The ‘gathering’ started casually around about sunset. Despite the fact that no precise time had been set for the start, guests began arriving in small groups, and in no time at all, one was met with the sight of sake gla.s.ses being pa.s.sed around, a serene, truly “country” setting indeed.
There was also the custom of hanging paper lanterns bearing the family crest of the household hosting the gathering. In this way, even without sending out formal invitations, pa.s.sersby in the village could drop by at their leisure. They would light the lamps as the festivities started and douse them when all was over, and it was Kuroh’s duty this time to light the lanterns of the Miwa household. While Ichigen had a.s.sured him there really was nothing in particular he needed to do, Kuroh intended to aid in any way he could until his curfew.
But despite his willing spirit, his flesh was still that of a child, and he did his best to stay away from where the adults were enjoying themselves with their alcohol, instead limiting himself to delivering food and drinks. He’d studied how to serve warm sake at many a gathering such as this and could be seen wandering about refilling gla.s.ses from a large kettle of hot sake throughout the evening.
Around 8, he headed into the parlor carrying a tray with several decanters, finding the party in full swing. Removing the room divider, he connected the living room Ichigen and Kuroh typically used to the guest room which was only used at times such as this, creating a s.p.a.ce of some 40 mats in size with two long rows of tables along the sides where a good 50 or so guests crowded in.
Kuroh began to clear away the empty gla.s.ses and cutlery when some neighbors he recognized complimented him with, “You’re such a good boy, Kuroh,” and, “Such a fine, hard-working young man!” He flushed, self-conscious, and returned his appreciation for the words. Casting a glance at the center of the gathering, he could see Ichigen surrounded by a large group of people, calmly carrying on a conversation. Everyone seemed to love speaking with him–young or old, man or woman, and at a.s.semblies such as this, Ichigen was rarely seen without someone hanging about near him.
Kuroh felt his heart swell with pride at the site, thrilled that this person he admired so much was clearly loved by others as well. In some ways, rather than filling him with affection, it instead left him feeling satisfied, body and soul.
Truly, Ichigen’s popularity in this village was an amazing thing indeed. Men in the prime of their life would come to him for advice on taxes and inheritance, while young men would consult him on matters of love. He’d listen over a cup of tea to old women complain about not being able to get on with their daughters-in-law, and even the mayor would consult him on internal management matters for the village.
His open and honest personality, sharing his profound knowledge gained after extensive experience with all who sought it, without discrimination, had made Ichigen into the most important person in this village. If ever anyone was feeling troubled, it became common habit among the villagers to say, “I’m going to speak with Miwa-san for a bit,” with many calling him, “Miwa-sensei.”
At present, the crowd around Ichigen was listening to him relate tales of his travels through Central and South America, stories that Kuroh had heard many times before. This time, he was relating the comedic tale of how he’d been captured by robbers wielding guns and wound up becoming friends with them in the end. As expected, the crowd erupted into laughter at the punchline, and Kuroh–standing a bit off to the side and eavesdropping on the conversation, couldn’t help the snickered smile that rose to his lips unthinkingly.
Ichigen could easily tell jokes and funny stories while keeping a serious face, but even he broke out into a wry grin, adding for good measure, “And since then, I’ve never been able to stomach tacos again!” and this sent the others into fits of laughter once more. While most would’ve wrapped things up there, though, Ichigen continued with a grand smile, “I wonder if you // have danced the ‘Brazilia’? // Or else the Samba?” He repeated the phrase again, nodded to himself.
The onlookers froze, with some offering, “Oh…oh…” or, “Ah, yes…I see…” vague responses with confused expressions on their faces–reactions which clearly indicated the collective sense of, “We don’t know what the heck you’re talking about, but we like you so we’re not going to say anything.” But Ichigen seemed to be enjoying himself quite a bit, and when he flicked his gaze over to Kuroh, the boy kept his features schooled and serious while offering the tiniest mimed gesture of applause, which lit Ichigen’s features with a thrilled but bashful smile as he scratched the back of his head.
“………”
“………”
Here, now, the crowd around him let themselves be dragged along by his good mood into chuckles, but neither master nor disciple understood…that the people of the village simply looked the other way in moments like this with reference to Miwa Ichigen: “He’s really an amazing person and aside from that, there’s not a thing wrong with him, but sometimes, out of the blue, he’ll just say the strangest things!”
As one old woman earnestly lamented, “If it weren’t for that, he’d have his pick of wives I’m sure.” Others contended that, “Perhaps it’s something to do with his ancestors? Maybe he should go to one of the mountain women and have himself exorcised,” while still others maintained the opposite: “No, it’s nothing to do with his ancestors; that’s clearly the work of a kitsune!” All were convinced, though, that he’d somehow been possessed.
In contrast, those who stood up in support of him offered, “But even if you grant him that one shortcoming, that just puts him on the same level as the rest of us. He’s really a smart man.” He’d simply been performing “Miwa Ichigen Story and Song”, and the mayor fell clearly in this camp, offering with an uncomfortable smile when pressed for comment, “I’m afraid your depth is a bit much for me to comprehend, Miwa-sensei,” keeping his words as inoffensive as possible.
The villagers had, for the most part, accepted this as, “Miwa Disease,” pa.s.sing it off as a side-effect of his work as a poet, or perhaps some avant-garde joke. Naturally, neither Ichigen nor Kuroh saw it as such; Kuroh felt himself brought near to tears every time he heard Ichigen recite his poetry, so moved was he by the words–which prompted those around him to worry for his future.
Ichigen would so effortlessly–and carelessly–deliver these “precious words,” though, that Kuroh put serious thought into making it his duty to somehow record and collect them. For the time being, though, he slipped away from the party, putting together a plan to somehow get his hands on a recording device.