Chapter Three

THE BODY BEGAN to heal first, and Kino’s father, watching Jiya tenderly, knew that the body would heal the mind and the soul. “Life is stronger than death,” he told Kino again and again.

But each day Jiya was still tired. He did not want to think or to remember — he only wanted to sleep. He woke to eat and then to sleep. And when Kino’s mother saw this she led him to the bedroom, and Jiya sank each time into the soft mattress spread on the floor in the quiet, clean room. He fell asleep almost at once and Kino’s mother covered him and went away.

All through these days Kino did not feel like playing. He worked hard beside his father in the fields. They did not talk much, and neither of them wanted to look at the sea. It was enough to look at the earth, dark and rich beneath their feet.

One evening, Kino climbed the hill behind the farm and looked toward the volcano. The heavy cloud of smoke had long ago gone away, and the sky was always clear now. He felt happier to know that the volcano was no longer angry, and he went down again to the house. On the threshold his father was smoking his usual evening pipe. In the house his mother was giving Setsu her evening bath.

“Is Jiya asleep already?” Kino asked his father.

“Yes, and it is a good thing for him,” his father replied. “Sleep will strengthen him, and when he wakes he will be able to think and remember.”

“But should he remember such sorrow?” Kino asked.

“Yes,” his father replied. “Only when he dares to remember his parents will he be happy again.”

They sat together, father and son, and Kino asked still another question. “Father, are we not very unfortunate people to live in Japan?”

“Why do you think so?” his father asked in reply.

“Because the volcano is behind our house and the ocean is in front, and when they work together for evil, to make the earthquake and the big wave, then we are helpless. Always many of us are lost.”

“To live in the midst of danger is to know how good life is,” his father replied.

“But if we are lost in the danger?” Kino asked anxiously.

“To live in the presence of death makes us brave and strong,” Kino’s father replied. “That is why our people never fear death. We see it too often and we do not fear it. To die a little later or a little sooner does not matter. But to live bravely, to love life, to see how beautiful the trees are and the mountains, yes, and even the sea, to enjoy work because it produces food for life — in these things we Japanese are a fortunate people. We love life because we live in danger. We do not fear death because we understand that life and death are necessary to each other.”

“What is death?” Kino asked.

“Death is the great gateway,” Kino’s father said. His face was not at all sad. Instead, it was quiet and happy.

“The gateway — where?” Kino asked again.

Kino’s father smiled. “Can you remember when you were born?”

Kino shook his head. “I was too small.”

Kino’s father laughed. “I remember very well. Oh, how hard you thought it was to be born! You cried and you screamed.”

“Didn’t I want to be born?” Kino asked. This was very interesting to him.

“You did not,” his father told him smiling. “You wanted to stay just where you were in the warm, dark house of the unborn. But the time came to be born, and the gate of life opened.”

“Did I know it was the gate of life?” Kino asked.

“You did not know anything about it and so you were afraid of it,” his father replied. “But see how foolish you were! Here we were waiting for you, your parents, already loving you and eager to welcome you. And you have been very happy, haven’t you?”

“Until the big wave came,” Kino replied. “Now I am afraid again because of the death that the big wave brought.”

“You are only afraid because you don’t know anything about death,” his father replied. “But someday you will wonder why you were afraid, even as today you wonder why you feared to be born.”

While they were talking the dusk had deepened, and now coming up the mountainside they saw a flickering light. The fireflies had come out, but this light was steadily climbing the pathway toward their house.

“I wonder who comes!” Kino exclaimed.

“A visitor,” his father replied. “But who can it be?”

In a few minutes they saw the visitor was Old Gentleman, coming from the castle. His manservant carried the lantern, but Old Gentleman walked behind him very sturdily, with the help of a long staff. They heard Old Gentleman’s voice in the dusk.

“Is this the house of Uchiyama the farmer?” Old Gentleman asked.

“It is,” his servant replied, “and the farmer sits there at his door with his son.”

At this Kino’s father stood up, and so did Kino.

“Please, Honored Sir,” Kino’s father said, “what can I do for you?”

Old Gentleman came forward. “Do you have a lad here by the name of Jiya?”

“He lies sleeping inside my house,” Kino’s father said.

“I wish to see him,” Old Gentleman said. Anyone could see that this old gentleman was one who expected to be obeyed. But Kino’s father only smiled.

“Sir, the lad is asleep and I cannot wake him. He suffered the loss of his whole family when the big wave came. Now sleep heals him.”

“I will not wake him,” Old Gentleman said. “I only want to see him.”

So Kino’s father led Old Gentleman tiptoe into the room where Jiya slept, and Kino went too. The servant held the light, shaded by his hand so it would not fall on Jiya’s closed eyes. Old Gentleman looked down on the sleeping boy. Jiya was very beautiful even though so pale and weary. He was tall for his age and his body was strong, and his face showed intelligence as well as beauty.

