(There suddenly recurred to me, with new meaning, some words of a student's composition regarding the future of a just man: His soul shall hover eternally in the universe.)
"And therefore," continued Asakichi, "one who has a son can die with a cheerful mind."
"Because the son will make those offerings of food and drink without which the spirit would suffer?" I queried.
"It is not only that. There are duties much more important than the making of offerings. It is because every man needs some one to love him after he is dead. Now you will understand."
"Only your words," I replied, "only the facts of the belief. The feeling I do not understand. I cannot think that the love of the living could make me happy after death. I cannot even imagine myself conscious of any love after death. And you, you are going far away to battle,—do you think it unfortunate that you have no son?"
"I? Oh no! I myself am a son,—a younger son. My parents are still alive and strong, and my brother is caring for them. If I am killed, there will be many at home to love me,—brothers, sisters, and little ones. It is different with us soldiers: we are nearly all very young."
"For how many years," I asked, "are the offerings made to the dead?"
"For one hundred years."
"Only for a hundred years?"
"Yes. Even in the Buddhist temples the prayers and the offerings are made only for a hundred years."