Death at the Crossroads (15 page)

“I didn’t fail!”

“Don’t try to deny that failure. It’s something to be proud of, not ashamed. That failure was the reason I let you live.”

“I’d have been as bad as any of them!” the boy shouted.

Kaze laughed. “It’s a twisted world we live in when a young man tries to claim how bad he is. If I untied you and gave you a sword, would you try to sneak up behind me and stab me?”

The boy looked at Kaze, confused about what to say.

“Relax,” Kaze continued. “I’m not going to put you to that test. I’ll risk my life, but I won’t play with it. First I’m going to gather up all the weapons I can see, then I’m going to release you. Then I want you to dig five graves and bury your comrades. If you do that properly, you shall have your life as a reward. This will be the second time I’ve given your life back to you. This time don’t waste it.”

Kaze spread his wet kimono out on a bush to dry, and, by the time he was done gathering up the weapons scattered around the bodies, the boy had stopped crying. Kaze cut the bounds of the boy and set him to work digging graves while he waited for his kimono to dry. Kaze found a tree limb, trimmed it to his satisfaction, and started carving a statue of the Kannon.

“What’s your name?” Kaze asked, deftly carving the edge of a robe on the statue he was working on.

“Hachimmmm,” the boy murmured, making it hard to hear.

“What?”

“Hachiro.”

“The eighth child, or did your parents name you Hachiro as a prank, when you were the first son and should have been named Ichiro?”

Hachiro looked blankly at Kaze, and suddenly realized the samurai was making a joke. He gave a small, tentative smile. “No, I’m the eighth child. There were fourteen in our family, although only seven lived.”

“I was a second son, myself,” Kaze said. “Why did you take up the life of the bandit?”

The boy stopped digging. “There was nothing else,” he said. “Soldiers killed my family. They killed my whole village.”

“What soldiers?” Kaze asked, not looking up.

“I don’t know.” Hachiro thought a moment, then he added. “They carried banners that looked something like a spider.”

Kaze froze, then slowly looked up from his carving. “A black banner, with a white diamond surrounded by eight white bamboo leaves, bent in the middle?” he said softly.

Hachiro stopped his work and looked at the samurai, surprised. “Yes! How did you know?”

“There was a tall thin man with a black winged helmet? A helmet with pieces like this?” Kaze put his hands up to the side of his face, still holding the knife with a couple of his fingers. He spread the remaining fingers outward from his face. “He might have had a steel war fan for sending signals to his troops,” Kaze added.

“How did you know? Who is he? Do you know why he destroyed my village and killed my family?” Hachiro was excited and forgot to be afraid.

“He is someone in the service of the Tokugawas, and he came to your village because your District Lord was undoubtedly a follower of the forces loyal to the Toyotomis, the late Taiko’s family. As for why he destroyed it and killed, that was simply because it pleases him. He needs no other reason.”

“Do you know him?”

Kaze’s face twisted into a look of pure hatred. “Yes, I know him. It was Lord Okubo. He was a boyhood acquaintance of mine.”

Despite his consuming curiosity, the samurai’s reaction frightened Hachiro. After a slight pause, he bent down to his work again. Seeing the effect he was having on the boy, Kaze fought to control himself. Finally, after struggling to suppress all the rage the conversation raised in him, he tried to change the subject by asking the boy, “How did you end up with the bandits?”

“They captured me. They told me a farmer’s life was too hard. They said that now the Tokugawas have won, there is no need for new soldiers, so there was no way to better yourself.”

“Then you should not have bettered yourself. The life of a farmer is hard, but it can be long. The men you’re burying all died because of the life they led. If I didn’t kill them, they would have been killed by someone else. They were ruining this District. Perhaps Lord Manase would have put together an expedition to wipe them out when things finally became intolerable.”

“Oh, Manase-sama wouldn’t do that.”

Surprised, Kaze asked, “Why?”

“Because Manase-sama needed my master, Boss Kuemon, for money. Manase-sama has borrowed money many times.”

Kaze stopped carving. “How do you know that?”

“I used to take the money to Manase-sama’s mansion. I was always running errands, exchanging messages, leading people that Boss Kuemon had captured on the road to the mansion, or taking money to Manase-sama.” He stole a glance at Kaze. “Manase-sama may be very mad at you killing Boss Kuemon.”

