She ceased the argument that she had come to him in willing sacrifice of all else—the supreme gift of her love for him. She began to plead. He did not answer. His pipe struck against the brazier and now and again the maid brought sake. Once she began to weep hysterically but this surrender to her agony was only for a short moment.
It was now almost morning. The rapping of the pipe stopped. The man got to his feet somewhat noisily. Passionately and despairingly the woman begged him not to leave her. Then as suddenly she ceased all words and said nothing as he made his preparations for going, nor did she call after him when he left her. Her unbeating breast imprisoned her breath through one last moment of hope. The spark of faith died but the torture of life remained, and her breath was released in a long, low moan. Until morning broke she sobbed, lying there on the floor.
She had not pushed back the wall panel which the man had left open. When we went below to our baths she drew in her outstretched arm which still reached gropingly into the narrow passageway. She dressed before we returned. We met her on the stairs. She started to cover her face with her kimono sleeve, and then, listlessly, dropped her arm.
“Where will she go?” I asked Hori.
Hori did not know. In the old régime, he explained, when a woman of the aristocracy left her husband she went to her family, but it had been only under extreme duress that a woman would leave her husband. There is much talk to-day in Japan that the social institutions are crumbling. One is told that the “new woman” movement is a result of the crumbling of the old order; and again one is told that the crumbling has come from the new woman movement. These latter critics say that so many women are leaving their homes that if any proper discipline is to be retained and maintained, the tradition that a woman’s own family may receive her into their house must be uncompromisingly discouraged as a declaration of warning to others.
Hori, himself, now that the tragedy had ceased to be so present, was somewhat inclined to look upon the history of the night in its relation to collective society rather than as the drama of two individuals. A Japanese instinctively regards a family as a family, and not as a collection of units. Loyalty is the basic idea of that philosophy and not the importance of the individual soul.
“There is one thing quite sure,” he added, “she was obviously from a sheltered home and Japanese ladies know precious little about the realities of the outside world. I don’t believe you could understand. Why, they don’t even go shopping like American women. The shopkeepers bring everything to them. If she hasn’t some place to go—well, you can guess what will happen to her. She could never earn her own living any more than a baby.”
“It may end with suicide,” I suggested.
Hori doubted that. Suicide is an escape often appealed to in Japan, but he thought that if her temperament had been impulsively capable of seeking such release, she would have made the attempt immediately.
“But,” I objected, “isn’t your other alternative impossible? Isn’t there a rigid law that no woman of the samurai class can enter the yoshiwara?”