The Dragon Painter | Page 9

under a wreck of burning cars; starved
to death in a solitary forest; set upon, robbed, and slain by footpads, all
spun--black silhouettes in a revolving lantern--through Kano's frenzied
imagination. It was at this point that Uchida had hid himself, and
assumed a false name.
In another week the gentle Umè began to grow pale and silent under the
small tyrannies of her father. Mata openly declared her belief that it
was a demon now on the way to them, since he had power to change
the place into a cave of torment even before arrival. After Uchida's
defection old Kano remained constantly at home. Many hours at a time
he stood upon the moon-viewing hillock of his garden, staring up, then
down the street, up and down, up and down, until it was weariness to
watch him. Within the rooms he was merely one curved ear, bent in the
direction of the entrance gate. His nervousness communicated itself to
the women of the house. They, too, were listening. More than one
innocent visitor had been thrown into panic by the sight of three
strained faces at the gate, and three pairs of shining eyes set instantly
upon them.
One twilight hour, late in August, Tatsu came. After an eager day of

watching, old Kano had just begun to tell himself that hope was over.
Tatsu had certainly been killed. The ihai might as well be set up, and
prayers offered for the dead man's soul. Umè-ko, wearied by the heat,
and the incessant strain, lay prone upon her matted floor, listening to
the chirp of a bell cricket that hung in a tiny bamboo cage near by. The
clear notes of the refrain, struck regularly with the sound of a fairy bell,
had begun to help and soothe her. Mata sat dozing on the kitchen step.
A loud, sudden knock shattered in an instant this precarious calm. Kano
went through the house like a storm. Mata, being nearest, flung the
panel of the gate aside. There stood a creature with tattered blue robe
just to the knees, bare feet, bare head, with wild, tossing locks of hair,
and eyes that gleamed with a panther's light.
"Is it--is it--Tatsu?" screamed the old man, hurling his voice before
him.
"It is a madman," declared the servant, and flattened herself against the
hedge.
Umè said nothing at all. After one look into the stranger's face she had
withdrawn, herself unseen, into the shadowy rooms.
"I am Tatsu of Kiu Shiu," announced the apparition, in a voice of
strange depth and sweetness. "Is this the home of Kano Indara?"
"Yes, yes, I am Kano Indara," said the artist, almost grovelling on the
stones. "Enter, dear sir, I beseech. You must be weary. Accompany me
in this direction, august youth. Mata, bring tea to the guest-room."
Tatsu followed his tempestuous host in silence. As they gained the
room Kano motioned him to a cushion, and prepared to take a seat
opposite. Tatsu suddenly sank to his knees, bowing again and again,
stiffly, in a manner long forgotten in fashionable Yeddo.
"Discard the ceremony of bowing, I entreat," said Kano.
"Why? Is it not a custom here?"

"Yes,--to a lesser extent. But between us, dear youth, it is unnecessary."
"Why should it be unnecessary between us?" persisted the unsmiling
guest.
"Because we are artists, therefore brothers," explained Kano, in an
encouraging voice.
Tatsu frowned. "Who are you, and why have you sent for me?"
"Do you inquire who I am?" said Kano, scarcely believing his ears.
"It is what I asked."
"I am Kano Indara." The old man folded his arms proudly, waiting for
the effect.
Tatsu moved impatiently upon his velvet cushion. "Of course I knew
that. It was the name on the scrap of paper that guided me here."
"Is it possible that you do not yet know the meaning of the name of
Kano?" asked the artist, incredulously. A thin red tingled to his
cheek,--the hurt of childish vanity.
"There is one of that name in my village," said Tatsu. "He is a
scavenger, and often gives me fine large sheets of paper."
Old Kano's lip trembled. "I am not of his sort. Men call me an artist."
"Oh, an artist! Does that mean a painter of dragons, like me?"
"Among other things of earth and air I have attempted to paint
dragons," said Kano.
"I paint nothing else," declared Tatsu, and seemed to lose interest in the
conversation.
Kano looked hard into his face. "You say that you paint nothing else?"
he challenged. "Are not these--all of them--your work, the creations of

your fancy?" He reached out for the roll that Uchida had brought. His
hands trembled. In his nervous excitement the papers fell, scattering
broadcast over the floor.
Tatsu's dark face flashed into