“If he is, that will be something I will have to deal with. Right now you have to deal with digging those graves before it gets dark. Hayaku! Hurry up!”

“I
’ll draw a map of the location of the bandit’s camp. The Magistrate can go there to see if there’s any stolen material that can be returned to its rightful owners.”

Kaze was sitting on the worn veranda of Lord Manase’s manor. Before him the District Lord sat, practicing his calligraphy. Manase was once again dressed in layers of colorful kimono and he sat with his brush poised over the surface of a roll of fine paper. Next to him was an inkstone with a scene of grasshoppers carved in bas-relief in the head of the stone. In the well of the stone was high-quality ink, freshly ground and mixed with pure spring water.

Kaze could see Manase’s efforts on the page. It was a practiced hand, but mechanical in its execution. For true practitioners of calligraphy, technique was practiced until it became unimportant; technique was submerged until the practitioner became one with his art. Then true emotion and character could show through in the art. It was similar to what Kaze had been taught in his use of the sword.

Seeing the mechanical nature of Manase’s calligraphy, Kaze realized that he had been teaching himself the arts he practiced and had not been raised in the style he so ardently embraced. Although Manase
was a natural Noh performer, his other refinements were recent acquisitions.

“But won’t the bandits object to the Magistrate’s men stumbling into their camp?”

“The bandits are dead or dispersed.”

“Dead?”

“Five of them. The rest have run away.”

“Who helped you?”

“No one.”

Manase laughed. The high-pitched, tittering laugh was brittle and unnatural. “And Boss Kuemon, the bandit leader?”

“Dead.”

Manase carefully put his brush down. He stared impassively at Kaze, his deep brown eyes floating like dual dark suns in the white-powdered sky of his face. Finally, he said, “Excellent!”

Manase shifted position slightly, so he was facing Kaze directly. He gave a slow, graceful bow, which surprised Kaze. “Thank you, samurai-san. This is a wonderful day for this District! Those bandits were becoming very troublesome and bold.”

“I thought that, too. This will be a more peaceful District now.”

Manase stood and went to the door. He slid it open and called out to a serving girl who was walking by. “You! Call the Magistrate and some of the men immediately!” He returned to his position by Kaze and said, “So the bandits are all dead?”

“As I said, only five of them. The rest have run away.”

“And their camp?”

“If you will lend me your brush and give me a piece of paper, I’ll draw a map so they can find the camp.”

Manase slid the inkstone, brush, and a fresh sheet of paper to Kaze. Kaze picked up the brush but hesitated for a second.

“What’s wrong?”

“This is a very fine piece of paper. It seems a shame to waste it on a map.”

Manase waved his hand, as if sweeping dust off a counter. “Nonsense! Please use this paper for your map.”

Kaze shrugged and quickly drew a map to the bandit’s camp on the paper. By the time he was finished, the puffing Magistrate had appeared.

Manase picked up the map and looked at it briefly, then he handed it to the Magistrate. “Here,” Manase said.

Looking a bit befuddled, he took the map and looked at it.

“That is a map to the bandit camp,” Manase continued. “This ronin was able to do in a few days what you have failed to do for two years. He has killed the bandits or driven them away, and he did it by himself. It makes me wonder what you have been doing all this time, besides collecting a salary from me!”

The Magistrate handed back the map to Manase. Instead of taking it, Manase said, “Fool! Take the map and go to the camp. Search the camp and see if you can recover some of the stolen goods.” Manase looked at Kaze and said, “Lately, even I have been a victim of those ruffians. Materials and supplies meant for me were stolen, along with all the other things they took.” Manase returned his attention to the Magistrate. “Well?”

Gritting his teeth, the Magistrate got up and left the veranda. Manase clapped his hands, and soon a serving girl appeared. Manase looked at her and said, “Bring me the second drawer from the cedarwood chest.” The servant scurried out of the room.

“I must think of an appropriate way to reward you,” Manase told Kaze. “Perhaps a banquet or maybe a Noh performance. If that fool finds any money in the bandit camp, I can afford to hire professional musicians and give a proper Noh performance. It will be good to have someone in the audience who can appreciate my art.”

