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Someone Will Conquer Them
Overview
Mary Ogata, the American wife of a Japanese scientist, finds herself under house arrest in a mountain village during the Second World War with her steadfast and stubborn servant Suzuki. Enduring suffering at the hands of the sadistic Captain Tanaka who is tormented by desire for the woman he hates, Mary's miserable existence is suddenly disrupted when she helps to conceal a wounded American airman in her cottage.
Chapter 1
Asama Yama lorded it over
the village. He was a vulgar old mountain, suffering
continuously from stomach disorders and a hole in the head.
Usually, a wisp of grey smoke drifted from his lacerated topknot, but at times, rumbling and grumbling, he would give a thunderous roar, vomit crimson fire skyward, shower the surrounding countryside with fine ashes, and fill the people's nostrils with the harsh stink of sulphur.
When this happened at night-time, the foreign people who were living in the village that crouched at the volcano's foot leapt from their sleep-mats and beds in terror, thinking that they were at last the target of American bombing planes, those gigantic silver sharks so often seen swimming through the sky, on their ways to attack, mutilate and destroy other villages, towns and cities in Japan.
Before the war, the village near Asama Yama had been a summer resort for wealthy Japanese and for foreign residents of Japan; but, in 1944, it had become an eerie place, where the cream and dregs of many lands and nationalities huddled in overcrowded villas
Diplomats and international adventurers, business men and their families, people from all walks of life, stood in the queues for meagre food rations. They were a polyglot crowd, distrustful of each other, awed by the despotic village police, and intimidated by war's most potent weapon - starvation.
They had fled from the terror of Japan's bombed cities, and many were refugees here who had been refugees before, to escape persecution and death in their home lands.
Others, for varied reasons, had come to settle in, or visit Japan before the war. Belonging to neutral countries, they were not interned, but left to fend for themselves. As the war years dragged by they felt that being interned would have simplified their lives.
The village had at first appeared to them as a safe haven, but just as the soft air of summer and the stark beauty of winter became a mockery, throwing misery into greater relief, so did the village become a prison. Once they were registered as residents there, a special pass to travel had to be obtained. War-torn, starving Japan had little time and thought for these foreign liabilities in her midst, during this, surely the most savage war in the history of mankind.
A rough track led from the village into the wooded hills. At a turn in the track a grey boulder protruded. From here, the entire village could be viewed. Further up, isolated in a hollow and surrounded by pinewoods, was a fragile Japanese house. This was the wartime refuge and home of Mary, the American wife of Goro Ogata, a Japanese.
A kindly man, her husband was twelve years older than Mary. During a stay in San Francisco, Goro had been offered the opportunity of working as assistant to her father, a brilliant biochemist.
With interest and pleasure he had moved into the home of the
American man, and it had embarrassed him when he saw that the daughter of the house was also the servant, overworked, unpaid and ill-treated.
He could not help noticing that some mornings Mary's hands were swollen, at times even bleeding, from beatings inflicted by her father. Her eyes were filled with shame, because of the sympathy that she saw in his eyes. As she served his morning meal he would talk to her, attempt to interest and amuse her. This was not difficult, and her fleeting smiles delighted him.
When he knew her better, he asked why her father treated her so cruelly. She told him that it was because of her mother's death. 'My mother died at my birth. My father loved her, and he hates me because I caused his tragedy.'
'Your father should have taken another wife,' Goro had said philosophically. 'It was his duty to give you a new mother. Sorrow should be aired in the open - never kept in the
He spoke of Japan, of the beauty, ancient customs and remarkable family unity in his homeland. When it was time for him to return there, and he saw the loneliness, the bereft expression on the girl's face, he had blurted out, almost without thought - which was unusual, for he was a thoughtful man - 'Come with me, marry me, Mary! Leave this life you are living. I promise you at least something better ...'
He had expected opposition from her father, and had again been shocked and puzzled
when the older man had said, 'So you wish to marry my daughter - when?' If Mary's father had not objected to his daughter marrying an Oriental, Goro's conventional Japanese parents had been infuriated and horrified by the marriage of their only son to a blue-eyed Occidental, and they had shown their dislike plainly.
A few months after Goro and Mary arrived in Japan, the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor had occurred. Instead of the better life she had been promised, Mary was once more under parental disfavour.
