kent drifted into his daily routine quickly and easily. his japanese clerk watched the papers for him, read over the headlines, and translated into queer, but fairly understandable english the articles which kent called for. he had made friends with several japanese newspapermen, keen, elderly men, always pleasantly ready to comment on and to amplify the news of the day, popular tendencies and drift of thought, and who often took pains to keep him informed of the spot news. then he visited the departments, foreign office, home office, war and navy departments, a rather tedious and not very remunerative procedure, interviewing second-rank officials, laboriously extracting formal information, always meeting the unfailing courtesy and polite blankness which makes the japanese the hardest men to interview in the world. the highest officials, ministers, for instance, might as a rule be interviewed only by submission of written questions. it seemed as if the human element, the touch of man to man, was constantly deliberately shrouded in an impenetrable veil of bureaucratic formalism. was it instinctive passion for secrecy, suspicion of the foreigner in general, or merely the deadening influence of worship of official form? he could not make up his mind, but he wished it were possible to talk frankly and openly, with return in openness and frankness, and not always under the peculiar feeling of restraint, of necessity of being constantly en guard, as if one were fencing with an adversary in the dark. they were always talking about frankness, about their desire for[pg 40] it, and yet he felt that it was always one-sided, that all the frankness came from the foreigner, but that for him there could be no penetrating through an impalpable wall of instinctive reserve, into the real, innermost thought of the japanese.
still, it was after all a pleasant life and, generally, an easy one. he concluded that japanese reserve was racial, rather than consciously, deliberatively individual. and still there were times when they would be surprisingly frank, almost incredibly outspoken. even about such a subject as the imperial house they would sometimes, even officials, like young kikuchi, speak in terms entirely democratic, as would an american, expressing carelessly ideas which he knew were well within the "dangerous thought" category of the police. it amazed kent, left him a little at a loss as to how to reply, careful as he felt that he must be in such matters. at first he thought that the opinions were merely thrown out as bait, to draw him out, sound his views, but he soon concluded that this was not the case, that the spread of liberalism had extended far beyond the masses and was finding converts among the young aristocracy, even among some of its older men. some of it was pose, he felt, the constant desire to show the foreigner that japanese were as advanced in modern thought as was he, but at the same time he became convinced that substantially, generally, these men spoke truthfully, just what they thought.
he was speaking about it one morning at his office, to kittrick, when the door opened noiselessly, and terada appeared, drifted in, floated in rather, as if without movement. he had introduced himself a few weeks after kent's arrival as an official of the police department, whose business it was to keep a watchful eye on foreigners, particularly correspondents. since then he had come at intervals of a few weeks. the[pg 41] door would open, and he would enter, soundlessly, almost apologetically. in his gray kimono, gray felt hat, he seemed like a sort of genii out of arabian nights; it was almost as if he materialized, a smoky, indefinite figure, mysteriously growing out of the empty space of the room. it was his habit to make some commonplace observation and then sit smoking, for ten minutes often, before he would make his next remark, also quite commonplace, about the weather, the cherry blossoms, anything. thus he would sit for an hour at a time, a courteous, self-effacing gentleman, saying something entirely inconsequential; then smoking silently, thinking up his next triviality. but out of the dozen or score of remarks would always be one which kent felt was the one that counted, the question which he evidently hoped would pass unnoticed among all the others. who was going to be the new correspondent for the post, what did he think of the action of the cabinet on such and such a matter? there would come some more camouflage remarks, polite leave-taking, and he would vanish, dissolve, fade away, leaving kent to wonder whether he had really managed to get any information that he had come for.
he made his usual remarks. everything seemed to stop, while they waited for him to frame the next one. it became a bore. kittrick's patience gave out.
"do you really know so much about us foreigners, terada-san?" he asked banteringly. "what do you really find out about us?"
"oh, we know. you were at ringo-san's tea house last monday night, with sato-san, but you only stayed till ten," he smiled sourly. "you got a new cook yesterday. mr. kent is to dine at baron saiki's to-morrow night."
he smoked for a while silently. then he faded away.
