CHAPTER XII
CUSTOMS AND COSTUMES
Dulcie dressed for the luncheon that was being given for her by the Japanese Vassar Club, and was immediately driven away to their club house by the faithful Bill. The men of the party had a luncheon at the Aviation Club, an important function because both Mr. Hammond and David were to be presented with decorations. Already Mr. Hammond wore two gorgeous medals presented to him in Friedrichshafen. David glittered in a slightly smaller way and it embarrassed him very much.
When the party from the Moonbeam entered the club, they saw that a large number of very high ranking officials were present. Most of them being older men, they did not speak English, so the speeches of the hosts and the replies of the guests trickled through the medium of an interpreter. Aside from that drawback, and the presence of glittering orderlies standing behind the chairs of the Japanese generals and ministers, they might have been dining at any first-class hotel at home.
The young officer on David’s right spoke only a few broken words of English, but beamed and smiled so brightly that David wished he could communicate with him in some common tongue. Suddenly he thought of an almost forgotten knack of caricature which had always gone over big at school. He brought out a pencil and on the back of the menu drew, with a few sharp strokes, pictures of Mr. Hammond and the others, not sparing himself.
They were very funny. He set them forth on the top of a fat and wobbly blimp with sagging hull. Each one of them was looking through long field glasses toward a point marked with a rising sun. The young Japanese laughed heartily and handed him another card. On the bottom of this David drew a small, distant glimpse of the landing field at Kasumigaura. The eager visitors were shown dancing on the top of their unwieldy ship, and from each mouth issued a balloon inscribed “Banzai.”
David was not sure that the idea would get across, but it did. The clever sketches traveled around the great table, and with the laughter they called forth the stiff decorum of the meal lightened into a more free and friendly atmosphere.
Helping each other as best they could, with gestures and drawings, David managed to tell the group of young aviators about him many things concerning aviation in America that they were very anxious to know.
The luncheon lasted far into the afternoon. The ceremonies attending the presentation of the medals were long and dignified. When the big, glittering, bejeweled bauble had been pinned on Mr. Hammond’s coat, with many suave and pleasant words from the donors, and when Mr. Hammond had replied with thanks and prophecies for the welding of nations through aviation, David felt his muscles tighten. Now he would get a medal pinned on him, but he wouldn’t have to speak. He hadn’t spoken in Friedrichshafen, so why here? When his name was spoken, he went to the head of the table, where he stood facing the highest ranking officer of the aviation corps in Japan. David stood very straight and stiff, his broad shoulders squared, his head high. He was very handsome—and exceedingly embarrassed.
The general, medal in hand, began to speak, slowly, so the interpreter could keep pace with him. To David’s consternation, the general referred to David’s youth and to the fact that he had taken over the ship in the teeth of a hurricane, and had brought her to safety. He congratulated aviation and America on possessing such a fine young pilot. David felt his very ears growing red. Then the medal was pinned on his breast, and behold, it was the twin of Mr. Hammond’s.
Released at last, David somehow gained his seat, and dropped into it. He looked at Mr. Hammond. That gentleman was signaling him to get up. David drew a long shuddering breath as he rose.
“Oh, my Lord!” he breathed, and with his voice croaking with fright he launched into his first public speech.
“Your Excellencies, and gentlemen,” he commenced: “I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness. I really don’t deserve it. The Moonbeam is so staunch that she could just about take care of herself. She’s a wonderful ship, and I hope you will soon have one like her.”
“Banzai! Banzai!” cried the Japanese.
“This is a wonderful experience, being here, and I hope it will not be my last flight to Japan,” David continued. “You are all so kind. I only hope that many of you, indeed all of you, will come to America as soon as you can so that we may have the opportunity of returning, at least in part, your many courtesies. We will show you our landing fields. They are very large, most of them, but we have nothing as beautiful as Kasumigaura.
“I thank you again for the honor you have shown me.”
Somehow he found himself safe in his chair, with applause all about him. On his breast the medal winked and flashed. It fussed him greatly.
Someone nudged his elbow. The lieutenant in the next seat held a card under the edge of the table. On it his new friend had tried his hand at drawing. A huge, very Japanesque figure with wide shoulders and something, supposedly the uniform of the Moonbeam, loosely encasing his form, stood smiling widely. Covering his breast was a medal. At either side a group of pigmies all ejaculated “Banzai!” David recognized himself under the queer Japanese features, and shook with laughter, to the great delight of the artist, who was so pleased with his own cleverness that David made him a present of his gold pencil as a souvenir.
