The Potter's Notebook by Frank Giovinazzi, a historical novel set in 17th century Japan, is available on the Amazon Kindle platform and in paperback.
Twenty-Nine Shuji broke a small brown speckled egg into the midst of the warm rice, stirring the white and yellow liquid evenly through the mixture. He fed it to his brother slowly. Hideaki was still out of it, saying something about a bird that wasn't a bird, but he appeared more solid to Shuji, as if the worst was past, so his protestations, excited gibberish and half-muscled pointing at the forest were taking on the feel of a funny episode. When the gummy rice and half-caked yolk fell onto his tunic for the third time, Hideaki laughed at himself and Shuji couldn't help but join in, and it brushed away some of the remorse he felt for having made the day that was supposed to be so triumphant start off so terribly. He put the rice down and let Hideaki gamely mash what he had managed to keep in his mouth to the point where he could swallow it. Looking out at the forest, all he could see was a stand of trees and brush, a few birds singing their early morning ditties and the leaves getting ready to do their job of drinking in all the sunlight the lifegiver had to offer. He saw nothing dreamy or different about it. Nor did he see any special blue-and-yellow bird. "It's okay, brother. You see her someday. S'okay." Hideaki slurred his words through an elastic cud of rice and saliva, but he was in good spirits, alert and now it seemed like the pain of the beating was starting to settle in and make itself known, for he let out a self-abbreviated grunt when his body shifted a little and he tried to right himself on his own. "Are you okay, brother?" Shuji's voice cracked under the load of concern and self-recrimination he was carrying. "Yes," He said through closed eyes and a swallowing of the cud. He patted his brother's hand, "more rice, please. Drink, too. Water." Each word came out like the triumphant uttering of a baby speaking its first bits of language. Shuji proffered another broad spoon of yolk-streaked rice to his brother and moved the water flask closer to him. Hideaki let himself be fed but grabbed the flask himself. After a few chews, he lifted it to his mouth and washed the gluey mass down. Hideaki grinned through the pain and the excruciating pleasure of a simple meal that a condemned man feels after receiving the pardon of mere cessation of punishment. In the wake of the recent memory of the beating, he was happy to be this lucid and enjoying relative freedom. "Shuji," he said through another hand-fed bite, "sculptures. Very beautiful," he took another swig off the flask, priding himself on being able to do so. "That is what you should be doing." He patted his brother's hand again. "You maker. Not worker." Shuji couldn't look at his brother. No one had ever been so generous to him after one of his incredible errors. Before this, only he had suffered for his own actions. Now his brother took his punishment, and still encouraged him. How could this be? This made the shame even greater for him, and he wanted to run into the forest across the stream, to run away and not look back. He knew from past experience that the faster and farther he ran, the easier it was to outdistance his problems. In his half-crouched position, he could feel the muscles in his legs twitch, as if they were ready to bolt and carry him away before his mind even gave them the command. He fought down the temporary surge of emotion that carried him past the ability to see anything clearly except the best path to run down. He had to clutch his forearm around his knee to contain himself, and as he concentrated he felt a giant surge of energy expand almost to the breaking point, which was the moment when he usually got up and ran, or quit what he was doing. But this time, he held on at that very last second, when he felt the energy bubble squeeze his brain to the point when he couldn't think of anything else, where nothing else existed except the pressure, and instead of either exploding or causing him to run, he refused it. He felt like he was inside a giant expanding orange that was about to implode and take him with it, but he refused the energy, and demanded of himself that he stay here with his brother. At first he could barely hold onto that thought, it flittered in and out of oblivion by the ever-present pressure of the energy closing around him from all sides. Whenever he tried to hold onto his own thought, the orange membrane rolled across his mind and covered it, pushed it out of the way, so that it was like a salamander that darted and disappeared whenever you fixed your attention on it. Still clutching his knee, now his forearm was shaking and his ability to see even the few inches between him and his brother was difficult. Holding on to the idea of fighting that energy, even when the idea skittered, dart quick around the parabola of his anxiety, he was able to keep it squarely in front of him for a second. He would stay here and stick it out. With his brother. For the both of them, no