Then there was more drumming, now as an entertainment.
Taka prepared a statement of our family's purpose, as a guide for the Toyoda clan to better understand God and His truth, or something like that: it was in Japanese, I don't remember the details. We were standing in the middle of the room, with Taka reading the statement, when my children, and, especially, Hanah, who didn't like loud noises in general, began to weep and tug on me, like some beggars in Cairo.
They did not stop, when Taka told me to go to each person at the table, pour them some sake and ask to sign the document. I was, literally, dragging both my kids on my legs, still trying to smile an nod to the family members. The run on my black stocking was so noticeable, you could probably see it from space! Between the drumming and the screaming, my head hurt something fierce.
I took the kids out of the room, and they switched the noise off, immediately. A young Buddhist monk got Hanah a doggie from a machine with a claw, and that magically restored her good spirits. I still see that doggie, when I go to Hanah's room. She is not there, but I keep an echo of her smile on the day when she got it, in my heart.