At four o’clock they were all driven to the garden party given on the grounds of the Emperor’s palace. David was in Mr. Hammond’s car.
“Well, David, how we do glisten!” said the commander as they took their seats. “Don’t talk to me after our escorts come aboard, as I am afraid it isn’t polite. I was proud of you, my boy.”
“Gosh,” said David, “I thought I’d go right plumb through the floor! I never made a speech in my life. All dressed up like a band wagon, too. Do I dare take this breastplate off?”
“Heavens, no! We’ve got to wear ’em on every occasion as long as we are here. Why, David, it’s a tremendous honor.”
“Yes, sir; I suppose so.”
“Quiet does it now. Here come the others. Unfurl your brightest smile,” and Mr. Hammond turned to the officers approaching the car.
The host at the garden party was the Emperor’s personal representative, the Minister of Ceremony. He was a gentle, unassuming old man with a kindly face and the perfect manners made by centuries of ceremonious usage. He was assisted by many members of the court, of whom Hata was the most important.
The gardens were lovely beyond words to the appreciative eyes of the visitors. They seemed like fairyland. Each shrub, each tree, each tiny plant grew in orderly, exquisite beauty.
David found Dulcie gazing out at a carved and filigreed pavilion which seemed to have drifted down softly upon the lake, where it rested in a fringe of bright green water plants.
“I couldn’t bear very much of this,” she said soberly. “It is too beautiful. It won’t let me be myself at all. I like to be good, but I couldn’t keep on being as good as I am this minute. I couldn’t stand it. You know, David, the beautiful places at home shout at you, like an organ or a big chorus. This whispers and murmurs. You have to stop and listen to it, and when you do that, it gets you.”
“Come over here and break the spell,” laughed David. “They are serving American ice cream in the gaudy silk tents beyond that hedge.”
The dinner that night was given by the city of Tokio. Mr. Hammond promised to send David back to the hotel for Dulcie when it was over, so that she might see the dancing in the Tea House of a Thousand Flowers.
There was no formal placing at this dinner. Many of the Japanese spoke English, and David, to his great joy, found the youngest reporter seated at his left, with the star reporter just across the table. The tables were placed around the walls of the large room, with a space in the middle.
“What’s all that floor space for?” asked the youngest reporter, who was occasionally known as Fred. “Do you suppose the Geishas are going to dance here? It gums my works if they are, because I simply gotter have that Tea House of a Thousand Flowers for local color. Gosh, isn’t this great?”
“When you have been a correspondent as long as I have,” the star reporter cut in, “you won’t need local color. You will carry your own paints. I could write up that Tea House of a Thousand Flowers right now so you could actually smell it. But they won’t have the Geishas here.”
“I heard they are going to give some heavy stuff between courses,” said David. “Historical, and all that. Hope they do. I want to see something good. Why can’t they give us a devil-dance, or something?”
“Cling to your lingerie,” advised the star. “If I mistake not, you will see the real thing tonight. Something to make the Geishas look like a row of sparrows hunting crumbs on a park bench.”
The first course came on, and David fell to, softly voicing the hope that he might be spared to go home once more. At the close, while the plates were changed, soft queer music was played on strange instruments, the like of which David had never seen.
“Kind of throbbish, isn’t it?” he asked Fred.
“Hang on!” admonished the star, substituting his own cigarette for one of Japanese make.
At the close of the second course, the plates were changed quickly and the lights went down to a dusky glow. The music changed.
All at once two figures occupied the center of the floor. They were men lithe and supple. They were masked hideously. Their costumes were indescribable. At once they plunged into an orgy of action through which ran a certain savage grace. They crept, leaped, swayed, whirled, their gorgeous jeweled costumes swinging and flashing. Then they were gone, the lights flashed up.
“That is the beginning of a most old and antic dance,” remarked a Japanese on David’s right. “You know, antic—that which has come down from so old time. Regard—behold! More is yet coming.”
“What is it all about?” asked David.
“Old-time devils in Japan,” explained the man.
“I thought so,” said David. “They sort of look that way.”
“Yess, that way,” agreed the Japanese. “You watch!”
