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Updated: June 27, 2025
To me she was like some wild, free bird, caught in a net, old, but very strong, for its meshes were made from a relentless law. I made my adieu with what grace I could and left. On my way home I met Kishimoto San. Omitting details, I told him Zura declined to come to my house for lessons. "So! My granddaughter announced she will not? I shall give her a command to obey."
Some of her strong sweetness, penetrating what seemed the crusty exterior of my heart, entered in to abide with me always. When Zura appeared the following morning no reference was made to the events of the night before. She was pale and coldly courteous.
My! but it is good to see somebody from home." There was ushered into the room a well nourished looking chap, who greeted Zura by her first name familiarly. I did not need to be told that he was the young man with whom she had been seen on the highway. He was introduced to me as Mr. Tom Chalmers; I was told he had earned his nickname, "Pinkey," by contracting the pink-shirt habit.
I could always count upon it that, whatever place Zura chose, from there one could obtain the most splendid view of vast stretches of sea, the curve of a temple roof, a crooked pine, or a mass of blossom. She was as irresistibly drawn to the beautiful as love is to youth. Her passion for the lovely scenery of Japan amounted almost to worship. I had never been a model for anything.
Seeing I had none to make, she said, "Well, there aren't any boys for Zura to play with, and no tolu this side of San Francisco." Then, brightening with sudden inspiration, she exclaimed, "But I tell you what: wait till I take this basket down to Omoto's home and I'll run right back and make some bear and tiger cookies and gingerbread Johnnies. Children adore them."
I remembered hearing Jane say that the styles now change there every two or three years. My new skirt, I've had only five years, has seven pleats and as many more gores. Zura Wingate advanced to my lowly seat on the floor and listlessly put out one hand to greet me. The other she held behind her. It had been years since I had shaken hands with any one.
The picture of Zura Wingate, whose early training had been free and unrestrained, being brought to order by a Japanese mother-in-law was almost too much for my gravity. It would be like a big black beetle ordering the life of a butterfly. Not without a struggle the conservative grandfather acknowledged that his system had failed.
Further than that he would not go, "for his memory had long ears and he could never forget." It was a painful hour which I did not care to repeat. I acquainted Zura with her grandfather's decision. Her only comment was, "His memory has long ears, has it? So has mine, and they'll grow longer, for I have longer to live."
I guess the difference in Jane's sentiment and mine is the same as between a soft-shell crab and a hard-shell one. The next two days passed happily, if a little giddily, and Jane and I commanded every resource to entertain our guest. Zura saw and responded like a watch-spring suddenly released. She found in two simple old women perfect subjects on which to vent her long-suppressed spirits.
In the daughters of Japan lies a hidden quality ever dormant unless aroused by a rough shake from the hand of necessity; it is the power to respond calmly and skilfully to emergencies. In this, as never before, Zura Wingate declared her Oriental heritage. I returned and found her a woman, white lipped and tense, but full of quiet command.
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