struck no dismay into Bridget’s soul, and Yasoma was unconscious of them. Bridget appreciated also the courtesy of the Japanese.

“They keep themselves to themselves when they should and that’s better than to be pawing and belittling yourself!” she reflected. “’Tis as good as a picture to watch them speaking so graceful for all they’re so queer-looking.”—And then to Yasoma:

“Now, let you take pattern by them, my lamb, and don’t be so free and easy when we get back! ’Twould make a blind woman mad to see the way them Englishmen would take your hand and stare in your eyes like little lords that’d have the right to have their own way with you.”

Yasoma mocked, but in her own heart knew that 97 the Japanese social training was not undesirable. It set a standard whatever their private lives might be (and she had read too much to search Asia for Galahads). Certainly this distance was better and recommended itself to her for reasons she could not yet decipher clearly.

And the days went like a dream. She got out her Japanese grammar, which had seemed so hopeless, and lo! the laughing teaching of her new friends had taken the initial steps for her, and with her great natural aptitude for languages she went ahead full speed. Two hours every day for that study with Ito and the Arimas for masters, and others looking on, suggesting, correcting mispronunciation—it was no wonder she pulled more than her own weight in their company. Could she forget the triumph of the moonlit evening before leaving the Red Sea when Ito set her the task of reading aloud some Japanese poems from his English handwriting to a chosen audience? The meaning had been carefully explained. Pronunciation had been drilled into her, and what was their delight when she did not read but recited the verses with grace and precision. It was a joyous triumph for all the attendant teachers, and radiance shone through even Ito’s gravity. Indeed she was the spoiled child of the ship.

“You have the gift that people shall love you,” said Sayoko, and it struck Yasoma with fresh pleasure. She wished the voyage would never end, yet longed for the things beyond with longing that restored all the hopes she could remember in what she called youth. But most of all she longed to sound Ito on the unknown awaiting her. She was certain there had been talks between him and Eleanor on the mysterious connection with Arima, and always as she grew to know him better and to inspire more confidence in 98 him she hoped he would speak and volunteer a chart for her guidance in the strange land. She did not even know whether he would be there himself but now hoped it most earnestly. When they reached the Sea of Arabia she had almost summoned up her courage to speak.

Courage? When had she ever wanted it before—but now she halted and doubted. For always the hidden sore in her heart burned and throbbed. Always, she could see these new kind friends shunning her with cold averted eyes if they had known the truth. There were moments when she felt her position to be hatefully false and contemptible. All the good they gave her, she took on false pretenses. Not a word of it would come her way if they knew her as she was. Oh, terrible world in which one almost unthinking moment can implant a bleeding wound never to be healed or forgotten! Sometimes she would try with desperation to assure herself that it did not matter. Among sensible people such things were, at the worst, only a mistake. But, parry as she would, it had become clear that for her at all events a mistake may overshadow life. She knew it had been high treason though as yet she could not understand why, and that a hateful presence in her thoughts could strangle all joy.

“If they knew!” Those three words shut her into solitude when they flashed upon her. If she had been with Europeans she could have made silent retorts to any of their pretensions and so steeled herself. But these people, so kind and trustful!—little Sayoko—She could see her mother catching her away in terror. Possibly foolish. And yet—

There were hours when Yasoma bled inwardly and knew that no balm grew on earth to heal that pain.