Something, he felt, must be said quickly to help I-ko. They were standing on the dock waiting awkwardly for nothing, and people swept against them as they hurried to and fro. And yet what could he say? He was still dazed. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face and secretly rubbed his cheek, lest her red lips had left a stain on him.
“I-ko,” he said at last, “I scarcely knew you.” He spoke in Chinese and his tongue felt stiff and strange. Not for years had he spoken his own language. And now he was glad to speak it because it shut out this foreign woman.
I-ko looked pleased.
“No, I am changed,” he replied. “In fact am I not improved?”
“You look — much older,” I-wan said diffidently.
“Oh, I am a man now,” I-ko replied, smiling slightly. “I am very grateful to my father. I hated Germany for the first year and then liked it. I-wan, where can we talk? I have much to say — and the ship’s stay is very short. They are staying one hour instead of four.”
“But can’t you wait over a few days and take another ship?” I-wan asked politely. What would he do if I-ko accepted — with her!
I-ko shook his head. “There is no time,” he answered. “It is imperative that I get home. Where can we go?”
“I suppose we could go to that little restaurant,” I-wan said, doubtfully. A small restaurant was near the dock and it had a few outdoor tables. I-ko nodded his head vigorously.
“Yes, that will do,” he decided. “Come, Frieda!” he called in German. He strode across the street ahead of I-wan, his shoulders set square, and when they sat down he beckoned imperiously for a waiter. Behind them she came. They sat down and I-wan at once felt the stare of people — a white woman with two Chinese men! But I-ko seemed not to notice.
“Beer,” I-ko said to the waiter, and scarcely waiting a moment, he leaned toward I-wan.
“I-wan,” he said, “you cannot stay here. You must come home at once.” He spoke in Chinese and he paid no heed to his wife. But she seemed used to this and while they talked she sat looking about her with hard and curious eyes. If she cared that other people wondered at her she made no sign of it.
“But — but—,” I-wan stammered, meeting I-ko’s look. He drew back a little. I-ko’s face was almost menacing. “I — it is impossible — my family—”
“Can it be you, too, don’t know?” I-ko exclaimed.
“Know what?” I-wan asked. The old premonition had him by the throat and his mouth went suddenly dry.
“Haven’t you heard?” I-ko cried.
“I haven’t heard anything,” I-wan faltered.
“The Japanese are going to take Peking!” I-ko whispered.
“Peking!” I-wan repeated stupidly.
“Has there been nothing told even about that?” I-ko exclaimed. Around them Japanese were sitting at the small tables, talking and laughing, and drinking tea and wine. Above them the sky was blue, without a cloud. There were women in bright kimonos, and at one side sat a little group of Americans, having tea with an officer from the ship. And beside them the German woman sat, her plump elbows on the table. She had already drunk her beer, and now she sat eating small cakes.
“It was just troop movements, they said,” I-wan replied, looking away from her. No, but perhaps he had missed something. He did not always read the papers these days. He dreaded them. And Tama never spoke of such things. No, rather it was as if together they did not speak of them. But he could not tell I-ko this.
But I-ko was hurrying on. “Father foresaw everything weeks ago and cabled me. The Generalissimo wants me to come home. The army is being reorganized on a huge scale. There will be war! We will resist to the end. At last it has been decided!”
I-wan could scarcely comprehend what I-ko was saying in his low hurried whispering Chinese.
“But — no one knows — anything here,” he stammered. He felt as though his breath had been driven out of him. “There hasn’t been much in the papers — people are just going on — some mention of a little difficulty, but not—”
“These people!” I-ko said contemptuously. “The ones at the top don’t tell them anything. I tell you, I-wan, mobilization has begun. It’s going to be the greatest war of our history. I-wan, come home with me!”
“Now?” I-wan cried.
“Now!” I-ko said strongly. “I have money for your passage. We can get your ticket on the ship, if need be. Father told me—”
“But my family—” I-wan began.
“There are no claims on you now but this one,” I-ko insisted. “You have no obligations to any Japanese except to hate them forever!” I-ko’s teeth shone in a dramatic snarl, as white as a fox’s teeth. Even at this moment, while they stared at each other, I-wan could stop to remember that I-ko loved to be dramatic, and this made him the more cautious.
… Tama, I-wan was saying to himself, Tama was a Japanese and he loved her. She seemed more than ever gentle and faithful and good, now that I-ko had — had married such a one as this. He could not leave Tama. He would have to think what to do.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I can’t see why — why should there be war? We aren’t enemies—”
“We are enemies!” I-ko answered firmly. “Where have you been, I-wan, not to know that this war has been hurrying upon us for months — years? Have you heard of the outrage at Lukow-chiao?”
“The papers said it would be amicably settled,” I-wan said.
“Settled! By the loss of Peking?” I-ko asked passionately.
“I tell you, they — they didn’t say it was like that,” I-wan stammered.
“Has your marriage made you Japanese, too?” I-ko demanded.
“No — no—” I-wan said quickly. “No — only it is so quick — I haven’t known — I have had no letters from home.” Why did he not retort, “Are you German?” But he did not want to hear I-ko say, “At least my wife is not a Japanese!”
“How do you know?” I-ko interrupted him. “Letters don’t get through here unread. I am sure Father did tell you and you never had the letters. He cabled me that he couldn’t understand why you wrote as you did, and that I was to stop and see what was wrong.”
“Mr. Muraki told me he had heard my father was taking a journey into Szechuan to see about organizing a branch bank!” I-wan exclaimed. “So I thought the letters were delayed.”
“There is not one Japanese you can trust!” I-ko declared. “Come, I-wan!”
They talked far longer than they knew, with long silences between.
Whenever they fell silent the German woman asked a question about something she saw. Once she exclaimed, “Ach, so — see the funny little people — they are so little, the Japs, are they not?”
Whatever she said it was I-ko who answered her and not I-wan. He scarcely heard her. He sat thinking and trying to realize what I-ko had told him had happened. The afternoon deepened and the sun was half-way to the sea. The hour was gone. The German woman was yawning. They rose, and she sauntered ahead of them to the ship.
The Americans were getting up now, too. Their clear, sharp voices carried across the tables as they talked to each other, oblivious to everyone else. Two of them were going with the officer, and the others were staying. A pretty girl cried, “Be careful, you two, in Shanghai! Red, take your hat off, when the air raids begin, so they can see your flaming top and know you’re not a Chinaman!”
A red-haired young man laughed.
“So long, Mollie! Sorry you aren’t coming, but I guess it’s no place for girls just now.”
The ship’s whistle roared in warning.
“Do you hear them?” I-ko demanded. “Everybody knows, I tell you, except these stupid common people in Japan. I-wan, hundreds of people have been killed — and it will only grow worse. Our whole country has to wake up — we have to fight as we’ve never fought!”