Round the Wonderful World

by G. E. Mitton

Yosoji, of course, does all the talking, and with a great deal of bowing and volumes of flowing language, arranges for us to stay here the night, requesting us to pass on into the house. In the porch it is evidently expected that we should take off our boots, so we do, and they are stowed away in a little pigeon-hole, while we are offered instead large and awkward pairs of slippers like those we had at the mosques. You reject them, preferring stocking feet, and you have the best of me, for the next move is to go up a very slippery ascent like a ladder that is trying to grow into a staircase. While you hop along gaily I leave one slipper behind on the last rung, and in trying to recover it slip and bark my shin! However, when it is retrieved, I take off the other and, carrying them both in my hand, mount quite easily.

FUJIYAMA.

The room we go into is specklessly clean, and through the wide sliding panels, which are open on to the verandah, we see a glimpse of the blue sea. The floor is made of mattresses in wooden frames neatly fitted together, and is quite soft and comfortable to the feet; boots with heels would certainly be out of place here. In a little alcove on one side is a miniature tree such as those you sometimes see offered for sale in England now, and behind it a quite beautiful sketch of Fujiyama on a scroll. There is no other furniture at all, but when our luggage is brought up we can sit on the baskets. We explain to Yosoji that we would greatly like—first, a hot bath, after the heat and dust of the journey, and next some food. Presently in comes the little Japanese maid whom we saw on her face at the door in company with her master and mistress. She prostrates herself at once, and with her forehead against the floor says something, indrawing her breath in a most accomplished hiss. Do you think we ought to do it back again?

IN COMES THE LITTLE MAID.

Yosoji interprets that with great good luck the hot water is ready, and if we go down now we can have a bath. Our things have been brought up, so selecting a few clean garments we go once more along the polished passage and down that dangerous ladder, then through a room, presumably the kitchen, which is quite full of people, on to a covered-in verandah on one side of the house, where two large shining brass basins stand on a sink, and an iron tub stands on the floor, with its own fire beneath it like a copper; clouds of steam arise from it. But what catches our attention most quickly is an amiable Japanese man, who, clad in a very slight garment, has evidently just had a bath. We can see he has been pouring the contents of the basins over himself, and letting the water run away between the wooden slats of the floor, so we wait for them to be refilled for us. All the people who were in the kitchen have by this time drifted in here, and stand in interested contemplation of our proceedings. "Which is the bath?" I ask Yosoji. He motions toward the tub of boiling water. "But that's too hot; we shall be boiled sitting on the top of a fire," I explain. Thereupon a great commotion ensues, embers are raked out, and there is much running about and chattering. The Japs themselves take their baths at a temperature which would peel the skin off our bodies. As the water is still too hot, even when the fire has been removed, we wait for it to cool, and meantime I ask where is the other bath, as there are two of us? This produces great consternation in Yosoji; who ever heard of each person having a bath to himself? The notion is absurd. He knows the ridiculous prejudice of the English, who do not like to use the same water as the Japanese, but, as it happens, this water is perfectly clean, for even the gentleman who has just gone out did not use it. Is it possible we can't use it, one after the other? I ask him what state the water gets into when half a dozen people have been boiled in it, one after another, and he tells me that it is in no state at all, for, of course, etiquette does not allow them to use soap actually in the bath! Well, we must manage somehow; when they clear out we can tip some of the hot water into that second basin and use it afterwards. Meantime they all stand, gaily expectant, smiling affably. I explain to Yosoji that we can't undress before the crowd, and he seems to think my ideas most extraordinary. In Japan people always bathe in a garment and have not the least objection to doing it in full view of the street.

With considerable difficulty our absurd scruples are made clear to the assembled company, who reluctantly depart, defrauded of their fun, and draw close the sliding screen.

Then—yah—it is hot! We manage to tip out two good basins full and fill up with cold water from a tin pail which stands near. Well, we both find it very refreshing. You go first, and while I am revelling in the hot water I hear a dismayed exclamation, "Oh, the towels!" and see you holding up a tiny thing no bigger than a table-napkin, embroidered in a wandering blue pattern. There are two for each, and though they are little more than pocket-handkerchiefs we must make them do.

When we get back to our rooms in a more or less steamy condition, we find that the screens, which are made of paper framed in wood, have been drawn, and outside them wooden shutters have been fastened. The room is very close, and there isn't an inch open for ventilation. After a long expostulation with Yosoji we are allowed to have the outer shutters open an inch or two, though he explains they must be shut and bolted before we go to bed at night or the police will be down upon us. There are two loose, flowing Jap gowns lying ready for our use, and very delightful they are. As they are quite clean we slip into them instead of coats and laugh across at each other. In comes the little maid, once more prostrating herself, then she goes out and returns with a lacquered tray on tiny legs a few inches high. This she sets on the floor, and after a considerable interval, during which she has brought up many tiny dishes and bowls, she suddenly seats herself on one side of the tray and motions to us to begin.