Goro had taken her into his parents' household to live, in Japanese style. No one treated her cruelly - unless coldness and dislike is cruelty. She had learned to speak Japanese, but had no interest in learning their ways, especially after the order that Goro's mother, the mistress of the house, had given her, 'Please do nothing! I do not need your
For more than a year, Goro, knowing that he had made a fatal mistake, did all in his power to make his American wife's life as pleasant as possible, under the difficult domestic and even more difficult wartime conditions. Eventually he had lost interest and openly agreed with his parents that he had done a foolish thing
When the Ogata home was burnt to the ground during an airraid, it was decided that this was the chance to rid themselves of the embarrassing enemy-American member of the family. They decided to send her to the foreign village near Asama Yama.
Goro had engaged as companion for Mary an English-speaking servant, Suzuki San, who had spent more than fifty of her seventy years working for British and American families in Tokyo. He had explained the situation to her; she understood perfectly and had no scruples against working for an American, war or no war.
Together, the old woman and the twenty-two-year-old girl had travelled to the mountain village, carrying with them a few personal possessions that had been salvaged from the fire. As the unbearably crowded train covered mile after mile, Suzuki was amazed and delighted to see the change that took place in her young mistress. 'She's pretty,' the old woman had at first decided, 'but, maa! she's a dull one.' The trip, to Mary, seemed a journey to freedom. This, she felt sure, was the real beginning of her life. At least she was on her own, free of her father, her parents-in-law, and yes - Goro.
When they had eventually reached their destination, Suzuki's opinion was: 'She's pretty, and maa! she's a gay bright girl.
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Chapter 2
On the afternoon of the very first day of their arrival, Mary said enthusiastically, 'Suzuki San, I'm going to the village. Can I shop, do something for you?'
'Shop? Do something? No shops open in village. Same here as in Tokyo - in all Japan, no shops, only hi-kyu - rations!
'Oh! Well I'm going all the same.'
'O.K. I fix everything here. Poor little house, but I fix. Take care. I hear people in village
most cold - not friendly.
'To Japanese people, maybe, but not to me. Suzuki San, can you imagine how good it is
for me to be among my own people again? I don't mean Americans, I mean ...'
'You mean you very tired of Japanese.' Suzuki nodded her head wisely. 'That's as life is.
For such as you, Mary Sama, kimono-marriage is very bad.'
'Kimono-marriage? Oh! I see what you mean.'
'Certainly! Why not, my English is fine, so why not understand? I hear that in the village are many foreign women married to Japanese. I hear, most of them most glad, pleased with such marriage - having pretty, cute children. I hear that in the village are many people, Deutsch, Italia, France, people from everywhere. This village is like a pan of stew, not delicious stew, bad mixture. Nobody like nobody. Everybody not trusting nobody. I hear that in village Japanese police are watching, liking to catch, to punish. I hear that in village, many people are hungry and sick. I hear that in village...'
'Just a minute, Suzuki San, where did you hear all this?'
'In village.'
'But when?'
'This morning.'
'But you were there for less than an hour!'
Suzuki smiled proudly. 'So! For me an hour is enough to know everything there. Mary
Sama, please take care in village.
'Don't worry about me. I'll take care.
Eager to find friends, Mary had walked down the hillside path gaily, expectantly, but none of the people she saw in the village noticed her; and the shops, as Suzuki San had warned her, were closed.
She wandered into the side lanes, past villas, their architecture sometimes pleasing, sometimes comical, but no one called to her in a friendly manner. The people she saw seemed worried, preoccupied with their own thoughts.
Despondently she returned to the main street, and there a down-at-heel man fell into step with her. 'Are you not German, lady?' he inquired, ingratiatingly. He spoke at first in German, then repeated the question in English.
'No, I'm an American,' she replied nervously.
'I am German.'
Whatever this man was, she did not like him, or his oily guttural voice.
'You have not been here, in the village, very long, lady, yes?'
'I arrived today.'
'Then perhaps you will like what I have to sell? I am right - yes?'
'To sell? I don't know - what do you sell?'
'Food, I sell food - price a little high maybe, but you would like some sugar, no?' Sugar! So long since she had tasted anything sweet - more than a year. 'Sugar, yes, I
would like to have some, and I don't mind how high the price.'
'You don't mind the price! I have other goods as well. Honey, cigarettes. Come to my
room, I show you, you will come. Yes?'
The feeling that all this had happened before, and that it led to danger, was strong, but she stubbornly ignored the warning, and went on to the man's room that smelt of mouldering food, unwashed clothing.
From beneath an unpleasant-looking bed, a bag of sugar was produced. The price named was outrageous and she surely would never eat food stored amidst such filth.
"You have money on you, lady? I sell only for cash.'
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'I have money.' Give him any price he asked, just get away quickly from this place, this
repulsive man. 'I must go...'
'Not yet. Something else, perhaps? Cigarettes? Look, a length of English cloth - make
a good, very good top-coat..'
