A SINGULAR ENCOUNTER
When he began dancing around again I caught him by the leg and held him
still.
“Explain yourself,” I commanded.
“Put me astride your collar, and I will tell you.”
“All right; now talk.”
“Do you remember I told you Prince Funato died an old man? And every
year at the anniversary of the battle where I had protected him by my
branches”—(here Fiam gave two of those sighs of his that sounded like
whistles, and observed sadly, “What a beautiful willow I was then!”)
“he came to find me?”
“Indeed, I remember perfectly.”
“Very well; his spirit has entered into one of his descendants.”
“That is only a Japanese superstition.”
“So you foreigners say; you also think that the Haji is an old Japanese
superstition. You have told me so, and yet you see that I really
exist.”
“That is true. I beg your pardon.”
“There is no harm done. Now I have met the man who has the spirit of
Prince Funato.”
“And who is it?”
“The general.”
“Not really.”
“It is he who is the descendant of the prince.”
“How did you find it out?”
“I am a Haji, and can see things that men can’t.”
“And does the general know it?”
“No; the spirit never remembers its former life.”
“Oh,” I smiled.
“Don’t be so sceptical. You ought to have more faith in me. I can tell
you something else.”
“Go on, tell it.”
“Did you see that tall, serious, gray-haired colonel, with a beautiful
beard, seated at the right of the general?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Colonel of the big thunderbolt?”
“The artillery——”
“If you like. Well, he is the old warrior that climbed up the mountain
alone the last time to greet me. He trembled all over from age. I
remember he leaned up against me and said:
“‘Honorable Willow, we shall never meet again.’” Another little whistle
showed me that Fiam was much moved by his recollections.
By this time my European ideas were pretty nearly turned upside down.
“What if Fiam should be right?” Two days later I called on the general
with the pretext of thanking him for the excellent breakfast of moist
bamboo roots that he had given me. I wanted to question him skilfully.
I found him with knitted brows bending over a map. Every once in a
while he gave an order to some officer, which was received and obeyed
in silence. They were coming and going very solemnly. We could hear the
tramp of horses arriving and departing outside the tent. Far off the
cannon roared.
After an exchange of compliments I risked asking the question which was
on the tip of my tongue.
“General,” I said, “among your ancestors was there one called Funato?”
“Yes,” he answered, with some surprise, but with a smile of
satisfaction; “Prince Funato Matabaci.”
“And after a great battle was he not pursued by an enemy until he was
saved by the Haji of a willow?”
“Ah, ah!” laughed the general. “I see you are up in the legends of the
country. I am glad to hear it.” Then ceasing to laugh, he added: “The
fact is that Funato Matabaci went to war with Nitoba Riocito, and in
great fright he hid in a wood. All the rest is legendary, and the fancy
of an ignorant and credulous age.”
Later when I told this to Fiam he was sad and very much hurt.
“Well,” he said, “let’s see. Look at the blessings you have brought us
from the West. Those lovely inventions that chop down, split and cut
poor willows in pieces. These are your beautiful ideas. The most sacred
things are only legends to you.”
“Fiam, I am....”
“You—you are a stupid....”
“Ah, thank you.”
He couldn’t make me angry with his insults, for after all I thought he
was quite right. Some minutes passed in silence, then Fiam went on:
“But it doesn’t matter. I love him just the same. It isn’t his fault
that he denies me. To me he is still the Funato that I protected as if
he were my son, and I promise you I shall never fail to guard, defend,
and save him, even if it takes my life.”
“But what can you do, poor Fiam?” I asked, much interested.
“Ah, who knows? who knows?” and he sighed sadly.
[Illustration: I Am Entrusted With a Delicate Mission]