M9: Words Are Worth a Thousand Pictures

     Woken by the sound of oars slicing choppy water, I slid out of my bunk and climbed a set of stairs onto the deck of my ship. All around me, the China Sea stretched out for miles. After 30 days of sailing, I had found my sea legs, and I confidently strolled to the end of the vessel. Prince Shotoku had entreated me to travel to China as his advisor, so I had been given a crew and a boat. Once in China, I was to collect examples of Chinese culture to bring back to Japan. The adventure was very exciting, but sailing for months was starting to annoy me. I was understanding the ways of ocean travel, so I awoke the crew and we rode a wave of wind closer to our destination.
     The horizon line was fuzzy with morning fog. Miles away, a shape was becoming prominent in the haze. I could make out building and trees that dotted what I now realized was land. We increased our speed and were at the port of China within the hour. People carried sculptures of Buddha into pagodas and musicians played gagaku on shengs. I was amazed by the commotion, and I jumped off the boat with gusto. In a frenzy, I grabbed huge stone carvings, maps of Chang'an, drawings of temples, Buddhist writings, and Chinese calligraphy. At the last minute, I grabbed an unimportant piece of poetry and shoved it into the already full boat. When I had substantial collection of Chinese culture, I headed back to Japan.
     Our boat moved slowly away from the mainland. With the boat brimming with artifacts, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I had completed Prince Shotoku's task, and I would be honored when I reached Japan. A ship was moving toward us, but I thought nothing of it until the vessel was practically on top of us. Suddenly I noticed the flag waving from its mast. Pirates! I called all hands on deck, but already the swashbucklers were boarding our boat. They took all of our precious cargo. They left after the deck had been cleaned of everything. Dismayed, I realized that I would have to report to Prince Shotoku empty handed. We didn't have enough supplies to go back to China. With a heart full of sorrow, I retreated to my quarters.
     After the attack, the journey was more subdued. We anxiously awaited our arrival in Japan, fearing our failure. As I halfheartedly commanded the crew, a lone piece of paper on the deck caught my eye. Flipping it over, I quickly scanned the beautiful poem written on it:
Sitting by the oak,
My mind wanders, as always,
Transporting me to
A peaceful place where nature 
And man live in harmony
I recognized the poem as tanka, a Japanese form of literature with 5 lines. Hope overcame me. Maybe my journey hadn't gone to waste.
     Rushing up the steps of Prince Shotoku's palace, I hoped he would accept the poem. I entered the throne room and showed the ruler my makeshift collection of culture. At first, he was skeptical of my marginal work. "Is this all you have brought?" he asked gruffly. As he read the poem, however, a smile spread across his face. "I love the use of syllables." he stated. Showing the poem to others that had gathered, I knew that I had made the right decision. The royalty started making up tanka poems of their own. Word quickly spread through the city about the new phenomenon. I had just introduced Japan to a new art form.

M8: Matchmaker Mistakes

     Trekking through the Mayan rain forest, I approached ancient Chichen itza. The sun crested the horizon as women ground maize on stone blocks. Teenagers watched chubby babies and stray farm animals and swept dirt floors. At the center of the city, a giant temple rose up into the lightening sky. I walked up to a thatched house in the rural section of the city. An aging couple stood in the doorway, arguing heatedly. "The atanzbah paired our talented son with that ugly witch from down the street." the man said. Abruptly, they turned to me and stopped talking. "What do you want, outsider?" the women said with hostility. "I'm the most skilled matchmaker around. I have come to help you find a great wife for your son." I replied arrogantly.
     After much negotiating, I reached an agreement with the couple. They would pay me only if I got Ixmucane to marry their son Kukulcan. Ixmucane was a 15 year old girl who was great at cooking, weaving, and singing. Thinking this would be an easy task, I went to interview Kukulcan. As I approached the field where he was working, I hesitated. Kukulcan lay under a tree, fast asleep. I tactfully nudged him with the toe of my boot, jarring him awake. I interrogated him, but he had little to share. He was weak, ugly, and stupid. Trying to consolidate a list of good characteristics while still being honest, I started to worry.
     While walking back to his parents, I crossed the path of a group of Mayan soldiers. They held magnificent, curved bows and graceful spears. Intrigued by the fine weaponry, I asked where it had been made. Surprisingly, they pointed in the direction of Kukulcan. "He is the most skilled weapon maker around. All wealthy warriors use his weapons." a burly soldier informed me. Excited, I began to run towards Ixmucane's hut. I was met by her hunch-backed parents. I told them that even though Kukulcan was ugly and weak, he would pay a large dowry. Reluctantly, Imuxcane's family agreed to meet with Kukulcan's family to discuss possible marriage.
     The parents haggled for hours. I sat by quietly and watched, amused. Finally, a decision was reached. Kukulcan would give Imuxcane's parents a dowry that could pay for new farming equipment and enough seeds to last 20 years. He would also farm their fields for 5 years. Both families were happy, and villagers built a hut behind Imuxcane's family house for the couple to live after the ceremony. Special clothes were woven, and invitations were sent out. The wedding was about to begin!
     A priest stood at an altar in the plaza. In front of him stood Kukulcan and Imuxcane. Both of them looked sad to be there. Suddenly it hit me. No one had asked the couple if they wanted to be married. They had had no say. I hadn't meant to help set up a forced marriage. I thought being a matchmaker would be more like "Fiddler on the Roof". Since I didn't want to be sacrificed (or was that the Aztecs?), I stood by quietly as the couple was blessed by the priest. They were now officially married. Defeated and angry, I traveled back to New York. I would never again be a matchmaker.