Chapter 375
The low roof, the empty room, the paper partition door, the lack of privacy.
She sat by the window, on her knees, a position that used to be punishment; if she sat on her knees all day, she might not be able to stand up for a week. Now she could sit on her knees for a day and a night without feeling anything.
Near the end of winter, flowers and trees in the courtyard have withered, dark-colored stone path from here to the outside, the stone path is full of moss, the moss has yellowed and withered, but the roots are still new green.
Not far away, the sky is dark-colored eaves and wet tiles, as well as when when the copper bell ringing.
Is there a temple in the neighborhood?
Are they Japanese or Chinese monks?
Can we ask them for help?
Would they tell on the Japanese?
In fact, she had long since lost hope that she would be able to run out of here, but such imaginings would give her a moment’s relief.
Here, her every smile and movement was monitored and controlled, and even her thoughts were tied up, so she could only steal a moment to quietly imagine.
She sat there from dawn until dark, when a maid came to the door, and, without opening it, spoke to her through it.
The language spoken was Japanese.
She said, “Ma’am, sir is not coming over tonight, would you like to dine now?”
She gave a soft hmmm.
Within a few moments, the maid brought her dinner, the only meal she’d had all day.
It was abuse.
But she felt it was more like domestication. To domesticate her, to make her a dog in his hands, dependent on her master for every meal and every drop of water.
In fact, one meal a day wouldn’t kill her, she could barely feel her appetite now, and often thought it was okay to die without eating.
The food was ordinary, white rice, an omelet, a plate of cucumber with a few corn, a bowl of tofu soup, and a piece of fish.
She ate slowly, not daring to leave a single grain of rice behind, because she had done so before, and the result was that she didn’t have a sip of water or a bowl of rice for five days, until she “realized” her mistake.
I guess people don’t want to die, but when it came to starving to death, she didn’t want to die, so she admitted that she realized her mistake.
The people who came to educate her told her that many Chinese people were starving to death outside, and that although she was Chinese, she was still able to have enough food to eat and wear because of the favor she received from the Japanese, so how could she dare to have leftovers? Just thinking about how many Chinese starved to death out there, she should treasure the rice in her bowl even more, and be even more grateful to the Japanese for their kindness to her.
These people were not shy about talking about the fact that she was Chinese; on the contrary, they brought up the fact that she was a Chinese all the time.
They made her feel guilty for herself and ashamed of being Chinese.
From time to time, she was driven by them to cry like crazy, to want to commit suicide, to die immediately, to hit the wall, to jump into the water and hang herself, and she even grabbed a gun or a knife from a Japanese man.
But she couldn’t die every time.
Those people will form a circle, a word of cynicism to force her, scolding her. But when she was about to die, they would rush up together to hold her down and stop her.
Later she found out that every time she was pushed to the extreme to seek death, she would have two “good days”.
She didn’t need to study, she didn’t need to entertain guests, and even Yamamoto, that Japanese man, the devil in her eyes, wouldn’t come to see her.
This was her “reward” and comfort.
She had just committed suicide two days before.
So now is her day.
But this time, she was not particularly serious.
Because she knows it won’t work this time.
She couldn’t die without these people’s permission.
Her head was also confused now, because she never understood what the Japanese wanted to do with her.
If it was that they wanted her to entertain the Japanese officers, she went ahead and did it, from resisting at first to being submissive, until now she had learned to pander to the Japanese officers who asked her to entertain them, as if she really worshipped them and fell in love with them.
Then she never saw the Japanese officers again, replaced by Frenchmen and Englishmen.
Hearing those men approach her speaking English and French broke her down once more. If there was anything she still didn’t want to give up, it was the happiest time of her childhood.
After that rescue, she was suddenly less eager to return to England.
Could the duchess continue to take care of her when she returned? Could she go back to that manor?
Actually, no.
She was aware of it all.
They had made her study so many things, literature, art, music, finance, history, everything, and she had been made to learn like a true young lady.
She had even learned Manchu, a language that was of no use at all.
The Japanese man had said once, he said, that he had wanted to give her to the Chinese emperor. The Chinese emperor didn’t like the empress that Japan had chosen for him, so the Japanese was going to send him another Chinese woman as a consort, but of course this Chinese woman would have to be wholeheartedly oriented toward Japan.
Her?
Marrying the Emperor?
She almost laughed out loud.
They’d put her in the service of a Japanese officer, and a Frenchman, and an Englishman, and then send her to the Emperor as a consort?
Was she a plaything, or was the Emperor a plaything too?
Maybe they were all playthings in the hands of the Japanese.
After dinner, she could rest.
The maid made the bed, and after she lay down, the maid would not leave and would sit in front of her bed all night long staring at her.
With such a watchful eye, she closed her eyes and did not drift off to sleep until morning.
The next day she woke up and it was a repeat of the same day.
The maid served her to wash her, but she had to dress herself, in kimono, not a single step wrong, and in a graceful manner.
She stood in front of the mirror and put layer upon layer of kimono on her body as two maids sat in front of her with trays, but would not do anything to help her.
Finally, she tied her own obi, tied the knots, and wore her fan and scented pouch where they belonged.
Then she sat down.
The maids of honor informed her of what she should do today.
If there were guests to be entertained, she was to prepare them from now on.
If there were no guests, the maids would retire and would not bring her breakfast.
If she wanted breakfast, she would have to go see Yamamoto, serve him, and eat his leftovers on the porch.
Ditto for lunch.
If Yamamoto wasn’t there, there was no place she could eat even if she wanted to. No one in the entire mansion would give her a bite of food, and dinner was the only thing she could eat.
These were the rules she had learned with her own body to survive in this mansion.
The maid did not retire today.
She held her breath and watched the maids, waiting for them to speak.
The older maid crouched down to her and said respectfully, “Ma’am, Monsieur has asked you to come and see her.”
She held her breath and said, “Yes, I’ll be right over.”
She stood up and, accompanied by her maid, walked out of this small courtyard and through the cloisters to Yamamoto’s yard.
Yamamoto’s yard was full of Japanese soldiers with loaded guns.
In addition to the Japanese soldiers in their uniforms, there were some even scarier men, most of them in suits and a little more nonchalant in their speech.
She stopped after seeing them and didn’t move on until they had left.
She had never seen a Japanese person before, and she had never known that the upper and lower class distinctions within Japanese groups were so severe, that women were very lowly objects in the eyes of the Japanese, even better than the oppression of women in the Chinese feudal system, because in Japan, the revolution had succeeded, and the Emperor of Japan was the product of the revolution, which was completely different and opposite from China, which she knew was in the midst of a revolution right now, with countless people trying to establish A new China that is different from the previous feudal and corrupt dynasties. Although she grew up in England, and until now she does not consider herself a complete Chinese, she is able to understand the Chinese revolutionaries.
Precisely because she could understand the Chinese revolutionaries, she could not understand the Japanese revolution. The Japanese revolutionaries overthrew the Shogunate, but they raised the militarism represented by the Japanese Emperor, is this really progress?
She didn’t understand, but she felt that it amounted to a change of soup and not a change of medicine, apart from changing the person sitting at the top, what difference did the rest make?
These people wanted her to love Japan, to love Japan’s strength, to worship Japan’s strength-but what did that have to do with her? She doesn’t benefit from Japan’s strength.
These Japanese people never seem to understand that being strong does not make her worship, because she is suffering because of Japan’s strength, and at least half of her life’s suffering is because of “strong Japan.”
How can she worship it.
She walked into Yamamoto’s room and was surprised to find that he seemed to have lost a lot of weight.
He was sitting on the mattress, wearing a shirt with his pajamas underneath.
He beckoned her to come closer and motioned for the maids of honor to retire.
The maids closed the door.
She assumed it was another one of those old training routines, so she obediently began to undo her belt.
Yamamoto just watched as she stripped herself naked without saying a word.
It wasn’t until she was naked that he said, “You open the box on the table.”
She went to open the box and found inside was a syringe and two small pill bottles.
He said, “Draw the medicine into the syringe.”
She did as she was told and her hands began to shake.
She was worried that this was the medicine for her.
She’d been medicated, every day for a while, and it had made her delirious, and she didn’t remember any of that time anymore.
Yamamoto put his arm out and rolled his sleeve up, “Guizi, give me the shot.”
He stared at her.
And she, unable to control it, looked up.
Yamamoto stretched out his arm, “Come on, Takiko, I trust you, come on.”
With shaking hands, she sterilized an alcohol cotton ball from a small tin box nearby, stuck the needle firmly in his arm, and slowly pushed the medicine in.
She didn’t dare breathe until she had finished the needle.
And she was sure that if she had just stabbed Yamamoto in the neck or heart with the syringe, he would have killed her instantly.
Yamamoto relaxed a little too, and he didn’t believe her either.
One thing she was surprised to realize was that Yamamoto didn’t trust anyone!
He’d actually rather have her give him the shot than the maids or those men outside the door!
Geez!
Hahahahahahaha!
She laughed maniacally in her mind, but not a single expression on her face.
Yamamoto grabbed her chin and lifted her face and asked her, “Takako, why don’t you ask?”
She lifted her head supplely and said, “If Mister is going to tell your son, then your son needs to know. If Mister is not going to tell you anything, your son doesn’t need to know.”
Yamamoto released her and patted her arm, “Put your clothes on.”
She put on her kimono with poise right in front of Yamamoto’s bed, her mind calm and unruffled as she did so.
There was only one thing that made her happy today.
That was that he was sick!
May God make him sicker! Let him be sick and die!