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Authors: Marie Mutsuki Mockett
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people I know.”
“Why would that be a problem? I’m always happy to run into friends. I don’t see them enough as it is.”
I shrugged. “I’m supposed to be a genius. And I might not be.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
I stiffened. “What do you hear, exactly, and from whom?”
He grinned. “My name is Masayoshi. I’m about to be your brother-in-law.”
Chieko had married a year earlier, and now my mother was quite caught up in the preparations for Mineko’s nuptials, even going so far as to come down to Tokyo to look at silks and see what went on at a Tokyo wedding banquet. This man, Masayoshi, was an attorney and the brother of Mineko’s intended. He’d known in advance which train I’d be taking and had decided to try to catch the same one.
“Everyone said I’d know you right away, and it’s true. You stand out.” He smiled.
I squirmed a little. “I see.”
“So, what’s this about not being a genius?”
“I’m a good piano player. But sometimes I … people don’t always like me. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to go on the concert circuit.”
“Why not?”
I paused. “I don’t know if anyone will let me,” I said. “I’m a very expressive player. Isn’t that what music is supposed to be? Emotional? But people don’t always appreciate that.” And then, perhaps because he was a stranger, or because he was more engaging and more open than most people, I began to tell him about college. Now that I was there, I felt as though something wasn’t quite right. Masayoshi thought that perhaps it was all the distractions of Tokyo, the shops, the museums, the parties, butI told him I didn’t think this was the case. It was more that I’d counted on at last fitting in, but instead found myself a little bit bored and already hungry for life outside the university walls.
“What do you do with your spare time?” he asked.
What
did
I do with my spare time? I liked to doodle caricatures of people. I liked to take walks with Shinobu. I liked to look at people. I was always hoping I would find someone who was easy to talk to, but this rarely happened. “I think I waste a lot of time,” I admitted.
“Me too!” He beamed. “Actually, I don’t think that
you
actually waste time. Some people do. But what you call wasting time, the nobility would have considered
cultivation
.”
“Like studying the tea ceremony.”
“Gazing at the moon and writing poems.”
“Drawing.”
“Speaking of which.” And he pulled a slim folder out of his bag and showed me a watercolor of a temple flanked by green leaves. “I did these.”
I examined the picture. “That’s nice.”
“My younger brother is the real artist,” he continued, trying to sound modest. “He goes to your school. He’s studying painting, not music.”
“If he’s the real thing, then what are you?”
“Just a hobbyist.” He grinned, clearly pleased that I liked his work.
We were quiet for a few minutes, looking some more at the watercolor of the temple. I admitted that I liked to draw little pictures too, but demurred when he asked to see an example. “I’m not that kind of artist,” I said.
“This is not my best, perhaps,” he continued cheerfully, “but I liked the fact that I could use purple in the eaves.”
“That
is
purple, isn’t it?”
“I like unusual things,” he said to me in a low voice. Something about the way he said this shook me and I felt half-afraid of him, even as I was also thrilled.
“You’re a collector.” I managed to keep my voice steady.
“Of unique experiences,” he agreed. “Which is one reason I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
Though it infuriated me, I found myself blushing. “Curious about the odd one in the family?”
“I said unique. Not odd.” He nodded at the landscape outside the window.“Chinese mystics believed that you could tell the essence of every living thing. Some trees have good living energy. Some don’t. You can tell by their
“Why would that be a problem? I’m always happy to run into friends. I don’t see them enough as it is.”
I shrugged. “I’m supposed to be a genius. And I might not be.”
“That’s not what I hear.”
I stiffened. “What do you hear, exactly, and from whom?”
He grinned. “My name is Masayoshi. I’m about to be your brother-in-law.”
Chieko had married a year earlier, and now my mother was quite caught up in the preparations for Mineko’s nuptials, even going so far as to come down to Tokyo to look at silks and see what went on at a Tokyo wedding banquet. This man, Masayoshi, was an attorney and the brother of Mineko’s intended. He’d known in advance which train I’d be taking and had decided to try to catch the same one.
“Everyone said I’d know you right away, and it’s true. You stand out.” He smiled.
I squirmed a little. “I see.”
“So, what’s this about not being a genius?”
“I’m a good piano player. But sometimes I … people don’t always like me. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to go on the concert circuit.”
“Why not?”
I paused. “I don’t know if anyone will let me,” I said. “I’m a very expressive player. Isn’t that what music is supposed to be? Emotional? But people don’t always appreciate that.” And then, perhaps because he was a stranger, or because he was more engaging and more open than most people, I began to tell him about college. Now that I was there, I felt as though something wasn’t quite right. Masayoshi thought that perhaps it was all the distractions of Tokyo, the shops, the museums, the parties, butI told him I didn’t think this was the case. It was more that I’d counted on at last fitting in, but instead found myself a little bit bored and already hungry for life outside the university walls.
“What do you do with your spare time?” he asked.
What
did
I do with my spare time? I liked to doodle caricatures of people. I liked to take walks with Shinobu. I liked to look at people. I was always hoping I would find someone who was easy to talk to, but this rarely happened. “I think I waste a lot of time,” I admitted.
“Me too!” He beamed. “Actually, I don’t think that
you
actually waste time. Some people do. But what you call wasting time, the nobility would have considered
cultivation
.”
“Like studying the tea ceremony.”
“Gazing at the moon and writing poems.”
“Drawing.”
“Speaking of which.” And he pulled a slim folder out of his bag and showed me a watercolor of a temple flanked by green leaves. “I did these.”
I examined the picture. “That’s nice.”
“My younger brother is the real artist,” he continued, trying to sound modest. “He goes to your school. He’s studying painting, not music.”
“If he’s the real thing, then what are you?”
“Just a hobbyist.” He grinned, clearly pleased that I liked his work.
We were quiet for a few minutes, looking some more at the watercolor of the temple. I admitted that I liked to draw little pictures too, but demurred when he asked to see an example. “I’m not that kind of artist,” I said.
“This is not my best, perhaps,” he continued cheerfully, “but I liked the fact that I could use purple in the eaves.”
“That
is
purple, isn’t it?”
“I like unusual things,” he said to me in a low voice. Something about the way he said this shook me and I felt half-afraid of him, even as I was also thrilled.
“You’re a collector.” I managed to keep my voice steady.
“Of unique experiences,” he agreed. “Which is one reason I’ve been wanting to meet you.”
Though it infuriated me, I found myself blushing. “Curious about the odd one in the family?”
“I said unique. Not odd.” He nodded at the landscape outside the window.“Chinese mystics believed that you could tell the essence of every living thing. Some trees have good living energy. Some don’t. You can tell by their
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