"Little Monkey! Little Monkey!"
As Ofuku drew near, Hiyoshi got up.
"Yeah?"
Ofuku struck Hiyoshi's shoulder with the thin bamboo cane he always carried when looking around the employees' quarters or giving orders to the warehouse workers. This was not the first time he had struck Hiyoshi. Hiyoshi stumbled, and was immediately covered with mud again.
"When addressing the master, do you say 'yeah'? No matter how many times I tell you, your manners don't improve. This is not a farmer's house!"
Hiyoshi made no reply.
"Why don't you say something? Don't you understand? Say 'yes, sir.'"
Afraid of being hit again, Hiyoshi said, "Yes, sir."
"When did you get back from Kiyosu?"
"Just now."
"You're lying. I asked the people in the kitchen, and they told me you'd already eaten.”
"I felt dizzy. I was afraid I was going to faint."
"Why?"
"Because I was hungry after walking all that way."
"Hungry! When you got back, why didn't you go to the master to make your report right away?"
"I was going to, after washing my feet."
"Excuses, excuses! From what the kitchen workers told me, a lot of the pottery you were supposed to deliver in Kiyosu was broken on the way. Is it true?"
"Yes."
"I suppose you felt it was all right not to apologize to me directly. You thought you'd make up some kind of lie, make a joke of it, or ask the kitchen workers to cover for you! This time I'm not going to put up with it." Ofuku grabbed Hiyoshi's ear and pulled. "Well, come on. Speak up." »
I’m sorry.
"This is getting to be a habit. We're going to get to the bottom of this. Come along we'll talk to my father."
"Please forgive me." Hiyoshi's voice sounded just like the cry of a monkey.
Ofuku did not loosen his grip. He started to go around the house. The path that led from the warehouse to the garden entrance of the house was screened by a thicket of tall Chinese bamboos.
Suddenly, Hiyoshi stopped in his tracks. "Listen," he said, glaring at Ofuku and knocking away his hand, "I've got something to tell you."
"What are you up to now? I'm the master here, remember?" Ofuku said, turning pale and beginning to tremble.
"That's why I'm always obedient, but there's something I want to say to you. Ofuku, have you forgotten our childhood days? You and I were friends, weren't we?"
"That belongs to the past."
"All right, it belongs to the past, but you shouldn't forget it. When they teased you and called you 'the Chinese kid,' do you remember who always stuck up for you?"
"I remember."
"Don't you think you owe me something?" Hiyoshi asked, scowling. He was much smaller than Ofuku, but he had such an air of dignity about him that it was impossible to ell who was the elder. "The other workers are all talking, too," Hiyoshi went on. "They say the master is good, but the young master is conceited and hasn't got a heart. A boy like you, who's never known poverty or hardship, should try working in someone else's house. If you bully me and the other employees again, I don't know what I'll do. But remember that I have a relative who's a ronin in Mikuriya. He has over a thousand men under his command. If he came here on my account, he could wipe out a house like this in a single night." Hiyoshi's threatening stream of nonsense, combined with the fire in his eyes, terrified the hapless Ofuku.
"Master Ofuku!"
"Master Ofuku! Where's Master Ofuku?"
The servants from the main house had been searching for Ofuku for some time. Ofuku, held prisoner by Hiyoshi's stare, had lost the courage to answer them.
"They're calling you," Hiyoshi muttered. And he added, making it sound like an order, "You can go now, but don't forget what I told you." With this parting remark, he turned away and walked toward the back entrance to the house. Later, his heart beating wildly, he wondered if they were going to punish him. But nothing happened. The incident was forgotten.
* **
The year drew to a close. Among farmers and townspeople, a boy turning fifteen usually had a coming-of-age ceremony. In Hiyoshi's case, there was no one to give him a single ceremonial fan, much less a feast. Since it was New Year's, he sat on the corner of a wooden platform with the other servants, sniffling and eating millet cakes cooked with vegetables—a rare treat.
He wondered grimly, Are my mother and Otsumi eating millet cakes this New Year's? Although they were millet farmers, he could recall many a New Year's when there had jeen no cakes to eat. The other men around him were grumbling.
"Tonight the master will have visitors, so we'll have to sit up straight and listen to his stories again."
"I'll have to pretend to have a stomachache and stay in bed."
"I hate that. Especially at New Year's."
There were similar occasions two or three times a year, at the New Year and at the festival of the god of wealth. Whatever the pretext, Sutejiro invited a great many guests: the potters of Seto, the families of favored customers in Nagoya and Kiyosu, members of samurai clans, even the acquaintances of relatives. From that evening on, there would be a horrendous crush of people.
Today, Sutejiro was in an especially good mood. Bowing low, he welcomed his guests in person, apologizing for having neglected them that past year. In the tearoom, which was decorated with one exquisite, carefully chosen flower, Sutejiro's beautiful wife served tea to her guests. The utensils she used were all rare and precious.
It was Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimasa who, late in the previous century, had first practiced the tea ceremony as an aesthetic exercise. It had spread to the common people, and before long, without anyone consciously realizing it, tea had become a central part of people's daily lives. Within the confines of the narrow little tearoom with its single flower and single cup of tea, the turbulence of the world and human suffering could be forgotten. Even in the midst of a corrupt world, the tea ceremony could teach one the cultivation of the spirit.
"Do I have the honor of addressing the lady of the house?" The speaker was a big-boned warrior, who had come in with the other guests. "My name is Watanabe Tenzo. I am a friend of your kinsman Shichirobei. He promised to bring me tonight, but unfortunately he's been taken ill, so I came alone." He bowed politely. He was gentle in demeanor, and although he had the rustic appearance of a country samurai, he asked for a bowl of tea. Sutejiro's wife served it in a yellow Seto bowl.
"I am not acquainted with the etiquette of the tea ceremony," he said. Tenzo looked around him while contentedly sipping the tea. "As might be expected of such a famous, wealthy man, the tea implements here are certainly well crafted. While it is rude of me to ask, isn't the porcelain pitcher you are using a piece of akae ware?"
"Did you notice that?"
"Yes." Tenzo looked at the pitcher, deeply impressed. "If this were to fall into hands of a Sakai merchant, I daresay it would fetch about a thousand gold pieces. Quite apart from its value, it's a beautiful piece."
As they were chatting, they were called inside for dinner. Sutejiro's wife led the way, and together they went into the hall. The place settings had been arranged in a circle around the room. As host, Sutejiro sat in the very center, greeting his guests. When wife and the maids had finished serving the sake, he took his own seat at one of the tables. He picked up his cup and started to tell stories about the Ming, among whom had spent many years. It was so that he might talk about his adventures in China, a country he knew well, but one that was still relatively unknown in Japan, that he would invite his guests and treat them to such lavish entertainments.