The angrier they grew, the calmer I felt. I could tell from the way the one who had spoken to me clenched his fists that
he was not a karate man; and the other, who was carrying a heavy stick, was
also clearly an amateur. “Haven’t you mistaken me,” I asked quietly, “for someone else? Surely there has been some misunderstanding. I think if we talked it over...”
“Ah, shut up, you little shrimp!” snarled the man with the club. “What do you take us for?”
With this, the two moved a little nearer, but frankly my advice to you is not to insist. I don’t think it’s going to do you very much good because...” The Second of the two men now raised the heavy stick ha was carrying. “...because,” I went on quickly, “If I wasn’t sure of winning, I wouldn’t fight. I know I’m bound to lose. So why fight? Doesn’t that make sense?” At these words, the two seemed to calm down a bit. “Well,” said one of them, “you certainly don’t put up much of a fight. Let’s have your money then.”
“I haven’t got any,” I replied, showing them, my empty pockets. “Some tobacco then!”
“I don’t smoke.” All that I did have, in fact, were some manju, cakes that I was taking to offer at the altar in the house of my wife’s father. “Here,” I said to the men, “take these.”
“Only manju!” Their tone was disparaging. “Well, better than nothing.” Taking the cakes, one of the men
said, “better get going, shrimp. And be careful, this path’s kind of dangerous.” With that, they disappeared into the trees. A few days later