Marcia cried out faintly in dismay and the woman turned, startled. The switch was there beneath Marcia’s fingers and as she pressed it the veranda sprang into light, its full radiance falling upon the face of the woman who stood there.
Always afterwards Marcia was grateful for the way she managed to stand absolutely still. She did not cry out in horror, or shrink away as she might so easily have done. For in that moment of looking full in Haruka’s face, she knew horror as she had never known it before in her life. One profile was frozen in beauty, as it had been more than ten years ago; the other was a mask of pure horror—the empty eye socket, the twisting scars of terrible burns, keloid welts pulling and distorting. Even as she stared into the light, momentarily stunned, the woman raised the hand which did not hold the blossoms and put the contracted claw of it up to hide her scarred face.
Marcia spoke as gently as she could. “I’m sorry I startled you, Madame Setsu. Gomen nasai—forgive me, please.”
Haruka’s sigh was like a soft moan. She glided swiftly to the open door and through it to the other side. Sick with shock, Marcia turned off the light and stood trembling in the dark. Haruka had dropped the moonflowers in her flight and they lay white and luminous upon the dark floor. Still shaken, Marcia bent to pick them up and then went downstairs to her room.
Laurie lay sleeping quietly, but Marcia could not undress at once and go to bed. Now she could understand Chiyo’s love and loyalty for this recluse who had withdrawn to hide the dreadful thing she had become from the world. It was to this that Jerome had bound himself, keeping alive what he had felt over Hiroshima, tying himself to a love that was forever self-punishing, that fed always on horror and renewed itself incessantly at a fount of despair.
Marcia sat stiffly in her chair, the white blossoms clasped in one hand. She opened her fingers slowly and stared at the fragile blooms, bruised now and beginning to wilt. Had Haruka wished to strip the plant of its beauty, just as her beauty had been stripped from her?
How lovingly all those about her had kept her sad secret. Not even Nan, who must have seen Haruka in those early days in Hiroshima, had betrayed her by so much as a word. There was another of the poems in The Moonflower that Jerome had read aloud the night of the dinner that returned to Marcia’s mind.
“Monstrous flowers of cloud
Blooms above the city;
Flower of death.”
It was possible now to understand Haruka’s obsession with death, her wish to be one with the dead.
Laurie tossed suddenly in her bed, muttering beneath her breath and Marcia dropped the blossoms and went to her quickly.
“Wake up, darling. It’s only a dream. Everything’s all right. I’m here and you’re in your own bed.”
Laurie opened her eyes and stared at her mother in terror. “It was the lady in white. The lady with only part of a face. She took the scarf away and she was coming closer and closer—”
“Hush, darling. It was only a bad dream.” Marcia rocked her daughter gently back and forth in her arms.
That time when Laurie had looked up to see Haruka on the gallery above the garden, she must have seen her only in profile, just as Alan and Marcia had beheld her that night in the temple grounds. But now it was clear that Laurie had seen her again. When? How?
“The lady in white is a very sad, unfortunate person, honey,” she whispered. “But she is gentle and she would never try to hurt you. How did you know about her face?”
“Daddy took me to see her,” Laurie said. “He told me I was never to tell you. He said this was the wicked thing human beings did to one another. He said this was why I must never trust anyone.”
Abhorrence for the thing Jerome had done left Marcia sick and shaken. Her last vestige of pity for him shriveled at the realization that he would inflict such horror on a child. Then she remembered something—the doll!
It must have been after Laurie had seen Haruka that she had smashed in one side of the doll’s face. All the miasma of sickness in this house seemed to center about the smashing of the doll. Yet until Laurie could be withdrawn completely from her father’s reach, she would be under the spell of all these things—a hostage to evil.
Tomorrow, Marcia knew, she must face Jerome and win Laurie back to all that was balanced and sane. Now at least she held a weapon in her hands. Nan had said there was a time when one must take brutal action. Jerome had left her no other choice.
