“This is rather loose,” she said. “A cushion would exactly fit; but how ridiculous it would be to carry to a great country like America just an ordinary cushion that we sit on.”
She did not know that in the bottom of my trunk of greatest value was something which, until I had seen it in Sister’s godown, I had never dreamed could be anywhere except beside the familiar fire-box in the room of Honourable Grandmother. It was a square, flat cushion of blue brocade, old and somewhat faded.
I was alone when I wrapped it for its long journey, and, as my hands passed over the silken flowers, my mind went back—back to the day when a little black-haired girl in wooden clogs clattered through the big gateway and, hurrying her polite bows of greeting to the family, spread out before her grandmother, who was seated on this very cushion, a large, flat book.
“Honourable Grandmother,” she said, pointing to a coloured map of the world, “I am much, much troubled. I have just learned that our beloved land is only a few tiny islands in the great world.”
The grandmother adjusted her big horn spectacles and for a few minutes carefully studied the map. Then with slow dignity she closed the book.
“It is quite natural, little Etsu-bo, for them to make Japan look small on this map,” she said. “It was made by the people of the black ships. Japan is made large on the Japanese maps of the world.”
“Who are the people of the black ships?”’ asked the little girl.
“They are the red barbarians who came uninvited to our sacred land. They came in big, black ships that moved without sails.”