'No, nothing else, just the sugar. I must go..' Opening the rickety door, she walked into the arms of a Japanese policeman, who proudly escorted her along the darkening road, hustled her into the police station, imprisoned her there for buying food on the black-market. Black-market! That serious crime.
During the night, she heard Suzuki arguing with the policeman. Then, silence. In the morning the proud little policeman ordered excitedly, 'Captain Tanaka waits to see you.' He marched her to the main office and there was Captain Tanaka, Number One police officer of the village, looking at her, walking up to and around her, full of interest. He pointed to the bag of sugar that she still so foolishly held.
'Sugar, it is only sugar,' she stammered.
Captain Tanaka took the bag and emptied its contents on the floor. The heap of white
crystals was a tiny replica of the snow-frosted volcano that towered over the village.
'You like sugar?' he smiled.
'Yes, yes, I do.'
'Then please eat it.' Still smiling he went to his desk, and became engrossed in his
work.
Did he mean her to eat it now? All of it? He couldn't mean that. She began to scoop the crystals back into the bag.
'What are you doing?' asked Captain Tanaka, staring at her with unbelief.
'Do you mean that I must eat it all - now?'
'So! All! Now!'
'But..' she hesitated.
He stared unblinkingly, and apprehension thudded, like an unexploded bomb, in her
heart.
For a timeless period they stared into each other's eyes. Eventually he squatted beside her, forcibly filled her hand with sugar, raised it to her mouth, his other hand on the soft nape of her neck.
She struggled; he was delighted; a shiver of - was it ecstasy? - ran through his body.
Her teeth sank into his hand now pressed against her mouth - and she knew that he liked being bitten by her. Sugar gritted against her teeth, his blood mixed with it.
She was taken back to her cell, trembling and terrified.
For three days the battle continued. Captain Tanaka seemed to have little to do but sign papers and deal with her. On the fourth day, the round-faced policeman swept the now dirty sugar into a dustpan, and carried it away.
The fifth day, she stood to attention, her back against the wall in Tanaka's office. A stream of people came and went, bringing papers to be stamped. She gazed pleadingly at each newcomer, but the men and women having their papers put in order had problems of their own. No one dared to get into the bad graces of the much feared police.
The final paper was stamped, Captain Tanaka cleared his throat, and spat into a neat piece of tissue paper, which he deposited fastidiously in the wicker trash basket. For a long time he stared silently at the wall before him, then, going to a covered table, whipped the cloth off it.
The table was set with knife, fork and spoon, snowy napkin, and yes - a plate of dirty grey sugar.
'I will never eat it,' she whispered, and it was then that she began to fathom the depth of the strange and unhealthy emotions she aroused in the man. His hands were restless, as though obsessed with desire to touch her. He looked ill, quite mad, and suddenly he placed a finger on the pulse that beat so wildly in her throat.
Footsteps sounded, the door opened, letting in a blast of cold wind - and Ludi Hoffer
swaggered into the room.
His dark eyes expressed no amazement at the sight of a Japanese policeman holding a
fair girl by the throat. Dumping his heavy rucksack down, he walked to the desk.
'Hah! Hoffer, you again?' Captain Tanaka spoke with furious bravado.
'That's right, me again,' Ludi said with a grin of self-confidence, and, as Tanaka attended to his papers, he winked wickedly at Mary. For no reason that she could comprehend, her hopes rose.
Tanaka ordered her to be taken back to her cell. Next day, he escorted her to the little house on the hilltop, where Suzuki San was waiting for her. 'You must not leave this house,' Tanaka ordered. 'If you go down to the village, you will be immediately arrested. I shall visit you here. I do not trust you.'
Daily, for more than a year, Mary had watched, through the torn paper window of her cottage prison, the comings and goings on the hillside track of Captain Tanaka; fearing
and hating him with every nerve in her body.
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Chapter 3
Ludi Hoffer liked living in the mountain village; for it was both clean and beautiful.
Shanghai, the city in which he had spent his past thirty years of life, was neither.
There were many things he liked about Japan; also some that puzzled, and yes - angered him. It was puzzling the way objects close by appeared so very far off. Asama Yama, for instance, looked close enough to touch; but, in reality, it was thirteen miles
His introduction to Japan had been a view from the sea of the glistening slopes of Fuji-Yama. It was said that within that mountain lived a 'Spirit Lady' who made the trees, shrubs and garden plants of Japan blossom.
Beautiful! But he admired Asama, even more.
