The Japanese Lantern (15 page)

“Should I have said anything in return?” she asked Jason when he had moved off.

“You might have accused him of flattery,
”
he suggested with amusement, “but your silence was much prettier!”

She laughed with him, the colour still coming and going in her cheeks.

“
It was so unexpected,” she said.
“
I never thought that anyone would ever say such a lovely
thing to me!”

“I shall have to see what I can do,” he told her, “for you do look very beautiful—especially when you look as though you’ve fallen into fairyland by mist
ake.
”

She knew that she ought to tell him to keep his compliments for Yoshiko, but the garden had cast a spell on her and she wasn’t able to. She cast him a half-laughing, half-embarrassed look and smiled.

“You look pretty good too,” she said shyly.
“I’m very proud to be with you. You look so— so
—
Oh, I can’t explain what I mean,” she finished hurriedly as the only
words that occurred to her, though expressing her meaning exactly, were not quite what she felt she, should be saying to him.

He looked down at her, now openly amused.

“It will keep,” he suggested. “You can tell me later, when we know each other a little better. Come and meet some of these people.”

The good manners of the Japanese were strangely exhilarating. They gave Jonquil the impression that they thought her beautiful and very talented, that it didn’t matter in the least that she couldn’t speak their language, that it was much more fun having to wait for her answer to come through Jason. They were subtly flattering and quite charming.

“Have you been to a tea ceremony before?” they asked her, and then, when she confessed that she hadn’t, they smiled and congratulated her, honouring her that she should have thought that their poor little effort was a worthy introduction to such a noble pastime.

They showed her the special house in the garden where the tea ceremony would take place, and taught her to say “Cha noyu”, laughing with gay, bubbling laughter at her less worthy attempts.

Then at last everything was ready and they went into the ante-room of the tea pavilion to await the gong that would summon them to wash their hands and to proceed humbly into the cha
-
shitsu, the room specially reserved for the ceremony. The ante-room itself was not very spectacular, but the atmosphere of anticipation gradually built up so that it was almost a relief when the gong went and they could finally pass through the open doorway, a small, low entrance that Jason had to bend almost double to get through.

Mitchi Boko stood at one end of the room and one by one the guests went up to congratulate her on the arrangement of the room. Jonquil waited her turn and smiled across at the Japanese girl.

“Ah, Jonquil!” she exclaimed. “I am so happy that you come. Afterwards you come out with me, yes?”

Jonquil hesitated.

“I must get back to Alexander,” she apologized. Mitchi Boko looked distressed and bit her lip. “I am so ashamed,” she said. “It would be much better for you to come, no?”

“You may as well go,” Jason told her gently. “I can look after Alex.”

“But it’s not right,” Jonquil protested. “I must do my job sometimes.”

“Call it your day off,” he drawled.

“Oh, yes, Jonquil. You come?” Boko smiled eagerly.

There were other guests waiting behind her, so Jonquil nodded her head quickly.

“Thank you very much,” she murmured.

They went back down the room and were handed some delightful little cakes by Kanaya-san’s daughters.

“I don’t think I really ought to go,” she said to Jason. “You and Yoshiko spoil me.”

“Janet told us to make sure that you saw as much of the country as possible,” he returned. “Mitchi Boko should give you quite a good time.” He broke off to talk to one of the other guests, and so Jonquil didn’t like to take the argument any further, but stood and nibbled at her rice cake instead.

She was amused to notice that those cakes that were not eaten were solemnly wrapped up in paper napkins and given to the guests to take home with them. But there was still no sign of any tea!

At length everyone made their way back into the garden. Jonquil cast Jason a look of enquiry and saw his shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

“The tea ceremony is very Japanese,” he explained. “Ninety-nine per cent anticipation and a rather bitter liquid, that nobody would ever drink under any other circumstances, at the other end.”

“So it isn’t all over?” she asked.

“No. We’re about halfway through,” he said.

At that moment everyone started to go back inside again and they hastily tacked on to the others and made their way through the minute doorway, back to the smiling Mitchi Boko.