The servant returned with a flat wooden drawer from a wooden chest. In it were several fine kimonos. They weren’t as fine as the sumptuous kimonos and robes worn by Manase, but they were clearly expensive and much finer than the kimono Kaze was wearing.
Manase paused for a moment, then picked out a kimono with an elegant pattern of pine boughs, hand painted in indigo blue with a red splash of color on the head of a small bird sitting on a limb.

He lifted the folded kimono out of the drawer and set it in front of Kaze. “This is for you,” Manase said.

Kaze glanced at the kimono. A samurai being given clothing by a Lord was a special and personal reward. It implied that a ronin like Kaze could join Manase’s household, if he wished. Kaze placed both hands before him on the mat and gave a formal bow to Manase. He slid the kimono back to the District Lord, then he bowed again.

After a pause, Manase said, “I see. Too bad.”

“I’m sorry,” Kaze said.

“No matter, it will still add some excitement to this dreary place to organize the celebrations. Please leave now. I have to plan the program of entertainment.”

Kaze bowed and left Manase’s study. He walked to the front of the manor house, put on his sandals, and started walking down the path. He didn’t look back.

K
aze took the road to Higashi village again, passing the spot still guarded by the Kannon where he had killed the first two bandits, and he arrived in the neighboring village by early afternoon. There was just one inn in the village, and Kaze stopped where he had intervened between the inn’s owner and the maid. If the owner remembered the incident, he gave no sign in the profuse greeting he gave Kaze. Since the inn was still deserted, Kaze could understand the man’s effusive greeting.

In deference to his dwindling purse and the deserted inn, Kaze elected to sit in the common room instead of a private room. Since he was the only guest, it amounted to the same thing. As he relaxed on the ratty tatami mats of the inn, the serving girl he had aided came in with tea and a hot towel. Upon seeing Kaze, her rough peasant’s face broke out into a grin.

“Samurai-sama! You left so suddenly last time that I didn’t have a chance to appropriately thank you for your help!”

Kaze said nothing, but he shifted uncomfortably. He judged that he would have to do some deft maneuvering before the night was over. He liked the company of women, but he also liked to select
which woman. He also had an aversion to paying for services, although he had no doubts that tonight’s services would be free.

The serving girl placed the tea before him and left to fetch some food, giving him a saucy look before she left. Kaze sighed. He reflected that the pleasure he got from righting small wrongs sometimes carried an unforeseen price.

The girl returned with a bowl of okayu with chunks of sweet potato in it. Kaze shoveled a generous portion into his mouth, sucking in cold air with it so it wouldn’t burn. The girl sat a proper distance from Kaze, but she was gazing at him with proprietary fondness.

“Nani? What?” Kaze asked.

“Nothing, samurai-sama. I just didn’t expect to see you again.”

Kaze grunted a noncommittal response.

“When you left I thought that if the demon didn’t get you, for sure the bandits would get you,” the girl continued.

“The bandits shouldn’t be a concern anymore.”

Puzzled, the girl asked, “Why?”

“Because Boss Kuemon is dead, and his men are either dead or scattered. It should be peaceful around here, at least for a while. Maybe business will pick up.”

“Really? Boss Kuemon is dead? Truly?”

“Yes, truly.”

The girl got up, saying, “Excuse me. I have to tell my master this. He’ll be so happy!”

Kaze nodded and continued eating his okayu. A few minutes later the master of the inn returned with the serving girl. “Is it true?” the innkeeper said. “Boss Kuemon is dead?”

“Yes,” Kaze answered.

The innkeeper broke into a huge grin. “What great news! The food is no charge, samurai-sama! This is wonderful for this District. Lord Manase has finally gotten some men together and taken care of that Kuemon.”

“Yes, he did,” Kaze said.

“He must have hired troops from outside to do this. That ridiculous Magistrate couldn’t have taken on the likes of Boss Kuemon.”

“I suppose so,” Kaze said.

“Well! Excuse me, samurai-sama, but I have to hurry and tell the rest of the village the good news.” The innkeeper scurried out of the room, leaving the serving girl.

“Well, if the food is free, I’ll have another bowl,” Kaze said.

The smiling serving girl took his bowl and rushed off to refill it in the kitchen. When she returned, she reclaimed the spot where she could goggle at Kaze, making him feel uncomfortable. To make conversation, Kaze said, “Have you seen that demon again?”

“No, not since that night. That’s why I was so worried about you when you returned to Suzaka village.”

“Why was that?”

“Why, because the demon was on the road coming from Suzaka village.”

