Jiro did the same.

Then, holding them in one hand, they began to pick up small amounts of food, delicately putting the morsels into their mouths. All the time, they warily eyed Jack.

Jack hadn’t even seen the sticks by his bowl. He examined the pencil thin bits of wood. How on earth was he supposed to eat with these?

Jiro smiled at Jack through a mouthful of food.

‘Hashi,’ said the little boy, pointing to them.

Jiro opened his own hand to show Jack how to hold the hashi correctly. But even though he managed to mimic Jiro’s scissor-like action, he couldn’t keep a grip on the fish or the vegetables long enough to lift them from their bowls.

The more he dropped the food, the more frustrated he got. Never one to admit defeat, Jack decided to attempt some rice. This had to be easier, since there was more of it. But half the rice immediately slid straight back into the bowl, the other half dropping all over the table. By the time it reached Jack’s mouth, all that remained was one small grain.

Nonetheless pleased by his accomplishment, Jack chewed on the solitary grain. He pretended to rub his belly in satisfaction.

Jiro laughed.

The little boy may have enjoyed the joke, thought Jack, but if he didn’t learn how to use these hashi soon, he was going to starve – and that would be no laughing matter!

10

ABUNAI!

Jack fell into a routine of bathing, eating and sleeping.

His body gradually recovered from the fever, his arm began to mend and he was able to take regular walks around the garden. Most days he sat beneath the cherry blossom tree and watched Uekiya the gardener weed the flower bed or prune back some shrub with infinite care. Uekiya would acknowledge Jack’s presence with a brief bow of the head, but little passed between them since Jack couldn’t make head or tail of their strange language.

Jack soon got restless, his world now confined to a monotony of indistinguishable rooms, daily bathing and flawless gardening. He felt trapped, like a canary in a gilded cage. What did they want from him? He was constantly watched, but they didn’t try to speak with him. He was allowed to wander the garden and house, but was always stopped from exploring further. Were they deciding his fate? Or were they waiting for someone who would?

Jack was desperate to know what lay beyond the garden walls. Surely there had to be someone out there who could understand English and help get him home, or maybe he would find a ship bound for a foreign port. He could then smuggle aboard with the hope their next port of call would have passage back to England, back to his sister, his last fragment of family. Whatever, it had to be better than sitting under a tree doing nothing.

Jack resolved to escape.