Dragons and Cherry Blossoms by Mrs. Robert C. Morris - HTML preview

CHO AND EBA.

THEY were surely not the most distinguished friends we made while we were in Japan. As far as worldly considerations went, they were very humble indeed; but they possessed other qualifications which entitled them to our favour, and the youthful Eba particularly has left a lasting impression on our minds. Throughout our stay they were our companions; we could never visit a temple without their aid, nor climb a mountain without their words of advice and encouragement. On many a shopping expedition did they faithfully act as our guides, and many a quiet hint would they give us as to the commercial wiles of their countrymen.

Cho and Eba belonged to the most insignificant class of oriental society. In a land where caste is of such importance, I know that any of our aristocratic Japanese friends would be horrified to learn that we entertain so kindly a remembrance of these paltry creatures, to whom the haughty noblemen of the East would hardly deign to give a passing glance. Perhaps it was because we treated them differently that they repaid us with such tender regard and would apparently sacrifice any happiness of their own to give us a momentary satisfaction. For our humble friends were jinrikisha men, and, more than that, they belonged to the despised class of the coolies. Before you have travelled long in Japan you will become very familiar with the two-wheeled conveyance which has become an institution of the country, and will take a patriotic interest in it, for it is reported to be the invention of an American. It is a low carriage with shafts, in which a toiling coolie acceptably fills the place of a horse, and it is preferred by the Japanese to the most elaborate coach-and-four of the West. It was for this position in the world that Cho and Eba were born, and in this capacity they proved indispensable to us.

It was at our landing that we met them for the first time, and had our first jinrikisha ride. As you step upon the soil of Japan, you will see a long row of these carriages with shafts resting on the ground, and at the same time a corresponding row of unobtrusive natives who accost you with a most respectful air. They have been sitting between the shafts, with their hands around their knees, patiently awaiting the landing of the boat, when they know their services will be required to conduct the passengers to the Grand Hotel. They have spent the time in laughing at each other and cracking Japanese jokes, for the amount of merriment they can get out of life seems without end. If the air is cold, they will be wrapped up in blankets, and will remind you of our western Indians; but oftener their covering consists of the simple blue tights which will become so familiar to you in the days to come. If you are so unfortunate as to land on a rainy day, they will throw this aside for a covering of straw with bare feet and legs; but the weather will not affect their spirits at all, and they will sit with the water pouring down upon them, and crack the same old jokes, and laugh with an appreciation to which the sunshine can add nothing. They wear the regulation mushroom hat, with their name and number inscribed across the front.

You will, of course, immediately call to mind the hackmen of the West, but more by way of contrast than comparison. The duties of each are in a large measure the same, but here they are exercised in a way that is entirely different. The Japs have none of the disagreeable aggressiveness of their western contemporaries; they are quiet and polite, preferring, indeed, that you should take the initiative in the transaction. It is very interesting to watch the outcome of a rivalry that sometimes occurs when two of the coolies hit upon the same patron. The angry dispute to which many of us are accustomed never takes place; they treat each other to smiles instead of scowls, and the unsuccessful aspirant leaves with a laugh to find a more appreciative customer. During my stay in Japan I hardly ever saw a discontented or angry jinrikisha man, and if a genial smile and gentle manners are an indication of inward happiness, they are the happiest mortals it has been my lot to meet.

All this is very well, and yet it is with some hesitation that you decide to surrender yourself into the care of one of those unpromising equipages, and it was my first impulse to look around and see if something less oriental could not be had; but I quickly reproved myself, and remembered that I was in Japan. Meanwhile, my companion had arranged the matter, and I saw a little old man smilingly approaching, dragging the dreaded jinrikisha behind him. His face was sadly wrinkled, his moustache was small and grizzled, and when he lifted his hat I saw that his hair was white. His spirit, however, seemed very buoyant, and not to have suffered from the many years of toil that would occasionally make his step a little unsteady. I felt a natural hesitation about permitting this little old man to drag me about the city; but the almost paternal air with which he assisted me into the carriage made me feel more at ease. Glancing at his cap, I saw that my new acquaintance bore the name of “Cho.”

