Clinging to each other’s hands and almost tripping over each other’s heels, the three girls fluttered homeward down the hill, leaving Azalea sitting alone, looking moodily and reflectively at the choir boys, now counting their money. She knew that they, like her, were orphans. Unlike her, they had not an uncharitable roof, called by her ungracious step-parent a home for her. Shelter beneath it was only grudgingly accorded, because Azalea’s step-mother was vain and feared the criticism of neighbors and the wrath of the gods should she turn Azalea out. As it was, the young girl was only half fed and her clothes were those half-worn ones thrown to her by arrogant and fortunate step-sisters, yet the girl’s nimble fingers made those same threadbare garments objects of attractiveness, which set off her own appealing beauty. But she was seventeen, unmarried and unhappy. Something must be done soon, or she would become the bride of the river. Her step-mother’s scoldings grew with the girl’s increasing beauty and grace. She did not know this was the cause, only she knew life was becoming unbearable.
The choir boys had already shuffled a portion of the way down the hill slope, when she sprang to her feet and ran after them.
“Gonji!” she called one of them by name. “Wait just a moment.”
They stopped and she overtook them. She was breathless when she reached them.
“Is it because you are beggars,” she said, “that this priest favors you?”
Gonji nodded.
“I,” said Azalea, spreading out her little hands, “am also a beggar.”
They laughed at her. Only the homeless were beggars in their eyes. In addition, members of her sex were received among them only when they had reached the old witch age. The country knew many old women beggars, who drifted, whining, upon their staffs from town to town. Often they were blind and clung to the rope about the neck of a tailless cat, which led them. Who ever heard of a maiden beggar? So Azalea’s statement was received in laughter.
“How much did the minister give?” she demanded, ignoring their jeers.
“Five—ten—maybe one hundred sen,” glibly lied Gonji.