Sensei (16 page)

"A hired gun?" I prompted. "What was there to be afraid of?"

"In addition to more ... mundane needs," he eventually said as he studiously ignored my comment, "the Kunaicho has more specialized duties. We must remain alert to threats to the royal person. In the contemporary world, Mr. Burke, being in the public eye brings with it certain potential hazards."

I let him duck my question for the moment. "Fame," I noted sagely, "has its price."

Mori seemed unimpressed with my insight.

"I am sure that, to Western eyes, the emperor seems an obscure, remote figure. A vestige of another time. But the fact that the institution has endured for over three thousand years makes him a target for disgruntled elements in society."

It was a very bland statement, but the reality was probably sobering enough. Japan has extremely low crime rates, but the human propensity for odd behavior is a global phenomenon. Japan is a refined nation where elaborate paper folding and perfume smelling are arts. It's also the world's largest producer of pornographic comics. Cradle of the Red Army faction. And a religious cult that released Sarin nerve gas into the Tokyo subway.

"So in addition to supporting the emperor's public and ceremonial activities, we are charged with security. This includes things like providing bodyguards as well as more sophisticated activities."

He stopped talking and looked off into the distance. All he could see was a wall. Somewhere, beyond the brick of the buildings, was the sea. Mori came from an island nation. He probably smelled the salt in the air and thought of home.

"I don't think you realize just how complex a mission it is, to protect the emperor, Mr. Burke. The unit I head in the Kunaicho is known as the Konoe-tai." The pace of his words was hesitant, as if he were mentally reviewing what could be divulged before speaking. Now the tempo picked up, as if he had made a decision. "We use special tactics in containment and neutralization of threats to imperial security." He sounded like he had that part memorized. Probably came from the mission statement, or whatever they called it in Japan.

"Konoe-tai trainees receive extremely intensive training in unarmed fighting systems. An individual must hold a dan ranking of at least the fifth degree. And that is just the beginning. We are able to call on the most skilled of our martial arts masters to assist us. And the training never really ends."

Questions flickered through my mind in a steady stream. We were somehow treading on very sensitive ground here. You could sense it from the body language of the two men. I didn't want to spook them with my gaijin directness, but little bells were going off in my head. Highly trained martial artists. Links to the Imperial House. And a trail of bodies that stretched across the country. I looked at those two closed faces in front of me and knew I had to ask.

"Sensei," I began tentatively, like a man edging out onto thin ice, or probing a wound that had only recently started to heal, "Is there a connection between this Tomita and the Kunaicho?"

I looked from one face to the other. In the quiet of the room, you could hear traffic from far away. A car door slammed. Down below us, a man with a gun waited with the mute intensity of a raptor.

Mori regarded me silently. The air quivered with tension like a vibrating crystal. The two men exchanged looks. Mori seemed angry at having to disclose things. Yamashita seemed resigned.

"What does this have to do with the murders?" I demanded. "Why is he here?"

"The answer is simple," Yamashita finally said. "Tomita is seeking me."

Which is all he said for a time.

The story Yamashita eventually told unfolded with a hypnotic cadence that brought the images he evoked vividly to mind. The tale spun out in starts and stops, a line of events anchored in his past and pulled painfully into his present.

When we think of Tokyo's Imperial Palace, it's a place of calm and control. It is set off from the bustle of modern Tokyo by moats and walls, the precise lines of traditional Japanese architecture at the gates set as if they were mystical boundaries leading to another realm. Like the minutely tended gardens that dot its acreage, however, this placid environment is the result of an almost savage discipline.

So it is with the men of the Konoe-tai who serve the emperor. The tradition of an Imperial Guard stretches back to the very beginnings of the Yamato House. And, despite their youth, the modern members of the Konoe-tai hearken back to another time in Japan. They take the issue of duty and obligation seriously. More seriously than even most Japanese, which is saying a great deal. And in their pursuit of sincere efficacy, they forge themselves in the crucible of martial arts training.

Yamashita came from a family with a long-standing relationship to the Kunaicho. A prodigy of martial skill, he was recruited very early in his life to train the specialized corps of bodyguards within the Konoe-tai that Mori directed. Which is where, eventually, they met Tomita.

They spoke of him elliptically, as if he were a family member who had shamed himself and, by extension, them. It was as if neither Yamashita nor Mori could bring himself to actually name the man. But it was clear they had thought a great deal about him and about what had happened.

