“I seek chie.” The coarse hairs of his mustache quivered, and his sagging jowls flapped from the effort needed to produce the gravelly baritone of his voice.
“Don’t we all my friend. In fact,” wheezed the old monk, “that’s the very reason why I have chosen this life of solitude.” Crows feet crinkled beside his dancing eyes. Truly, that the other man, his eyes are the only thing that can be said to be lively about this old gaffer. A raised eyebrow and an indignant twitch of his lip incited the monk to answer in a way that would please the inquirer.
“Ahhh. You must be looking for Chie. The boy called wisdom, yes?” Amusement laced the voice that creaked like an ancient tree’s boughs in a gale.’
“Yes,” the inquirer growled, fiddling threateningly with his silk tie as if it was not his neck he wished to tighten it around.
“Why then, right this way,” smiled the monk. The inquirer huffed in an attempt to calm his riled nerves, straitened the gleaming satin top hat on his head, and crunched down the gravel after the doddering figure. As they passed a cairn of stones, a flash of movement caught his attention. Atop the mound, a pipsqueak of a boy stood holding a delicate lantern. His viridian gaze was torn off the older man as a falling leaf tenderly brushed his sunken cheek. Turning his head and closing his eyes, the boy seemed to lean into the touch as if was the loving caress of a mother. He started like a frightened deer, however, when the top-hatted man’s slight shift in footing caused a pebble to skitter mouse-like across the ground. As if he was only now aware of his observer, the boy tore off into the surrounding forest, leaving the other to grumble about the fickle nature of youths.
The temple was beautiful. Of course nothing could compare to the churches in England, some quaint others bordering gaudy, but the Japanese had certainly tried their best with the structure before the man. The eaves of the multiple roofs were arranged like a bird’s wings in flight. Vibrant red pillars stretched towards the heavens and opened up a patio-esque type dwelling to the surrounding nature. Gold-leafed carvings climbing the columns caught sparks of sunlight. To the west, steps lead down to the glassy surface of a carp-filled lake. Wind breezing in from the east heralded the arrival of birds and leaves by tangling in chimes strung on the ceiling. As it danced its way out, it sensually lured a trail of incense smoke to the tops of the surrounding forest’s trees. Yes, thought the top-hatted man- Mr. Anglia-, the Japanese had certainly tried with this one.
Leaving their shoes at the door and shuffling into an inner room, Mr. Anglia and the monk were too preoccupied in their own thoughts to talk. Even when they had settled down on the tatami floor, the distant gurgling of a spring was the only sound that passed between them. Another monk appeared and set down a tray of fine china and aromatic tea before leaving them in solitude once more. The minutes dragged on, and they still didn’t talk. Mr. Anglia’s mustache bristled left and right several times as if he would begin conversation, but it always stilled before he opened his mouth. Finally, with the clink of his cup settling down on the lacquered tray, the monk came back to the present, gave a speculative look at Mr. Anglia, and said, “What do you want with Chie?”
“Well,” Mr. Anglia started sputtering out his tea, “seeing as his father’s died-”
“Yes, his father who left him here with his mother has died. Where was he or you when his mother took her life? Where were he or you when his mother’s side of the family left him to me so they could maintain their status as an honorable samurai family unsullied? Why are you here now?” Surprised at the, until recently, peaceful monks outburst, it took Mr. Anglia a while to respond.
“His father was in charge of a very respectable trading company, and they need someone to take over. Under normal circumstances a b-...an illegitimate child would not be the first choice, but no other heirs are available. Chie will be given an outstanding education, the finest clothes and dwellings money can buy- really you should be thankful I have come to take him.” The monk gave him a cold look over the steam of his tea.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. This country is struggling with too much already. If we were to go to court, they would give him over to you simply because you are a foreigner. In our thirst to ‘civilize’ we forget all else,” the monk gave a weary sigh. “Take him. I have no doubt you would do that even if I tried to stop you.”
*****
    It amused Chie to see how much Eastern influences he could see in this supposedly Western home. Giant vases of flowers depicted scenes from Japanese mythology, window panes used geometric designed favored by the Chinese, and the rich, spicy aroma drifting in from the kitchen indicated that they would be feasting on a variant from some Indian dish. Of course, the East was just as guilty where subtle forgeries were concerned. The Japanese were covertly proud of their fine silken garments, but in recent years the cut and style of new fashion mirrored those of lords and ladies visiting from Europe. Their magnificent new train stations deserted traditional architecture for the angular structures of the West. Chie quite liked watching these different cultures mix, but if there was one thing Western he didn’t like, it was Mr. Anglia.
    He was a man who didn’t like children doing-well, anything really. Except hide and seek. Yes, that was the most wonderful invention to keep children out of his sight of all time. His corpulent, waggling mass of a stomach had a droll habit of entering a room before the rest of him. Despite his diminutive stature, his watery blue eyes seemed to look down on everyone. Even the great Goliath would’ve felt intimidated under his gaze. His hands, as white and cold as the underbelly of a fish, deigned not join another’s in greeting lest they held the rank of viscount or higher. His mawkish behavior in these instances was so palpable, that any fruit in a 10 foot radius rotted to its core the instant he started talking. Of course, this display could’ve been a result of the fetid cloud of tobacco smoke that seemed to follow him around. No, Chie didn’t like him much, but the feeling was mutual.
