The garden was immaculate to adult eyes. Such a person would keep to the gently curved paths bordered by trim hedges, perhaps pause on the small bridge to the rose garden to contemplate the flow of water beneath their feet, and settle in the teahouse with a newspaper for a calm morning.

To a child, the teahouse was a prison to be escaped; the stream was to be followed, not crossed; and the hedges were portals, not barriers. Shoji pushed on through. Twigs scratched at his unprotected shins, and his hands bore the colours of the earth.

Shoji heard his tutor calling his name. He froze for a moment and peered back through the leaves. It didn't seem like she'd picked up which direction he had gone in, so he crawled further into the manicured wilderness.

In the shade of a tree, he found a sturdy twig and started to poke at the ground. An earthworm wriggled near his foot. He nudged it with the twig, watching the tip curl away and change course. Twice more he nudged it, until the worm began to inch its way onto the twig. He lifted it to eye level, watching the creature struggle to shift its bulk to a secure perch, before raising an index finger to it. The worm crawled across his knuckles and onto the back of his hand.

Shoji let the worm back down to earth and felt in the pockets of his shorts for his water bottle. He emptied it out, letting the water churn the soil at the base of the tree to mud, and shifted away as the small river encroached upon his sandalled feet. He picked up the worm again and regarded it with solemnity, before encouraging it into the empty bottle. He followed that with handfuls of loose soil, stuffing it in with his fingers, and a few leaves. He wasn't sure what worms ate, but if it wasn't leaves, he could sneak something from the lunch table. He turned the bottle around. The worm squirmed its way into the soil, burying itself from his sight. Satisfied, he pocketed the bottle.

The bell rang for lunch. Shoji scrambled back through the hedge. He looked down at himself. His shorts were dirty. He brushed at them, but hands blackened from the soil only made things worse. Shoji's heart started to beat faster.

"Little brother!" Chosaku hissed from somewhere. Shoji looked around, and spotted Chosaku further up the path towards the house. Shoji followed his beckoning finger.

Chosaku grabbed Shoji's muddy hand and pulled him along the path. Rather than heading for the patio, the two skirted the length of the wall until they reached the entrance to the housekeepers' quarters. Chosaku opened the door cautiously. "This way."

Shoji followed his brother inside and fumbled at his sandals to get them off. Chosaku padded softly down the hall towards the bathroom, and Shoji heard the water start to run. He took his prized bottle from his pocket and stuffed it behind a pile of gardening boots in the corner.

"Come on, Sho-cchi!" Chosaku poked his head back around the door and whispered urgently. Shoji followed, almost tripping as his slick socks slipped on the tiled floor. Chosaku helped him out of his soiled clothes and on to the shower stool.

"I'll take care of these." Chosaku bundled up the discarded clothes and handed Shoji the shower head. Shoji nodded, wide-eyed, at his brother, and set to work.

"There you are!"

Shoji froze at the sound of his tutor's voice from the hallway.

"Where's Shoji-kun? And what's all this? My god, you're filthy… and tracking it all the way through the house…"

Shoji inched forward, turned off the water as slowly as he could manage, each squeak of the tap bringing pinpricks to his eyes.

"I saw him upstairs earlier," Chosaku said. Shoji could imagine his jaw pushed forward, his eyes daring the woman to disbelieve him. "I think he was getting ready for lunch."

"Is that so?" The tutor drawled. "And then, what have you been up to?"

Chosaku remained silent.

"Dirty little boys don't deserve lunch. Dirty little boys should be disciplined."

Chosaku didn't cry, didn't scream. Not any more. But as each sick thud reached Shoji's ears, he flinched and wept as if he had been struck himself.

When the sound stopped and proud footsteps left the hallway, Shoji leant forward, letting the hot tears fall freely. He was trapped, naked and alone.

After a while, a soft swish approached the door, followed by a gentle knock. Shoji tensed and looked around for a place to hide.

"It's me." Chosaku's voice came through the door. Shoji splashed over to open it a crack, shivering in the draught. Chosaku was alone. He carried a mop, and a clean, dry set of clothes. "Put these on and come straight to the dining room."

"Thanks," Shoji blurted out. It was all he could think of to say. Chosaku looked the same as he had half an hour earlier, his expression still calming to Shoji. Shoji rubbed his eyes dry and took the bundle.

Chosaku nodded, and pulled the door closed.

The next morning, Shoji tiptoed through the house to the back, to retrieve his treasure. It was where he had left it, though the soil had dried. He looked around hastily before bolting for the shrubs marking the start of the garden path. He crouched and tipped the contents out, making a small pile under the bush. The worm seemed unenthused by its new surroundings, and moved listlessly.

Shoji picked it up, being careful to shake the dirt off his fingers, and held it between finger and thumb. The worm didn't struggle as he pressed more firmly, nor as he closed his fist about it and squeezed until it burst. Slimy detritus oozed between his fingers. He opened his hand and let the remains fall.

Shoji stood and took a silk handkerchief from his pocket. He wiped away the evidence as he walked back to the house, carefully turning his hands over in the light to inspect them. The handkerchief he dropped in the trash.

Yesterday, Shoji had been weak. Today, he would prove that he was strong.