"You're to go with Takumi and show him the way to the pottery shop in Shinkawa."
"To Shinkawa?"
"What are you making such a long face for?"
"But—"
"I can see you don't want to go, but Takumi is to return the water pitcher to its rightful owner. I thought it would be a good idea if you went along too."
Hiyoshi prostrated himself and touched his forehead to the ground.
Since he had come along as an attendant, when they arrived at Sutejiro's Hiyoshi waited outside. Not knowing what to make of this, his former co-workers came up and stared. He himself seemed to have completely forgotten that some of them had laughed at him and beaten him before he had been sent home. Smiling at everyone, he squatted in the sunshine, waiting for Takumi. Presently, Takumi came out of the house.
The unexpected return of the stolen pitcher made Sutejiro and his wife so happy they were not sure they weren't dreaming. They hastened to arrange their visitor's sandals so he could slip them on easily, then hurried on ahead of him to the gate, where they bowed repeatedly. Ofuku, too, was there, and he was startled to see Hiyoshi.
"We'll try to find the time to come to Hachisuka and pay our respects in person," said Sutejiro. "Please give His Lordship our very best regards. Thank you again for taking the trouble to come all this way." Husband, wife, Ofuku, and all the employees bowed low. Hiyoshi followed Takumi out and waved to them as he left.
As they walked past the Komyo hills, he wondered sadly, How's my aunt in Yabuyama? And my poor sick uncle? He may be dead already. They were close to Nakamura, and naturally he thought of his mother and sister. He would have liked nothing better than to run over for a moment and see them, but the vow he had made on that frosty night stopped him. He still had done nothing to make his mother happy. As he turned reluctantly away from Nakamura, he met a man in the uniform of a foot soldier.
"Say, aren't you Yaemon's son?"
"And who are you, may I ask?"
"You're Hiyoshi, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"My, you've gotten big! My name is Otowaka. I was a friend of your father. We served in the same regiment under Lord Oda Nobuhide."
"I remember you now! Have I really gotten that big?"
"Ah, I wish your poor dead father could see you now."
Tears came to Hiyoshi's eyes. "Have you seen my mother lately?" he asked.
"I haven't been to the house, but I go to Nakamura from time to time and hear news. She seems to be working as hard as usual."
"She's not sick, is she?"
"Why don't you go see for yourself?"
"I can't go home until I become a great man."
"Just go and show your face. She's your mother, after all."
Hiyoshi wanted to cry. He looked away. When he felt all right again, Otowaka was already walking away in the opposite direction. Takumi had moved on, and was some disance ahead.
* * *
The lingering summer heat had finally faded; the mornings and evenings felt like autumn, and the leaves of the taro plants were lush and full-grown.
"This moat hasn't been dredged for five years at least," Hiyoshi muttered. "We're forever practicing horsemanship and learning spear techniques, and we let mud pile up atour very feet! That's no good." Having returned from the bamboo cutter's house, he was inspecting the mansion's old moat. "What's a moat for, anyway? I'll have to bring this the master's attention."
Hiyoshi tested the depth of the water with a bamboo pole. The surface of the water was covered by water plants, so no one took much notice; but because fallen leaves and mud had accumulated over the years, the moat was not really very deep anymore. After testing the depth in two or three places, he threw away the pole. He was about to cross the bridge to the side gate when someone called out, "Master Half-pint." This was not a reference to his height, but the customary way to address a servant of a provincial clan
"Who are you?" Hiyoshi asked of a hungry-looking man sitting under an oak tree, hugging his knees. He wore a dirty gray kimono with a bamboo flute stuck in the sash.
"Come here a moment." The man waved him over. He was a komuso, one of the mendicant flute-playing monks who came to the village now and then. Like the rest, this one was dirty and unshaven, and carried a bamboo flute in a reed mat slung over his shoulder. Some of them went from village to village like Zen monks, attracting people’s attention by ringing a hand bell.
"Alms for a monk? Or are you too busy thinking of your next meal?"
"No." Hiyoshi was about to make fun of him, but knowing how tough the life of a traveler could be, he offered instead to bring him food if he was hungry and medicine he was sick.
Shaking his head, the man looked up at Hiyoshi and laughed. "Well, won't you sit down?"
"I prefer to stand, thanks. What's on your mind?"
"Are you in service here?"
"Not really." Hiyoshi shook his head. "I get my meals but I'm not a member of the household."
"Hm… Do you work in the back, or in the main house?"
"I sweep the garden."
"A guard of the inner garden, eh? You must be one of Master Koroku's favorites?"
"I wouldn't know."
"Is he at home now?"
"He's out."
"That's a shame," the monk mumbled. He looked disappointed. "Will he be back today?"
Hiyoshi thought there was something suspicious about the man and he hesitated, thinking it best to choose his answers carefully.
"Is he coming back?" the man asked again.
Hiyoshi said, "I'll bet you're a samurai. If you're nothing but a monk, you must be a real novice."
Startled, the man stared intently at Hiyoshi. At length he asked, "Why do you think I'm either a samurai or a novice?"
Hiyoshi answered casually, "It's obvious. Although your skin is tanned, the underside of your fingers are white, and your ears are fairly clean. As for proof that you're a samurai, you're sitting cross-legged on the mat, warrior-style, as if you were still wearing armor. A beggar or monk would bend his back and slump forward. Simple, isn't it?"
"Hm… you're right." The man got up off the mat without taking his eyes off Hiyoshi for even a second. "You have very keen eyes. I've gone through many border posts and checkpoints in enemy territory, and no one's caught on to me yet."
"There are as many fools as wise men in the world, wouldn't you say? Anyway, what do you want with my master?"
The man lowered his voice. "The truth is, I've come from Mino."
"Mino?"
"If you were to mention Namba Naiki, a retainer to Saito Dosan, Master Koroku would understand. I wanted to see him and leave quickly without anyone knowing, but if he's not here, there's nothing to be done. I'd better keep to the village during the day and come back this evening. If he returns, tell him what I said privately."
Naiki started to walk away. But Hiyoshi called him back, saying, "It was a lie."
"Huh?"
"That he's away. I said that because I didn't know who you were. He's at the riding grounds."
"Ah, so he is here."
"Yes. I'll take you to him."
"You're pretty sharp, aren't you?"
"In a military household, it's only natural to be cautious. Should I assume that the men in Mino are impressed by this sort of thing?"
"No, you should not!" Naiki said, annoyed.
Following the moat, they crossed the vegetable patch, and taking the path that went behind the wood, they came to the wide riding grounds.
The earth was dry, and dust rose into the sky. The men of Hachisuka were training hard. They were not just practicing riding. In one maneuver, they drew up stirrup-to-stirrup and exchanged blows with staves just as if they were fighting in a real battle.
"Wait here," Hiyoshi instructed Naiki.
Having observed the training session, Koroku wiped the sweat from his brow and went to the rest hut for a drink.