Nene had learned the Way of Tea. Her father, whom she loved dearly, also drank tea, so this made it quite different from playing the koto, displaying her talent just to the people who happened to pass by the house.
There was inducement for making tea in the peace of the morning, in her father’s genial smile, and in the act of whisking the hot green froth in a bowl of black Seto ware. As such, this was not just a game but a part of her daily life.
"There's a rather heavy dew in the garden, isn't there? And the chrysanthemum buds are still hard." Mataemon looked out into the tiny enclosed area from his open veranda. Nene, who was busy in front of the hearth, tea ladle in hand, did not answer. The boiling water that she ladled from the kettle fell into the tea bowl as though from a spring, cheerffully infringing on the loneliness of the room. She smiled and looked away.
“No, two or three of the chrysanthemums outside are already quite fragrant."
"Really? They've already bloomed? I didn't notice when I took the broom out and swept this morning. It seems a shame that flowers should have to bloom under the roof of the house of a provincial warrior."
The bamboo whisk poised in Nene's fingers made a crisp sound as she whisked the tea. She was embarrassed by her father's words, but Mataemon did not notice. Takiing the tea bowl and raising it reverently to his lips, he drank the frothy green tea. His faceshowed that he was enjoying the morning. But suddenly his thoughts changed: If my daughter goes to live somewhere else, I won't be drinking tea like this anymore.
"Excuse me." A voice came from behind the sliding doors.
"Okoi?" As his wife came into the room, Mataemon handed the tea bowl to Nene.
"Shall Nene prepare tea for you, too?"
"No, I'll have some later."
Okoi was carrying a letter case, and a messenger was waiting at the entrance. Mataemon put the letter case on his lap and opened the lid. A dubious look crossed his face. “His Lordship's cousin. It's from Lord Nagoya. What can it be?" Mataemon suddenly stood up, washed his hands, and then took the letter again reverently. Even though it was only a letter, it was from a member of Lord Nobunaga's family, and Mataemon behaved as if he were standing in front of the man himself.
"Is the messenger waiting?"
"Yes, but he said that a verbal response would be fine."
"No, no. That would be impolite. Bring me the inkstone."
Mataemon put brush to paper and handed his reply to the messenger. Okoi, however, felt uneasy about its contents. It was extremely unusual for a letter from Lord Nobunaga's cousin to be sent to the house of this lowly retainer. And this one had come directly by messenger.
"What can it be about?" she asked. Even Mataemon did not know because the letter contained nothing more than pleasantries. He could find nothing that might pass as a secret message or have meaning read into it beyond what it seemed to say.
Today I'm spending the entire day reading at my country retreat at Horikawazoi. I lament the fact that no one comes on such a pleasant day to enjoy the fragrance of the chrysanthemums I have raised. If you have some leisure, please come by to see me.
There was nothing more, but there must have been something more to it than this. If Mataemon had been particularly practiced at tea, an admirable reader, or a man of exceptional taste, the invitation might have been natural. But in fact he had not noticed the chrysanthemums blooming on his own fence. He was quick to notice dust on a bow, but otherwise he was the kind of man who would happily trample chrysanthemums underfoot.
"I'll go anyway. Okoi, put out my best clothes."
Standing in the bright autumn sunlight, Mataemon turned once to look at his house. Nene and Okoi had come out as far as the gate. His heart was strangely at peace, thankful that there were days like this, even in this world of chaos. He smiled at the thought and noticed that Nene and Okoi were also smiling. He turned briskly and walked away. Neighbors called to him, and he answered them as he walked by. The archers' houses were small and poor. The many children that always accompany poverty were also in abundance in the tenements, and through the fences at every house he could see diapers hung out to dry.
Now maybe we'll have a grandchild's diapers like that in our own yard. Such thoughts
naturally came to him, but they were not especially comforting to Mataemon. He was not all that pleased with the idea that someday he was going to be called "grandpa." Before that happened, he planned on making a name for himself. He had striven not to be left behind at Dengakuhazama, and he had certainly not given up the hope of heading the list of meritorious warriors in future battles. While in the midst of these thoughts, he found himself before Lord Nagoya's elegant villa.
The building had formerly been a small temple, but Nagoya had had it remodeled as a country villa.
Nagoya was exceedingly pleased with his prompt visit. "Thank you for coming. This year we've had a number of military disturbances, but I did manage to plant some chrysanthemums. Perhaps later you could do me the honor of looking at them."
Mataemon was treated graciously, but because his host was one of Nobunaga's close relatives, he sat at a respectful distance and bowed low.
What was the purpose of this? Mataemon wondered a little anxiously.
"Mataemon, make yourself more comfortable. Get yourself a cushion. You can see the chrysanthemums from here as well. Looking at chrysanthemums is not just looking at flowers, you know, it's looking at a man's work. But showing them to others is not a matter of boasting, it's sharing the pleasure, and enjoying another person's appreciation. Smelling the fragrance of chrysanthemums under a beautiful sky like this is another of His Lordship's favors."
"Most certainly, my lord."
"That we are blessed with a wise lord is something we've become acutely aware of recently. I'm sure none of us will ever be able to forget the appearance of Lord Nobunaga at Okehazama."
"With respect, my lord, he did not seem to be human, but an incarnation of the god of war."
"Nevertheless, we all did well together, didn't we? You're in the archers' regiment, but that day you were among the spearmen, weren't you?"
"That's correct, my lord."
"Were you in the attack on the Imagawa headquarters?"
"When we finally rushed the hill, the action was so confused that we could hardly tell friend from foe. But in the midst of it I heard Mori Shinsuke announce that he had taken the lord of Suruga's head."
"Was a man by the name of Kinoshita Tokichiro in your regiment?"
"He was indeed, my lord."
"What about Maeda Inuchiyo?"
“He had received His Lordship's displeasure, but was given permission to join the battle. I haven't seen him since we returned from Okehazama, but hasn't he returned to his former post?"
“He has. You probably still don't know about this, but he just recently accompanied his Lordship to Kyoto. They have returned to the castle, and Inuchiyo is in service there now."
"Kyoto! Why did His Lordship go there?"
“There's no harm in talking about it now. He went with only thirty or forty men, and
he himself was disguised as a country samurai on a pilgrimage. They were gone about forty days. His retainers acted as though he were here during that time. Shall we have a look at the chrysanthemum garden?"
Mataemon followed his host into the garden as though he were a servant. Nagoya spoke of the finer points of growing chrysanthemums, and how one had to use the same care and love as in raising a child.
"I've heard you have a daughter. She's called Nene, isn't she? I would like to help you find a son-in-law."
"My lord?" Mataemon bowed almost in half. Yet he hesitated momentarily. The subject recalled to him his own confusion. Nagoya ignored his vacillation, however, and went on, "I know someone who would make an excellent son-in-law. Leave it to me. I'll handle this."
"My family is really unworthy of this honor, my lord."
"You should talk it over with your wife. The man I have in mind for your son-in-law is Kinoshita Tokichiro. You know him well, I believe."
"Yes, my lord," Mataemon answered without thinking. He reproached himself for being so ill-bred as to sound surprised, but he was unable to stop himself.
"I'll wait for your answer."