24.
When Jerome came home during the night she did not know, for once she fell asleep, Marcia slept heavily until morning touched the windows. Then she came sharply awake. As she sat up in bed she saw the reminder of withered blossoms on the floor by her chair where they had fallen, and knew that today she must cut the last strands that held Laurie—and herself—to this house.
Laurie heard her stir. “Is my father home?” she asked, and there was the new note of dread in her voice.
“I don’t know,” Marcia said.
“If he is, do I have to see him?” Laurie asked. “Will he take me away from you the way he said?”
“Not ever again,” Marcia told her gently. “Stay in bed for now, darling. I’ll see him first.”
Jerome was at breakfast when she went into the dining room and he greeted her sardonically.
“Good morning. So you decided to return to Kyoto after all?”
There was a trembling in her, but she answered him evenly. “I came after Laurie, of course.” There was no point in reproaching him for his actions. Her words would fall on deaf ears.
He shrugged and pushed back his chair. “As you please, my dear.”
“I’m going to take her home to the States,” Marcia said. “I want to talk to you about that.”
He paused beside her on his way to the door. “You never know when you’ve gone far enough, do you? You never know when to give up?”
“I’m not giving up,” she said. “I must talk to you.”
“Sorry, not this morning,” he said and brushed indifferently past her out the door.
A few moments later he was gone from the house and Marcia called Laurie to get up for breakfast.
During the morning a sad and subdued Chiyo came in to see her and Marcia told her how Haruka had come through into this part of the house last night and stripped the moonflowers from the plant.
Chiyo bowed her head in distress. “At some time she has taken the key from Talbot-san and she will not give it back. I do not know where she hides it.”
“I saw her face,” Marcia said quietly.
“Ah—so desu, ne,” said Chiyo, lapsing into the familiar Japanese phrase that meant “it is so.” “I am sorry—it is better not to see. She has been ill while I was away. I know now how much she needs me. I am very sorry about what happened in Miyajima. There was nothing I could do.”
“I understand,” Marcia said. “What about Ichiro?”
“This is what I have come to tell you. This morning he has gone back to Kobe. There is no other way. In a week or two I will follow him there.”
“That’s the best solution,” Marcia agreed. “But what of Madame Setsu?”
“She will come with me,” Chiyo said. “I have already talked to her and she has agreed.”
“She is willing to leave this house, to leave Jerome?” Marcia asked in surprise.
“She understands more than I realized.” Chiyo bowed her head. “She says she cannot let me sacrifice my life and my happiness for her. If trouble came between me and Ichiro because of her, she would never forgive herself. And she feels that she has turned Talbot-san away from the great work he should do.”
“What did she mean by that?”
“She spoke with deep understanding,” Chiyo said, “and I was ashamed because I did not know her thoughts or feelings. She remembers that when Talbot-san first came to Japan he was wrapped up in plans which excited him. He wanted to pay something of the debt he felt he owed because of the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. So he meant to give himself to peacetime work w
ith nuclear energy. He meant to work here in Japan at the side of Japanese scientists for whom he had great respect.”
“Yes, this is all true,” Marcia said. “But why did he give it up? What changed him?”
“Haruka changed him.” Chiyo’s tone was sorrowful. “She did not wish to, but he looked at her and suffered. And as time passed he saw about him in the course of his work the great suffering of many others. Human beings so maimed and disfigured that surgery and skin grafting could do nothing for them. More and more he began to search in the laboratory for some means of bone and tissue regeneration. He wanted to believe that this could be found. He did not see that this was work for others, and that he was turning back, instead of moving ahead. He looked at Haruka and his mind grew obsessed, until only this one desire ruled him. His true work was forgotten. The men who believed it an honor to work at his side, left him for their own projects. For a long time he stayed in the laboratory alone, struggling in a field which was not his own, trying to learn a new science.”
“Without success?” Marcia said.