"he's a queer bird," said kent, as terada disappeared. "i'm sure i don't see what he gets out of coming to me? his questions are too transparent, with the main one so carefully sandwiched in among all the rot that he so laboriously contrives. what does he do with it all, the back-door gossip that he gathers so painstakingly?"
"oh, it all goes down in reports, i daresay, good, bad and indifferent," said kittrick. "it is all stored away somewhere. it is all a part of their marvelously ramified secret service system, which they copied from germany. it is a good system. on the whole, it is a good idea for the authorities to keep track of every one, foreign and japanese, and i don't see why any one should object. the bad ones should be watched. the innocent ones shouldn't mind; in fact, they get protection from the others in that way. i know that some foreigners object to the detectives, but the police are usually polite. old-timers who have detectives following them often make friends with them—you know they don't hide the fact that they are trailing you—and use them to buy railroad tickets, to help with the luggage; they are willing enough to act as kind of free couriers. of course, there are some damned stupid officials who look on every foreigner as a potential spy, but much of the talk of newcomers about their being followed by detectives is buncombe. they like to think they are being shadowed. it gives them a sense of importance."
"ishii-san, run out and get me a package of golden bats, please." kent waited until the clerk had left the room. "i wanted to get him out of the way," he explained to kittrick. "the fact is that i know positively that my desk is being systematically examined. i lock it; still i find things disarranged. i keep nothing of consequence in it, but it annoys me to have some[pg 43] one constantly going through my private letters, and i don't know who it can be."
"i don't think it is ishii," said kittrick. "i have reason to believe that he is a young man inclined to have 'dangerous thoughts.' that is one reason why i picked him out for you; so he wouldn't be a spy. it is far more likely to be your good landlord. i'm pretty certain that he is in foreign office pay. i have had several indications. tokyo is full of them, people who get information for the foreign office, the home office, the police, the militarists. they are clerks, rickshaw men, business men, high and low, all kinds. you see, they not only copied the system, but they tried to elaborate on it. but all they got, as usual, was the form, but not the intelligence. they go through the motions of a secret service, but the whole thing is ramified in numberless useless ways. they dovetail and overlap and get all kinds of stupid information. i often wonder at what they do with all they get, all the stuff about my being at a tea house and getting a new cook and the like; but i think that it all goes down in reports, that many of them don't care much what they get, as long as they get something they can put in their reports, any old thing to fill the pages. and still, you know, from all the trash they must undoubtedly get something worth their while every now and then. at times you find evidences of really skillful and clever work. and after all, why should you or i care? they are discreet enough. nothing comes out of what little foibles they may learn about. probably they don't care. remember that, as far as personal freedom is concerned, this is truly the land of the free, where no one gives a hang if you have a drink or kiss a pretty geisha behind the shoji."
"but how are they in business?" asked kent. "do they watch the stuff we send out?"
[pg 44]
"i wish i knew. i think every correspondent wishes he knew," said kittrick. "sometimes i think a copy of every cable we send goes to the foreign office. there is no reason why it shouldn't; in fact, i can see no great objection. still, i never knew them to interfere with our cables. i have sent stuff that i thought would be stopped; but it went through. at the time of the so-called 'serious affair,' when old prince yamagata tried to interfere with the engagement of the crown prince, and the whole nation was whispering about it, and the censors were working overtime to keep the thing quiet, i cabled the whole thing. now, if they ever interfere, they would have done it then; but the cable went. i know most of us feel a bit suspicious, and once or twice old kubota has quoted almost word by word cables which i had sent the day before. it may have been coincidence, but it is funny. it makes you wonder. in fact, you will find that most of the fellows send mail stuff that they want to be sure of, through friends who are going across to the states, but, frankly, i don't actually know how far we are being watched."
