“The bee stings the weeping face,” they say in Japan, and Soichi proved the truth of the proverb. It was a queer little procession that formed at the house in Azalea Street to escort him to the railroad station whence the train was to bear him away to a soldier’s life. A dismal rain was sifting down from the sodden clouds that seemed to hang just above the housetops. But the banner that set forth his name and the fact of his service was borne none the less proudly by his old schoolmates, and the friend who carried the small bundle of his treasured belongings held his head none the less erect because he strode through muddy streets. Already the Dragon was beginning to roar, and his voice rang from end to end of the land. It was a last farewell these friends were taking of the young soldier, and they honored him and envied the glory he would win. There was nothing to say. In silence the little company walked along. But as they passed the dilapidated old house in Timber Street, where the plum tree stood bare and desolate in the corner of the yard, Soichi, daring a hasty glance, raised his eyes for an instant to the balcony under the gable end. Just for a moment he looked, but that was enough to set his heart a-thumping as it had not done for many a day. For in that instant he caught, at a parting of the shoji (paper windows), a glimpse of a beautiful face and the flash of eyes undimmed by tears, that sent him a message of cheer and hope and constancy. His heart was strangely light as he trudged along behind his banner, and though the rain fell never so hard it was a day of sunshine for him.
Then came the weary miles of railway and the army. In the car he met some others going up to join his regiment, and talk of peace and war beguiled the miles until at last the train pulled into Tokyo and in a few minutes Soichi was in barracks. The proverb of the bee and the weeping face came home to him when he was assigned to the company in which Kudo Kokan was a lieutenant, the old Kokan with the hot heart and ready insolence he knew so well.
“Shikata-ga-nai” (it can’t be helped), said Soichi, and set himself to do his work with all his heart, as becomes a member of the Guards.
Fortunately for him there was much to do and not much time which Lieutenant Kudo could devote to personal animosity.
“Ha, the Commoner!” he cried with fine scorn when he first saw Soichi.
The young soldier wondered what would come next, but it was drill hour, and Kokan had no chance for private spleen. He was hampered now by the service, and the near, sure approach of war. It would not have surprised Soichi to see the lieutenant swing his sword in execution of the revenge he doubted not had been cherished all the years since that day at school. But he did not comprehend fully as yet the restrictions that hedged Kokan, and that first taunt of “Commoner” gave no clew. It was strange, he thought, that the lieutenant had not said “Eta,” but the hours of “goose step” and drill that followed left him no time to think of other things. He had been adept at such work in his school, but now he found that the intervening years had cost him much in facility and precision, and it was hard work to be always ready for the sharp command, to make himself again the machine needed for perfection. When it was over and he got back to barracks, he was tired out, ready enough for his rice and fish, and after that for his blankets. When he thought again of Kokan’s taunt, there came to him also the recollection of his defense at the school and he understood. It had been passed over lightly then that he had accused Kokan of insulting the Emperor, but in the army it might not go so easily again. It would be indeed a serious charge for an officer to face. It made the boy smile as he recognized the new bridle on his lieutenant’s insolence.
He understood now, also, that there would be no attempt at actual violence. For himself he did not fear. Man to man, with equal arms, he was ready to meet Kokan at any time. He dreaded disgrace far more than death, and if Kokan should attack him the dishonor would affect also the lieutenant and all his family, and that meant that O-Mitsu would suffer. So he saw with deep relief the bearing of his officer, so different to what he had expected.
In scores of ways, however, the lieutenant found occasion to give Soichi a taste of his quality, and it was apparent that Kokan had been informed how matters stood at home. His first detail to guard duty brought Soichi a test. He had had time to canvass the whole situation and had reached his decision. He was a soldier of the Emperor and war was coming on. He would do his full duty always to the very utmost and no personal distraction or injury should deflect him. He would bear the injustice of Kokan without complaint, hoping only to win release by an honorable death in battle. But if the persecution became more than he could endure he would kill Kokan and himself.
From a course thus deliberately mapped out he was not the man to be easily turned, and so he was ready when Kokan came by, inspecting the posts, and greeted him with: