“No! No!" Hiyoshi fought her, yelling and digging his heels into the dirt. "No! I hate you!  You're stupid! No!"

His mother pulled him along, imposing her will. Just then the sound of a cough, mixed with smoke from the hearth, came through the bamboo-screened window. When he heard his father's voice, Hiyoshi's shoulders shrank and he became silent. Yaemon was only about forty, but, condemned to spend his days as a cripple, he had the raspy, coughing voice of a man past fifty.

“I’ll tell your father you're giving me too much trouble," his mother said, loosening her grip. He covered his face with his hands and wiped his eyes as he cried softly.

Looking at this little boy who was too hard to handle, his mother wondered what was to become of him?

Onaka! Why are you shouting at Hiyoshi again? It's unbecoming. What business do you have fighting with your own child and crying like that?" asked Yaemon through the window, in the shrill voice of a sick man.

“You should scold him then," Onaka said reproachfully.

Yaemon laughed. "Why? Because he wants to play with my old sword?"

“Yes."

“He was just playing."

“Yes, and he shouldn't be doing that."

“He's a boy, and my son, too. Is it really so bad? Give him the sword!"

Onaka looked toward the window in amazement and bit her lip in frustration.

I won! Hiyoshi exulted, enjoying his victory, but only for a moment. As soon as he saw the tears streaming down his mother's pale cheeks, his victory felt hollow.

“Oh, stop crying! I don't want the sword anymore. I'll go help my sister." He ran off to the kitchen, where his sister was bent over, blowing into the clay oven through a bam­boo stalk to bring the firewood to life.

Hiyoshi bounded in, saying, "Hey, shall I fetch the water?"

"No, thank you," Otsumi answered, timidly looking up in surprise. Wondering what he was up to, she shook her head.

Hiyoshi lifted the lid off the water jar and peered inside. "It's already full. Shall I mash up the bean paste?"

"No! Don't be a bother!"

"A bother? All I want to do is help. Let me do something for you. Shall I fetch the pickles?"

"Didn't Mother go and get them just now?"

"Well, what can I do?"

"If you only behaved yourself, that'd make Mother happy."

"Why, aren't I behaving now? Is there a fire in the oven? I'll start it for you. Move over."

"I'm doing fine!"

"If you'd just move…"

"Look what you did! You put it out!"

"Liar! You're the one who put it out!"

"That's not so."

"Loudmouth!"

Hiyoshi, impatient with the firewood that wouldn't ignite, slapped his sister on the cheek. Otsumi cried loudly and complained to her father. Since they were next to the living room, very soon their father's voice thundered in Hiyoshi's ears.

"Don't hit your sister! It doesn't do for a man to hit women! Hiyoshi, come in here this minute!"

On the other side of the partition, Hiyoshi swallowed hard and glared accusingly at Otsumi. His mother came in and stood by the entrance, dismayed that this was happening yet again.

Yaemon was frightening, the most frightening father in the world. Hiyoshi did as he was told. He sat straight and looked up at his father.

Kinoshita Yaemon was sitting in front of the hearth. Behind him was the staff that he needed to use to walk. Without it he was unable to go anywhere, even to the toilet. His elbow rested on a wooden box that he used for spinning and collecting hemp, a sideline he worked at when he felt so inclined. Disabled though he was, he could help a little with the family finances.

"Hiyoshi!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Don't be a nuisance to your mother."

"Yes."

"And don't argue with your sister. Think of the impression you make. What should your conduct as a man be, and how should you behave toward women, who are to be protected?"

"Well, I-I didn't—"

Quiet! I have ears. I know where you are and what you're doing, even though I never leav e this room." Hiyoshi shuddered. He believed what his father was saying.

However, Yaemon could not repress the affection he felt for his only son. His own leg and arm could never be as they were before, but he believed that through this child his blood would go on for a hundred years. Then he looked at Hiyoshi again, and his mood changed. A father was supposed to be the best judge of his son, but even at his most optimistic, Yaemon could not see how this strange-looking, snotty-nosed little brat was going to rise above his parents and wash away the disgrace from their name. Still, Hiyoshi was his only son, and Yaemon rested impossible hopes in him. "The sword in the storage shed—do you want it, Hiyoshi?"

"Well…" Hiyoshi shook his head.

"You don't want it?"

"I want it, but…"

"Why don't you say so, then?"

"Mother said absolutely not."

"That's because women hate swords. Wait here."

Taking his staff, he limped into the other room. Unlike the house of a poor farmer,  this one had several rooms. Hiyoshi's mother's relatives had once lived here. Yaemon had relatives, but his wife had family in the neighborhood.

Hiyoshi had not been scolded, but he still felt uneasy. Yaemon returned, carrying a short sword wrapped in cloth. It was not the one rusting away in the storage shed.

"Hiyoshi, this is yours. Wear it whenever you like."

"Mine? Really?"

"But considering your age, I'd rather you didn't wear it in public. If you do, people laugh at you. Hurry and grow old enough so you can wear it and not make people laugh. Will you do that for me? Your grandfather had this sword made…." After a pause, Yaemon went on. His eyes were heavy, and he spoke slowly. "Your grandfather was a farmer. When he tried to raise his station in life and make something of himself, he had a swordsmith make this for him. We Kinoshita had a record of our family tree once, but it was destroyed in a fire. And long before your grandfather could accomplish anything, he was killed. Those were turbulent times, and many people suffered the same fate."

A lamp was lit in the next room, but the room they were in was brightened by the flame of the hearth. Hiyoshi listened to his father while staring at the red flames. Whether Hiyoshi understood or not, Yaemon felt that he could not speak of such things to his wife or daughter.

"If the Kinoshita family tree still existed, I could tell you about your ancestors, but it burned to ashes. There's a living family tree, though, and it's been transmitted to you. It is this." Yaemon stroked the blue veins in his wrist. Blood.

This was his teaching. Hiyoshi nodded, then grasped his own wrist. He had such blood vessels in his own body, too. There could be no doubt! No family tree was more alive than this.

'I don't know who our ancestors were before your grandfather's time, but I'm sure that some of them were great men. I suppose there were samurai, maybe scholars. The blood of such men continues to flow, and it's been transmitted from me to you."

"Yes." Hiyoshi nodded again.

"However, I'm not great. In the end I'm just a cripple. Therefore, Hiyoshi, you must become a great man!"

"Father," Hiyoshi said, opening his eyes wide, "to become great, what kind of man should I become?"

"Well, there's no limit to what you can achieve. If, at the very least, you become a courageous warrior and wear this keepsake from your grandfather, I'll have no regrets when I die."

Hiyoshi said nothing, looking confused. He lacked self-confidence, and he avoided his father's stare.

After all, it's only natural—he's a child, Yaemon thought, noticing his son's unworthy reaction. Maybe it's not in the blood after all, but in the surroundings. And his heart flooded over with grief.

Hiyoshi's mother had prepared their evening meal and was waiting silently in the corner for her husband to finish his talk. Her thoughts and her husband's were completely at odds. That her husband would push the child to become a samurai was hateful to her. She prayed silently for Hiyoshi's future. This is such an unreasonable thing to say to a child. Hiyoshi, your father speaks such words out of bitterness, she wanted to say. It would be wrong for you to follow in his footsteps. If you are a fool, then be a fool, but please become a farmer, even if you only have one small plot of land. Aloud she said, "Well, let's eat. Hiyoshi and Otsumi, come a little closer to the hearth." Starting with the children's father, she passed around the chopsticks and bowls.