Emmi Itäranta - Memory of Water

I had to act fast. I ran into my room and changed into my ceremony outfit, which I always kept clean and ironed. On my way out I glanced at the veranda to make sure I had not left full waterskins there before turning towards the gate. I stopped on the small hillock next to the windchime hanging from a pine tree and looked out to the road. In the approaching helicarriage I saw a driver and two men in blue uniforms, whose features I could not discern. I knew I had arranged a tea visit for Thursday, but it was only Wednesday. Could I have mixed the days up? I tried to keep the teahouse clean, so I could carry out a tea ceremony with short notice if needed, but I hated visits for which I had no time to prepare. And now I had to get Mai and Vesa out of the teahouse with their waterskins without making the situation look strange.

Fortunately, the water pipe running to the house from the fell was closed. I only dared to keep it open one day a week, because if a water patrol had inspected the grounds, I wouldn’t have been able to explain why the water pipes were still working in the tea master’s house, unlike elsewhere in the village. Therefore I would store as much water as I could when I kept the pipe open, and usually filled the villagers’ skins from those reserves. Now I was grateful for my caution.

The helicarriage flitted between the trees as it made its way through and stopped under the seagrass roof by the gate. When the guests stepped down from the back seat, I saw their faces and started. One of them was a stranger to me, but the other one was the same blond-haired soldier I had seen outside the gate of Sanja’s house only a few weeks earlier.

‘Welcome to the tea master’s house,’ I said and bowed. ‘May I inquire the reason for your unexpected visit?’

The blond-haired soldier bowed back to me.

‘I don’t believe we have been introduced,’ he said. ‘I am Lieutenant Muromäki and I work under Commander Taro. This here is Captain Liuhala.’ His companion nodded towards me. ‘I come here by Major Bolin’s recommendation. I believe you are expecting us to a tea ceremony today.’

My lungs tightened and my breathing caught in my throat. The ceremony had been arranged in writing, as was customary, and as I had not been familiar with Muromäki’s name, I hadn’t made the connection with the face I now saw before me. I hoped my voice sounded steady as I replied, ‘I was expecting you tomorrow, Lieutenant Muromäki. The letter I received mentioned tomorrow’s date, and I confirmed the date in my reply to you.’

Muromäki tilted his head. He looked like a narrow-faced dog catching the scent of a prey animal in the wind.

‘That is strange, Miss Kaitio,’ he said. ‘I am certain I dictated this date to the scribe. Tomorrow is not at all possible.’

‘I have tea guests at the moment,’ I said. ‘But they were ready to leave. If you can wait for half an hour, I will have time to tidy the teahouse for you. I’m afraid the sweets are not quite fresh. I had intended to make some more tomorrow morning before your arrival.’

‘If you do have tea guests, why are you not in the teahouse?’ Muromäki asked.

‘I forgot to bring the sweets from the house before the start of the ceremony.’

‘We’ll return to the matter in half an hour, then,’ Muromäki said. I bowed to him again, and he and his companion returned to the helicarriage in the shade.

I went to the kitchen and found half a bowl of old tea sweets in one of the cupboards. I checked quickly that they were not mouldy and tasted one: it was dry, but not rancid. They would have to do. I carried the bowl to the teahouse. I nearly entered through the visitors’ sliding door, and at the last moment I remembered to use the master’s entrance behind the building. Mai and Vesa looked at me questioningly when I stepped into the room.

‘You must be careful,’ I told them. ‘There are two soldiers at the gate. They believe you are here as my tea guests. I will walk you to the gate. When you take your leave, thank me for the ceremony, call me Master Kaitio and bow low. Are you sure you can carry all these waterskins safely?’ I asked Mai. Her face had fallen and she had begun chewing at the nail of her little finger.

Mai made a couple of movements, as if to test her muscles against the weight of water.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Are you ready?’

Mai looked at Vesa. He nodded, his head moving up and down again and again. After that, she nodded too. I pointed at the visitors’ entrance.

‘When you are outside, wait for me.’

It felt to me as if Mai’s waterskins were splashing loudly on each step towards the gate as we walked up the garden path. I saw Vesa’s movements from the corner of my eye, and I was afraid he would start skipping or do something else unsuitable for a tea visitor.

When we eventually reached the gate, I bowed to Mai. She bowed back stiffly, and Vesa followed suit.

‘Thank you, Master Kaitio. It was a pleasure visiting you.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Harmaja. May clear waters flow your way.’

Muromäki had stepped down from the helicarriage to stretch his legs. When Mai and Vesa walked to the grit road between the trees, he spoke to Vesa.

‘You’re a little young to participate in a tea ceremony.’

I caught a glimpse of Mai’s alarm, but she collected herself surprisingly quickly. The presence of water patrols and soldiers watching the village had taught us all to cover our tracks; our muscles and faces and tongues still recalled the normal shape of life and were quick to resume it when needed. Mai placed a heavy hand on Vesa’s shoulder and said, ‘Just trying to teach the boy some manners. He wants to be an official when he grows up.’

Muromäki smiled, and I thought of a hungry dog again.

‘Is that so? Good luck with the career, lad,’ he said and mussed up Vesa’s dark hair with his hand.

Mai nodded to Muromäki and steered Vesa on.

‘Goodbye, madam!’ Muromäki called after them. They walked slowly, and Mai’s steps were not light. Vesa kept glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes wide, but Mai turned his head firmly towards the road ahead of them. The movement of her hand was stiff.

‘I will chime the bell, when everything is ready,’ I told Muromäki. I turned around and rushed to the teahouse, and at every step I wondered if he had noticed something out of the ordinary.

The cups tinkled against each other as I placed the tray on the teahouse floor, but Muromäki showed no sign of having noticed the trembling of my hands. I concealed my nervousness behind the form of the ceremony as best I could: I let the familiar movements flow on their own, and at the same time I attempted to furtively read traces of suspicion or victory in him. I found none. Muromäki was unexpectedly familiar with the etiquette and didn’t ask unusual questions. He spoke with Liuhala in a low voice and nothing suggested that this was anything more than a brief respite from work for them.

The soft roaring of the near-boiling water in the cauldron soothed me. I reminded myself of the idea built within the heart of the tea ceremony: before tea, everyone is equal, even if their lives never cross outside the walls of the teahouse. I slowly began to believe that he had come here only for the ceremony and was not carrying out Taro’s commands, and that his coming on the wrong day had really been a misunderstanding. Muromäki did not mention Taro again, and did not talk about anything but the quality of the tea, the teaware and the unusually cold last winter. I found myself thinking: could there be a world in which people don’t need to choose sides, where everyone can sit together drinking tea without some holding power and others living in fear? It was a world of which tea masters had always dreamed, which they had built, which they had guarded – but had it ever been real, could it ever be?