The people of Japan were like the two mountains. Some possessed a dignity, an artistry, greatly to be admired. Was there, in the world, a finer example of human appreciation of nature, beauty, than in the proverbial poem of the humble water-carrier, who refused to break the spell of the morning glory blooming on the rope of his well, and went instead to beg water from a neighbour?
On the other hand, there were people in Japan who had no scruples about 'breaking' things - even people. It was difficult to believe they were of the same race.
Over the entire nation, like a pall, was the ingrained belief that fate was all-powerful.
Shigatakanai! It can't be helped! One heard it repeatedly. Ludi ignored this, for he knew that most things could be given a shove, changed quite a bit.
Having no country of his own, he couldn't understand the sacrificial, and, to his way of thinking, ignorant Japanese patriotism. It seemed foolish to him - as foolish as it was wonderful to the Japanese - to see a young pilot jump to his death from a burning plane, over his own country, from an aircraft that possibly could make a safe landing. He had seen that happen right over Tokyo city. Japanese onlookers had wept proudly, applauded, but it angered and upset Ludi. He didn't like not understanding things, and he didn't like
He admired the industry of the people, envied the unity of their family life. Some of these paradoxical people admired his fluency in speaking their language; others were quite annoyed, preferring to think their language was not easy to pick up.
Peacetime Japan, he knew, had been a land of airy uncluttered houses, happy, cared-for, children. Silken kimonos, stiff brocaded obi-sash; countless lovely things. Someone had once said: 'If you want heaven on earth, get yourself a Japanese wife, a Chinese cook, and live in an American house.
True for some men, perhaps, but he had lived in the Orient all his life. When he married, he'd like a wife fair and blue-eyed. The thought brought Mary Ogata to mind.
He had heard it said in the village that Captain Tanaka was bewitched by the American girl living in the small mountain-top house.
Ludi often went to Mary's house, but he wasn't bewitched. At times she irritated him with her stubbornness, her up-in-the-air opinions, her helplessness. helpless, and, yes, beautiful, he would not have been bothered seeing that she had enough to eat, to smoke.
He wished that he could rid her of Tanaka's persecution. How terrified she'd been that day when he had first seen her at grips with the Japanese policeman. It had been an ugly sight. His nature couldn't ignore the underdog, couldn't endure dictatorship. True, he'd gone out without doing anything, but he knew the Japanese. He had put a trick phone call through to Tanaka, sent him scuttling down the street as though on his way to capture President Roosevelt. The false information had kept the policemen busy for several days. It had been amusing; and amusing, too, thinking back, the way he himself had gone to the police station, and had bought the dirty pile of sugar, bought it at black-market price from the two inoffensive little policemen whose faces had brightened considerably at his entry. That was natural, for without him they wouldn't have extra tobacco and at times even a bottle of illicit rice-wine. He'd given them plenty, to keep their mouths shut about his dark business deals.
He was making another fortune up here, in the seemingly starvation-ridden Alpine district. People were willing to pay any price for food these days, but had no initiative to get things for themselves, and they were scared stiff of the police.
He didn't really like what he was doing, but couldn't sit around, doing nothing, waiting for the war to finish. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor had been a knife in his back, too. He had just previously escaped from Shanghai, brought his illegally gotten dollar-yen exchange wealth with him, planning to get as quickly as possible to the United States: but how unlucky could a man be? Here he was, a rich man at last, stuck in Japan for the duration of the war.
When bombing had become heavy in Tokyo, this village, discovered, it was said, by Christian missionaries as an escape from coastal humidity, had seemed the very place to go to. It was also said that the Americans knew that the valley was crowded with non-Japanese people, and that they would never bomb, never destroy it. So far, so good!
Things could be much worse. It was strange the way that Tanaka was letting him get away with his flagrant black-market dealings. Quite a few men from the village were languishing in prison for doing much less.
And tomorrow would be Christmas Day! Before tomorrow came he'd pick up that load of sugared persimmons from the Usami farm, and hand them out to children he knew.
Children, Christmas and war - what a combination!
Square-shouldered, olive-skinned, a slightly off-beat nose on his handsome face, Ludi wore a tough expression that disappeared only when he smiled.
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He smiled now, for there was Suzuki San trotting down the road towards him. He liked her; she was a grand old woman.
Today, one of the policemen who had sold that sugar to him was leaving for the war.
Poor cuss! Dressed in an ill-fitting uniform, such a miserable look on his young face. The relatives and friends farewelling him were a hangdog lot too. What were they yelling? Of course - Banzai. What did it mean, exactly? Victory - a sort of three cheers ...
How would it be if every nation in the world had one burning desire - a desire for peace - and shouted out together a sort of international banzai? How would that be?
