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.
Sixty-Two Hideaki fell back asleep, this time it was Shuji's turn to wake him for the return to the village below. "How did the firing go?" "Very well," Hideaki answered, more subdued than he'd been feeling lately. "What's the matter, brother?" He was looking at the last wisps of smoke trailing out of the dragon's tail. "My friend, the old potter I told you about?" "What about him?" "He would be very proud of you." "Thank you, brother. I wish either one of our old potter friend would help us a little more," Shuji said, oblivious to the truth. "But we are doing okay by ourselves aren't we?" "Yes we are." * * * The village was a sullen place that morning. As if overnight, while they worked in the hills above it, someone had come under the stealth of darkness and painted everything with an invisible wash that cast a shroud of despair over the entire scene. The boys were careful to keep to themselves on such a day. The Daimyo had brought his wife's devastated body to the castle grounds, though her spirit was lying dormant somewhere deep within her. He was in mourning for the lost baby, yet more fearful he was in danger of losing his wife for good over this incident. It was obvious she was the victim of a premeditated attack. That did not absolve the bearers of their responsibility. Of the few that did not commit suicide in the night, the rest were beheaded. The Daimyo wished one more cut could have been made to separate the Black Priest's skull from his neck, but the time was not yet right. The Daimyo would have it though, as surely as the honor of his family still beat in his veins. He was sworn to refrain from magic, but not from treachery. Very well. * * * The Princess swung wildly between her old familiar melancholy and her new energetic state. The old emotion seemed appropriate but it was like an old set of clothes from childhood that no longer fit, no matter how much she wanted to dress up in them and experience that former state of naiveté. Her new emotional wardrobe fit much better, but once adorned, she could think of nothing to do with her energy. A tragedy had befallen her mother, and there was no reversing that fact. But that could be done to begin rebuilding, to start working for her well-being once she got past this disaster? She paced back and forth. She was still under castle grounds restriction and there was no defying her father during times like this. * * * The boys had a problem. Now that they had bisque-fired pots cooling in the kiln, they needed glazes and a handful of tools for the next step in the process. It had been too much to carry on their first trip, but now they had to face it. The Princess was still pacing back and forth in the castle hallway above the pottery area where she had seen the boys working once before. She wondered how they were coming along with their project. And how she could manage to do something, anything to help them, for they were soldiering on in spite of the hardships presented them. She figured that aligning herself with those who were moving would somehow introduce an idea for movement into her own state of affairs. She ran down to the kitchen, causing quite a stir among the workers who had been joking around, engaging in lewd and crude food worker banter before anyone realized she was there. Her sudden appearance, and the common knowledge of her mother's fate brought the culinary workshop to a halt. The only things left moving were the clouds of steam over bubbling vats of water. "Greetings, chef," she said warmly to the man in charge, who bowed to her as he held his pants up, having been caught in a lascivious display. She ignored his embarrassment. "I am sorry to bother you today, but I need two small favors." Yes, he nodded, his right hand still gripping the loose drawstring of his pants, anything. "There are two boys laboring in the yard who are now part of the Daimyo's household. They have been doing a very undesirable job for a whole month, and it is time they had a small reward." She walked up to him, acting as if she didn't notice his compromising situation. "Would you prepare a suitable lunch for them, and then, this evening have one of your men deliver an evening meal? They are quartered in the Gardener's work yard. Thank you, kind sir." She was truly grateful, and the poor timing of his public display, fortuitous for her, would make sure he would gladly fulfill both requests. She waited for lunch hour, and then for the kitchen attendant to inform the boys of the special meal prepared for them. She didn't want to embarrass the boys in their work situation, so she waited until they had washed and took a seat under a cherry tree to enjoy their unexpected bento. With the turmoil the house was in, her approaching the boys wouldn't be stopped until after it was too late. She would be able to find a way to help. "Good afternoon," she said quietly. "Good afternoon!" The boys managed to spit