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. Four The next day, Hideaki had his things together before the bell rang. The teacher didn't invent a reason to detain him, and he didn't rush ahead of the other boys, didn't look over his shoulder as he walked toward the gate. He heard their taunts but didn't react. He was eager to visit the old man again, but promised himself he wouldn't run. When the push came it caught him by surprise but was sickeningly familiar. He tripped and fell on the concrete. The other boys were laughing but today it didn't penetrate. The gravel ripped his pants. Without looking he knew his leg was bleeding. He got up and faced his antagonist. The taller chubby boy paused, sneered, and pushed him down again. Hideaki fell on his back, not taking his gaze from the bigger boy, still not saying anything. The others still laughed, but not as loud. He was in physical pain, but inside he didn't hurt as much as usual. He got up, staring at his tormentor, then turned and started toward the mountains. Pushed from behind again, he stumbled forward, but walked calmly. Another push jarred him forward. Some boys still laughed, but most had broken off to talk among themselves. He kept toward the mountains, never once looking back. Without having to duck inside the cave like a chased animal, Hideaki appreciated its simple elegance. A slitted horizontal opening hollowed out into the larger space inside. The cave's mouth was wet from an afternoon rain and the slick crevasse looked like a razorback clam set into the mountainside. He bowed lengthwise to enter, smelling the change in the air. Outside, the woods were steamy and exuberant with spring growth bursting forth from every branch and leaf; inside, the atmosphere was old and softer, as if resting from having already done its work. Moving from one realm to the other was like stepping past a curtain between two worlds. The rockface waterfall was busy, as if there was nothing else to be done. There was no sign of the old man or the statue. The bamboo ladle was perched there, resting on the base of its cup and the tip of its handle between the two black mugs. Taking the bamboo handle between his fingers, he bowed slightly to the basin and dipped the ladle sideways into the pool, mimicking the way of the old man. Without anyone to deride his efforts, he was pleased to follow the manner almost to perfection. With the cup almost full, he twisted the ladle away from the basin with a grace so surprising he jiggled the handle a bit. He hadn't spilled a drop off the side of the cup! Recovered from his own success, he stayed in motion toward the black cups, breathing easily, a slight smile on his face. He filled one and the other, placed the ladle on the moist grey-black shelf, and gave a bow to the implements. His mind was so clear, he wasn't even thinking about the old man. "Well done. You bring honor to those you serve." Again, Hideaki was startled at how the appearance of the old man did not send him flying out of the cave. The man was like the smell of the cave, the sound of the water, the ladle and cups themselves. He was not appearing out of nowhere as much as stepping out of the picture of which he was an essential part. He allowed himself to be seen by the observer the same way a visual trick in a master's canvas reveals itself over time. "Thank you,” Hideaki said with a bow, “May I offer you a cup of water?" He was at at ease. In a fluid movement, Hideaki offered one of the rough black cups with a distinct, organic bow. They sat looking at the mountain scene. From the bench inside the cave the mountainscape was all of existence. Behind it, the flawless blue sky supported the diorama, as if it were floating on an endless ocean of blue light. For Hideaki, it was all of the world that needed to exist. The water tasted as yesterday, pure and simple, and rich and full of the texture of the whole mountain in every sip. He savored the liquid quietly, not wanting to sever the bond of silence. Watching the mountainscape drift on the blue ocean was all he wanted to do. "Tell me about yourself." The rough cloth grey robe atop the old mans chest stirred. To Hideaki, it sounded like an indictment; this was the first time he felt uncomfortable with the old man. Yet it was a familiar feeling, even though something about the old man told him this wasn't the only way of being. Most of the time, feeling awkward and out of sync with the world seemed like the natural order of things. He was supposed to feel out of sorts. Now, even though the question roused his eternal discomfort, it was clear this feeling itself was out of sync. He knew the discomfort, but this was the first time he knew there was something wrong with it. And there was a way to fix it. As these thoughts roiled in his head, adding a new layer of confusion, he knew the solution was somewhere in the midst of it all. And that solution was connected with the little old man sharing water with him on a stone bench. He took his time answering. The old man sat enjoying the portrait they faced. Every so often his robe would rustle, to let Hideaki know he hadn't reverted to stone. "Well, I'm in second year of junior high school." He wanted to spit it all out, how everything he touched turned to disaster, how there were no friends this year, how his family turned against him, his litany of despair. He held back. Either to avoid offending the man's serenity, or to avoid looking like a weakling, he offered no more. The old man asked no more. They sat and watched the ocean of blue bathe the trees in glory. A haze began to smoke its way through the wood, as if the air was perspiring through invisible pores, a musky film that hung like a gently swaying fabric between the rows of cedar and pine. The old man was replacing both cups on the mantle before realizing the cup had been relieved from his hand. The old man stood in silhouette at the mouth of the cave. "Let us walk through the wood." Hideaki bent to exit the cave and hop-skipped to catch up to the old man, who was using a short bamboo stick to make his way along the trail. In the open forest, the