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Updated: May 8, 2025
They walked together up a steep winding lane. The fresh air and the birch trees, the sight of real Alderney cows grazing on patches of real grass, the distant rumble of the cataract brought back to Geoffrey a feeling of strength and well-being to which he had for weeks been a stranger. If only the real Asako had been with him instead of this enigmatic and disquieting image of her!
The maid came in to close the shutters for the night. Where was Tanaka? He had gone out to a New Year party with relatives. Asako felt her loneliness all of a sudden; and she was grateful for the moral comfort of cousin Sadako's sword. She drew it from its sheath and examined the blade, and the fine work on the hilt, with care and alarm, like a man fingering a serpent.
They were standing on the balcony outside the apartment where Asako had first been received. "But where are the beds?" she asked. Sadako went to the end of the balcony, and threw open a big cupboard concealed in the outside of the house. It was full of layers of rugs, thick, dark and wadded. "These are the beds," smiled the Japanese cousin.
To Asako the rooms seemed all the same. Each gave the same impression of spotlessness and nudity. Each was stiffly rectangular like the honey squares fitted into a hive. Above all, there was nothing about any of them to indicate their individual use, or the character of the person to whom they were specially assigned. No dining-room, or drawing-room, or library.
They still preserved an inherited faith in the "wise woman" of the district, who from time to time was summoned to the capital to give her advice. Their other medical counselor was Professor Kashio, who held degrees from Munich and Vienna. During the first days of her self-chosen widowhood Asako was little better than a convalescent.
Strange little dishes were produced on trays of red lacquer, fish and vegetables of different kinds artistically arranged, but most unpalatable. A third nésan appeared. She could speak some English. Geoffrey assented. Renewed prostration before okusama, and murmured greetings in Japanese. "But I can't speak Japanese," said Asako laughing. This perplexed the girl, but her curiosity prompted her.
Ito had proposed that since a lady was the chief guest of honour, therefore all the Fujinami ladies ought to be invited to meet her. To Mr. Fujinami's strict conservative mind such an idea was anathema. What! Wives at a banquet! In a public restaurant! With geisha present! Absurd and disgusting! O tempora! O mores! Then, argued the lawyer, Asako must not be invited.
The one person who was never consulted, and who had not the remotest notion of what was going on, was Asako herself. Asako was most unhappy. The disappearance of Fujinami Takeshi exasperated the competition between herself and her cousin.
Asako was laughing and happy. She had enjoyed herself immensely as usual; and her innocence had realized little or nothing of the grim significance of what she had seen. But Geoffrey was gloomy and distrait. He had taken it much to heart. That night he had a horrible dream.
"Little Asa Chan," Count Saito said one day, beckoning his guest to sit down beside him in the sunlight on the terrace, "you will be happy to go back to England?" "Oh yes," said the girl. "It is a fine country, a noble country; and you will be happy to see your husband again?" Asako blushed and held down her head. "I don't think he is still my husband," she said, "but oh! I do want to see him so."
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