"This useless person is deeply grateful, sir," said Hiroshi fervently, prostrating himself with a great clatter of chains and knocking his forehead on the ground.

Akitada stood for a moment longer, staring down at the ungainly figure. The deep sadness which filled his own heart seemed to spill over, flooding the small cell and drowning its unhappy occupant and himself. With a shudder, he turned and walked out.

Ten

Kites

Tora collected the young lord, and together they walked companionably into the city to buy paper and string. The boy's drawn face brightened and his eyes went everywhere when they reached the shopping district. Only his sense of his own importance kept him from stopping in front of every shop to gape at all the goods on display. Eventually, to cover up his unseemly curiosity, he began a conversation with Tora.

"They certainly have a lot of fans in this shop," he would say, and pause to look.

Tora would shoot a careless glance towards the fans, agree, and walk on.

"Do people really eat all those rice cakes that the baker has stacked up on that shelf?"

"Mostly," said Tora. "What he can't sell, he eats himself or donates to a temple for gifts to the deities."

The boy stopped to eye the cakes hungrily. "Isn't that a big waste?" he asked. "Especially when they are jam-filled cakes? Surely the gods don't care much about jam-filled cakes. Do you suppose the monks eat them and pretend the gods have done so?"

Tora, who had perforce stopped also, looked down at the young lord in surprise. "Don't you believe in the gods?" he asked.

The boy turned away after giving the cakes another longing look. "I don't know. I have never seen one eat, or do anything useful." They walked on. "How much do those jam-filled cakes cost?"

"Three coppers. And you can't see gods, because they are spirits." A thought struck Tora. "It's really strange to hear you talk that way about the gods. Is it because they took your grandfather away from you?"

The boy flung around and glared at him. "It was not the gods who took my grandfather!" he cried.

Tora raised his hands. "Sorry! Forget I asked." He did not know what to make of this outburst, but felt guilty for having touched on a painful subject. Belatedly he realized why the boy had asked about the cakes. "Come," he said. "Let's go back to that baker's shop. I'm hungry all of a sudden, and those cakes did smell real good. I like the ones with jam myself. How about you?"

The boy put on an indifferent face and said, "I don't care. You may suit yourself."

Tora went inside, purchased two fragrant cakes, and returned, offering one to the boy.

The little lord accepted the offering without comment or thanks, and bit into it with a good appetite.

"Mmm," muttered Tora through rice crumbs and bean jam. "They are good. That jam . . ." he took another huge bite, making the jam spurt out and dribble down his chin, "is delicious."

The boy stared at him and began to giggle. "It's on your nose!" he pointed out, almost choking on his next bite.

Tora cleaned his face. "It's delicious anyplace," he said firmly, licking his fingers. But the boy's eyes had already become fixed on a display of painted paper umbrellas.

"Look," he said. "Aren't they colorful? I have never seen paper parasols before. The only ones I have seen were made of silk. The emperor is carried under a very large one. And they have them in the temples for the abbots. Sometimes my great-uncle gets to walk under one. But these have flowers and birds painted on them. Could we make kites out of them? They are made of paper and wood ribs. All we would need is some silk cord."

"Silk cord?" Tora looked down at the boy with raised brows. "Hemp will do much better and is cheaper. Unless you plan to pay for our stuff, we'll make do with plain paper and hempen cord. We'll pick up the bamboo sticks on the way back. I know where there's a bunch on an empty lot." He shook his head. "The very idea! To make a kite from an umbrella! Why, there's not a whole sheet of paper in the whole thing. It would rip apart in a moment. And think of the money! Don't you know anything?" Seeing the sudden hurt in the boy's eyes, Tora reached out and squeezed the small shoulder gently. "Never mind. You'll learn in no time!"

But Lord Minamoto hung his head and scraped a toe through the dust of the street. "It is very good of you to show me how to build a kite," he muttered. "Naturally I shall recompense you for your expenditures as soon as I receive my allowance."

"Forget it," laughed Tora. "I'm going to enjoy this. Besides, my master'll give me the money if I ask. He's the one that suggested you and I build kites together."

The boy looked up, startled. "Why would he do that?" he asked.

Tora grinned at him. "He likes little kids, I guess. And maybe he wishes someone had taught him when he was your age."

This information preoccupied Lord Minamoto until they found the shop they were looking for. Tora quickly purchased two large sheets of cheap mulberry paper and two rolls of hemp line on wooden spools. Then they walked to an open area where a stand of bamboo in the first fresh green of spring swayed gracefully in the breeze. Tora quickly gathered a bundle of dry, broken canes and added them to their bundle, explaining the proper sizes and varieties for kite building.

They walked back happily discussing Tora's kite flying recollections. Then the boy suddenly said, "Your master is a nice man, but do you like working for him?"

"Of course I like it. I wouldn't be doing it, if I didn't like it. Though there was a time when I thought he was one of those perfumed lordlings that think common hard-working folk are nothing but stinking dung. I would not have worked for one of those worthless bastards for a bag of gold. Worthless and evil is what they are! Devils!"

The boy's eyes flew to Tora's face. "What do you mean?" he cried, his eyes wide and angry and his fists clenched.

Tora glanced down at the outraged little lord. "Oh, sorry." He grinned, not at all intimidated by the boy's ferocious expression. "I forgot you're one of them. Anyway, that's what I thought then. My master turned out to be a good man. In fact, he's not really much different from us ordinary people. Maybe you, too, will grow up to be like him."

The boy opened his mouth to protest, but decided to think this over. After a moment, he asked, "What makes you hate the good people so much?"

"The 'good' people, you call them?" Tora gave a derisive laugh. "The 'good' people took my parents' farm and my parents starved to death, while I was away fighting the 'good' people's wars for them."

"That must have been terrible," said the young lord, "and I am very sorry for you. But surely such things rarely happen in this country. I know all of our own peasants are very happy on our lands."

"And how would you know that? You're just a kid and live in the capital. You have never lived like one of your peasants. Where I come from back east, a lot of farmers have had the same kind of thing happen to them that happened to us. They work the fields from sunrise to sunset, planting, tending and reaping. They grow rice, millet, hemp and beans, and just when they think they got enough to make it through the winter, the tax man comes and takes half of it for the lord. And when they go back to the fields to grow some winter vegetables to ease their hunger, the lord needs a pond in his garden, and he sends for the poor farmer to dig it. Then he wants a mountain moved to the pond, and guess who'll do it? Then roads must be built, and the lord wants a fine temple erected to honor his ancestors. All the while the farmer is working for the lord, his wife and children starve and tend the fields. And when the farmer finally gets home, the lord starts a war and the farmer has to report for duty with a halberd and whatever armor he can afford to buy. And while he's away fighting, another lord's soldiers come and kill his family and burn down his house." Tora broke off, breathing heavily. Belatedly he recalled his companion and looked at him anxiously. But young Lord Minamoto was staring into the distance.