    Their first meal together had been more than a little awkward. Once again, no one had spoken for an inordinate amount of time. Mr. Anglia had sputtered and grunted around mouthfuls of food whilst glancing nervously at Chie. Unused to Western utensils, Chie had pushed around the equally unfamiliar food stuffs hoping he could leave the uncomfortableness of the room soon.
    “Now, my boy. I understand that you are nervous, but you..uh...needn’t be. I shall allow our conversations to be in Japanese until we get you a tutor in English. So, um, let us converse a bit, eh?...Well, speak boy!” Chie, unused to yelling, blinked in indignation and opened his mouth wide. “Oh! Oh! By all the tea in China! They give me a boy called wisdom, but he’s dumb!” Mr. Anglia had then proceeded to storm off in a rage, leaving his place at the table in a terrible disarray. Before Chie had a chance to move, a figure appeared out of the shadow and began to tidy up. When he was finished, he stood up and looked over Chie who acted likewise.
Smooth caramel-toned skin covered a small, lithe form. Milk-chocolate and cream colored hair, curled down over pale jade eyes and freckles. Obviously self-conscious, the boy opened a mouthful of yellowing-teeth to start an attention diverting conversation.
    “K-konnichiwa, ore wa Tunde...hajimemashita? Oh! You can’t speak, sorry...um can you...can you read? I won’t ask what happened to your tongue, and..well I-I can teach you if you want?” A simple nod was his response. Tunde looked around him frantically until his gaze settled on Chie’s glass of water. Dipping his finger into the liquid, he traced out a series characters on the absorbent cloth of the dable. W-A-T-E-R. Just before it dried, he managed to grunt out a few sounds. “Wuh-ah-tuh-uh-rr. Water. In English, um, these symbols make these sounds. Well, sometimes. I mean, there are a lot of different rules-” He was cut off by Chie who had copied the symbols and then made a gesture with his hands. This action was repeated several times until Tunde managed to stutter out the question, “Is-is that how you say water?” Another nod.
    Months seemed to pass by in seconds. The swirling dance of dropping leaves was accompanied by secretive language lessons in the garden, the kitchen when the swell of snow was too much, and a nearby spring when the flowers were brave enough to poke their head out of the soil. Mr. Anglia had given up pampering Chie with his company at meals. Truth be told, it made the boy breathe a little easier. The only time they really saw each other was through the open door of the study when Chie scurried by it in search of Tunde. Chie had all but forgotten the older man’s presence in the house, when one searingly hot morning Mr. Anglia emerged from his prolonged absence like a bear coming out of his den well after the ‘end’ of his hibernation.
    “Chie, my boy. What say you to a little bit of a party?”
Invitations were sent to the Lords and Ladies of various regions. Tantalizing aromas wafted in from kitchen in between the floorboards. Piles of lace drapings cluttered the floor around the grand staircase until Mr. Anglia spilled over it and demanded the maids do what they were paid for and actually hang them up. Chie watched these proceeding uncomprehendingly as Tunde buzzed around him in an excited fervor. More ‘civilized’ clothes were needed for Chie, of course. But, the overall effect according to the boy in question, made him no more splendid than the dressings surrounding the freshly roasted turkeys. They, at least, could be appreciated for more than their looks, as he soon found out after pilfering a small taste. And then finally, the day of the party came.
    Chie had hoped to skitter on the outskirts of the room for most of the night. One look at the voluminous skirts of the attending women, however, assured him that it would take his effort to stand just on the outskirts of the room and not those of a Lady. He had just made it to the door by the great staircase, when a beefy hand encased his arm and dragged him up to the carpeted first landing.
    “Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please!” thundered Mr. Anglia “Thank you all for coming tonight, to the presentation of young Chie here. I know quite a few of you have wondered over the fate of the company this fine young lad’s father left him, and I am here to assure you that it will be in capable hands! Chie has entrusted me with running all affairs until he comes of age!” A polite scattering of applause accompanied this proclamation, and Chie found himself once again trying to keep his footing amongst revelers sipping Sauvignon Blanc as Mr. Anglia propelled him forward. He was just starting to question how far they would be going, when Mr. Anglia stopped them in a secluded corner away from everyone else. “Have a bit of wine, boy. Enjoy yourself!” A glass was pressed into his hand as Mr. Anglia went off to socialize. About to take a sip, Chie was started as for the second time that night someone grabbed his arm.
    “Here’s some water,” said Tunde. Chie shook his head, but was stopped again before the glass reached his lips. Again and again, Chie was prevented from tasting the wine. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Mr. Anglia frown and start in his direction, when the glass was yanked out of his hand. A garbled choking sound reached his ears as he watched foam spill out of a gaping mouth and glass shatter on the floor. Shrieks, gasps, and whispers raced around the room as people took notice of the boys in the corner. The fleeing form of Mr. Anglia was seized before he could take three steps across the dance floor. But all that Chie focused on was the echoing of water in his shocked ears.
    *****
    Seagulls called to the answering wind and sails snapped against their rough treatment by the sailors. Salty brine coated the boy’s lips, but he held off downing water to watch the last of his home disappear into the fold between the murky sea and bright sky. A ‘generous’ donation had been given to him from the men who had seized control of his father’s company as a sort of condolence for the unexpected events following Mr. Anglia’s first meeting with him at the temple. He had debated what to do with the money for a couple of days until ultimately deciding to travel onward to search for the spirit of Tunde.