“No, it was only that I was caught painting by the Osho-sama at Kagamiga Ike pond, the other day.”
“Hum, is that so? Well, here is a cup of tea for you,” said the host, placing a cup each before his guests. There were a few drops of tea in, though the cups were quite large. They were dark grey in colour outside, with a yellowish picture or design on them, delightfully tasteful, but the name of their maker was quite undecipherable.
“It is Mokubey’s,” briefly explained the old gentleman.
“This is very interesting,” I complimented briefly also.
“There are many imitations in Mokubeys. These have the inscription; look at the base,” says the host.
I took up my cup and held it towards the semi-transparent shoji. On the screen was seen a potted “haran” plant casting its shadow warmly. I looked into the base twisting my head, and saw there “Mokubey” burnt in diminutively. Inscriptions are not indispensables for real connoisseurs; but amateurs seem, generally, very sensitively particular about them. I brought the cup to my lips, instead of putting it back on the table. Leisurely lovers of real good tea rise to the seventh heaven, when, drop, drop, they let the correctly drawn aromatic liquid roll on the tip of their tongues. Ordinarily, people think that tea is to be drunk; but that is not correct. A drop on your tongue; something refreshing spreads over it, you have practically nothing more to send down your throat, except that a delightfully soothing flavour travels down the alimentary canal into the stomach. It is vulgar to bring the teeth to service; but pure fresh water is too light. “Gyokuro” tea is thicker than water, but not heavy enough for the molar action. It is a fine beverage. If the objection be that tea robs one of sleep, then I should say “better be without sleep than be without tea.” In the midst of my usual philosophical musing, the priest spoke to me again.
“Can you paint in oil on fusuma?[(27)] If you can, I should like to have some painted.”
If the priest would have me do it, I may not refuse; but that it would please him was not at all certain, and I should hate to retire crestfallen, by having it declared that an oil painting is no good, after I had spared no labour for its execution.
“I do not think oil paintings will go well on a fusuma.”
“You do not think so? You are probably right. What I have seen of Kyuichi-san’s production will make me think that it will look perhaps too gay on a fusuma.”