matter what the punishment. Able to sustain the thought now, the energy that prompted him to take flight in the past didn't disappear. It was still there, still pressing, but as he concentrated on staying, Shuji felt the energy hit a peak, a notch higher even than it was before, but in doing so, it spent its own ability to keep exerting pressure and he felt it begin to subside, like a tide that licked the top of a storm barrier just as it started to withdraw. Even as it withdrew, it didn't disappear, but he felt it collapse itself into the idea he was holding onto now. Of staying, and sticking it out. His resolution grew stronger as it absorbed the energy of his anxiety, and he started to breathe again as it continued to collapse inward, and into the resolution that he would remain here. Now the resolution was permanent, he was able to look clearly at his brother again. Hideaki was looking at him with a look like a reflection in a muddy stillwater stream – confused and distorted. As Shuji refocused his vision and erased the grimace of concentration and pain he knew was on his own face, the reflection of his brother's expression returned to normal, though still marked by a little pain around the edges. Hideaki was sitting up straight again, and had taken the rice jar from Shuji while he was locked in his solitary internal struggle. As Hideaki bowed his head to eat another spoonful, Shuji flashed on the pottery studio, a topic he hadn't considered in the week they labored in the Garden. All around them the pace of the preparations was picking up. The small drum had disappeared into the background of all the activity, but when it increased its pace, the change brought it back into Shuji's awareness. He felt exposed, he was sitting there with his brother who was obviously convalescing, but now that he was feeding himself, Shuji just looked like a boy who wasn't doing any work. Hideaki continued to hover over the container and meet the rice halfway between the bowl and his mouth, and he was rocking his body slightly to the rhythm of the small drum. They both heard men talking at the same time, and the sound was too close and too loud for them to pretend that they weren't about to be dragged into the middle of what they were saying. "Come, let's unload the firewood off the cart and start the pits going." A small man with a booming voice appeared as he was finishing that statement and took stock of the brothers. He was a minor official with the bearing of one who longed for greater assignments. There wasn't a person who didn't know what happened just a few minutes before, nor was anyone going to address the incident. Standing with his arms akimbo like a general on a great plain before a battle, the little man indicated Shuji with a nod of his head, "You help the men unload the wood and tend the fires, when that is done you will help the serving people." Looking at Hideaki, quickly taking in his situation, the short man said, "Later, we will need more wood, and other things as the day progresses. Wait here until you are called on." With that, the twig of a man turned sharply on his heels, hesitating until he saw Shuji up and moving, and then marched off in the direction of some other area that needed his immediate attention. Shuji and his brother shared a conspiratorial grim at the small reprieve granted by the man who was obviously in charge of the preparations. Hideaki waved his brother off and returned to the rest of his rice. Some of his drool still fell out of his mouth, but he was managing to keep most of the rice to himself, and besides, the saliva was keeping the rice from getting too sticky. He was happy that he'd seen the bird for the longest amount of time yet, and even more than that, he had seen it in two different dimensions! He hoped the bird would come back and visit, but he also knew it would when he needed it next, so he wasn't worried. The beat of the big drum still rolled in steady intervals, the beat of the universal heart, and the little drum layered on top and through the slow deep beat somehow alleviated the pain now starting to seep through the stinky medicine. He was alert again, his eyes were watering from the ointment still steaming off his chest – and the pain was front and center in his mind. He was grateful for the people who had dressed his wounds. They did a good job and now the great healer of time needed room to do its work. He was vitally alert, as if each lash of the rod had stripped away a layer of dullness from his mind. Done with the rice, he set it aside and looked out at the forest. The dual effect had faded significantly. Now he couldn't tell if it was much more that the bleariness of his eyes that created the slight aura clinging around the larger trees and bushes. No matter. One of them had been spared the beating from the Gardener, the sculptures remained intact and the entire parade of royals, dignitaries and guests would have the chance to marvel at their incredible beauty. Read Chapter 30 of The Potter's Notebook.
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