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—
Chapter 4
Mary lay on the thin floor-mattress, wishing that morning had not come. Pulling the worn blanket over her head, she made a fragile pool of warmth, breathing out deeply and slowly. The air in the room was so cold it had hurt her throat.
In the garden, Suzuki was battling with blunt axe and stubborn, damp, pine logs. She never swore in her own language; but she blasphemed, and slang-talked, with ease and gusto in English.
Her words gathered momentum, and Mary, winding the blanket about her body, went to the paper window. 'No. Suzuki San - no, no! It's Christmas Day! You can't talk like that on Christmas Day!'
'I can,' came the strong answer.
'Please!' begged Mary.
Suzuki, chin resting on the handle of her axe, looked at the face peering through a gaping hole in the rice-paper. The face was too thin, but she liked it very much. 'O.K.' she grunted.
Since childhood, Mary's Christmas Days had been gloomy and disappointing, but never one as drear as this. As the day wore on, she became so depressed that Suzuki took her to task.
'Life will grow better, Mary Sama, good time will come, see if it don't! These bado times will help make you kerei, beautiful?'
'Beautiful? Why, I'm getting lines on my face….'
'Hah!' interrupted Suzuki firmly. 'Lines on young face show person has lived. If same face can smile, shows person has lived with courage.'
'Courage!' scoffed Mary. 'A lot of good courage has done me. I consider that I show great courage when Tanaka uses my hands to stub out his cigarettes, instead of an ashtray. I'm in agony with my hands, there's scarcely a place left to burn. Suzuki San; have we any salve left for them?'
As she gently applied salve to the swollen livid hands, the old servant spoke tersely.
'Such a man, that Tanaka - he can't be Japanese - no Japanese could be so bad like him.
'Is that so?' Mary cried indignantly. 'To me, it seems that Captain Tanaka is the very spirit of Japan, cruel, humourless..?
'No, no, not as you say, Mary Sama! I am Japanese, never hurt nobody. Many Japanese
people the same as me.'
The old woman was so distressed that Mary smiled, and said gently: 'Take no notice of what I say, Suzuki San! I mean only part of what I say these days.'
'Now that's a poor thing to do. Person should say all of what mean - not just part.
Mary Sama - that is your habit, it is bad, you must mend your habit.
Mary looked sulky. 'How can I help it? Each year of my life, as the years pass by, is more lonely and senseless than the last. When I think back on my miserable childhood: no mother, my father cruel to me, my foolish marriage...'
'Hah! Enough of such back-looking talk, cried Suzuki. 'Saa! Now today is God's birthday, isn't it?'
'Christ's birthday,' mumbled Mary.
'Same thing! Anyone's birthday is reason to make cheerio. So let us make a Christmas
'What with?'
'With tree of course. If we have something not poor of, it is trees?
'Nothing to decorate it with.'
'I make little paper storks.'
'We have no nice paper.'
'We have Chiri-gami, very nice, very white, will make lovely happy storks!
'Toilet paper! But - ah, Suzuki San, you slay me, I love you!
'You get red string and wind around acorns,' Suzuki grinned proudly.
'Ah - huh! And we have silver paper from Ludi's cigarettes...?
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Christian and Buddhist sat that evening on the cold floor, adoring the peculiar, appealing little tree. The green tea, the bitter gluey bread, became a feast of celebration.
'Now, perhaps a game of rummy?' delicately suggested Suzuki. She was a card expert, and Mary had acted quite pettishly after their last game, on discovering that the few games she had won were with the compliments of her smarter opponent.
'Yes, let's play!' Mary shuffled the torn cards gingerly.
As they settled down to their game, footsteps came trudging up the rough frozen
track.
'It's him - Tanaka!' whispered Mary.
'It's him - Ludi San,' stated Suzuki firmly.
Glowing with health, Ludi brought into the room, as well as his heavy rucksack, the feeling of life. Suzuki became an officious hostess and Mary wished that she had put on at least a little lipstick.
'Ho! A gambling den!' exclaimed Ludi. 'Don't you girls know that gambling in wartime Japan is against the law? I'm surprised. Here's your Christmas present, old lady.' He tossed a parcel to Suzuki, who cooed when she opened it and saw a small, velvet-covered metal box. 'An okairo, a little body stove!' Firing a charcoal stick, and putting it into the box, she tucked it down her obi-sash. 'I shall be warm now. Domo arigato, domo arigato!
Thank you, thank you!'
She took the black-market food from Ludi's rucksack, and hid it in the tiny attic, where
even her height of four feet eleven inches was higher than the wooden ceiling.
Ludi poured some of the rice wine he had brought into two tea-bowls.
