Jiji fingered the soft folds of the kimono nervously. "Not now," he said. "I have to go now."
"What, on our night?" cried Okimi. "It is well," she added bravely. "Thou wilt return after a little—be still, little brown one, I will not hurt thee—and we will eat then. Mama San gave me a beautiful chicken for us. She is very good to me."
Jiji grew still more nervous. "Okimi ca," he said at last, "I—well, the Regiment sails to-morrow."
"Sails?" Okimi repeated dully, sliding to the floor.
"To America," Jiji explained. "The Regiment is ordered home, and I must go with it. I am a soldier."
"Oh," said Okimi. Her face, as she huddled there on the floor, was hidden under the gay pink lining of her sleeve. "America? Is it—is it far to America?"
"Very far," he answered.
"Oh," said Okimi. The monkey tugged at her sleeve, and she raised her head a little. "It does not matter," she said sturdily. "Very soon now I shall have bought myself from Mama San. I shall be free, and I will come to thee. I will go anywhere for thee, so it does not matter—much. Put on thy kimono."
Jiji's nails were cutting into his palms and he did not know it. "Thou canst not come, Okimi. In America I—I—" there are some things it's hard to say, even to a broken plaything. "I am married in America."
"Oh," said Okimi. She gave the monkey a little push and he went scuttling under the bed, with shrill cries of alarm. "But, oh, my beloved, let me come to thee! I will be her servant. Let me but come. She will not care. In Nippon are many who live so."