Old Gentleman gazed at him and then motioned to the servant to lead him away. They went again to the dooryard and there Old Gentleman turned to Kino’s father.

“It is my habit when the big wave comes to care for those who are orphaned. Three times the wave has come, and three times I have searched out the orphans and the widows and I have fed them and sheltered them. But I have heard of this boy Jiya and I wish to do more for him. If he is as good as he is handsome, I will make him my own son.”

“But Jiya is ours!” Kino cried.

“Hush,” his father cried. “We are only poor people. If Old Gentleman wants Jiya we cannot say we will not give him up.”

“Exactly,” Old Gentleman said. “I will educate him and give him fine clothes and send him to a good school and he may become a great man and an honor to our whole province and even to the nation.”

“But if he lives in the castle we can’t play together any more,” Kino said.

“We must think of Jiya’s good,” Kino’s father said. Then he turned to Old Gentleman. “Sir, it is very kind of you to propose this for Jiya. I had planned to take him for my own son, now that he has lost his birth parents, but I am only a poor farmer and I cannot pretend that my house is as good as yours, or that I can afford to send Jiya to a fine school. Tomorrow when he wakes, I will tell him of your kind offer. He will decide.”

“Very well,” Old Gentleman said. “But let him come and tell me himself, so that I will know how he feels.”

“Certainly,” Kino’s father replied proudly. “Jiya will speak for himself.”

How unhappy Kino now was to think that Jiya might leave this house and go and live in the castle! “If Jiya goes away, I shan’t have a brother,” he told his father.

“You must not be so selfish, Kino,” his father replied. “You must allow Jiya to make his own choice. It would be wrong to persuade him. Kino, I forbid you to speak to Jiya of this matter. When he wakes I shall speak to him myself.”

When his father was so stern Kino did not dare to disobey and so he went sadly to bed. He thought when he drew his quilt over him that he would not sleep all night, but being young and tired he slept almost at once.

Yet as soon as he woke in the morning he remembered Jiya and the choice he had to make. He got up and washed and dressed and folded his quilt and put it into the closet where it stayed during the day. His father was already out in the field, and there Kino went and found him. It was a beautiful mild morning, and a soft mist covered the ocean so that no water could be seen.

“Is Jiya awake yet?” Kino asked his father when they had exchanged morning greetings.

“No, but he will wake soon, I think,” his father replied. He was weeding the cabbage bed carefully and Kino knelt down to help him.

“Must you tell him about Old Gentleman today?” Kino pleaded.

“I must tell him as soon as he wakes,” his father replied. “It would not be fair to let Jiya grow used to thinking of this as his home. He must make the choice today, before he has time to put down his new roots.”

“May I be there when you talk with him?” Kino asked next.

“No, my son,” his father replied. “I shall talk to him alone and tell him all the benefits that a rich man like Old Gentleman can give him and how little we who are poor can give him.”

Kino could not keep from wanting to cry. He thought his father was very hard. “But Jiya will certainly want to go away!” he sobbed.

“Then he must go,” his father said.

They went into the house to have breakfast, but Kino could scarcely eat. After breakfast he went back to the field, for he did not want to play. His father stayed in the house, and he could hear Jiya getting up.

For a long time Kino stayed in the field working alone. The warm tears dropped from his eyes upon the earth, but he worked on, determined not to go to the house until he was called. Then when the sun was nearing the zenith, he heard his father’s voice. He got up at once and walked along the path between the terraces until he reached the doorway. There his father stood with Jiya. Jiya’s face was still pale and his eyes were red. He had been crying today, although until now he had not cried at all.

When he looked at Kino his tears began to flow again. “Jiya, you must not mind it that you cry easily,” Kino’s father said kindly. “Until now you could not cry because you were not fully alive. You had been hurt too much. But today you are beginning to live, and so your tears flow. It is good for you. Let your tears come and do not stop them.”

Then he turned to Kino. “I have told Jiya that he must not decide until he has seen the inside of the castle. I want him to see all that Old Gentleman can give him for a home. Jiya, you know how our house is — these four rooms and the kitchen, this little farm, upon which we have to work so hard for our food. We have only what our hands can earn for us.”

Kino’s father held out his two hard, work-worn hands. Then he went on, “Kino, you are to go with Jiya, and when you see the castle you must persuade him to stay there, for his own sake.”

Kino heard this and felt the task laid upon him was very hard. But he only said, “I will go and wash myself, Father, and put on my good clothes.”

“No,” his father said. “Go as you are — you are a farmer’s son.”

So the two boys went down the mountainside, and avoiding the empty beach, they went to the castle. The gate was open and the garden was most beautiful. A gardener was sweeping the green moss.

When he saw them he came over to them. “What do you want?” he asked.

“My father sent us to see the honored Old Gentleman,” Kino faltered.

“Are you the Uchiyama boy?” the gardener asked.

“Yes,” Kino replied, “and this is Jiya, whom Old Gentleman wants to come and live here.”

“Follow me, if you please,” the gardener said. He bowed to Jiya and made his voice polite.

