Free Untangling My Chopsticks by Victoria Abbott Riccardi Page A

the talking, while she nodded and occasionally looked over at me. In an effort to appear respectful, I focused on the Grand Tea Master's knobby blue-veined hands so studiously trained in the art of whisking tea, arranging flowers for the tearoom alcove, and writing calligraphy for the seasonal scrolls. Suddenly, the Grand Tea Master stopped talking. I looked up.
    “Would you like a cup of tea?” asked Mrs. Hisa, turning to me. I nodded solemnly, assuming the correct answer was yes. She said something to the Grand Tea Master, who then bowed again and left the room.
    At this point, Mrs. Hisa suggested we kneel on the floor pillows to make ourselves more comfortable, a relative term in Japan. The Japanese know how to kneel, having done it since they were children. The legs of most women, in fact, bow outward as a result. Like most Westerners, I found tucking my toes beneath my bottom for long periods of time to be a horrendously painful ordeal. Nevertheless, I told myself that if I wanted to be accepted into Mushanokoji to study tea kaiseki, then I should probably contort myself into this “proper” position.
    Now that I was kneeling, the moment had arrived to sip the tea. “Here are the sweets,” said Mrs. Hisa, eyeing the maid in the chartreuse kimono. The young woman set down two small black plates each holding a puffy red-orange maple leaf. Mrs. Hisa lifted up a pointed flat wooden stick from the edge of her plate. It looked like a toothpick fit for King Kong. Traditionally carved from the spicebush, the pick had a tan pointed end and mottled brown top. Mrs. Hisa sliced open her maple leaf, carved out a small wedge, and stabbed it. “Oishii,” she murmured, closing her eyes and gently chewing. I cut my leaf into little wedges and pierced one. The sugary sweet had a dense velvety consistency.
    “We eat the sweet first before drinking the tea,” said Mrs. Hisa with her mouth full of bean paste. I had heard the tea would be bitter.
    Eventually, the maid came in carrying two bowls of thin whipped green tea. She handed a black tea bowl to Mrs. Hisa and a cream-colored bowl embellished with red, orange, and gold maple leaves to me. Hundreds of tiny bubbles covered the surface of the emerald green liquid, giving it a pebbly texture that almost glowed in parts.
    Just then the Grand Tea Master walked in. And before I knew it, he had settled down on a cushion next to me! He leaned forward and bowed, so close I could see a small mole near his right ear. My heart skipped a beat. I bowed back. Now what?
    I looked over at Mrs. Hisa, who shifted the bowl from her right hand and placed it in the palm of her left. Then, steadying the bowl with her right hand, with her thumb facing her, shebowed to the Grand Tea Master. I did my best to copy her, swiveling around on my cushion to face the Grand Tea Master. I had lost all feeling in my left leg.
    Mrs. Hisa then gently gripped the bowl, still resting it in her left palm, and turned the bowl about ninety degrees clockwise. When I did the same, several maple leaves came into view inside the tea bowl. Mrs. Hisa took a sip and said something, dropped her right hand to the floor, and then drank the remaining tea, making a loud sucking sound as she finished.
    My first sip tasted like warm pureed grass. Not that I had ever drunk grass, but it was what I imagined grass would taste like if whirled in a blender with a jigger of hot water. I bowed and smiled at the Grand Tea Master then drank the remaining tea, noisily slurping the last bit like Mrs. Hisa, hoping it hadn't been a case of loose dentures.
    After running my tongue over my teeth, I smiled. Mrs. Hisa took a deep breath and let out a satisfied sigh before thanking the Grand Tea Master. She then picked up her bowl and spoke. She must have been admiring the bowl, given the way she kept turning it her hands and looking back at the Grand Tea Master. I picked up my bowl, cocked my head, and said “ kirei (beautiful),” one of the few