Part 13 (1/2)
The child suffered long and terribly; both arms were broken, and in several places, also her little finger, a number of ribs, her collar-bone, and one leg, while cuts were simply not counted. During her fever-haunted nights she babbled j.a.panese for hours, with one single English name appearing and reappearing almost continually,--the name of Frank; and when she called that name it was like the cooing of a pigeon, and the down-drooping corners of her grave mouth curled upward into smiles. She spoke English surprisingly well, as the other members of the troupe only knew a very little broken English; and had she not placed the emphasis on the wrong syllable, her speech, would have been almost perfect.
Generally she was silent and sad and unsmiling, but grateful, pa.s.sionately grateful to her ”nurse-lady,” as she called Mrs. Holmes; yet when, that kind woman stooped to kiss her once, Oma.s.sa shrank from the caress with such repugnance as deeply to wound her, until the little j.a.panese had explained to her the national abhorrence of kissing, a.s.suring her over and over again that even ”the j.a.pan ma'ma not kiss little wee baby she love.”
Mrs. Holmes ceased to wonder at the girl's sadness when she found she was absolutely alone in the world: no father, no mother; no, no sister, no brother, ”no what you call c-cousine?--no nothing, n.o.body have I got what belong to me,” she said.
One morning, as her sick-room toilet was completed, Mrs. Holmes said lightly:--
”Oma.s.sa, who is Frank?” and then fairly jumped at the change in the ivory-tinted, expressionless face. Her long, narrow eyes glowed, a pink stain came on either cheek, she raised herself a little on her best arm, eagerly she cried, ”You know him--oh, you know Frank?”
Regretfully Mrs. Holmes answered, ”No, dear, I don't know him.”
”But,” persisted Oma.s.sa, ”you know him, or how could you speak his name?”
”I learned the name from you, child, when you talked in the fever. I am very sorry I have caused you a disappointment. I am to blame for my curiosity--forgive me.”
All the light faded from her face and very quietly she lay down upon her pillow, her lips close-pressed, her eyes closed; but she could not hide the s.h.i.+ning of the tears that squeezed between her short, thick lashes and clung to them. 'Twas long before his name was mentioned again; but one day something had been said of friends, when Oma.s.sa with intense pride had exclaimed:--”I have got my own self one friend--he--my friend Frank.”
”What's his other name?” asked the nurse.
”Oh, he very poor, he got only one name.”
”But, dear, he must have another name, he is Frank somebody or something.”
”No! no!” persisted Oma.s.sa with gentle obstinacy, ”he tell me always true, he very poor, good man--he got only one name, my Frank Sen.”
”There,” cried Mrs. Holmes, triumphantly, ”you see he _has_ two names after all, you have just called him by them both--Frank Sen.”
At which the invalid sent forth a tinkling laugh of amus.e.m.e.nt, crying: ”Oh, that not one man's name, oh, no! That Sen that like your Mr.--Mrs.; you nurse-lady, you Holmes Sen. Ito--big j.a.pan fight man, he Ito Sen, you unnerstand me, nurse-lady?”
”Yes, child, I understand. Sen is a t.i.tle, a term of respect, and you like to show your friend Frank all the honour you can, so you call him Frank Sen.”
And Oma.s.sa with unconscious slanginess gravely answered: ”You right _on_ to it at first try. My boss” (her manager Kimoto) ”find _me_ baby in j.a.pan, with very bad old man. He gamble all time. I not know why he have me, he not my old man, but he sell me for seven year to Kimoto, and Kimoto teach me jump, turn, twist, climb, and he send my money all to old man--_all_. We go Mexico--South America--many Islands--to German land, and long time here in this most big America--and the world so big--and then I so little j.a.pan baby--I no play--I no sing--I know nothing what to do--and just _one_ person in this big lonesome_ness_ make a kindness to me--my Frank Sen--just one man--just one woman in all world make goodness to me--my Frank Sen and my nurse-lady,” and she stroked with reverent little fingers the white hand resting on the bed beside her.
