FIAM BEGAN TO DANCE
“But you don’t understand, my good friend,” he said now, “that the odor of saki, this delicious perfume, reminds me of the most delightful time of my life. When Prince Funato came with his court every year they poured saki on my trunk. I loved it. It made me want to dance. It is more than a hundred years since I smelled this marvelous odor. I beg you to put me near the cup.”
I did so. The cup of saki from which I had drunk was as small as a doll’s cup. It was beautiful blue china with white dragons and was still half full of the good warm liquor which was something like Marsala wine.
Fiam began to dance around on the brim as children do on the edges of fountains in gardens. Then he leaned over and stirred the liquid. I could hear him singing in his mosquito voice.
Unfortunately the dry wood of Fiam’s arms absorbed the saki, which rose through the fibres till it reached his head. Then he indulged in the craziest antics. At last he took a little run and, turning a magnificent somersault, plunged into the cup.
I realized it all too late. I was perfectly distracted when I heard Fiam splashing in the saki, spinning around quite like a top. I drew him out and held him between two fingers to dry, but I couldn’t keep him still. He was so wet he slipped away and skipped about, leaving drops of liquid everywhere, and if I held him tight he pricked me on the nails and kicked desperately.