THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
town. Belong you. Me Saki San. Me comb hair?"
Ruth could not help smiling. Impulsively she gave the brush and comb to Saki San and sat down in a chair. The Japanese girl fussed over her for an hour, and somehow her touch soothed the raw nerves. But Saki San would not talk. She never brought into this room any of the secrets of the house.
"You sleep night?"
Ruth did not know whether to say yes or no. It might be a trap. She compromised by shrugging.
"You sleep day. Watch night. Maybe so no man catch um sleep." Saki San did not smile as she offered this advice. "Hon'able lady un'stan'?"
"Yes."
Saki San, which was a nickname, knew absolutely nothing about morals. From her point of view the life she lived was proper, if arduous. Her parents away off in Saki, Japan, owed money and regularly she sent home half of her eranings. But instinctively she did know that this strange, beautiful white woman saw things differently.
Saki San had known many white women. They cried a good deal when alone, drank deeply, used all manner of drugs, and sometimes prayed wildly to a strange God Saki San had never heard of until the white man took her from the segregated district in Tokio and eventually left her here in Singapore. For two years now she had been com-
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