The two boys followed him along a wide, pebbled path. Over their heads the ancient pines leaned their crooked branches. In the distance beyond the forest the sun poured down upon a flower garden and a pool with a waterfall.

“How beautiful it is!” Kino whispered sadly.

Jiya did not answer. He walked along, his head held high. When they reached the house they took off their shoes and followed the gardener through a great door. Inside this the gardener paused, and a manservant came forward and asked what they wanted. The gardener whispered and the manservant nodded. “Follow me,” he said to the boys.

So they followed him through wide passageways. The walls were of fine polished wood, unpainted, but smooth and silvery. Under their feet, fine woven, padded mats were softer than the moss beneath the trees. On both sides of this passageway panels slid back to show beautiful rooms, and in each room were a vase of flowers, an exquisite scroll, a few pieces of dark polished furniture. Neither Jiya nor Kino had ever seen such a house. Kino was speechless. How could he hope now that Jiya would not want to stay in the castle?

Then far in the distance they saw Old Gentleman sitting beside a small table. The table was set in front of the open sliding panels that looked into the garden, and Old Gentleman was writing. He held a brush upright in his right hand and he was carefully painting letters on a scroll, his silver-rimmed spectacles sliding down his nose.

When the two boys came near he looked up and took off his spectacles and laid down his brush. “Would you like to know what I have been writing?” he asked.

Neither Kino nor Jiya could answer. The great house, the silence, the beauty, all of this fell into place as the background for Old Gentleman himself. He was tall and thin, and his hair and beard were white. His face and hands were beautiful. The bones were delicate and the skin was smooth and brown. He looked as proud as a king, but his dark eyes were wise as an old scholar’s eyes are wise.

“It is not my own poem,” he said. “It is the saying of a man of India, but I like it so much that I have painted it on this scroll to hang there in the alcove where I can see it every day.” He took up the scroll and read these words:

“The Children of God are very dear, but

very queer—

Very nice, but very narrow.”

He looked at the boys. “What do you think of it?” he said.

They looked at one another. “We do not understand it, sir,” Jiya said at last. Since he was a little older than Kino, he felt he should speak.

Old Gentleman shook his head and laughed softly. “Ah, we are all the children of God,” he said. Then he put on his spectacles and looked hard at Jiya. “Well?” he said. “Will you be my son?”

Jiya turned very red. He had not expected to have the question put to him so suddenly and so directly.

Old Gentleman saw he found it hard to speak. “Say yes or no,” he told Jiya. “Those are not hard words to say.”

“I will say, — no!” Jiya said. Then he felt this was harsh. “I thank you but I have a home — on the farm,” he added.

Ah, how Kino felt when he heard these words! He forgot entirely about the big wave and all the sorrow it had brought, and for a moment he was filled with pure joy. Then he remembered the small farmhouse, the four little rooms and the old kitchen.

“Jiya,” he said solemnly, “remember how poor we are.”

Old Gentleman was smiling a half-sad little smile. “They are certainly very poor,” he said to Jiya. “And here, you know, you would have everything. You can even invite this farm boy to come and play sometimes, if you like. And I am quite willing for you to give the family some money. It would be suitable, as my son, for you to help the poor.”

“Where are the others who were saved from the big wave?” Jiya asked suddenly.

“Some wanted to go away, and the ones who wanted to stay are out in the back yard with my servants,” Old Gentleman replied.

“Why do you not invite them to come into this big house and be your sons and daughters?” Jiya asked.

“Because I don’t want them for my sons and daughters,” Old Gentleman replied rather crossly. “You are a bright, handsome boy, and they told me you were the best boy in the village.”

Jiya looked about him. Then he shook his head again. “I am no better than the others,” he said. “My father was a fisherman.”

Old Gentleman took up his spectacles and his brush again. “Very well,” he said, “I will do without a son.”

The manservant motioned to them and they followed, and soon they were out in the garden again.

“How foolish you are!” the manservant said to Jiya. “Our Old Gentleman is very kind indeed. You would have everything here.”

“Not everything,” Jiya replied.

They went out of the gate and across the hillside again back to the farmhouse. Setsu was outside and she came running to meet them, the sleeves of her bright kimono flying behind her and her feet clattering in wooden sandals.

“Jiya has come back home!” she cried. “Jiya — Jiya—”

And Jiya, seeing her happy little face, opened his arms and gave her a great hug. For the first time he felt comfort creep into his sad heart, and this comfort came from Setsu, who was like life itself.

Their noonday meal was ready and Kino’s father came in from the fields, and when he had washed they all sat down to eat.

“How happy you have made us!” he told Jiya.

“Happy indeed,” Kino’s mother said.

“Now I have my brother,” Kino said.

Jiya only smiled. Happiness began to live in him secretly, hidden inside him, in ways he did not understand or know. The good food warmed him and his body welcomed it. Around him the love of the four people who received him glowed like a warm and welcoming fire upon the hearth.

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