Madame Muraki in her soft voice spoke a few words I-wan could not understand. Bunji translated, “My mother says, ‘Wait until afterwards. She will come in again.’ Her name is Tama.”
But she did not come again. Bunji laughed again when a maid brought in the next course of fish.
“Tama knew we would tell you who she was, so she doesn’t come in again.”
They laughed together then, and I-wan suddenly felt at peace. He would stop thinking. There was nothing to remember. The air in this house was clean and pure, and the light poured in everywhere, and the unpainted polished woods gave off that delicacy of fragrance in every room. It was all open and clean and everybody laughed easily as though they were untroubled.
“Can you eat our poor food?” Madame Muraki asked him.
“I like everything,” I-wan said. Then he blushed because he had spoken, perhaps, too warmly.
“Hah,” Mr. Muraki said, “that is the way the young should feel.”
Mr. and Mrs. Muraki smiled again gently and he felt himself liked. It was pleasant.
And though there was little talk, no one felt ill at ease. It was as if each person knew exactly what he should do and did it. The meal proceeded to its end of bowls of rice, dipped from a lacquered container, and then tea, and after that Madame Muraki folded herself into a bow like a butterfly closing its wings, and went away. As though he were prepared for it, Bunji looked toward his father, and Mr. Muraki said to I-wan, “Your father has written me that he wishes you to learn our business. If you like, I have planned this for you — that you spend half your time at the business. In the morning you will have a place beside Bunji. Bunji will help you. In the afternoon you may study or play.”
“I am grateful,” I-wan replied. Yes, he was very glad to have his life taken out of his own hands and planned for him, hour by hour. That was the way he wished to live now.
Mr. Muraki rose. “Then it is arranged,” he said. “If you are not happy you will tell me.” It was half question, half command, but wholly kind.
I-wan said, “But I am sure I shall be happy, sir.”
“I like all my house to be happy,” Mr. Muraki murmured. He went toward the garden, hesitated, and then he murmured again, “Those irises — they should be trimmed. They are excessive.” He stepped down upon the moss and turned the corner and was gone.
“Now,” Bunji said, his eyes shining with mischief, “Tama will come in. How shall you behave to her, I-wan? As a mobo — that is, a modern boy — or as an old-fashioned young man?”
I-wan felt half alarmed and half shy.
“What will she like?” he asked. But he could not somehow feel excited about this young girl. She had not even lifted her head when she came in.
“No, I won’t tell you,” Bunji replied. “You shall judge for yourself. Only let us be talking.”
They were silent a moment, and then Bunji exploded again into laughter.
“What shall we talk about?” he asked.
“I can’t think,” I-wan replied, unable, too, to keep from laughing at Bunji.
“Oh, how silly we are!” Bunji said, wiping his eyes. “Now, let us be dignified.”
“Will she like that?” I-wan asked. His heart was dancing, too, with the nonsense. He had not felt so pleasantly foolish since he and Peony used to tease each other long before he had ever heard the name of revolution.
“Hush,” Bunji replied. “I hear her.” He raised his voice a little and sobered his face. “The question of foreign exchange,” he began, “is in itself extremely serious. You see how it is. When we accept a large wholesale order, say from the United States, we must insure ourselves against a drop in the exchange which might nullify all profit.”
The screen slid and Tama was there, hesitating. I-wan looked up. He saw a girl in a rose-colored kimono, her feet in Japanese shoes and spotless white stockings. Around her waist was a gold brocade sash. But her hair was not done in the shining oiled Japanese pompadour. It was drawn back smoothly from her round and pink-cheeked face, and it was not oiled at all. It lay soft and straight about her head and was fastened into a knot at the neck. She bowed a crumpled butterfly bow exactly as her mother had done. Madame Muraki’s head always drooped, but after she had bowed Tama stood upright.
Then she said in English, “Bunji, please?”
“This is my sister, Tama,” Bunji said, his eyes dancing. “And this, Tama, is I-wan.”
I-wan stood up to bow. But Tama came forward, her hand outstretched.
“We shake hands, yes?” she said in a soft rushing impulsive voice. “Bunji told me you were a mobo — yes? I also like to be new, though my father does not wish it. I attend the University of Kyushu.”
He took her small firm hand in his and shook it and let it fall quickly. She did not seem shy now. But he was shy. He did not look at her face as she seated herself beside the table gracefully and felt the teapot.
“Now we will have some hot tea together,” she said cosily. “What were you saying, Bunji? I never heard you talk about exchange before!”
They all laughed again.
“You see how she is,” Bunji said to I-wan. “Only you must understand she is two girls, Tama is. Before our parents she is very proper and so shy—”
“Bunji!” she murmured. “You mustn’t—”
“And the other Tama,” Bunji said remorselessly, “is a moga, bold and brazen, liking to talk to young men at the university—”
“I’m not — I do not!” she cried. “Don’t believe him!”
“I shall believe only what you tell me yourself,” I-wan said, “no one else!”
He was charmed by this gaiety and by this pretty girl, at once blushing and natural, and for the moment he forgot everything else. He had never sat in a room like this with a young girl — except Peony, who was only a bondmaid.
“I am so lucky,” he blurted out. “I feel myself very lucky to have come to your home. I can’t tell you how unhappy I was — I thought nothing could be any good. Just this morning I thought that. And now just being in this house has made me feel happier.”
They listened with an air of delicate understanding. Tama sighed.
“I know — sometimes I also — I am quite overcome with melancholy. But not for long.”
“I should think no one could be melancholy here,” I-wan said.
He saw the other two look at each other in a common thought. Bunji answered him, his face more thoughtful than I-wan had yet seen it.
“In this house,” he said, “it is true — we are very fortunate. Don’t you think we are, Tama?”
Tama nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. Then she added, “But I think women are never so fortunate in any house as men are.”
“You are far more fortunate than most,” Bunji replied. “You are lucky to be the only daughter. You are a petted child, Tama.”
“That is why I am melancholy,” Tama said, sighing.
No one spoke for a second. Some sort of shadow, indeed, seemed to gather like a faint mist out of the air about them, something which they knew but did not tell I-wan. Then Bunji said abruptly, “I suppose, Tama, we ought to go. Akio is expecting me at the office. And I have been away all morning. Akio is my second brother,” he said, turning to I-wan.
“Ah — yes,” Tama agreed. She rose in quick acquiescence.
“There will be plenty of time for talk, because I-wan is going to live here,” Bunji went on.
“And I–I have so many questions to ask you about your great country,” Tama said to I-wan. A sort of pretty formality had fallen upon her. “We owe everything to your country, we Japanese.”
I-wan did not answer. He thought, “I don’t want to talk about my country,” but he did not say it. The shadow was palpable now. Laughter was gone. They were very formal.