"by the way, i heard that you were going to dinner at the saiki's," he added. "if he is a friend of yours, you will find him a good one."
kent had hoped that the dinner at the saiki's would be given in japanese style, that he might thus have an opportunity to get a glimpse of the more intimate life in an aristocratic japanese household, but the moment he and karsten drove into the grounds, it was plain that he would be disappointed in this. the house was a large hybrid affair, with a foreign style section and another part purely native, weird and ungainly combinations which are becoming common in tokyo and which do their share in degrading the architecture of[pg 45] the city. the japanese part lay in semi-darkness, but the other wing was brilliantly lighted. servants in foreign livery took their things, and they were ushered into a large drawing-room, furnished punctiliously in french fashion, almost too correct. one suspected immediately the hand of the professional decorator behind it all. there was even less to indicate japan than is usual in foreign homes in tokyo. the pictures, the bric-a-brac, all was european. a splendid cloisonné vase in a corner was the only bit characteristic of japan; but then such a thing might be found in any drawing-room in paris or london. at table it was the same,—a cocktail, then french courses, wines, decorations, served by servants in black and gold livery. the kimonos of some of the women, the high helmet-like coiffures of a few, served only to accentuate the european atmosphere: and then some of the younger women, even though they wore kimonos, dressed their hair in the foreign mode which was becoming fashionable in tokyo, the hair arranged, in its natural softness, without the usual oily dressing, in soft rolls hiding the ears.
kent found himself seated between baroness saiki and miss suzuki. farther on sat young kikuchi, then another miss suzuki, then karsten, with kikuchi's sister at his right. among the others were templeton of the express and butterfield of the times. the rest were all japanese officials and their wives.
conversation was carried on in english and japanese. the men were all fluent in english. the women, even when they spoke it, smiled much, charmingly, but said little, seemed to be a peculiarly happily contrived background rather than a material element of the affair. kent found himself absurdly ill at ease when baroness saiki insisted on speaking japanese. he knew that only few foreigners attain the perfection[pg 46] where they may venture with safety to attempt the language of the aristocracy, with its honorifics and a vocabulary containing many words and idioms entirely different from those of the common tongue. he felt as might a frenchman who had learned his english on the bowery and who suddenly finds himself under necessity to speak with a grande dame of ancient boston lineage. he tried it, hesitantly, fearing momentarily that he would make a faux pas; then he made a clean breast of his trouble to her. she was amused, encouraged him to go on; but even then it was irritatingly difficult to devise subjects which might interest her. books, the opera, mutual friends, all the usual topics were useless. it was almost like trying to interest a woman who had come forth, suddenly, from the seclusion of a seraglio. fortunately she had been abroad. he grasped at the usual banalities: how did she find japan after washington and paris. she answered quietly, always smiling, charming, gracious; but she would reply in only a sentence or two. then he must find something new. she had always, when he knew her on the steamer, been very quiet, discreetly non-assertive, but even with that it seemed as if she had changed, become even more retiring, self-effacing since she had come to japan. he had to think hard to devise pabulum for conversation and began to get a little desperate. it was a relief when kubota addressed her and she turned to him.
it gave kent an opportunity to speak to miss suzuki. he had been relieved to see that she still wore foreign dress. evidently her family had not japanized her to the extent of insisting on her wearing kimono, as did her sister, an extremely pretty girl, in gorgeous silks, with, however, her hair dressed in the modern mode. kent was extremely pleased to meet miss suzuki again; he had thought of her often and had[pg 47] wondered how he might manage to see her, but it had seemed oddly impossible; there had seemed to be no way of contriving to meet her. but she did not seem as spontaneously gay as she had been on the tenyo. momentarily a hint of her american animation would appear like a glint of heat lightning, a vivacious bit of high spirits, but it flashed out, subdued into a vague, intangible quietness, smiling gentleness, suggesting a sense of restraint, an almost imperceptibly subtle change in manner and mind.
baron saiki addressed him from across the table, a matter of current politics. templeton and kubota came into the discussion. gradually the conversation became general among the men, the presence of the women being sensed, rather than forming an equal part, as a lovely and delicately enchanting obligato beside the dominating pervasion of the men.
later, in the drawing-room, he found chance to meet the suzuki girls again. they formed a striking contrast, kimiko, the younger, resplendent in brilliant silks, gracefully drooping, wide kimono sleeves, stiff brocade obi, recalling a picture of imagination, a fanciful oriental fairyland vision, picturesque, fantastic almost, against the modestly cut pink evening gown of the sister. here, removed from the immediate presence of the others, she proved a lively, capricious little damsel. she extended her hand frankly when the elder girl introduced her to kent.