'I wish that I had some cups with handles,' said Mary. 'I hate these bowls - everything
'I like these cups, and I like many things Japanese. Settling back with a sigh of contentment, he continued, 'I'd a hard time getting here tonight. The police stopped me, and inquired into the contents of my rucksack.
'Oh, God! What happened?'
'I left them, their pockets bulging with cigarettes,' laughed Ludi. 'Just as I left, Tanaka
sneaked into the station and glared at me!
'Oh, God! Did he?'
'Mary, just because this happens to be Christmas Day, do you have to begin every sentence with your Creator's name? It's very monotonous, and you're dull company, lady.'
'Did I, am I? Oh, Ludi, what a dreadful Christmas Day it's been!'
'I like Christmas, always have. Went to church this morning.'
'Church?'
'Yes, no one said we couldn't have church, so we had it.'
'Heavens!'
'There you go again. I had no idea you were of such a saintly turn of mind.' He gazed at her in psuedo admiration and once again filled the cups with sake. 'As I was saying, I've had a fine Christmas Day. The kids in the village were happy; scrawny, cold, but happy. I was able to get hold of some sugared persimmons for them. I like children.
'Humph!' Mary emptied her cup. She was feeling warm for the first time in months. 'I never knew any children, not really, and I notice you didn't bring a gift for me - and Ludi, the prices you charge me for food and cigarettes are disgraceful?
'I give presents to old women and children, never to young women. If my price is too high for you, lady, you don't have to buy. I'm not like the old pedlar in the classic poem ho cried up his wares with the argument that, because he was a poor man, everybod ho could afford to do so should buy from him. That's not my line of sales-talk. I say, bu if you want to. If you don't, be cussed to you. I'm coming out of this war a rich man?
'Suzuki San says that you will die young if you are not more careful'
'I have great respect for Suzuki San's opinion, but, in this case, she also can be cussed.'
'That's a silly word you keep using.' Mary gave a tiny hiccough. 'Pour me more of the sakē, please.'
'Suzuki San is wrong,' continued Ludi. 'And, to change the subject, you look more
forlorn than ever. Has Tanaka been here today?'
'Why've you been crying, then?'
'I have not been crying.'
'You have been crying; certainly you have been crying. I always know when a girl has been crying.'
"You know! You always know so much, muttered Mary.
'That's right. I can also tell you why you've been crying. Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled deeply. 'You cried because you are convinced that you have troubles, but you don't know what real trouble is. You suffer from a lack of guts. "I've never lived," you cry.
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—
Chapter 4
Mary lay on the thin floor-mattress, wishing that morning had not come. Pulling the worn blanket over her head, she made a fragile pool of warmth, breathing out deeply and slowly. The air in the room was so cold it had hurt her throat.
In the garden, Suzuki was battling with blunt axe and stubborn, damp, pine logs. She never swore in her own language; but she blasphemed, and slang-talked, with ease and gusto in English.
Her words gathered momentum, and Mary, winding the blanket about her body, went to the paper window. 'No. Suzuki San - no, no! It's Christmas Day! You can't talk like that on Christmas Day!'
'I can,' came the strong answer.
'Please!' begged Mary.
Suzuki, chin resting on the handle of her axe, looked at the face peering through a gaping hole in the rice-paper. The face was too thin, but she liked it very much. 'O.K.' she grunted.
Since childhood, Mary's Christmas Days had been gloomy and disappointing, but never one as drear as this. As the day wore on, she became so depressed that Suzuki took her task.
'Life will grow better, Mary Sama, good time will come, see if it don't! These bado
times will help make you kerei, beautiful?
'Beautiful? Why, I'm getting lines on my face..?
'Hah!' interrupted Suzuki firmly. 'Lines on young face show person has lived. If same
face can smile, shows person has lived with courage.
'Courage!' scoffed Mary. 'A lot of good courage has done me. I consider that I show great courage when Tanaka uses my hands to stub out his cigarettes, instead of an ashtray. I'm in agony with my hands, there's scarcely a place left to burn. Suzuki San; have we any salve left for them?'
As she gently applied salve to the swollen livid hands, the old servant spoke tersely.
'Such a man, that Tanaka - he can't be Japanese - no Japanese could be so bad like him?'
'Is that so?' Mary cried indignantly. 'To me, it seems that Captain Tanaka is the very
spirit of Japan, cruel, humourless ..?
'No, no, not as you say, Mary Sama! I am Japanese, never hurt nobody. Many Japanese
people the same as me.
The old woman was so distressed that Mary smiled, and said gently: 'Take no notice of what I say, Suzuki San! I mean only part of what I say these days.'
'Now that's a poor thing to do. Person should say all of what mean - not just part.
Mary Sama - that is your habit, it is bad, you must mend your habit.
Mary looked sulky. 'How can I help it? Each year of my life, as the years pass by, is more lonely and senseless than the last. When I think back on my miserable childhood: no mother, my father cruel to me, my foolish marriage..'
'Hah! Enough of such back-looking talk,' cried Suzuki. 'Saa! Now today is God's
birthday, isn't it?'
'Christ's birthday,' mumbled Mary.
'Same thing! Anyone's birthday is reason to make cheerio. So let us make a Christmas tree.'
'What with?'
'With tree of course. If we have something not poor of, it is trees?
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'Nothing to decorate it with.
'I make little paper storks!'
'We have no nice paper.'
'We have Chiri-gami, very nice, very white, will make lovely happy storks.'
'Toilet paper! But - ah, Suzuki San, you slay me, I love you?'
'You get red string and wind around acorns, Suzuki grinned proudly.
'Ah - huh! And we have silver paper from Ludi's cigarettes ..' Christian and Buddhist sat that evening on the cold floor, adoring the peculiar, appealing little tree. The green tea, the bitter gluey bread, became a feast of celebration.
'Now, perhaps a game of rummy?' delicately suggested Suzuki. She was a card expert, and Mary had acted quite pettishly after their last game, on discovering that the few games she had won were with the compliments of her smarter opponent.
'Yes, let's play!' Mary shuffled the torn cards gingerly.
As they settled down to their game, footsteps came trudging up the rough frozen
track.
'It's him - Tanaka!' whispered Mary.
'It's him - Ludi San,' stated Suzuki firmly.
Glowing with health, Ludi brought into the room, as well as his heavy rucksack, the feeling of life. Suzuki became an officious hostess and Mary wished that she had put on at least a little lipstick.
'Ho! A gambling den!' exclaimed Ludi. 'Don't you girls know that gambling in wartime Japan is against the law? I'm surprised. Here's your Christmas present, old lady.' He tossed a parcel to Suzuki, who cooed when she opened it and saw a small, velvet-covered metal box. 'An okairo, a little body stove!' Firing a charcoal stick, and putting it into the box, she tucked it down her obi-sash. 'I shall be warm now. Domo arigato, domo arigato!
Thank you, thank you!'
She took the black-market food from Ludi's rucksack, and hid it in the tiny attic, where
even her height of four feet eleven inches was higher than the wooden ceiling.
Ludi poured some of the rice wine he had brought into two tea-bowls.
'I wish that I had some cups with handles,' said Mary. 'I hate these bowls - everything
Japanese!
'I like these cups, and I like many things Japanese. Settling back with a sigh of contentment, he continued, 'I'd a hard time getting here tonight. The police stopped me, and inquired into the contents of my rucksack.'
'Oh, God! What happened?'
'I left them, their pockets bulging with cigarettes,' laughed Ludi. 'Just as I left, Tanaka
sneaked into the station and glared at me.
'Oh, God! Did he?'
'Mary, just because this happens to be Christmas Day, do you have to begin every sentence with your Creator's name? It's very monotonous, and you're dull company, lady.
'Did I, am I? Oh, Ludi, what a dreadful Christmas Day it's been!'
'I like Christmas, always have. Went to church this morning.'
'Church?'
'Yes, no one said we couldn't have church, so we had it.'
'Heavens!'
'There you go again. I had no idea you were of such a saintly turn of mind.' He gazed at her in psuedo admiration and once again filled the cups with sake. As I was saying, I've had a fine Christmas Day. The kids in the village were happy; scrawny, cold, but happy. I was able to get hold of some sugared persimmons for them. I like children.'
'Humph!' Mary emptied her cup. She was feeling warm for the first time in months. 'I never knew any children, not really, and I notice you didn't bring a gift for me - and Ludi, the prices you charge me for food and cigarettes are disgraceful?
'I give presents to old women and children, never to young women. If my price is too high for you, lady, you don't have to buy. I'm not like the old pedlar in the classic poem
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who cried up his wares with the argument that, because he was a poor man, everybody who could afford to do so should buy from him. That's not my line of sales-talk. I say, buy if you want to. If you don't, be cussed to you. I'm coming out of this war a rich man.
'Suzuki San says that you will die young if you are not more careful.'
'I have great respect for Suzuki San's opinion, but, in this case, she also can be cussed.'
'That's a silly word you keep using.' Mary gave a tiny hiccough. 'Pour me more of the sakē, please.'