This time everyone sat down in a large circle, sitting on their feet with an ease
born
of long practice, an attitude that Jonquil found very painful after a few minutes. She and Jason were put next to Mitchi Boko and she realized that they were indeed the chief guests and that it hadn’t been a joke af
t
er all.

Mitchi Boko passed round the various implements that she was going to use to make the tea and everyone duly admired them. They were lovely, not perhaps because of their shape, but because of their colouring and the magnificent varnishes that had been used to finish them.

Then came the big moment and at last Mitchi Boko began to make the tea.

She put a spoonful of ground tea-leaves into the bowl and poured water over it, frothing it up as she did so, while everyone watched with fascinated eyes. Then carefully, keeping the bowl completely level, she passed it to Jason, who raised it to the level of his forehead, lowered it, raised it again and drank from it, lowered it, carefully wiping it, and passed it to Jonquil.

She asked him with her eyes if she were to do the same, and when he nodded, went through the
same motions, finding that the tea was exactly as he had said, bitter and rather unpleasant. But then, having come to the end of the ritual, she didn’t know what to do with the bowl and was rather relieved when Mitchi Boko held out her hands for it and drank from it herself, apologizing for the poorness of the brew. The other guests, it seemed, were not even going to be allowed that one sip of the beverage they had been honouring.

Here, however, Jonquil was wrong, for Kanaya-san’s daughters brought in some other brew of tea for the others, and they sat drinking it happily, complimenting each other as they did so.

Once again the bowl was passed round the guests and was again admired and Mitchi Boko was congratulated on the way she had presided over the ceremony, and then everyone began to depart. The great event was over.

Kanaya-san came over to them to entertain them until Mitchi Boko was ready to go and they stood talking to the old man by the waterfall, admiring his garden. He spoke no English, so he contented himself with smiling at Jonquil, picking an occasional flower and passing it to her, caressing each bloom in his gnarled old hands as he touched it.

“Please thank him very much,” Jonquil begged Jason.

“Thank him yourself,” he said. “Say ‘arigato’.

“Arigato,” she repeated hopefully.

The old man beamed at her.

“Dozo, dozo,” he said.

Then at last Mitchi Boko came hurrying up to them, bowing as she did so.

“It is so nice that you come with me,” she said. “I take her to the Chioh-in temple, Jason-san. You think that nice? I like to show her the uguisu corridor. How you say in English?”

“
Nightingale corridor,” he translated obligingly.

“Yes, yes. Very nice, no?”

“Very nice,” he agreed solemnly. “You girls had better start off. I want to thank Kanaya-san for his hospitality and I hope he’s going to show me over his house.”

Mitchi Boko led the way out into the street, her geta scuffling over the cobbled path.

“I am exhaust!” she exclaimed. “Tea ceremony very tiring. You find too? We take streetcar.”

She rushed Jonquil round the
corner
of the street and on to the first streetcar travelling south, keeping up a flow of nervous talk all the way.

“That Shimogam Shrine. That Kyoto University. There Heian Shrine, but we not go there. Municipal Art Gallery; Miyako Hotel
—
” and then
she burst into tears. “Oh, Jonquil,” she said pathetically. “I not know what to do!”

The tram hurtled them round a
corner
and deposited them outside the thirty-six acres of ground belonging to the Chion-in Temple.

“Very beautiful temple,” Mitchi Boko said, her eyes swimming with tears. “I show you whole place.”

She hurried through the gateway, her geta clat
tering
more than ever in her agitation. Jonquil thought how often she had been told that the Japanese never showed any emotion, and hurried after her, convinced that this must be a crisis indeed.

“Tell
me what’s the matter,” she pleaded. Please don’t upset yourself so!”

Mitchi Boko came to a sudden halt beside one o
f
the
fi
nest of the gateways in the temple compound.

“It is too bad to tell,” she said, wiping away her
tears with a childish movement that tore at Jonquil’s heart.