“That is true. He became angry and bitter and went more and more along a road he walked alone. At last he gave up and went to work with doctors who knew more than he did—but always in frustration and futility, for this was not where his true genius and knowledge lay.”
“Haruka knew all this?”
“She knew and suffered because she knew. But there was no way in which she could turn him back toward the old way. Now she feels that I have given her the answer. If she goes out of his life, perhaps—”
“I wonder,” Marcia said. The solution seemed too easy somehow, and Jerome’s reaction to it might be violent.
“The only way is to try,” said Chiyo. “As soon as we can make ourselves ready we will go to Kobe. The thing I fear now is to tell Talbot-san. Always in the past he has been kind to me. But I think he will not be kind when I tell him this.”
Marcia made her decision quickly. “Let me tell him,” she said. “There are other matters I must speak to him about also. Don’t worry, Chiyo. I have a plan. Go back to Haruka now and tell her everything will be all right.”
There were tears in Chiyo’s eyes. “Thank you. You are a good friend.”
Marcia went with her to the gate and then turned back to the lonely house. There was nothing more she could do, no step she could take until Jerome came home. She could only hope that her promise to Chiyo would then be turned to fact.
All day long Jerome did not come. At dusk, when Laurie was playing with Tomiko in the garden, Marcia went upstairs to look at the moonflower plant and saw that two more buds were slowly opening. She watched in wonder as the creamy white petals unfolded slowly, almost imperceptibly, before her very eyes. The closed buds seemed to swell to fullness and then, with a tiny pop, the petals were released and the flowers opened to the twilight.
When she heard the bell at the gate, she went down the stairs to face Jerome. He saw her there in the dim hall, waiting for him.
“I suppose you still want to talk to me?” he asked. “All right, let’s get through all this unpleasantness,” and he led the way into the drawing room.
She followed him and turned on the cold light of the chandelier. She did not sit down, but remained standing near the door, while her husband crossed to the far side of the room. The moment was upon her and she dared not flinch.
“Ichiro has gone back to Kobe,” she told him.
“Good riddance.” Jerome took out his pipe and began to fill it. “How did you enjoy your little idyll in Miyajima with Alan Cobb?”
She let title sudden attack go and continued, her voice steady. “In a week or two Chiyo will follow her husband to Kobe and she will take her children there with her.”
Jerome did not look up from lighting his pipe. “We’ve been over this ground before. I’ll have to deal with Chiyo. She can’t go, of course. She has just seen how much Haruka needs her.”
“Haruka is going with her,” Marcia said.
He flicked out the match in his fingers and stared at her.
“Haruka is going to Kobe with Chiyo,” she repeated. “She understands the circumstances and she wants to go.” Marcia’s breathing quickened. “Jerome, you must let her go.”
This time she knew she had confounded him. Anger came alive in his eyes. “If you’ve meddled in this affair, I promise you—”
Her heart beat heavily, thickly, but she went on. “You must let her go. And you must let me take Laurie home to the States.”
“You’re out of your mind,” he said. “As you very well know, I’ll do none of those things.”
She touched her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “I’ve seen Haruka,” she said. “I’ve seen her face.”
He balanced his pipe on his palm, studying it. “Yes?” he said.
“All these years you’ve protected her. You’ve given her a separate world to live in where she could be loved and honored and hidden from anyone who might look at her with horror. You’ve given your life to this. Surely you won’t want it all wasted, thrown away?”
There was a moment of tight silence between them.
“Exactly what do you mean?” he said.
She took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve. “I’ll make a bargain with you. Let Haruka go with Chiyo to Kobe. Let me take Laurie home to the States without opposition from you.”
He seemed frighteningly still. “And if I refuse?” he said.
“Then I will go to the press with Haruka’s story. The foreign press and the Japanese press. It’s a romantic story and a sensational one. You still have a name in the world. Reporters will interview her. This house isn’t a fortress, you know. They’ll manage. You’re newsworthy anywhere. Haruka’s peace will be gone for good.”