I had hardly been comfortably seated when I saw my companion ride past, borne by much nimbler and more youthful legs than those of my poor old Cho. Riding in Japan is the most unsocial thing in the world. Each traveller has a jinrikisha to himself, and the carriages are compelled by law to move in single file, so that the streets may not be blockaded. It is true that they will sometimes hold more than one person; but these conveyances are meant for the Japanese alone, who are so light that two can be carried by one man. The constant parade of the jinrikishas, therefore, through a large thoroughfare, is very interesting. It makes no difference how many people there may be in your party; one must follow another in regular order, or your offending coolie may find himself in the lock-up before the day is over. You can easily see the disadvantages of this state of affairs; it makes conversation almost impossible,—and who can travel with pleasure if he cannot talk?

Both for this reason and for another, which I afterwards learned, I soon lost sight of my companion, whose more sprightly attendant speedily left my veteran in the background. Cho made little effort to gain a position ahead of his fellows, but leisurely fell into line, and trotted along with the contentment of old age. As I knew that my forerunner was looking for rooms, I was not greatly annoyed.

I arrived at last, bringing up the rear; and as we stood there congratulating ourselves, the younger man slowly approached us. Eba had a face of unusual intelligence, and his eyes sparkled in a way that contrasted forcibly with the dreamy blinking of Cho. His whole appearance was less conservative. Under his kimono he wore something that had a resemblance to western trousers, and he had discarded the mushroom-hat for a peaked cap like that of a college student. His every feature bore evidence of a keen though kindly disposition; his hair was thick and wiry, his eyebrows heavy, his mouth large and firm. He had a way of darting sharp glances at you that immediately let you know that here was a man who was not likely to bring up last in a ’rikisha or any other race.

He bowed profoundly, with a smile, and said,—

“Please you have me to-morrow.”

My companion murmured that he might if he was a good man.

“Oh, yes; me very good man. Can run fast.”

“What is your name?”

“My name Eba; can run very fast.”

He had already given evidence of this, and he was told to be on hand the next morning. He bowed again, and moved on. But he had an unsatisfied air, and in a hesitating way he turned around and approached us once more.

“Cho, you know,” he said, with an anxious though somewhat downcast face, “Cho very good man too.”

And he looked at me appealingly.

“Yes,” I returned, “Cho is a very good man.”

“Cho not quick like me,” he returned, somewhat reassured; “but a very good man. Cho old.”

After he had given us this information he waited for a few moments, meditatively digging his bare toes into the sand. Finally he came to the point.

“Me bring Cho to-morrow? Very good man. My friend.”

We told him that we would be very glad to see Cho also; and with a face beaming with smiles, and the most exaggerated of bows, Eba took his leave.

This was the beginning of our acquaintance with these two friends, and we grew to be very fond of them during the weeks that followed. They were most assiduous in their attentions, devoting to us all their time. The first thing we saw every morning as we glanced out of the window, were the forms of our coolies gracefully reposing in their shafts, waiting until it was our pleasure to take a ride. Eba was of a light-hearted temperament, and was always laughing and joking with Cho, who received his advances with a sedate air more suited to his greater age. We had already had a touching example of the filial care with which the younger looked after the older man, and this was only one of many. I tried several times to learn whether there was any particular relationship which necessitated this attention, but never discovered that there was anything beyond a congenial sense of comradeship. We may be sure that Cho was not the only one who profited by this, for Eba was of a more impulsive nature, which might have done many foolish things had it not been for the sage advice of his senior. He always treated him with the utmost respect, and his attentions were those of an affectionate son.

I had been frequently told that the Japanese were a people of little natural emotion, and that their extreme expression of respect and affection was merely the national idea of politeness. When I think of this I always call to mind our two humble friends, and the genuine attachment I am confident they still have for us. The two men’s natures were as widely different as their ages; Cho was the practical man, and thought that the best way he could manifest his affection was by polishing up the jinrikisha wheels to a dazzling brightness, or by running up a difficult hill with unusual rapidity; but Eba more romantically permitted himself little attentions in the way of Japanese nosegays, and in pointing out unusual and attractive features of the scene. Cho kept a careful eye on our business affairs, would drop many a quiet hint on the practices of the shopmen, and thought that the greatest kindness he could do us was to prevent the impositions of his crafty countrymen. It was evident that he despised the more artistic nature of his companion, and at one time I feared that their friendship might suffer from the little rivalry that was going on. As Eba’s nosegays increased in size, our carriage wheels grew brighter and brighter, and when Eba was spending a large part of his time pointing out new and interesting scenes, Cho seemed to be seeking unknown curio shops from which to warn us to keep away.

Eba was more intelligent than Cho, and was always ready to talk. He told me that he could read and write Japanese, having attended school between the ages of eight and twelve. He was twenty-two years old, and had dragged ’rikishas for about six years. He now worked for a company at three yen a month, but he was working hard, and in time hoped to save up enough money to buy his own carriage and be his own master. In addition to his business capacity, he had a quick eye for what was really fine, and always used the utmost taste in the selection of his bouquets.

On one occasion he was delightfully æsthetic. We had been riding in a suburban district, and the roads were lined with wild-flowers. We paused a moment for a little rest, and lounged around in the grass in various attitudes of ease. I grieve to record that Cho leaned his head against a tree and went to sleep, but I have a better tale to tell of Eba. I could see him wandering around at a short distance, picking now and then a flower, which he arranged with the utmost care. He seemed to bestow a large amount of thought on every fresh addition, rejecting many a posy that he had selected, and starting on a new search for something he had not yet found. Finally satisfied, he returned and presented me with the result. It was a little bouquet not as large as your thumb, but perfect in every detail. It was surrounded by a thin border of green, and the flowers were the tiniest I had yet seen in this land of tiny things. The production was a real work of art, and could never have been accomplished but by a man of inherent delicacy. It seemed almost a sacrilege after this that my tasteful friend should be subjected to the indignity of lifting the ’rikisha shafts, and toiling up the steep hills like an ordinary soul.

Eba’s attachment was a kind that manifested itself in smiles. The profoundness of his bow was also an excellent gauge of his devotion; had anything happened the day before to jar upon his sensitive nature, his body would be sure to incline itself a little more stiffly than usual. These little congelations would occur when the spray of cherry-blossoms that he had laid on our sitting-room table had remained unnoticed, or when we had declined an offer to take a sunset ride. When all was sailing smoothly on, however, his bow was a thing in which his whole body played a part, and his smile would often degenerate into a grin. I was curious to know something about his home-life; but my questions elicited no confidences. I often wondered where he stole away in the night-time, and what his own domestic ties might be. But I never learned; whenever the morning came, there he sat between the shafts of his jinrikisha, with the sleepy Cho at his side, and this was the only glance I could get into the manner of his life.

In other more tangible ways, however, did Eba display his kindly spirit. He early learned my admiration for the mountain of Fujiyama, and the desire I felt to view it under the most promising circumstances. It is not the easiest thing in the world to see this capricious peak, owing to the dense mist that almost constantly envelops it; you have to await your chance, which is not likely to come many times. Eba took it upon himself to keep a careful watch of affairs, and spent a large part of his time with his eyes towards the West. One day he ran into my room in the utmost excitement, and going to the window pulled the curtain aside, with the air of a long-nourished wish fulfilled.

“Come, Mississy, quick,” he exclaimed. “See Fuji!”

And there was Fuji indeed, towering in the golden sunset, its outlines clearly marked against the sky, and its summit wrapped in glistening snow.

But his attachment still expressed itself most touchingly in flowers. I know he kept a careful eye upon me to see what I did with his offerings, and when I occasionally wore one of his bouquets, his smiles and bows reached their highest extravagance. One morning he appeared early at the door with a beaming face, though it bore evidence of some anxiety, as if he had formed a plan of the success of which he was doubtful.

“Come, Mississy,” he said, pointing to the awaiting jinrikisha.

But I was too busy that day, and told him I could not go. He seemed almost ready to cry, and looked up to me again appealingly.

“Some other day, Eba,” I returned.

“No, no,—to-day. Cannot see to-morrow.”

After a little further conversation, I decided to spend a few moments this way, and so stepped into the jinrikisha. He started off in high glee, and ran at a pace that would have terrified me had any other than Eba held the shafts. One or two small children who were so unfortunate as to be in his way were overturned with a single thrust of his arm and went rolling over into the gutter. Eba laughed loudly at his little joke, and shouted lustily to Cho, who passed us with a perplexed and disapproving shake of the head. Finally we drew up before a florist’s shop, and Eba proudly led the way to the shrine of his peculiar pilgrimage.

He stopped before a small potted plant, and pointed at it with a smile. I was amazed to see a tiny pine-tree not over six inches high, but perfectly formed in the smallest detail. I had seen many other Japanese experiments in minuteness, but this surpassed them all. Eba was delighted with my satisfaction, and informed me that this thrifty dwarf had been growing for many years. It was to be on exhibition for that day only, and this explained his anxiety that I should visit the shop that morning.

When I told my two friends that we were to leave Yokohama, and spend a few weeks in China, their faces suddenly fell, and only brightened when I added that our journey would be a short one, and that we should expect to see them on our return. They carefully inquired when we were to go, and the exact time we were to stay. We thought little of this until, after having spent the allotted number of days in the land of the pig-tail, we rode into the station at Yokohama. During my absence I had given many a thought to the two friends, and wondered whether their thoughts of us had vanished when we ourselves left their sight. I was somewhat surprised, as well as pleased, as the train drew in, to see two familiar figures enjoying the old-time repose between the same jinrikisha shafts. They were Cho and Eba, who eagerly came forward as the train drew to a stop, and scanned the passengers. One or two of those alighting tried to engage their services, but in vain. Eba first caught sight of us, and came up bowing, smilingly followed by the less demonstrative Cho, whose face, however, disclosed that he was a delighted man. Eba later informed us that they had carefully counted the days and the trains, and had hit upon the exact time that we should return.

And now there were more bouquets, more smiles and bows, and more polishing of jinrikisha wheels. Again did Eba keep a watchful eye upon Fuji, and many a glimpse of the majestic mountain did I owe to him. But the time came when all this had to end, and when we must sail away from Japan for home. They realised this with regret at least, and during the last few days were more attentive than ever before. Steamer-day came at last, when we should have to bid farewell to our friends, perhaps forever. Eba and Cho were not the only ones to regret the parting. They had become such familiar companions, and had served us so faithfully, that we disliked to think that we should see them no more.

Early in the morning of the day of separation I heard a gentle knock at the door. When I opened it I could see nothing at first but a huge bouquet of beautiful Japanese roses. Presently the roses bowed up and down, and I heard a familiar voice come from behind them. “For Mississy.” It was Eba’s farewell present!

Cho, softened a little at the thought of parting, was also without, and both came into the room and helped us pack our trunks, and performed various little acts of kindness. The ride along the Bund was the slowest we ever took; Eba had lost much of his sprightliness, and Cho’s poor old legs lagged more than ever. They insisted on going aboard the boat with us, and tried to find pretext after pretext for remaining, long after their usefulness was over. Finally the last blast of the steam whistle was heard, and Cho and Eba reluctantly moved away.

“Good-bye, Eba! Good-bye, Cho! Perhaps we shall return some day.”

“Good-bye, Mississy.”

I offered Eba my hand. It was probably the first experience of the kind he had ever had, and he looked at it with a puzzled air. Finally he just touched it with the tips of his copper fingers, and sadly bowed himself away.

SAYONARA