"don't you think that i am not modern, just because i speak no english and have always lived in japan," she flashed at him. "nous sommes moderne, nous autres japonnaises, n'est-ce-pas, kikuchi-san?" it suited her. french harmonized better with her air of being a resplendent illusion of whimsical imagination.
kikuchi came over. "of course, we are modern, le dernier cri. we must show kent. now, how would it be if we all went to tsurumi, to kagetsuen. we will show him how japan and jazz mix. i am sure my sister can fix it so you girls can go. would you like it, kent? i'm sure you would. all right, i'll let you know the day later."
the girls were radiant. "you must not think, mr. kent, that because we wear the kimono, we can't dance," bubbled kimiko, protestingly. "i have been dancing for two years now, even at some of the public places, like kagetsuen. but they are beginning to make a fuss about it, the newspapers and the old fogeys. i hope they don't stop it. my sister has never even been to tsurumi. we'll have—what is it you say in english, tsuyuko, oh, yes, a hellu off a time."
"oh, be careful," the sister glanced about hastily. "kimiko is so crazy to be modern that she wants to learn english phrases, and she likes the swear words best, i'm sorry i taught her. she won't be careful. she is irresponsible. please pardon her. i wonder what baroness saiki would say."
karsten came over, but even his rather grave manner could not daunt kimiko-san. it seemed as if she wished to startle the sister, to impress her with the fact that she, at least, was not old-fashioned. "you look so grave, mr. karsten, so dignified, just like our old-fashioned japanese men. you should be a japanese, and have a japanese wife, old-fashioned, of course. would you like to have one?" she was laughing up at him, like a pretty, mischievous child enjoying its naughtiness.
karsten laughed. "but i am so stupid about women. now, if i do, will you find me one, a pretty one? will you be my nakodo, my go-between?"
"certainly. of course, an old-fashioned man like you must have a marriage by arrangement, through a nakodo; but tsuyuko and i, when we marry, we are modern, we shall marry for love, l'amour, n'est-ce-pas? we shall——"
"ssst." kikuchi made a quick warning gesture. baroness saiki came over to them. there was no perceptible hush, but the bright sparkle of the manner of the girls changed. they were still smiling, conversing, but it was the gentle, quaint loveliness of the orient. the moment of glitter had gone. it was nothing as definite as palpable restraint which had come over them; still there seemed to be an indefinite barrier.
the groups broke up, changed, reformed. every one left early. kent saw the girls again only when they took leave. he thought he sensed a barely perceptible, still almost definite pressure of kimiko's hand, as she said good-by, the slightest hint of a glint in the dark brilliancy of her eyes. but he could not be sure; he wondered.
the saiki mansion was close to the karsten house, and they walked home in the moonlight, through the streets of the geisha quarter with the opaquely lighted shoji contrasting, brilliantly white, against the dark walls, tinkle of samisen and ripples of women's laughter coming out to them in the night.
"well, back in japan again," said kent. "for what we saw to-night wasn't really japan, was it? still, it wasn't america or europe either. what do you think?"
"it is hard to say," said karsten. "even if what we saw to-night is not japan now, it is certain to become more and more so, while this——" he pointed to a machiai just ahead. the shoji had been drawn aside, and they could see a geisha, resplendent in gold and crimson, languidly posturing, fan slowly sweeping before her in obedience to the rhythm of an [pg 50]unseen samisen in the background. "this is not the real japan, either. the other was japan to-morrow. this is japan yesterday. it is difficult to say what is japan to-day."
