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Updated: June 26, 2025
There was the secret wound that was ever sore and bleeding. There was no son to perpetuate the name. His most vital hope was dead, his greatest desire crushed, and by a creature out of the West, who not only stole his daughter but fathered this girl whom no true Japanese would want as a wife. To a man of Kishimoto San's traditions the hurt was deep and cruel.
To at least two of them, Zura was a strange being not of their kind and with whom they had nothing to do. But the look in Kishimoto San's eyes made me shrink for the fate of the girl. Laying my hand upon her arm I asked, "Oh, Zura, why did you do it? Aren't your feet burned?" "Burned! Nonsense! They are not even overheated. I used some of their spirit powder, which is plain salt.
There is not in every-day life that sharp distinction between these religions which the native or foreign scholar makes, and which both history and philosophy demand shall be made for the student at least. Or, as a native scholar, Nobuta Kishimoto, expresses it,
Knowing him as I did, I thought it must indeed be a free, wild spirit to meet the blow of Kishimoto San's will and not be crushed by the impact. My interest in the girl increased in proportion to his vehemence. I ventured to ask for details. They came in a torrent. "It is not our custom for young girls to go on the street unattended. I forbade her going.
Then equal in length and formality followed the ceremony of being introduced to Kishimoto San's mother and widowed daughter, Mrs. Wingate. The mother, old and withered, was made strong by her power as mother-in-law and her faith in her country and her gods. The daughter was weak and negative by reason of no particular faith and no definite gods.
For the first time since I had known him Kishimoto San, with genuine humility, appealed for help. "Madam, my granddaughter is like new machineries. The complexities of her conduct causes my mind to suffer confusion of many strange thought. Condescend to extend to me the help of your great knowledge relating to girls reared with your flag of freedom."
It seemed incredible that keen intelligence and silly superstition could be such close neighbors in the same brain, for I knew Kishimoto San to be an honest man. He not only lived what he believed, he insisted on others believing all that he lived.
I walked with her to the gate and watched her go down the long flight of steps. Everything about her, from the poise of her head to the swing of her body, courted conflict and prophesied disaster. I felt as if I had snatched a bag of candy from a hungry child. A week later Kishimoto San came to make the call customary on occasions when any kindness had been done to him or his family.
What's the use of poking up a tiger when he's quiet?" I persuaded. She evaded by saying at last: "Well, some time maybe. I have too much on my mind now." "What, Zura?" "Oh, my future and a few other things." Kishimoto San had never honored me with a visit since his granddaughter had been an inmate of my house.
On a certain afternoon I had gone to meet with a committee to discuss a question pertaining to a school regulation, by which the girl students of the city schools would be granted liberty in dress and conduct more equal with the boys. Of course Kishimoto San stood firm against so radical a measure. Another member of the committee asked him if he did not believe in progress.
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