"Olaf Stapledon - Collected Stories" - читать интересную книгу автора (Stapledon Olaf)

The company was as hybrid as the room. Two English maidservants in mobcaps and laced bodices
moved demurely in the background. Opposite me sat my exquisitely English wife, the warm tone of her
sunned arms contrasting with the cool parchment-like skin of the Japanese lady. The grave and slightly
grizzled Mr. Kawamura was typical (I half guessed it, half remembered) of the finer sort of Japanese man
of affairs. He was a "shipping director," which was the Japanese equivalent of a ship owner. That is, he
was a civil servant in control of a line of steamers. In Japan, I recollected, all the means of production
were now state-owned.

This fact, along with others that cropped up in the course of conversation, made me revise my view of the
relation of my new world to my old. I had guessed that the roles of Japan and Britain were simply
reversed. But evidently the situation was more complicated that that, for Japan was some sort of socialist
state. I was soon to have further evidence of complication.

My intense curiosity about everything, and my anxiety lest my own behaviour should betray me, bid fair
to be eclipsed by a third interest, namely the fascination of Mrs. Kawamura's personality. I was at first
inclined to think of her as a modernized and world-conscious reincarnation of the Lady Murasaki; but
presently I learned that she was in fact a native not of Japan but of China. Though her shining black hair
was cut short, and her whole bearing, like her dress, was frankly modern, her features (of old ivory) and
also her grave intelligent expression suggested the ancient culture of her race. In spite of her "shingle" and
bare arms, she reminded me of a certain very delicate Chinese miniature painter and embroidered on silk.
This I had long ago encountered in my other world, and its pale perfect face had become my symbol of
all the best in China. Mrs. Kawamura's was this face done large and with an added largeness of spirit.
Her heavy eyelids gave her an expression of perpetual meditation. A sweet and subtle mockery played
about her eyes and lips. But more particularly I was intrigued by her manner, by the way in which she
moved her hands and turned her head. Her whole demeanour reminded me of the action of an artist
engaged on some very precise but ample piece of brush-work, so exact it was, yet flowing.

Between the courses Mrs. Kawamura drew a cigarette case from her pochette and asked if it was
permitted to smoke at such an early stage in an English meal. Betty, after a minute pause, hastened to
say, "Why, of course, in the houses of those who have travelled." Up to this point I had played my part
without a single lapse, but now at last I tripped. Automatically I produced a matchbox from my pocket,
struck a light, and offered it for her convenience. Mrs. Kawamura hesitated for a moment, looked me in
the eyes, glanced at my wife, then smilingly shook her head and used her own cigarette lighter. Betty, I
saw, was blushing and trying not to show bewilderment and distress. In a flash it came upon me that in
England (of this new world) one did not offer to light a woman's cigarette unless one was very intimate
with her. I began to stammer an apology; but Mr. Kawamura saved the situation with a laugh, and said to
Betty, "Your husband forgot that he is no longer in Japan, where that action is considered only common
politeness." I snatched at this excuse. "Yes," I said, "I grew so used to it. And today I have had too much
sun." It was Betty's turn to laugh, as best she could. Lapsing into English, she said, "Thy Oriental ways
keep surprising me, Tom, but I expect I shall get used to them." In Japanese she added, "Of course
England is rather stupid about some things."

Mrs. Kawamura leaned toward Betty and lightly touched the hand that still nervously crumbled a piece of
bread. There was nothing of patronage in the act; or if there was, it was rendered inoffensive by the
sincere and rather timid respect of the culture which is already in full and determinate blossom for the
culture which has still to unfold. "You English women," she said, "have a great task. You have to see that
your men preserve what is best in England while they absorb what is best in the East." Smiling at her
husband, she continued, "Men are all such boys. They run after flashy new things and throwaway the
well-tried old things. Azuki, there, is much more interested in his new turbo-electric liner than in the
incomparable literature of my country." This mischievous sally was evidently well directed, for Mr.