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Jack wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there daydreaming, but suddenly he became aware that Sensei Nakamura was looking at him.

‘Do you require some help?’ she enquired.

‘Sorry, Sensei,’ mumbled Jack, ‘but I’m not sure what I should be writing about.’

She nodded once thoughtfully.

‘When a friend asks you, “What is it?”, “What’s the matter?” or even “What made you smile?”, haiku is the answer to that “what?”,’ she explained. ‘You cannot share your feelings with others unless you show the cause of those feelings. Haiku is about sharing the moment. Now try again.’

Jack took up his brush and pretended to write. Though he understood the principle of haiku a little better, his mind remained blank. Everyone else appeared to be progressing well with the task, even Saburo. He glanced over at his industrious friend, only to discover he was doodling pictures of samurai and ninja.

‘This lesson’s for girls,’ complained Saburo.

Akiko turned round and glared at him.

‘No, it’s not,’ she said, indignant at Saburo’s prejudice. ‘Most of the famous poets happen to be men. Not that their work is any better than a woman’s, as proven by Sensei Nakamura’s haiku.’

‘What’s the point in a samurai learning haiku?’ Saburo persisted. ‘We’re supposed to be training to be warriors, not poets. You can’t exactly fight an enemy with words.’

‘Those that talk most hear least,’ Sensei Nakamura observed from her position beneath the shrine. Again her command wasn’t loud, but it was as forceful as if she’d shouted at them.

‘Still seems pointless to me,’ he muttered under his breath as he bowed and dipped his brush back in the ink block.

‘He who works only with his hands is a mere labourer,’ proclaimed Sensei Nakamura.

Jack almost jumped out of his skin. The teacher had drifted across the hall as silently as a ghost and was suddenly beside them.

‘He who works with hands and head is a craftsman,’ she continued, inspecting Saburo’s sketches with weary disappointment. ‘But he who works with his hands, head and heart is an artist. The same can be said of the swordsman. You may be able to use your hands, Saburo-kun, but you’ve yet to prove you can use your head or your heart.’

Shamed into silence, Saburo bent his head and began to write.

Jack returned to staring out of the window. He was still uninspired and any ideas he did have seemed weak or stupid to him. He watched the sun slowly make its way across the temple’s roof, time seeming to stretch on and on.

Sensei Nakamura eventually brought the exercise to an end.

‘Now I want you to share your haiku with the person next to you,’ she instructed. ‘See if they can experience the moment you were trying to express.’

Jack turned to Saburo, empty-handed.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Saburo. ‘I think you’ll like mine, though.’

Saburo quietly read his poem to Jack and Jack couldn’t help but snigger.

‘You find the task amusing?’ enquired Sensei Nakamura.

‘No, Sensei,’ replied Jack, trying to suppress his grin.

‘Perhaps you’d like to read out your haiku.’

Jack looked down at his desk, embarrassed. ‘I couldn’t think of one.’

‘You’ve had all afternoon, yet not managed a single word?’ she said, dismayed. ‘Well then, let us hear from your friend.’

Saburo looked shocked. He clearly hadn’t thought they would have to read out their haiku to the class.

‘Do I have to? It’s not very good,’ he excused himself.

‘Let me be the judge of that,’ insisted Sensei Nakamura.

Saburo reluctantly got to his feet, his paper trembling in his hand. He cleared his throat, then began:

‘Letting out a fart –

it doesn’t make you laugh

when you live alone.’

There was a burst of raucous laugher from the back row. Most of the students, however, tried to hide their amusement when they saw the icy look Sensei Nakamura gave Saburo.

‘Very amusing,’ she noted. ‘In fact, it’s so good, I think you should write it out a thousand times.’

Immediately regretting his rebellious act, Saburo bowed and sat back down.

‘I trust other attempts are more appropriate for the classroom.