“It couldn’t be as bad as that,” she assured her. “
C
ome and sit down on that seat and tell me all about it.”

Obediently Mitchi Boko followed her over to the bench.

“Okay, I tell you,” she said. “I tell you because you like a sister to me.”

But even then there was a long silence before she began to speak.

CHAPTER
X

A
brown-garbed,
white-hatted mendicant Buddhist priest went slowly past the bench, holding out his begging bowl just in case they should see fit to offer him some alms. Mitchi Boko sniffed back her tears and tried to smile at him, while Jonquil searched in her bag for a few odd yen. She had a suspicion that he was not supposed to accept money, but he smiled when she placed it in his bowl and gave her a keen glance from his black eyes before he went on his way. They watched him disappear into one of the temple buildings and they both knew that the moment could not be put off any longer.

“So dreadful,” Mitchi Boko muttered. “I not know how to begin!”

With an impatient movement she stood up and glanced quickly round the temple grounds.

“Come,” she commanded. “I show you largest bell in all Japan.”

Jonquil followed her across the forecourt and through a number of rooms where she would have loved to linger and explore, until they came to the great bell, all seventy tons of it, impressively large and weighty to look at.

“In my family eleven children,” Mitchi Boko began at last. She began to warm to her theme, telling Jonquil of the incredible poverty that they had lived in. She was the eldest daughter and the most beautiful, and so she had found it easy to get a job at quite an early age, serving in one of the better restaurants in Tokyo. But she had become ambitious. She had saved her money with a care
born
of desperation and then she had
bought herself a little restaurant. It might have
b
een just another eating house in Tokyo, but she had been lucky
.
Her father had long known Mr. Matsui, and his wife had liked the little Boko and had shown her how to cook and serve American food in the American manner, and, during the Occupation, literally thousands of homesick Americans had poured into her restaurant to get
a taste of home.

“
I make great deal money,
”
Mitchi Boko said with satisfaction. “But family very expensive and Occupation not last for ever!”

The Americans had gone home. Hundreds still came to Japan, but they came as tourists and went to the
sukiyaki
and tempura restaurants rather than to Mitchi Boko.

She had tried to make her restaurant more attractive to them. She had been very active
in
the advertisement side of the business. She had even travelled to the United States to try to stir up enthusiasm there for all things Japanese.

“Was that when we met on the aeroplane
?” Jonquil
asked.

The Japanese girl nodded.

“Very successful trip. New York welcome with open arms, but now very little money for family
!”

“
So then what happened? Jonquil prompted

“I
met Keeving Edward—I mean Mr. Edward Keeving,” she went on in confused tones. You understand when I explain?
”

Jonquil said that she did.

“This bad part,” Boko said
in a
shamed voice. “He very
sharp
business man, want to take
over Tate ad Matsui.”

She went on to say
how Edward had come to her restaurant and how he had offered to pay her quite a substantial sum if she would
make
use
of
her connections to find out just what it was that Jason had discovered that had sent Harvey Buckmaster and his wife off to the States. He knew that it would be difficult for them to persuade the American government to make the alloy in Japan, and his own firm had subsidiary groups in many places including the United States and Great Britain. It would be a simple matter to get both these governments’ backing for himself, forcing Tate and Matsui out
o
f
business. He could then have bought them out very cheaply and could have used their formula at enormous profit to himself.

Jonquil stared up at the great bell with unseeing eyes. Edward! That Edward could have done such a thing! That he should have dared to befriend her when he was thinking of doing such a terrible thing to Jason! She felt a great anger slowly well up inside her and a bitter regret that even for one moment she should have accepted him as anything more than a doubtful acquaintance.

“What did you have to do?” she asked.

Mitchi Boko began to walk away from the bell.

“I had to listen. One hears much in eating house. I hear all about new alloy and write it down.”

“And then what did you do?” Jonquil asked.

The Japanese girl fell silent and she led the way quickly out into the open again, pausing every now and again to make sure that Jonquil was still with her.

