“Phoenix....” Mr. Yamada echoed the word softly. “Yes.... I think—maybe a very good name. Very—auspicious.”
And that was that.
The next step was to arrange for a suitable figurehead—naturally a phoenix. A local wood carver submitted an ambitious design. We managed to tame his enthusiasm somewhat, but our present compromise, carved from a solid block of camphorwood, is still a very impressive bird.
By now it was fall and we had begun to adjust our sights to a December launching. After all, that would be only six months late! The work was going along well and all seemed serene when suddenly, like the collapse of a pricked balloon, everything stopped. On several consecutive visits we saw no workmen, no progress, no signs of life. Yotsuda-san seemed not to be available.
There was only one thing to do. Rounding up the “team,” I called a conference. Mrs. Yotsuda was sternly warned to have her husband there.
Yotsuda-san came to the meeting, but it was only after long prodding that the reason for the delay came out. Yotsuda had run out of money. Without pay, the workmen—even though they were his relatives—wouldn’t work. Therefore, he needed money—not more than the contract called for, but the next installment in advance of the due date.
After getting this straight, I advanced the sum needed. When Yotsuda-san, bowing his apologies all the way out of sight, had departed, I asked the natural question.
“Why didn’t he tell me at once? Why waste so much time?”
“Yotsuda-san was very much ashamed,” Mr. Yasuda explained.
“Ashamed because he needed money?”