The dance alternated with the dinner. Changes of masks, different costumes, and new dancers came and went in an exhibition more exotic than David’s wildest dreams.
At last it was over. The two chief dancers fell, having carefully pretended to stab each other with long thin swords, and were assisted out by helpful hands. The dance and the dinner were ended.
“I’m all bogged down,” said the youngest reporter. “I’ve a notion to go home and go to bed.”
“What, and miss seeing the Tea House of a Thousand Flowers?” asked the star. “You can’t do that. Come on, little one! Don’t let’s forsake Captain Ellison.”
“I’m the quitter,” said David. “The chief told me off to go and bring Miss Hammond over to see the Geishas. I must beat it.”
When Dulcie came down in the elevator and stepped into the bright light of the lobby, David involuntarily exclaimed at her fresh beauty.
“Good Lord, woman, what have you done to yourself? You look as new as paint.”
“Some of it is paint, of course,” said Dulcie, “but I’ve had a nap, and I’ve had good care.”
“I’m like to drop in my tracks,” said David, “and your father—well, I caught him sneaking a powder into his glass somewhere about the middle of the nineteenth course.”
“Bicarb—I hope it fixed him.”
“If it didn’t, that dinner will,” groaned David. “I’ll bet they had three chefs—Japanese, American, and French—to fix that dinner. The Japanese camouflage things so you don’t know what you are eating. I thought I was taking a dandy baked apple. It had red cheeks, and a fresh stem sticking out with a real apple leaf on it. And by George, it was mashed potato! Everything like that.
“I keep drawing dinner partners who can’t speak English, and somebody’s French doesn’t click, perhaps it is mine. They try me in German, and some other funny lingoes; then we all give up, and nod and wave our arms at each other the rest of the meal. Believe me, I’ve had my lesson. When I get home I am going to learn to speak German and French and Spanish, some Italian, a little Scandahoovian, and enough Czechoslovakian to put me across.”
“You are going to be busy,” Dulcie said grimly.
“Well, joking aside,” David continued, “an aviator ought to be able to speak something beside the good old mother tongue. It makes me ashamed to grin and flap and contort my face at these people who are doing everything that can be done to make our visit pleasant, and showering us with presents, beside. And we can only thank them through an interpreter. I’ve always suspected those guys. I’m afraid they don’t transmit the fine shades of my eloquence.”
“I know,” said Dulcie. “I’d like to tell my little maid how I appreciate everything she does for me. It’s an awful nuisance that I can’t. And tonight what a lot more fun it would be if we could know what it is all about.”
“Being a mere man,” said David, “I shall get quite a kick merely out of seeing those Geisha girls dance. Hello, here we are already!”
They had arrived at the most pretentious and luxurious tea house in the city, the Tea House of a Thousand Flowers. A couple of Japanese aviators were watching for them, and ushered them into the tea house, where a native orchestra was tuning up. Most of the passengers of the Moonbeam were present, while the officers and crew had come as one man. Dulcie and David joined Mr. Hammond and his hosts, and immediately refreshments were served.
The Geisha girls trotted out on the floor. They had honored their audience this night by wearing their most elaborate and colorful costumes. The music beat out a strange dreamy tune. The tiny dancers with their placid, bland little faces might well have been animated flowers. Their shuffling short steps gave the effect of gliding as they gyrated, weaving and interweaving in a series of rhythmic movements as old as time—movements that had been premeditated and practiced to the last turn.
“What a kick the crew is getting out of all this,” whispered David. “They will all go home and talk darkly about having seen the Geisha girls dancing and they will say, ‘Boy, it was some dance, believe me!’ I wish you could have seen the other dance at the dinner. That was just plain fierce.”
The music stopped and the little dancers trotted out. Next came a troupe of Japanese jugglers, who whirled gaily painted barrels, gold chairs and small boys about their heads with an abandon that made Dulcie gasp and the crew of the Moonbeam roar with approval. Next came a tight-rope act, which included such difficult and daring feats that the audience was spellbound.
“Makes me feel as though I was at home at Keith’s, only it’s a thousand times better than Keith’s ever thought of being,” whispered David.
After the tight-rope walkers the Geishas were to dance again, and then more juggling and a sword dance, but Dulcie said, “I’ve seen enough, David. I’m tired, after all. Can’t we go?”