The question of which road the demon was seen on had never occurred to Kaze. “Was he going to Suzaka village or coming from it?”

“Coming from it. Why?”

“Curiosity is a fault of mine. Indulge me. And you say there was a man strapped to the horse?”

“Oh yes, we could all see that.”

“Was the man alive or dead?”

The girl considered that for a few seconds. “I don’t know, samurai-sama,” she finally said.

“Was he moving or screaming?”

“No, samurai-sama.”

“Then he would be very calm for a man being hauled off by a demon.”

The girl cocked her head and gave Kaze a puzzled look. Kaze didn’t bother to explain his sarcasm. Instead, he asked, “Did anyone see where the demon went?”

“He went toward the road to Rikuzen prefecture.”

“But that road is also joined by the road that leads back to the crossroads from Uzen prefecture,” Kaze said.

Frowning, the girl asked, “Why would anyone coming from Suzaka want to take that route if they were trying to go to the crossroads?”

“Why, indeed,” Kaze said.

“Hey, is anybody here?” a voice called out from the entrance of the teahouse. It was a female voice, but gruff and very loud.

The serving girl had a surprised look on her face because of the appearance of new guests. She quickly got up and left the room to greet them. The girl spoke softly, but Kaze could hear the loud voice of the woman carrying on a one-sided conversation.

“It’s about time you came,” she said.

A silence. Undoubtedly the serving girl was making profuse apologies.

“So don’t just sit there, bowing at me,” said the loud woman. “Help me off with my sandals and take me where I can get some tea.”

Another few seconds of silence.

“How much is a room for the night?”

Silence.

“How much? That’s outrageous!”

More silence.

“Well, yes, just get me the owner of the inn. I want to talk to him about his prices. No, not now. First take us into a room and get us some tea.”

In a few seconds the serving girl appeared back in the common room where Kaze was sitting. She seemed flustered and not at all sure what to do about her loud and assertive guests. Kaze was surprised to see that in fact there were three guests. In the lead was a woman old enough to be a grandmother, with hair shot with silver and pulled back in a bun. Across her forehead she had a white headband, and painted on the headband was the
kanji
character for “revenge.” She wore hakama pants and a traveling coat
just like a man. Stuck into her sash were a man’s swords, and she strode into the room with all the power and arrogance of any real samurai.

Immediately behind her was a very old man. Where the woman was as sturdy as a sake barrel, the man seemed as ephemeral as a reed screen. His face was gaunt and cadaverous and his shoulders, elbows, and hipbones poked at his kimono. Kaze felt that he looked very much like a walking skeleton instead of a real man.

Immediately behind the old man was a young boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen. On the back of the boy was a large wicker pack stuffed with cloth-wrapped bundles, and hanging on the outside of the pack was an assortment of pans.

The odd trio entered the room and occupied one of the corners of the common room. In politeness, Kaze shifted his position so that he was not looking directly at them. Under normal circumstances, Kaze’s actions would erect an invisible wall between him and the other party, and he and the other party could each go about their business as if they were the only ones in the common room. This old woman, however, did not allow the invisible walls erected by polite Japanese society to deter her.

After ordering the old man and the young boy to sit in the corner, the old woman marched across the common room and actually tapped Kaze on the shoulder. Touching a stranger was extraordinarily rude, and Kaze considered how he should react. Should he treat her with the deference due to her because of her age? Or should he simply turn his back to her completely, snubbing her rude overture? Since he had been taught to indulge both children and old people, Kaze’s distaste for being touched was overcome by his need to be polite to an elder.

“Yes,
Obaasan
, Grandmother,” Kaze said politely.

“Are you the only other person in the inn?” the old woman asked.

Kaze shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Well, have you seen a merchant?” the woman persisted.

“No, not at this inn.”

“If you see a merchant, you tell me,” the woman said.

“Any merchant?”

“No, of course not. The merchant we’re looking for travels the Tokaido road, but you never know where such vermin may be found. We’re on our way to the Tokaido now to see if we can find him. We are on an official vendetta. We have registered our grievance with the new Tokugawa government, and now we are looking for a certain merchant so that we can bring retribution and revenge upon his head.”

“Those are two very weighty attributes for you to bring upon anyone’s head, grandmother.”