He took a step toward her and she saw his eyes. The dark brilliance was in them again and suddenly she was afraid of him in a new way. Her palms were damp with physical fear as he came slowly toward her. She dared not cry out, or move so much as a muscle. She had the instinct of the hunted thing to remain quiet when flight was impossible.
Before he reached her, he seemed to recover himself to some degree, but his sudden smile was more disturbing than a sober visage.
“So?” he said. “You’d expose Haruka to the reporters? You’d throw her to the sensational presses of the world cold-bloodedly, without a qualm?”
The trembling in her would not let her speak. She could only nod wordlessly.
He laughed at her then, softly, though there was little amusement in the sound. “For a moment you almost fooled me. For a moment I forgot how well I know you. Because of course you will never go through with it. If you’ve seen Haruka’s face, then it isn’t in you to injure her so cruelly. Your bargain’s lost its potency, my dear.”
Because all he said was true, she could not speak at all. This was the thing she had meant to hide. The weapon she had picked up was useful only if he did not guess that the point was blunted by her own compassion.
The anger seemed to go out of him and leave a strange emptiness behind. He went past her out the door as if he had forgotten she was there, and she heard his own door close after him.
Marcia fled into the garden, where Laurie still played and caught the child by the hand.
“Come quickly, darling,” she said. “I’m taking you over to Nan’s.”
The child looked into her face and came with her at once. They hurried around the house to the gate, without going inside at all.
Alan was there when they reached Nan’s and Laurie turned to him in happy greeting. She too was finding in Alan a haven of reassurance.
“May Laurie stay here tonight?” Marcia asked Nan a little breathlessly.
“Both of you can stay, of course,” Nan said.
But Marcia shook her head. “I must go back. Nothing is settled yet. I must go back and wait for an answer.”
Nan would have grumbled a little, but Alan understood. He came with her part way along the lane. The dusk wa
s deepening now and in the shadow of a bamboo grove he drew her into his arms. She clung to him for a moment as if she would draw strength from the very feeling of his arms about her.
“I’ll go in with you, if you like,” he said.
“No,” she told him quickly. “I must go alone. I don’t know yet whether I’ve won or lost. He behaved so strangely …”
He tilted her chin and kissed her mouth warmly before he let her go. She ran back to the house with the feeling of his kiss upon her lips and the assurance of his love fortifying her.
The light was on in Jerome’s room and she hesitated for a moment outside his door. But instinct told her this was not the time to face him. She must wait until he was ready to come to her.
Softly she stole upstairs to the gallery overlooking the two gardens. How peaceful it seemed here in the Japanese twilight. The moon was rising in a darkening sky and the noises of the city seemed far away from this hillside. Yet how little peace there was within the Japanese house. Beneath this roof there was separate torment for each one, with little promise of relief anywhere.
She moved to where the tall plant stood beside the rail, remembering how she had watched its great blossoms open only a little while ago—so very long ago. But now there were no white blooms there amid the green. She stared at the plant for a moment and then moved quickly to the door of the partition. The knob turned beneath her hand and she pushed it open.
A Japanese bed had been spread upon the tatami, but the covers had been flung back and there was no one in it. From the gallery that edged the room, she could look down into the Minatos’ garden. On the far side something white fluttered in the dim light. White and scarlet. The white of a kimono, the scarlet of a long obi, untied.
“Chiyo!” Marcia called down the stairs. “Chiyo, go quickly into the garden!”
She heard Chiyo answer, heard her hush the children. A moment later Chiyo ran into the garden and Marcia heard her sharp cry of anguish.
By the time Marcia reached the head of her own stairs, Chiyo had come through the gate between the gardens and was running through the hall, calling for Jerome. He came out of his room at once and Chiyo said, “It is Haruka—in the garden.”
The Moonflower Page 25