Pearl Buck - Patriot

“Certainly,” I-wan replied.

“Beer for one,” Bunji cried to the girl. “For me, whisky.”

“So—” the girl whispered.

“At once!”

She disappeared.

“I hate the English, so I drink their whisky,” Bunji explained when she was gone.

“You used not to drink much,” I-wan replied.

“Oh, so,” Bunji retorted, “yes, I used to be a very good boy, didn’t I? Well, now I am better. I know how to drink and I know other things also.”

The street was quiet in the afternoon sun, but it was a small street. Across it a woman bathing her child looked up curiously.

“Let us go inside,” I-wan suggested. “That woman is listening to you.”

“Women,” Bunji declared in a loud Voice, “are all fools.” He laughed senselessly, rose, stumbled, and would have fallen if I-wan had not caught him. They went into the little cafe and sat down in a corner and the girl came with bottles and cups. I-wan paid her and gave her an extra coin.

“Turn on the phonograph as long as it will last for that, and when it is used, come to me again and I will add another to it,” he said. In a moment the room was full of scraping noisy music, and no one could hear Bunji except I-wan. I-wan began to sip his beer and Bunji poured himself whisky and drank it by mouthfuls.

“Nevertheless, I am going to be married,” he announced to I-wan.

“Have you so decided?” I-wan inquired politely.

“Yes,” Bunji declared, “it is the only thing. Poor Akio!” he sighed and shook his head. “He never learned that all women are alike.”

I-wan did not answer and he hiccoughed once and repeated, “Women are alike, I say!”

“I don’t know women,” I-wan replied.

“It is not necessary to know women,” Bunji repeated. “I tell you, they are alike!”

I-wan did not reply to this. It was, after all, he thought, a waste of time to talk to Bunji drunk and growing more drunk.

“So,” Bunji went on, “I invite you to my wedding. Who is the bride? I don’t know, I don’t care. I told my father yesterday, ‘It is time I married. Please get me a wife.’ That is what I said, ‘Get me a wife.’ He said, ‘Who?’ I said, ‘Any woman, any at all. They are all alike.’”

Bunji glared at I-wan, poured his glass full of whisky, spilling it and drinking it together, as I-wan looked away. He had seen men in Japan drunk often enough, farmers along the roadside roaring their way home from the markets, half their day’s profits burning in their bellies and their brains, young men in restaurants and old men even. He had grown used to a sight he had never seen in his own country, where men drank while they ate, without drunkenness. Even though they drank more than men did here, they were not so easily disturbed by it. Perhaps their natures were in greater equilibrium.

Suddenly, to his surprise, he saw Bunji begin to sob. Bunji sat upright, his face working hideously and the tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I swear I didn’t want to do it,” he sobbed. “Why did I do it then?”

This he inquired of I-wan in a broken and piteous voice. I-wan was wholly bewildered, having an instant before seen him shouting and boisterous. “What did you do?” he asked.

“They were all doing it, you understand,” Bunji said. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “That is — all except the captain of my regiment. You understand, I was lieutenant. I kept my eyes on the captain. I said—”

He was fumbling for his glass, found it and swallowed a mouthful and coughed and shook his head and shuddered.

“Tell me, I-wan,” he whispered. “Have I drunk enough, do you think?”

“More than enough,” I-wan replied gravely.

“Ah, there you are wrong!” Bunji cried in triumph. “I drink until I see the tables begin to circle in the air. Then I know it is enough. But they are still in place. So — I must keep on.” He sighed, and drank again. “What was I telling you?” he asked abruptly.

“You said you kept your eyes on the captain,” I-wan re minded him.

“I did,” Bunji said eagerly. His thick lips were trembling constantly, and a twitch began to jerk his left eye. “The men, you see, I considered beneath me. After all, my father is a man of wealth. And influence. General Seki — is my friend. Through him — I was lieutenant. So I said, ‘I am not a common soldier.’ I was right, wasn’t I?” he demanded angrily of I-wan.

“Perfectly,” I-wan replied, not knowing what all this was about.

“So when the men did it, I said it had nothing to do with me. I said, ‘Their common nature compels them—’ wasn’t I right? So long as the captain didn’t, I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” I-wan asked.

“I tell you, don’t I?” Bunji retorted, “You are stupid, I-wan. That is because you are Chinese. All Chinese are stupid.”

I-wan felt his anger rise, and put it down again. Bunji was drunk.

“Stupid and cowards,” Bunji said loudly against the blare of the music. “We routed them as though we ran about in play. We gave them money to go away, and most of them went. The rest we routed. They all ran — you should have seen them run!” Bunji laughed, tears still wet on his cheeks. He shook his head and tried to pour whisky into his cup. But now he was not able to find it, and I-wan did not help him. He watched Bunji while he searched for the small white cup.

“Hah, at least I know where my mouth is!” he said, and stood up, and put the bottle to his lips. When he set it down, he was sobbing again.

“Still it was the captain’s fault. You see, I had seen the men at it night and day. I tell you, I-wan,”—he leaned toward I-wan, twitching and sobbing—“war twists a man too high. He needs everything strong — wine, much food, many women. He has to have everything heaped up. That is because of the noise of the cannon in his head all the time — and then, he may be dead in an hour — in a minute — no time for anything but the things he can snatch.” Bunji was in such earnest he seemed almost to have sobered himself with his earnestness. “At first I thought it was horrible — you know — the men snatching at women everywhere — young and old — I said to the captain, ‘Shall we allow this?’ He said, ‘We must — if we want them to fight tomorrow.’ You see, he was my superior officer. So what could I say? I looked away from the men and watched him only. I said, ‘So long as he does not—’”

He was beginning to shake again.

“So, I-wan, I ask you, why did he do it, too? I saw it, myself — he had them bring a woman into his tent. She was crying and fighting, but he went at her, not caring — I was crazy. I ran out into the street — I—the first woman I saw — a child — say twelve — though perhaps she was only ten — or perhaps fifteen — she might have been only small for her age — I dragged her into an alley.” He was shuddering and shaking and staring at I-wan as he talked. “All the time I knew I didn’t want to do it — but I had to go on — you see that? It was the captain’s fault, you see that, I-wan? Her fault, also. She screamed so. She screamed out that I was so ugly — monkey, she called me! I said, ‘Be quiet,’ and she kept on screaming and struggling. So I said, ‘Be quiet, or I will have to kill you.’ I warned her, you see. But she was not quiet. So — afterwards — I killed her.” He was weeping and weeping. “You see, I-wan? And only when she lay dead it occurred to me — she did not understand what I said — I spoke in Japanese — without thinking — I didn’t think in time — how could I not have thought of it? That is my fault in the matter, I-wan.”

He sprawled over the table, sobbing. A few people looked at him, and looked away again, and the curtain of noisy music kept them from hearing him.