'Ofuro,' said the woman.
'I had one yesterday…' complained Jack.
'Ofuro!' she scolded.
Jack, realizing it was futile to resist, put on the fresh gown and wound his
way through the garden to the bathhouse. This time, he almost enjoyed the
experience.
Apart from the throbbing pain in his arm and a dull ache in his head, he
had to admit that the bath had done him some good. He felt rested and his
scalp didn't itch with lice or sea salt any more.
When Jack returned to his room, garments similar to those that the
samurai had worn were laid out upon his bed. What did these people want
with him? They fed and bathed him and now clothed him, but otherwise
kept their distance.
The round-faced woman entered.
'Chiro!' she called and the maid came hurrying in after.
The maid was petite, maybe eighteen years old, but it was difficult for
Jack to judge, her skin was so smooth and unblemished. She had small dark
eyes and a short bob of black hair and, though pretty, she didn't compare to
the girl who had nursed him through his fever.
So where was she? And, for that matter, the man with the scarred face?
He had only seen two other men in the house so far – the old gardener,
whom the woman called Uekiya, and the fierce-looking samurai – and
neither of them bore scars. Perhaps the girl and the scarred man were both
figments of his imagination, like the girl he'd seen on the headland.
'Goshujin kimono,' said the woman, pointing at the clothes.
Jack realized the woman meant him to put the garments on but, looking
at the puzzling array of items, he wondered where on earth to start. He
picked up a pair of funny-looking socks with split toes. At least it was
obvious where these went, but his feet were too big to fit into them. The
maid saw his predicament and giggled softly behind her hand.
'Well, how should I know how to put these on!' said Jack, not liking
being ridiculed.
The maid ceased laughing, dropped to her knees and bowed
apologetically. The woman stepped forward.
Jack put the socks down and submitted to the woman and young maid
helping him dress. First, they pulled on the white tabi socks, which
thankfully stretched a little. Then, they gave him some undergarments, a
white cotton top and skirt they called juban. Next a silk robe was wrapped
round him, the women carefully ensuring that the left side of the robe
overlapped with the right side. All of this was tied off from behind with a
wide red belt called an obi.
Stepping out on to the veranda, Jack felt awkward in his new clothes. He
was used to trousers and shirts, not 'dresses' and 'skirts'. As he moved, the
kimono proved disconcertingly drafty, but he had to admit the smooth silk
was far more pleasant than stiff breeches and the rough hemp of his sailor's
shirt.
The maid disappeared into another room while the woman led him along
the veranda to another shoji. They entered a small room similar to his own,
except this had a low oblong table and four flat cushions arranged on either
side. On the far wall cradled upon a stand were two magnificent swords,
with dark-red woven handles and gleaming black scabbards inlaid with
mother of pearl. Beneath these weapons was a small shrine inset into the
wall, in which two candles and a stick of incense burnt, the light scent of
jasmine filling the air.
A little Japanese boy sat cross-legged upon one of the cushions, staring in
wide-eyed amazement at the foreigner with his golden hair and blue eyes.
The woman gestured for Jack to sit next to the boy, while she made
herself comfortable on the opposite side.
There was an awkward silence.
Jack noted that the fourth cushion remained unoccupied and presumed
they were waiting for someone. The little boy continued to stare at Jack.
'I'm Jack Fletcher,' he said to the little boy, attempting to break the
silence.
'What's your name?'
The little boy convulsed in giggles at hearing Jack speak.
The woman spoke sharply to him and he went quiet. Jack looked at the
woman.
'I'm sorry. I don't know who you are, or where I am, but I'm much
obliged to you for looking after me. Please may I ask your name?'
She returned his gaze blankly. Then smiled without the faintest sign of
comprehension having registered in her eyes.
'I'm Jack Fletcher,' he said, pointing at his chest and then pointing at the
woman. 'You are?'
Jack repeated the gesture several times. She still didn't appear to
understand, maintaining the same infuriating enigmatic smile. He was just
about to give up trying to make himself understood when the little boy
piped up.
'Jaku Furecha,' then pointing at his nose. 'Jiro.'
'Jiro. Yes, yes, my name is Jack.'
'Jaku! Jiro! Jaku! Jiro!' cried the boy in delight, alternately pointing at
Jack and then at himself.
With a flood of understanding, the woman bowed. 'Watashi wa Dāte
Hiroko. Hi-ro-ko.'
'Hi-ro-ko,' repeated Jack slowly, returning the bow. At least, he now
knew their names.
A side shoji slid open and Chiro the maid entered, bearing six small
lacquered bowls on a tray. As she laid each one upon the table, Jack was
suddenly aware how hungry he was. There was fish soup, rice, strips of
uncooked strange vegetables, what appeared to be a thick wheat porridge
and small pieces of raw fish. The maid bowed and left.
Jack wondered where the rest of the meal was. The small table was
dotted with the little bowls of food, but surely there wasn't enough for all of
them? Where was the meat? The gravy? Even a bit of buttered bread? He
noticed the fish wasn't even cooked! Fearful of offending his host again,
Jack waited to be served. There was a long moment of uncomfortable
silence, then Hiroko picked up two little sticks by her bowl.
Jiro did the same.
Then, holding them in one hand, they began to pick up small amounts of
food, delicately putting the morsels into their mouths. All the time, they
warily eyed Jack.
Jack hadn't even seen the sticks by his bowl. He examined the pencil thin
bits of wood. How on earth was he supposed to eat with these?
Jiro smiled at Jack through a mouthful of food.
'Hashi,' said the little boy, pointing to them.
Jiro opened his own hand to show Jack how to hold the hashi correctly.
But even though he managed to mimic Jiro's scissor-like action, he couldn't
keep a grip on the fish or the vegetables long enough to lift them from their
bowls.
The more he dropped the food, the more frustrated he got. Never one to
admit defeat, Jack decided to attempt some rice. This had to be easier, since
there was more of it. But half the rice immediately slid straight back into
the bowl, the other half dropping all over the table. By the time it reached
Jack's mouth, all that remained was one small grain.
Nonetheless pleased by his accomplishment, Jack chewed on the solitary
grain. He pretended to rub his belly in satisfaction.
Jiro laughed.
The little boy may have enjoyed the joke, thought Jack, but if he didn't
learn how to use these hashi soon, he was going to starve – and that would
be no laughing matter!