On the afternoon of the family council the guests were ushered upstairs, where all the shojis had been removed, thus making a cool pavilion of the story. Every male relative of the Kamura family had dutifully accepted the invitation, since they were old-fashioned and most punctilious in the observance of family and social etiquette.
After the usual exchange of salutations, Madame Kamura and her young daughter, Haru-no, brought tea and tobacco for the men. Then with graceful prostrations they made their excuses, and, taking Ohano with them, retired to another portion of the house. The women’s retirement was the signal for the council’s beginning.
Kamura, the first to speak, showed apparent reluctance, while at the same time he nervously tapped his pipe upon the hibachi.
“Honorable relatives,” he said, bowing to the company, and then turning toward Yamada Kwacho, “and most esteemed friend and neighbor, it gives me pain to be forced to make apology for the absence of my son Junzo.”
He paused, and, to cover his discomposure, solemnly filled and lighted his pipe again, while the relatives masked their surprise with polite, impassive expressions.
“My son,” continued Kamura, “arrived last night from Tokyo. I doubt not for a moment, but that it was his honorable purpose and intention to attend our council, which you all know was called to arrange the preliminaries of the wedding ceremony of my son, Kamura Junzo, and the most virtuous and estimable Masago.”
Again the old man paused to glance in a half-appealing way at his son Okido, the next in age to Junzo, who sat at his left side. On Kamura’s right the seat was vacant. This was Junzo’s place.
“Last night,” continued Kamura, “my son was certainly ill in health; he was pale of face and absent in both look and speech. I set it down to the most natural mood of youth about to wed. We all, good sirs, have felt that happy sense of melancholy peculiar to this stage of our careers.”
Some of the guests smiled, and nodded their heads, assenting to this fact; others looked at one another somewhat dubiously.
“And so,” continued their host, “we thought it wisdom not to broach the subject of our council. When morning came Junzo was still pale and constrained. His mother spoke in delicate terms of the council planned, and he mildly acquiesced in all she said. At noon he barely touched his meal. He appeared so listless, that no member of the family had the heart to break upon his meditations. Hence, when he walked in seeming moodiness about the gardens, then suddenly turned and wandered toward the hills, I simply bade my son Okido follow him at respectful distance. To be more brief, good friends, it seems that Junzo followed a straight course along the hills, and, coming to the palace walls of Aoyama, ventured beyond the gates. Okido, being an obedient and filial son, hastened home to acquaint his father with the facts. Since then my son has not returned.”