Yamashita described this in a very matter-of-fact way. He merely related the details of Tomita's life in the same way you would read off points on a map: significant only as reference points that lead somewhere.

My teacher recruited Tomita himself. He frequented the major college, regional, and national contests, searching for likely recruits for Mori. Yamashita was a noted swordsman in his own right and had both a personal and professional interest in the young champions he watched in tournaments. His dark eyes watched countless young people slam each other into judo mats and clash together in kendo armor with all the ferocity of pit bulls. At the level of play he observed, they were all impressive. But he was searching for something else, something more elusive and harder to identify.

Yamashita saw that the young Tomita had within him the potential for greatness. It was unusual that someone so high up in the ranks like Yamashita would personally extend an invitation of this type. But he did. Among the Japanese, superiors get involved only in the late stages of any negotiations to avoid the possibility of an affront. But, although not really coming out and saying so, Yamashita gave the impression that he got carried away.

Even as he described the events of twenty years ago, he was at a loss to coherently explain what he was looking for among the bugeisha, the martial artists, he watched.

"The training process for Konoe-tai is a unique one, Burke," he related.

I could imagine. Most special groups of this type consciously create training ordeals. Some make it; some don't. It's like military elites anywhere: you take your best and brightest and essentially grind them up in the interest of serving the cause. The Japanese put a nicer spin on it, but they do the same thing.

"In ancient times, you heated bones until they cracked under the heat. The patterns created by weaknesses can foretell the future. We do the same with men. Following a true martial discipline is a process of...," Yamashita paused to do the mental translation, "... spiritual forging."

The Japanese phrase seishin tamen was something I had heard for years. For Yamashita, it wasn't a theory or a philosophical abstraction; it was his training blueprint. "I have attempted to expose you to this as well," he said. I nodded in acknowledgement.

Mori commented, "The Konoe-tai must be impeccable, Mr. Burke. Smooth and flowing as water. Hard as rock. The challenge and the responsibility are such that only the very finest can be selected."

"AndTomita had what you were looking for?" I asked incredulously.

They looked at each other for a moment as if sharing a guilty thought. "I take responsibility for the selection," Yamashita sipped at the air as he spoke, as if the admission hurt him, even now. He looked down, half bowing in my direction.

I thought about the toll this statement imposed on such a proud man. Even after all that had happened, it made me uncomfortable to see my teacher like this. I looked searchingly at Mori.

"Yamashita Sensei has nothing to apologize for, Mr. Burke," the other man said. "His assessment of Tomita's potential was quite accurate."

"He was flawless," my sensei continued. "The waza, his techniques, were ..." He seemed at a loss to express himself, even now, "... beautiful."

"He was a fine candidate," Mori commented, as if comforting him.

I imagine that for a young, gifted martial artist in Japan, the opportunity to be exposed to the level of training the Konoe-tai could provide, as well as the prestige involved in being a member of the Imperial Household Agency, must have been irresistible. And, of course, it was meant to be.

But for Tomita, I believed that there were other, more subtle attractions as well. Yamashita didn't speculate on them, but Tomita must have basked in the attention of a senior man like Yamashita. As I sat there and listened, I could imagine how Tomita must have felt.

He felt like he was coming home.

The two men seemed lost in memory for a moment. So I asked the question. It emerged into the still air of the room and hovered there.

"What happened?"

It was Mori's turn to look vaguely guilty.

"The training proceeded well," he said.

But I got the sense that there was more.

"So he got into the Konoe-tai? At the palace?"

Yamashita smiled and nodded. "No. Potential members are trained in a separate location ..."

"The Emperor might find the activities disruptive to the harmony of the palace." Mori said. How he kept a straight face is anyone's guess. He was a very serious man.

"The training period is a long one," Yamashita continued. "It is done at a different location in the North." He looked at me significantly.

To the Japanese, the North is the equivalent of our Wild West. It's where you go for the wide-open spaces. And the rough life.

"A little more rustic," I commented.

Mori nodded. "The training facility is quite isolated. It permits more focus on the part of the students. There are fewer distractions."

"Much of the training is done outdoors, Burke," Yamashita said. "In the field."

"So what happened?" I was through being patient.

The furtive looks passed between the two men again. