He must’ve stood at the gates for a good twenty minutes before they slid open and he came face to face with a pleasant young woman, about his age. She looked startled upon seeing him, but quickly schooled her expression into a gentle and sincere-seeming smile. They each inclined their heads in polite greeting.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Are you here to see Mr. Saionji?” She asked, already widening the gates to welcome him inside.

“I am,” Shigeru said, adjusting his necktie not once but twice.

The woman, whom Shigeru presumed to be the housekeeper, adjusted the woven basket in her arms, stepped aside to let him pass and said, “He’s in the study. Please, do go on ahead.” Then she set off down the street towards the market, trusting him to let himself into the house.

Again, he hesitated on the threshold for a good minute, then smoothed his hair down, took a deep breath and stepped inside. A path wound around to the entrance, lined on either side with bamboo and carefully maintained hedge bushes. He followed it around to the entrance to find the shoji paper doors standing open and light streaming in.

His nerves frayed further as he toed out of his shoes and moved into the house. He passed a line of princess Kaguya dolls in the entryway, cradled in little bamboo stands, and swept quietly through room after room. He came to a stop in Mr. Saionji’s study.

And there he sat, Saionji Kinmochi, in his summer yukata, decorating fishing lures. The short-legged table that he knelt at overlooked the garden and Kiyomi lagoon beyond it. He seemed at peace, with only a billowing wind-chime and the melodic tic tock of a wooden fountain in the garden rocking back and forth to disturb his thoughts.

“Mr. Saionji?”

The old man didn’t respond, so Shigeru moved around the table and bowed.

“Mr. Saionji, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Watanabe Shigeru.”

The old man wrapped a thin wire round a red-feathered lure, concentrating hard.

“I’m here looking to gain some advice, if you’d be willing-”

The incessant whistling of a boiled tea kettle cut into his introduction. It whined, high and loud, but Mr. Saionji made no move to go and handle it. In fact, his attention remained firmly upon his fishing lures as he snipped the wire and moved in closer to try and tie it off with old and quaking hands. Finally, he spoke.

“Could you get that for me?”

For a moment, Shigeru wasn’t sure that he was being addressed, but he was the only other person in the room. Wanting to make a good impression, he fetched the kettle, a teapot and some cups from the kitchen. He then poured them both a cup and knelt opposite Mr. Saionji. Ignoring the tea that he poured for himself, he rested his hands together in his lap.

“So, as I was saying sir, I’ve come here today for some advice. In your time as prime minister, were you ever-”

“Would you like some amanatto?” Mr. Saionji interrupted suddenly as he unhooked his lure and placed it atop a pile of others. “It’s very good.”

He nudged a ceramic container filled with sweet fermented beans across the tabletop, but still made no attempt to meet Shigeru’s eye.

“No, thank you. I’m really here for some guidance-”

“You have to match the lure to the fish you know,” Mr. Saionji continued, as though Shigeru hadn’t spoken. “Otherwise, they won’t bite.”

Shigeru watched as the old man took a sip of tea and started picking through a bag of coloured feathers and beads with fragile, shaking fingers.

“I wouldn’t know, Sir. My father has never taken me fishing,” Shigeru replied, voice sharp and shoulders tense.

“Oh?” Mr. Saionji sipped his tea once more, then continued fiddling with the bag of feathers. “You’re missing out.” He plucked a polka-dot feather from the bag and ran it between his fingers. Then, he applied a dab of glue to his fishing hook and set to work once more. “We could take a trip out onto the lake if you’d like. I have a boat.”

Shigeru’s temple throbbed and his knuckles seemed ready to burst, tight and white as they were becoming.

“No, really Sir, I did just come here to get your opinion on a political matter-”

Again, as if nobody was speaking to him, Mr. Saionji pressed the polka-dot feather onto his new lure and held it there for a long second. “I find that fishing is one of the greatest joys in life. Nothing but the sun, the water and-”

“Excuse me Sir,” Shigeru snapped, “but please. I’ve travelled a long way to seek your advice today and I would really like to have it by nightfall. I don’t mean to be rude, but-”

The two men locked eyes at last and Shigeru was struck silent by the old man’s piercing gaze. Finally, Mr. Saionji set aside his fishing lures and his fermented beans and his tea. Then he clasped his hands on the desk, no longer shaking or frail, but steady and sure. He took a long deep breath and then spoke, “Do you know why I built this house?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Shigeru said, unable to do or say much else that he wouldn’t regret.

“This house was built so that I could get away from it all. A place that I could relax in, grow old in. I’m no longer that young man who travelled to Paris. I’m no samurai, marching into battle under the banner of my people.” He rubbed his hands together then, carefully tracing over wrinkled skin and stark veins.

“I am a tired, old man,” he said. “One who would very much like to get back to his fishing.”

With nothing left to say, Shigeru stood and left the way he came. At the threshold, he hesitated for a final time.

“Do come by again,” Mr. Saionji said, “If you’d like to visit the lagoon.”

And then Shigeru was gone.