His prize possession is an exquisitely constructed Japanese cricket cage.
It is so special, sooo VERY special, that he keeps it in a box.
He keeps that box in a locked cabinet half-way hidden behind his chair.
"Look!" He will exclaim, after the ritual of the unveiling.
After moving the chair and with a certain kind of gleam you haven't seen on any one's face in such a long time, and after he reveals the key's secret hiding place. After opening the first box, and after placing the ancient cricket cage before you.
"Look!" He will exclaim. "Not a drop of glue, not a hint of a nail or brad!"
"The art isn't in the object itself. The art is in the making of it."
It's important to him that you understand this part. This is the teacher's lesson.
Although the ratty thing looks to be about a thousand years old.
And even though it's constructed out of slivers of bamboo thinner than tooth picks.
And even though there isn't a drop of glue not a hit of a nail or a brad.
He will astound you when he leaps up doing a perfect handstand on top of the little thing.
His feet will stretch towards the ceiling and he will wiggle his toes in a most curious manner.
He then informs you that couldn't, just simply could not ever fit back into his cage again.
He will tell you of the songs of the cricket.
He will tell you that those songs are lodged in his soul.
He will tell you of the secret prayers of crickets.
He will tell you that crickets pray for the same things and you or I.
To stand free, on top of your cage and look for drops of glue or hints of nails or brads.
