Free Untangling My Chopsticks by Victoria Abbott Riccardi Page B

adjectives I knew.
    The bowl really was beautiful. It felt as weightless as an eggshell and had been glazed in a traditional Kyoto color, a soft golden ivory that reminded me of warm Cream of Wheat glistening with melted butter. The maple leaves looping around the bowl had been rendered with such a fine hand I could almost imagine them fluttering in the breeze.
    Mrs. Hisa slowly and deliberately placed her bowl on the lacquer table in front of her. I did the same. Then she began conversing with the Grand Tea Master. She kept both hands claspedin her lap as she spoke, occasionally looking at me, and then back to the Grand Tea Master. He looked at me, paused, and said something to her. She shifted her gaze to me.
    “According to the Grand Tea Master, there is an entrance fee of fifteen thousand yen (almost $95) for the cooking school,” said Mrs. Hisa. “After that, each class costs nine thousand yen (about $56) each. He would like to know if you can afford that?”
    Both legs had gone completely numb. I took a breath, puffing up my chest slightly, and assured Mrs. Hisa I had enough money; I had brought over a good supply of traveler's checks and had already deposited several hundred dollars from teaching into my Sumitomo bank account. She translated this back to the Grand Tea Master, who got up and left the room.
    After a long period of silence, a maid in a red- and mustard-flowered kimono came in carrying several papers. She said something to Mrs. Hisa, who nodded and then turned to me with a serious look on her face.
    “The Grand Tea Master”—she cleared her throat and began again—“the Grand Tea Master has decided to grant you entrance to study tea kaiseki at Mushanokoji.” She coughed, as if to dislodge a grass ball, and then swallowed.
    “You can bring the entrance fee next week”—she cleared her throat again—“along with your payment for the first class.”
    I silently yodeled with joy. The maid handed me the paperwork, which Mrs. Hisa helped translate. Once it was complete, the maid left the room to get it stamped. Several minutes later she returned with my copies in an envelope.
    Mrs. Hisa rose from her cushion, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress with her palms. I tried to stand up, but my toes had turned to ginger ale. My knees buckled, just as the Grand Tea Master appeared. Forcing myself up on two tingling stumps, Iasked Mrs. Hisa to please thank the Grand Tea Master very much for his hospitality and his willingness to let me attend his school to study tea kaiseki. She conveyed my sentiments, then turned to me. “He is honored you would like to attend.”
    After much bowing, we eased our way into the hall, where the maid in the chartreuse kimono stood waiting. She escorted us back to the stepping stone where we had left our shoes and waved us off.
    As Mrs. Hisa and I made our way toward the subway, I told her how grateful I was for all her help. She was living proof of how vital personal introductions are in Japan. “Truly, I can't thank you enough for all you did,” I said, slowing down to match my pace with hers. She modestly waved her hand as if to say it was nothing, then stopped and looked up at me with a crinkled smile.
    “I was happy to do it. Florence is my good friend.”
    We reached the subway platform, and in the middle of my good-bye, Mrs. Hisa unsnapped her purse. “I almost forgot,” she said, riffling through her belongings. “There is an American gentleman also studying tea kaiseki.” Her train pulled in.
    “I asked him the other day if he could translate the classes for you and he said he would.” She retrieved a slip of paper and handed it to me. “Here,” she said, stepping onto the train. “His name is Stephen. He is expecting your call.”

6.
    he next night after supper, I came into the Guesthouse den to practice my Japanese characters while waiting for the only phone to become free. There are three kinds of characters in the Japanese language: kanji, hiragana,