View attachment 1516934View attachment 1516937View attachment 1516939
And finally, analyze this:
It is unglazed-tile smooth, heavy and dark gray under a thin, oxidized exterior. Badly rust-stained, the surface is now lighter in color after immersion in strong hydrochloric acid for several weeks. It was discovered fifteen meters away from the big stone marker and when found it was surrounded by a mix of reddish soil and broken rock debris— about eight meters deep under the original WWII bamboo stand as inferred by decades-old, crumbly stumps of residual culm and friable underground stringers or long, thin roots “hanging” in the laterite subsoil. The remaining surviving green bamboo cluster has crept more than three meters away during the last seventy years or so.
I decided to dump this over-sized egg back into the hole after I chanced upon my five-year old grandson carrying it around and playing with it— risking a badly-crushed toe or worse.
One of these days a nosy amateur treasure hunter will ask me about the site and make an attempt at retrieving the egg. However, I have made up my mind to move on and with no regrets. Who cares about some old crappy stone? I rationalized— it’s just an inconsequential piece of an elaborate Japanese treasure concealment diversionary scheme. Like the sooty root fragment astray at one meter depth that turned out to be the tip of a burnt tree trunk, two meters long and standing on a flat river stone farther down— unmarked but pinpointed— rather, wild guessed on a hunch by a previous field triangulation.
It has been sometime since the stone was unceremoniously tossed back into where it came from—hopefully forgotten and undisturbed. In the end I smugly concluded that I have been saved from a lifetime of pointless rumination. Enlightened, perhaps? Or maybe just plain foolish and rash. Whichever, the aroma of steaming hot morning coffee won’t make things any different.