“I saw you at Oeshiki Festival,” she said at last.

Jonquil took a deep breath.

“So you were there!” she exclaimed.

Mitchi Boko nodded unhappily.

“It was all arranged,” she said. “I was to put note in handle of mando and give to Mr. Keeving. But I sorry for bad plan
—
” She broke off, hiding her face in her hands. “I so ashamed,” she said again.

“Did you give it to Edward?” Jonquil coaxed her.

Mitchi Boko shook her head.

“I show you the nightingale corridor,” she said suddenly, in bright unnatural tones. “Great wonder in Japan. You astonished. And no wonder! Very lovely work, not found anywhere else.”

She set off at a great rate, never once looking at Jonquil, hurrying away from her own
thoughts and from the necessity of finishing the story she had begun.

When they got there, Jonquil had to admit that it was well worth the visit—an incredible floor, worked in wood, that sounded exactly like a nightingale when walked over, each step forcing the wood to emit a note.

Mitchi Boko insisted on walking backwards and forwards several times, her face full of smiles and delight.

“It is nice, no? Very clever, don’t you think?” Then her gaiety dropped from her and her face was serious again with an almost childish inconsistency. She stood stock
still in
the middle of the floor and began to weep again.

“I could not give to Mr. Keeving,” she sobbed. “Matsui-san my friend. Help my family, keeping them in paternal eye.”

“Come and sit down again,” Jonquil suggested. They walked slowly back again to their original bench, with Mitchi Boko dabbing at her tears with an impossibly feminine-looking handkerchief. Not even crying could take away from her beauty. The tears fell from her eyes, leaving them quite unmarked. Not for her were the agonies of aching, red eyes and the muffled explanations that one either has a cold coming or a splitting headache
,
which is probably only too true. After a few steps her smile peeped out again and it seemed she felt better again.

“
I gave mando to you,” she said softly. “I saw friend in crowd and told him to give to English lady—he not know you Australian—and he say yes.”

Mando, Jonquil remembered, was the name given to the lanterns the pilgrims had been carrying at the Oeshiki. She remembered how frightened she had been in that milling crowd and how that totally strange man had smilingly handed her his lantern.

“I left it in Jason’s car,” she said faintly.

Mitchi Boko opened her eyes until they were wide and accusing.

“You knew?” she said. “You knew about plan that you gave to Jason-san?”

Jonquil shook her head.

“He took me home from the Oeshiki,” she explained.

“I thought you burn mando,” Boko said accusingly. “Always bu
rn
mandos!”

“I’m afraid I didn’t know,” Jonquil said guiltily. “I got lost and Jason found me and took me home. We put it in the boot so that it wouldn’t get crushed, it was so pretty, and then I’m afraid that I forgot all about it. It’s probably still there!”

They looked at each other in consternation and with one accord made for the entrance to the temple grounds. It didn’t occur to either of them that if it had stayed safely there all this time, it would more than likely still be there after they had finished their sight-seeing. They hurried out into the street, ignoring the white-clad beggars, most of them ex-service men from the last war, and hailed the nearest taxi as it came towards them.

“Oh, dear,” Mitchi Boko groaned as it came to a halt beside them. “We should have found sixty yen type. This a hundred yen!”

But they scrambled in just the same, sitting on the edge of the back seat, as though by doing so they could urge the driver on to greater speed. It
was only a matter of a few moments before they drew up outside Jason’s house and alighted, paying the driver as they did so.

It was only then that they began to think more clearly. The first shock was when they found the garage doors had been left wide open and that Jason’s car was not in it. The second was when Nobuko came running out to greet them, telling them that Jonquil was wanted on the telephone.

She hurried inside, with Nobuko hard behind her, crying out:

“Please hurry. Lady say-very important!
”

She picked up the receiver and said hullo.

“Is that Jonquil? My dear, I’m so glad to get you! Did you know that Mitchi Boko was in Kyoto? I tried to find her all over Tokyo and it was only by accident that I learned she had gone. Are you there, dear?”