out, along with a sizable amount of food. She looked up at the leaves to avoid noticing. "How is your project coming?" "We have two months to go before the Daimyo reassigns us," Hideaki said, knowing Shuji was dumbstruck. "That is, if we don't get in trouble again," implying with his voice that talking to the Royal Daughter while performing such a base task would do exactly that. "Oh, that is not what I meant," she said. Hideaki eyed her with caution. She was nice, and probably meant no harm, but . . . "It is going very good!" Shuji exclaimed. "We have just fired our first test batch last night," he was bursting. If he thought walking on his hands would have impressed her, he would have already upended himself. The problem with Shuji was that he had no concept of the give and take of social conversation. Hideaki interjected. "Was that your seal in our workshop?" "Yes," she admitted and it was her turn to get excited. "We ventured into the meadow the day after the picnic and went butterfly hunting again. Didn't you see us release them in the castle garden?" Hideaki was pleased; Shuji was a little jealous. There was a three way awkward silence for as many different reasons. The Princess knew she was presenting an unfair situation to the boys. "I want to help you anyway I can." Turning to Shuji, she said, "I am very proud of you for dedicating your talent to create a gift for my mother." A shadow of sadness washed across her face. "She needs it, especially now." If it was possible for a thirteen year old boy to have a heart attack from a combination of pride, love and sorrow, Shuji was the prime candidate. Since he couldn't think it took him a full minute to respond. "I'm sorry about your mother," seemed to be the correct response. The Princess offered only a wan smile and nodded acknowledgment. "As am I," Hideaki added. "To be blunt, Princess, we need supplies to finish our project." She brightened. Something to focus on. "What do you need?" The boys explained what was necessary. The Princess, sitting with her legs tucked underneath, was bobbing up and down quickly from the nervous tapping of her foot beneath her. She was forming an elegant plan and it had a mix of everything that was missing from her life. Risk, challenge, planning, execution and a dash of intrigue. "If I am to do this, I must act quickly," she stood without ceremony, and the boys followed suit. "Don't worry," she said, and over her shoulder, "enjoy your meals!" After last night's relative fast, Hideaki ate heartily. Shuji was too full on other sustenance to notice the food was there at all. * * * The Princess made her way quickly to the finishing shop on the other side of the compound, gleeful over her newfound role as accomplice. Under the strict rules of the fief where the most treasured pottery of the nation was manufactured, potters and painters were maintained as separate enterprises in order to keep secrets and techniques from leaking outside the confines of the small kingdom. Thus, the craftsmen who prepared the enamels and glazes, and applied them to bisque-fired pottery knew as little of the making of raw pots as the potters knew of the final process. This would work to her advantage, as the fewer people who could piece together what she was doing the better. Her presence shocked the steward of this workshop as well, this time the Master of the painters. He listened to her request and was even more eager to please than the chef. Later that afternoon, deishi from the painting studio were setting up an ad hoc workshop for the Princess and her entourage. Buckets and jars of every paint and glaze imaginable were strewn amongst dozens of naked bisque-fired pots lying everywhere. The attendants were jubilant. The Princess had arranged a painting demonstration for the ladies of the court, and they were actually going to paint their own that would be fired in the kiln! And then they were going to present them as gifts to the Royal Mother as she convalesced. How exciting! The girls worked that afternoon, getting their hands dirty with the craftsmen's tools and they all thought they were creating great works of art. At one point, the Daimyo walked past the spectacle and it brought a slight lift to the heavy corners of his mouth. Then he intuited his daughter was up to something, and that brought another, greater lift to his mouth, reaching his eyes. Though he was in the middle of the storm he knew that once it passed the land would be refreshed and ready for the new season. The Princess was accomplishing two cherished objectives. She was keeping the light of a newly discovered élan alive in a small handful of her coterie, perhaps affecting some of the other girls as well. And she was also assisting the brothers who were not brothers in their quest to create something for her Mother. The Princess wondered if the two goals might somehow come together. Read Chapter 63 of The Potter's Notebook.
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