I do not own Prince of Tennis. Reading excerpted from "My Side of the Mountain," by Jean Craighead George. Beta by bonnsaka - Thank you!
A/N 01: "My Side of the Mountain" is a fifth grade-level book. Taking into account Tezuka's canon intelligence, I inferred he'd read above grade-level and researched whether real four-year-olds could read at this level. They can.
A/N 02: Most small children learn to read by recognizing letterforms and the sounds created by combinations of letterforms. However, they don't associate those letterforms or their sounds with meanings until they enter kindergarten or grade school. Tezuka is reading, yes, but he isn't comprehending what he's reading until he recognizes "New York".
A/N 03: Most Japanese children enter kindergarten in/around three years of age. English is just one of many things they receive a head start on. An assumption was made that Tezuka's family would've begun educating him even earlier, given that his father works in trade, and English is the international language of commerce.
"I had been working since May, learning how to make a fire with flint and steel, finding what plants I could eat, how to trap animals and catch fish – all this so that when the curtain of blizzard struck the Catskills, I could crawl inside my tree and be comfortably warm and have plenty to eat."
"Kunimitsu?"
Tezuka twisted in his desk chair to look at the door. The prettiest mother of his acquaintance, and that of his fellow kindergarteners', smiled warmly, her eyes bright with good humor. She wore a ballet-necked, three-quarter sleeved dark dress that swirled around her calves, and kept her hair pulled back into a glossy ponytail at her nape. It was her uniform. She'd looked like this ever since he could remember.
"Are you reading?"
He watched her approach and untwisted to look at his book. "Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What are you reading?"
"My Side of the Mountain."
"That's a big-kid book, isn't it?" He nodded. "That's amazing, Kunimitsu. Will you read to Mama?"
He found his place, marked by an index finger planted firmly on the page when he heard his name. His English was halting. "During the summer and fall I had thought about the coming of winter. However on that third day of December when the sky blackened, the temperature dropped, and the first flakes swirled around me. I must admit that I wanted to run back to New York – Mama, is that New York in America?"
"Yes, you're half-right. You know all your countries and capitals, don't you? Do you remember the other name for America?"
"The United States."
"Correct. And what is its capital?"
"Washington DC."
"That's right. Now think about Japan. How many prefectures are there?"
"… Forty-seven?"
"Good. The states in the United States are like our prefectures. Each one has its own capital, and there are many cities and villages nearby. New York's capital is Albany, just like Tokyo prefecture's capital is Tokyo. But south of Albany, there's a big city called New York City. In this book, it's New York City that the character is thinking about. It's a big city with a lot of people and cars. Everyone there speaks English."
"English…" It amazed him that there were apparently many people who could speak such a difficult language when he struggled with it daily. "Why would he leave the woods to go back to the city?"
"Maybe he was scared to be alone. Some people like a lot of stuff around them. Kunimitsu doesn't, right?"
"No, ma'am. I like the woods."
"That's right. Do you want to go to the woods now to play with Ai-chan?"
"No, ma'am." His answer was swift, resolute, and dismissive. He wanted to read. His legs swung under the chair.
Her hand rested on his head. "Don't you like Ai-chan?"
"I don't want to play with dolls."
She chuckled. "You don't have to play with dolls. You can read a book if you want to. Come on, let's dress warmly. It's your great-aunt's birthday so we shouldn't be late."
...
Tezuka stood beside Mama, his hand caught firmly in hers while she chatted with Papa, Grandfather, Grandfather's younger sister and only sibling, Great-Aunt Yasu, Great-Aunt Yasu's only son, Uncle Kyosuke, and Uncle Kyosuke's wife, Aunt Kiku. The layers of button-down shirt, sweater, and corduroy trousers were hot and stuffy. On occasion, he heard his name. Mostly, he didn't understand anything anyone was talking about.
Instead, he stared at Ai-chan. Ai-chan stared back.
The big house was white and the floors were tatami. Grandfather always said samurai used to live here. Tezuka usually made an adventure of looking for samurai leftovers when they visited, but he never found anything, aside from old furniture and weapons. Once, when he'd dug in the dirt, he found a rock he'd thought was an arrowhead. Grandfather said it wasn't.
Mama squeezed his hand and Tezuka focused, holding out a wooden koi.
"Happy birthday, Great-Aunt."
"Thank you, Kunimitsu. My, what a handsome koi. Did you make this yourself?"
"Papa carved it and I painted it."
"You've done an excellent job. I'll put this with all my other treasures."
Pride squared his shoulders. He'd been really worried about getting all the scales, and sometimes the paintbrush slipped. He'd gotten some on his desk and his face, too. There was still some on his hands.
"He looks more like you every time I see him, Onii-sama."
Grandfather nodded and Papa rubbed his neck. "I don't see myself anywhere, not his face, not his personality… I have the bizarre sensation of watching Dad grow up."
"It's the same for me and Ai," Uncle Kyosuke admitted with a sigh. "She's Mom's carbon copy."
"Mm. But Okaa-sama and Ojii-sama are very involved with their grandchildren," Aunt Kiku said.
Tezuka compared Aunt Kiku with Mama. Aunt Kiku always wore kimono, just like Great-Aunt Yasu, and he thought today's kimono was very pretty. But Mama was still prettier.
He resumed staring at Ai-chan. She was a delicate little girl his own four years of age. Aunt Kiku held her hand captive, too. Her hair was long, her eyes big, and her face pretty like Mama's and Aunt Kiku's. Her kimono was dark blue. Her tabi-wrapped toes curled under his scrutiny, and the slender arm wrapped around a traditional Japanese doll tightened. Meeting her always made him feel uncertain and reluctant to interact.
Mama squatted beside him and straightened his sweater hem. He looked over into her smile.
"Kunimitsu, do you want to go play with Ai-chan?"
"I don't want to play dolls."
"There are lots of other toys," Aunt Kiku promised.
His spirit lifted. Other toys? None with hair he'd have to brush?
Excusing themselves, both mothers walked their children back toward a playroom. Low bookshelves offered plenty to read, a toy box treasures to behold. Crayons and coloring pages spread on a small table. The shoji door opened into the garden. Changing leaves fell and the sunlight seemed cold. Mama went onto the veranda while Aunt Kiku went to make tea.
Tezuka found a ping pong paddle and ball in the box, and tried to use them. Ai-chan watched the ball fly past her. It bounced on the shoji and rolled back to her toes. Gripping her doll by the ankle, she batted it back to him, wanting it out of her side of the room. Then she dismissed him, retreating to one corner to kneel, comb in hand.
Mama wouldn't smile if he played with the ball in the house. Last time, he made a stick and string, and tried to fish the koi out of the garden pond. He got in trouble for that, too. It was safer to read.
Finding a book on the shelf that he hadn't read, he reassured himself that Ai-chan was preoccupied combing her doll's hair, and took the opposite corner, sliding down to the tatami to lose himself in the pages.