”What was he like, your Frank?” asked the nurse.
”Oh, he one big large American man--he not laugh many times loud, but he laugh in he blue eye. He got brown mustache and he hair all short, thick, wavy--like puppy dog's back. He poor--he not perform in circus, oh, no! He work for put up tents, for wagon, for horses. He ver good man for fight too--he smash man that hurt horse--he smash man that kick dog or push me, j.a.pan baby. Oh, he best man in all the world” (the exquisite Madame b.u.t.terfly was not known yet, so Oma.s.sa was not quoting). ”He tell me I shall not say some words, 'd.a.m.n' and 'h.e.l.l' and others more long, more bad, and he tell me all about that 'h.e.l.l' and where is--and how you get in for steal, for lie, for hurt things not so big as you--and how you can't get out again where there is cool place for change--and he smooth my hair and pat my shoulder, for he know j.a.pan people don't ever be kissed--and he call me one word I cannot know.”
She shook her head regretfully. ”He call me 'poor little wave'--why poor little wave--wave that mean water?” she sighed. ”I can't know why Frank Sen call me that.”
But quick-witted Mrs. Holmes guessed the word had been ”waif”--poor little waif, and she began dimly to comprehend the big-hearted, rough tent-man, who had tried to guard this little foreign maid from the ignorance and evil about her.
”But,” resumed Oma.s.sa, with perfect conviction, ”Frank Sen meaned goodness for me when he called me 'wave'--I know _that_. What you think that big American man do for help me little j.a.pan baby--with no sense?
Well, I will tell you. When daylight circus-show over, he take me by hand and lead me to shady place between tents--he sit down--put me at he knee, and in what you call primer-book with he long brown finger he point out and make me know all those big fat letters--yes, he do _that_.
Other mens make of him fun--and he only laugh; but when they say he my father and say of me names, he lay down primer and fight. When he lay out the whole deck, he come back and wash he hands and show me some more letters. Oh, I very stupid j.a.pan baby; but at last I know _all_, and _then_ he harness some together and make d-o-g say dog, and n-o say no, and so it come that one day next week was going to be his fete-day,--what you call birsday,--and I make very big large secret.”
She lifted herself excitedly in bed, her glowing eyes were on her nurse's face, her lips trembled, the ”lantern” was alight and glowing radiantly.
”What you think I do for my Frank Sen's birsday? I have never one penny,--I cannot buy,--but I make one big great try. I go to circus-lady, that ride horse and jump hoops--she read like Frank Sen. I ask her show me some right letters. Oh, I work hard--for I am very stupid j.a.pan child; but when that day come, Frank Sen he lead me to shady place--he open primer--then,” her whole face was quivering with fun at the recollection, ”then I take he long finger off--I put _my_ finger and I slow spell--not cat--not dog--oh, _what_ you think?--I spell F-r-a-n-k--Frank! He look to me, and then he make a big jump--he catch me--toss me, high up in air, and he shout big glad shout, and then I say--'cause for your birsday.' He stop, he put me down, and he eyes come wet, and he take my hand and he say: 'Thank you, that's the only birsday gift I ever _re_ceived that was not from my mother. Spell it again for me,' he said; and then he was very proud and said, 'there was not any-other birsday gift like that in all the world!' What you think of _that_?
”Then the end to season of circus come--Frank Sen he kneel down by me--he very sad--he say, 'I have nothing to give--I am such a fool--and the green-cloth--oh, the curse of the green-cloth!' He took off my j.a.pan slippers and smiled at them and said, 'Poor little feet'; he stroked my hands and said, 'Poor little hands'; he lifted up my face and said, 'Poor little wave'; then he look up in air and he say, very troubled-like, 'A few home memories--some small knowledge, all I had, I have given her. To read a little is not much, but maybe it may help her some day, and I have nothing more to give!'