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be?”
    The box seemed dismal and battered in the good new light, a poor welcoming gift if one didn’t know it had come from an American. Both Lord Okubo and Einosuke looked at it with critical eyes. The box had no doubt been quite lovely once, and a close inspection would even now show that it was strongly made. But its edges were turned down, the straight line of its bottom bent up at the midway point, and on the side that was most easily visible to them was that crisp black thumbprint.
    â€œWhat’s in it?” asked Lord Okubo. “Its weird look is not an act of kindness to the eye.”
    â€œIt’s got a smudge,” Einosuke said.
    Manjiro was stung by their remarks and spoke gravely. “When I was leaving the American ship a man gave this to me. He was one of the singers I told you about. Inside this box are ‘chocolates,’ an after-dinner sweet.”
    Even as he spoke the box improved before their eyes. Now they could see that it might as easily be called “old” as “battered,” and age became an asset, just as it would be in a box that held an antique tea bowl.
    â€œWe didn’t know about this!” Lord Okubo said. “Did you report it to anyone at the Shogunate? Did you put it on the list with the gifts man?”
    His father’s words were stern, but they still contained awe, so before another family argument could begin, Tsune picked the box up and turned it in the chilly air, focusing everyone’s attention on the thumbprint.
    â€œWhat an odd idea,” said Lord Okubo. “The Americans place their seal on things by directly touching the inkstone with their hands. Look how clean the mark is, how well practiced, see the ornate articulation of the lines.”
    Indeed, it was a perfect thumbprint, an accident of the moment, perhaps, but from the point of view now favored by all of the men in the room, it seemed to seal the box, to warn against its opening. When they tried to focus on the way the lines of the thumbprint traversed the box’s seam, it made them a little cross-eyed.
    â€œWhat does chocolate taste like?” Tsune asked. While she’d been holding the box she had noticed not only the thumbprint, but an inlay of satin flowers on its top, one a rose, another perhaps a chrysanthemum. “After all, the design is too busy, don’t you think?” she said, and then to everyone’s dismay she placed the box back down on the tatami and opened it. It was an extraordinary thing to do. No one else would have done it. A box that came from an American ship was a gift that should be given many times, passed up high. At this early stage of the American presence, in fact, Lord Okubo was of the opinion that no one should consider opening it save the Shogun himself.
    â€œChocolate is edible, is it not?” she asked. “If it is an after-dinner sweet can I assume it is an edible thing?”
    The odor of the chocolate, faint but clear, rode out on the cold air and made them all stare at the individual candies that had appeared. Manjiro did not know it but he had stored the candies well. Because he had kept them directly under his father’s window the designs that covered each piece had remained intact and intricate. There were twenty-eight candies, in alternate rows of sixes and fives. Under their ornately carved caps, they were uniformly shaped domes, about the size of mushrooms.
    â€œLook,” said Fumiko, who was first to recover from the shock of what her sister had done. “Each piece has an individual design, like netsuke . Here I see a leafy pattern, there a cluster of grapes.” She didn’t touch the candies, but put a finger so close to them that Einosuke thought she had.
    â€œDon’t do that!” he hissed. “Let’s replace the lid now. Maybe there is something here to salvage.”
    He only meant that maybe the thumbprint could be realigned, that they might still be able to