old man was even smaller than in the cave, which seemed fashioned to frame his existence. But here on the trail, the haze played sport with Hideaki's vision. When they walked side-by-side as the trail allowed, he seemed life-size, an old man out for a walk. But when he got a few paces ahead or on a sloping curve he looked incredibly old and tiny, a character out of time. Hideaki again thought the old man might be an apparition, a memory being daydreamed by the hills as they lay prone in the mist, letting him stroll along the ridges of history. The haze warmed the hills; the old man had beads of perspiration on his age-toughened brow, but they never rolled down his face as they did over Hideaki's. Beyond the haze, the ocean of blue was maturing; they passed the point where they could turn and reach the cave before dark. Hideaki followed, occasionally losing ground, curious where they were headed. "Almost there." They were tracking along a thin precipice that faced one of the open valleys. Hideaki admired the village scene, and wondered how many happy families were sitting down to dinner together. "The mist softens the image." The old man's bamboo stick felt its way around a large boulder that narrowed the track to less than shoulder width. “Sometime too much. When life is in your grasp, that is the best time to see clearly and understand what to make of it.” The chill of the cooling mist crept up Hideaki's neck. The old man continued around the rock, Hideaki made his way around and saw another boulder across the clearing. Overhead a rock cropping formed a partial roof like an overturned, cupped hand. They were in an airborne alcove, surrounded by rock and looking down on the valley below. At the rear of the clearing stood a small circular hut of bristle twigs. A thatched roof enclosed it and a small door was held in place by a length of vine. Hideaki could not believe this. He looked up at the rocky peak across from the clearing where they stood. He had climbed the opposite ledge many times and had never seen this hut – or the smoldering fire ring off to the side! He walked to the fire; the old man had gone inside the hut. Pieces of unburnt bamboo and the charred ends of pine logs jutted from the circle, which, when he bent to examine it, was still quite warm underneath the white ash cover. "I never saw this place before,” he said, partly to convince himself. He knew it was true, for if there was one place he felt at home, it was within these mountains. "These mountains have been here longer than you." The old man came from the hut with a small iron pot swinging from a handle, and placed it right on top of the ash. There was kindness even in his reproach, as if simply reminding him of something. "Isn't she beautiful?" The old man was looking up over the valley at the moon who made her entrance before the sun had fully left the stage. More than half full, like a delicate bowl coming slowly into existence, bold and bright like only a Spring moon can be, she was beautiful. The way she hung suspended, on a sea of unspoken promise, made her seem vulnerable, ever as she displayed her power. When he was a child Hideaki thought you could climb to the moon if you followed the peaks and were waiting for her when she made her appearance. The smell from the iron pot rose behind them. The old man produced two black stoneware bowls that matched the cups from the cave. He portioned vegetable stew into each, handing Hideaki a bowl with a pair of carved chopsticks balanced across the top. They sat on large flat-topped stones near the fire. Cousins to the black cups, the bowls were irregular in a way that made them appear timeless. The bowl in Hideaki's lap had been crafted by a potter who had one eye on Nature as he worked – appearing as if it had been shaped from the rich, dark earth surrounding an old tree stump, black with a dark splotch of brown and a lumpy texture that belied its origin as raw clay. "You can't keep your strength from admiring beauty." The old man was eating and the smell of thick stew grabbed Hideaki's attention. He considered eating from the bowl as he had drank from the cup, but he was too hungry for elegance. The boy in him took over and he picked out chunks of vegetables in rapid-fire succession, licking the chopsticks now and then and drinking the rest of the sticky brown broth was a flourish. The old man took the bowls back into the hut. When he came back out, Hideaki watching the moon grow in confidence as she stole the show from her retreating brother. "You must go. We will spend the next few days together here." Hideaki didn't want to leave. The prospect of if made the difference between his time in the mountains and his life at home and school even more painful to think about. “Look at the two rocks on either side." The tone of a teacher had arisen from the old man. They were like any of the giant boulders that littered these mountains. Covered with a variety of thick and leafy mosses, with ferns and the occasional flower sticking up here and there out of the bed of green. Near the top of each, medium size trees clung with exposed roots like a family of serpents coiled around the unyielding stone. "See, how those rocks, that began so barren and alone, how even they have cultivated a life of their own?" Hideaki looked again, and understood. "No matter what you are given, you can make something of it. Time and persistence conquer all." Hideaki continued peering into the worlds made on the giant rocks. "You must go." He could feel the air had dropped another few degrees. He turned to face the now dominant moon and knew he had to make the most of the sun's waning power. The woods were always darker than the valleys they led to. "Tomorrow," he said with a slight bow. He made his way cautiously around the narrow ledge, planning to run once he got to the main path. He heard the old man say behind him. "Remember, memory is like a walk through the forest. Every time you look back, you see a different trail. The further you travel, you always find you are in a different forest." Frank Giovinazzi's Amazon Author Page FrankGiovinazzi.com |