CHAPTER XXII
THE COMING HOME OF JUNZO
THOUGH samurai by birth, the Kamura family were of gentler nature than their stern ancestors, and so no feeling of anger or bitterness had been cherished against their son Junzo. His parents made their sad apologies to their guests, who hastily departed, cloaking their feelings behind their well-bred, stoic faces. Yamada Kwacho alone lingered to speak a word of gruff sympathy to the parents, and to offer what aid was in his power. When they insisted that their son was surely ill, Kwacho said at once he would go to Tokyo and personally seek the young man in the capital.
Meanwhile, the Kamura family kept a tireless, ceaseless watch for Junzo. Though days and weeks and then a month slipped slowly by, each member of the household took his place by day at a small lookout station to watch for any sight of ani-san (elder brother). By night a light turned to the east burned at the casement of Junzo’s chamber, while mother and father knelt at shoji doors, keeping the watch. Thus would they watch by day and night, so any hour he might come would find them waiting patiently.
Two months had passed since Junzo left Kamakura, when the belated word came from Tokyo. Yamada Kwacho had found the wandering Junzo.
No member of the Kamura family retired that night. Even the smallest child knelt by the shoji and watched for Junzo. A series of heavy rains had darkened the days and nights. The clinging fog of the Hayama hung heavily in the atmosphere.
Not a star or gleam of moon shone out to soften the blackness of the night sky. When the slothful morning crept in timid wonder over the hills, and pushed with soft, gray hands the night away, the watchers saw the fog was vanquished, and that the pale morning mist bespoke a brighter day to dawn.
When the first gleam of the long-looked-for sun came up the eastern slope, Junzo staggered down the hills of Kamakura toward his home. Those watching at the shoji saw him as he passed with down-bent head within the gate. Then the calm of caste and school broke down before the throb of parenthood. Father and mother hastened down the garden path to meet their son.
“The fog!” It was the mother who spoke in sobbing tones, as she fondled the hands of her eldest son. “You honorably did lose your way, Junzo.”
His restless eyes wandered from hers, and he pushed back, absently, the long black locks that tumbled on his brow.
“It was the fog that kept you, Junzo?” she urged.