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.”