“I’m not here to do it alone,” she declared proudly. “I brought with me my servant,” she used her chin to point toward the gaunt old scarecrow, “and one of my grandchildren,” she again used her chin to point, but this time at the young boy.

“Then surely that merchant must have a lot to fear and will not escape heaven’s retribution.”

The woman grimly nodded at Kaze’s assessment of the ragtag trio arrayed against the unknown merchant. An official vendetta was no laughing matter. That meant the authorities had given the motley trio the power to hunt down and kill someone who had aggrieved their family. Before Kaze could get the details of the vendetta, the serving girl brought the owner of the inn into the common room, and the old woman focused her attention on the hapless inn owner.

The owner could barely get a greeting out of his mouth before the woman was assailing him on the quality of the accommodations and how he could have the effrontery to even charge one
sen
when weary travelers such as herself and her party were looking for accommodations more in keeping with what they were used to.

The flustered innkeeper bowed constantly, trying futilely to get a word in edgewise in the midst of the old woman’s tirade. In desperation he looked at Kaze as if asking the samurai to come in as reinforcements against the old woman’s assault. Kaze wryly shook
his head, greatly amused at the scene playing out before him, but much too smart to get involved with this formidable woman.

Finally, in complete collapse, the innkeeper said that everyone in her party could stay at the inn for two sen instead of the normal five. The woman snorted that she would permit herself to take advantage of the inn’s totally inadequate hospitality, but that even at two sen her servant and her grandson could sleep outside. She said it was the innkeeper who should be paying her for having to stay at such a flea-bitten hovel. The innkeeper retreated in disarray and confusion, leaving the servant girl to deal with his difficult guests.

Kaze enjoyed the spectacle but ate the rest of his dinner without talking to his weird companions in the common room. The trio did very little talking themselves, once the food was served. Kaze wondered what their vendetta was, especially since the woman’s headband said revenge, but he had had quite enough conversation with the aggressive old crone and therefore did not ask for details about the vendetta.

As he was finishing his meal, the serving girl brought another guest into the common room. Before they had completely entered the room, Kaze was already on his feet with his hand on his sword.

“You!” the new guest screamed in anger.

The startled serving girl took a step back, and the trio in the corner looked up in surprise. Kaze simply gave a nod of his head.

The young samurai that Kaze had marooned on the island placed his hand on his sword hilt. “I demand a duel with you, and none of your ‘no sword’ tricks!”

Kaze studied the young man for a moment, then he said, “I’m sorry if I tricked you. It’s in my nature to play such games.” He dropped to one knee, taking the posture of a soldier reporting to a general. “I humbly apologize for offending you.”

“You dog’s offal! You coward!” the young samurai said.

Kaze made no reply. Instead he remained in a humble position.

“No, it’s not good enough to apologize,” the young samurai said
haughtily. “I insist on a duel. You have not only insulted me, you have insulted the entire Yagyu school of fencing. Such an insult can only be washed away with a duel.”

“All right,” Kaze said, “But let’s use wooden swords instead of steel. Since you want to demonstrate your swordsmanship, steel swords are not necessary.”

The young samurai looked at Kaze with contempt, branding him a coward. Still, he said, “Fine! Wooden swords only. Let’s do it right now and right here!”

“Let’s do it outside,” Kaze said quietly. He looked at the serving girl and said, “Fetch us two wooden staves, as long as katana. We’ll be outside.”

After looking at the two samurai fearfully, the serving girl scurried off to find two sticks of the proper length.

Kaze walked past the young samurai and made his way to the front of the inn. He put on his sandals and stepped outside into the dusty street. Behind him, the young samurai, the old woman, the servant, and the young man followed.

The girl quickly reappeared with the inn owner and his entire family in tow. She had two wooden sticks that she handed to each samurai with a bow. Kaze looked at his stick and took out his sword to cut down the handle into something resembling a real sword hilt. The young samurai took a strip of cloth and quickly tied up the sleeves of his kimono, crossing the strip across his back and looping it around each shoulder. He did this with a great deal of flash and panache, generating a few murmurs of approval from the small crowd. Smiling, he turned to face Kaze.

Kaze put his real sword into his sash and gripped his wooden stick with both hands. He took a formal fencing stance, with his eyes on the young samurai. The young samurai moved aggressively toward Kaze with a small shout, but Kaze stood his ground, his wooden sword not wavering.