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[While I took this journey with the full expectation to be immersed in the exotic nature of the faraway lands that seemed so wondrous to me in my youth, again I find myself drawn to the simple lives of those I have taken residence with. There is a roughness to be had in life on the steppe to be certain. The day begins and ends in toil, with even the youngest members of the families here putting in their fair share of work.
But, at the same time, there is a sense of joy to their lives. A small measure of satisfaction, if you will, that fills the very core of every task and raises up these simple people up from barbarism to- something, something, something... ]
The thought trailed off as Henry stared blearily at his reflection – toothbrush in one hand, badger brush in the other, with half a lather worked over the side of one cheek – and wondered where exactly he had been going with that sentence. The man in the mirror yawned back uselessly. Then, a dull crash, laughter, and running foots steps sounded somewhere from deep within the house behind him, and derailed his train of thought entirely.
Making a note to get back to it later, the anthropologist returned to his morning routine with a wry shake of his head. A mishmash of cups and other implements around him serving as a makeshift vanity as he absentmindedly groomed himself. One ear now focused on the rhythm of the household around him as he took a swig of water and spat out his toothpaste into the small bucket he had brought with him to his sanctuary behind the bathhouse.
Early though it was, the Eihon household was already in full swing. The women of the house up and preparing breakfast. The men boisterously taking up their wares as they began to get ready for another day of trading and farm work... and the children up to their usual mischief before chores.
As expected, the crash he'd heard was swiftly followed by the faint sounds of someone getting scolded for whatever bit of trouble they had concocted. The shouting was just beginning to reach the volume where he could actually make out individual words within the indignant, female voice when he reached a hand for his razor-
“Mr. Smith?”
-and proceeded to nearly sever a finger as he fumbled, dropping the blade in surprise.
“Er,” he coughed, clearing his throat in a feeble attempt to mask his embarrassment. “Yes, Karluk?”
The boy, looking fairly flustered himself, gathered up his composure quickly. “I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you alright, Mr. Smith?”
“Fine!”
If Karluk found Henry's strangled squeak was less than believable the boy was too polite to comment on it and, adjusting his glasses, Henry tried again. “Just fine. Was there something you needed?”
“Ah," Karluk blinked, "yes. Mother asked me to inform you that breakfast was ready.”
Henry nodded, then paused. “Asked?”
It was an usual distinction just because, as a 'married man', Karluk would usually be seated at the table. It was considered the womens' job to gather up the family, and guests, for a meal.
“It seems," Karluk gestured to the ongoing fuss within the household, "that among other things my nephews were playing with some of the ceremonial cups this morning. My mother and sister are trying to figure out what it is they broke. They...” Karluk paused, recognizing the gleam in the man's eye. “Perhaps you'd like your notebook?”
“Oh yes,” Henry got about halfway to his journal before, reaching up to rub his chin, he realized he was still at full lather and he whirled back around for a towel. Questions, however, came regardless. “What kind of ceremony? What kind of cups? What are they made of? What do you serve in them?”
“Well,” Karluk answered as best he could as the researcher hastily began to clean up the materials he'd brought out to shave with. “Although I said 'ceremony', they're mostly for used during trading or other formal events. Father used them while in marriage talks for both myself and my siblings. Certainly, they're not the kind of cups you'd use on a day to day basis. They're shaped simply. But, they're finely glazed porcelain - blue, with gold about the rim and patterned flowers along the sides. Normally however, we keep them up on the higher shelves. So I can't imagine how my nephews would have gotten them down to begin with. They... Mr. Smith?”
He noticed that the anthropologist had gotten very still.
“Blue...? With gold latice work?” And pretty gold flowers that the younger boys had seemed extremely eager to look at when he had taken them out of the cupboard that morning in search of a cups to use during his morning rituals.
Karluk blinked, then stared as Henry held out the cup he had been using to shave with. "Oh. Oh, dear...”
Another shout sounded from inside and the pair flinched.
“I think, perhaps, I should wash this up a bit.”
“Agreed.”
[But, what I think most miss in traveling is that, alien though some of these people and cultures seem, there are complexities in even the simplest of things that one can only uncover by experience. And that, in ignoring these norms, sometimes even the most well meaning of gentlemen can himself come across as a barbarian.]
Journal Excerpt
Mr Henry Smith
Summer, July, 18XX