“Same here,” responded David. “It has been a whirligig of a day. Ask your father if we can’t be excused.”
“That’s all right,” Mr. Hammond agreed. “I’ll explain to the Master of Ceremonies. Go out as quietly as you can.”
Prince Hata accompanied them to the car, where Bill lounged at the wheel.
“Perhaps a little drive under our Japanese moon would make more happiness for you after your strenuous day,” suggested the Prince, as he said good-night.
“That would be fine,” declared David. “Just for a little while.”
The Prince spoke to Bill. As they drove away, Dulcie said, “How nice and friendly they are to each other! Not a bit haughty. Did you notice what a friendly sort of understanding smile Prince Hata gave Bill?”
“No; but they are all polite.”
“They never seem to scrap,” said Dulcie. “It is beautiful.”
“Uh-uh! They never do seem to scrap but, my child, these angel beings can fight like demons. All this politeness, centuries old, has made them value each other. That’s simply psychological. They are utterly loyal to Japan for what it is, what it has been, and what it will be. However, they are struggling against the terrible handicap of lack of territory, and the only possible way for them to get it is through conquest. The sea won’t give it to them, and other nations naturally won’t donate it. So if they want it, they have got to fight for it. And as they are not afraid to die, why, when they do fight, Miss Hammond, they just wade right in.”
“Well, don’t let’s go under the crust, tonight. I want my memories all as lovely as this.” She leaned forward. “Where are you taking us, Bill?”
The young Japanese slowed down and turned deferentially.
“There iss a place in the Imperial grounds, near the Emperor’s palace, that iss said to be of the loveliest in Japan. It iss said that the Emperor himself loves it. The windows of hiss personal suite look upon it. The Emperor sits long in those window, and dreams upon it. They have many names for it; ‘Pearl of Japan’ and ‘Window of Heaven’ and ‘Vision of the Heart’.”
“Oh, do take us there, Bill!”
“How will you get into the grounds?” asked David. “I understand the palace gates are locked and guarded at night.”
“I was most graciously given permission that I should take you there. Usually only princes of the blood are allowed to be admitted at night.”
At the gate of the Imperial grounds, two sentries sprang from the shadow. Orders had evidently been given them, however, for they glanced at Bill and saluted.
They rolled forward into the soft and perfumed dusk of over-arching trees. Bill put the dimmers on, and the big car made scarcely a sound.
“Do you know,” said David after a silence, “I have a feeling that this is the greatest concession they have made us; the greatest compliment. To bring us into the Emperor’s grounds at night, to see a view! Even if he is away, everything belonging to the royal family is guarded as though sacred. It’s queer!”
On and on they went, until a sudden turn brought them to an arch made of flowering trees, cut and woven and trained into a perfect bow. They passed under it and on into a denser shade, and suddenly beheld the vista they had come to see. Bill stopped the car.
In awed silence they regarded the serene beauty of the view. Beyond the black shadow of the trees, the water lay like sheets of dazzling silver. At the water’s edge, grass and flowers assumed new tints, shadows were purple, and far in the distance the Sacred Mountain seemed to float like an opalescent bubble in the ether. Overhead hung the great golden moon.
At last Dulcie spoke in a whisper, “Thank you, Bill!” And understanding, as always, Bill turned the car and returned to the great gate.
Dulcie was silent all the way to the hotel. When she stepped out, she turned impulsively to Bill.
“I’ll never forget this evening, Bill. I wish I could do something nice for you.” She unclasped her bag, but there was a queer dignity about Bill that forbade a tip. She snapped it shut. “You speak English so well; if you are ever in New York, find my father. I’d perfectly love to have you for my chauffeur.”
The young man’s eyes suddenly danced. “It is that I thank you, Miss Hammond. I’ll not forget,” he said.
Dulcie did not waken the following morning in time to see her father. Indeed she was just dressed when word was brought up that the car was waiting to take her to see the princess. It was late when she returned, and she ordered dinner in her own room, and went early to bed.
Mr. Hammond and David did not return to the Imperial Hotel until a very late hour. Stopping at the desk on the way to his room, Mr. Hammond found that the whole party had been the guests of the hotel for the entire time of their visit.
Early transportation had been arranged to take them to the port at Kasumigaura in the morning so, writing a word to Dulcie warning her to be on time, Mr. Hammond smoked a last cigar and tumbled into bed.