'Suzuki San is wrong,' continued Ludi. 'And, to change the subject, you look more forlorn than ever. Has Tanaka been here today?'
'No.'
'Why've you been crying, then?'
'I have not been crying.'
'You have been crying; certainly you have been crying. I always know when a girl has
been crying.'
'You know! You always know so much,' muttered Mary.
'That's right. I can also tell you why you've been crying.' Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled deeply. 'You cried because you are convinced that you have troubles, but you don't know what real trouble is. You suffer from a lack of guts. "I've never lived," you cry.
What are you doing right now? Living, aren't you?' He stubbed out his cigarette impatiently.
Suzuki came and thriftily shook the precious tobacco into a tin, to roll again and smoke in the fine paper of her English-Japanese dictionary.
He smiled at the old woman and carried on with his lecture. 'Don't sulk, Mary! You're a good-looking girl, your face is a honey-coloured triangle, eyelashes a gift from heaven, and your figure reminds me of Mei Ling.'
'Who is she?'
'A Chinese lady of very easy virtue and quite a dish. He half closed his eyes, sighing
reminiscently.
'Really, Ludi!'
'There, you see! Pretending to be shocked. Why don't you ask me to tell you more about her? All virtuous women adore hearing details about their unvirtuous sisters. You are virtuous?'
'You are disgusting.' She laughed, reluctantly.
'You, as usual, have led me off the main track. Oh, yes! You don't know what trouble
is. Now, Chang is a friend of mine in Shanghai…..'
'You and your friends!'
'Chang was born without any arms or legs, born of a beggar mother; that could be trouble - but Chang! He rolls himself along the street yelling curses, making people give him right of way, finds a spot he likes, plants his old bottom on a cushion, leans his hump back against a wall, and begins the day's work.'
'What could he do? No arms, no legs?'
'He's a crack shot, runs a gambling school. Double or nothing that he's a better shot than the other fellows.'
'He couldn't! No arms or legs!'
name, you are Bar her has gue He shors with the puns hirine, the competior
'I don't believe you,' stated Mary flatly.
'Who cares what you believe? Who cares for the opinion of a girl who has never lived?
Your marriage is a flop, but you did the marrying. You're cold and practically starving - you, and millions of other people. A stinking policeman comes to your house and threatens you, burns your little hands with his cigarettes, and you think you're Jeanne
'I don't, I don't!'
present.'
'Christmas present?'
'Oh, you do, you do,' teased Ludi. 'Mary, I must go. If I don't, I'll miss my Christmas
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'Mei Ling is not your only sister of easy virtue. Even here, in the village..' With a
hearty laugh, he shrugged into his leather coat.
'Do you have to go, Ludi?'
'I do, unless of course - you ...?' He grinned wickedly.
'I have not drunk that much sakē.'
'So!' His grin vanished, he looked at her thoughtfully. How pretty she was and for all her fragility she could throw a punch; surprising, too, how it found its mark. 'Why! You do have some guts, Mrs Ogata!'
'I? Surely not, I know you think me...'
'What?'
She hesitated. 'Well, wishy-washy. Do you know what that means?'
'I know.'
'Well?'
'Well, what?'
'Well, do you think of me like that?'
'Yes.'
'Oh! Then, is that why you have never tried, never ...'
'Go on.'
'I think perhaps I have drunk too much sake!
'Maybe you have,' agreed Ludi uninterestedly. 'Gooda nighto! As Suzuki San would say.'
He slid open the door. Snow was falling and a blast of cold air filled the little house.
Mary shivered. Before the closing door hid him completely from sight she called, 'Ludi!'
'What the hell do you want now?'
'Nothing, nothing really - you can go!
'Mary, I had "gone," but you called me back. He waited impatiently.
'I was going to ask you if your opinion of me is the reason you've never ... I'm glad that
you haven't. But, I just wanted to know why you've never..'
The grin was back on his face. 'I never saw you more charming, your face is on fire.' She put her hands to her cheeks. Burning indeed! Why had she started this? She
should have known, remembered, that she always came off second best.
'So, Mary, you want to know why I haven't taken advantage of your lonely plight on
the mountain-top? You wonder why I have been able to resist your charms?'
'You are always so vulgar.'
'And you! So unsubtle. Why don't you say, "Why haven't you at least attempted to make love to me, Ludi Hoffer?" That's what you mean, isn't it?'
'Something like that,' she whispered.
He laughed. 'I didn't know there was anything like that. Let me into your secret, I'm always eager to learn. No? Of course not! That would be living. Mary, making love to you would be like taking candy from a baby, a very young baby and asleep at that.' The door slid open, then shut. He was gone and she crept into bed, fully clothed.
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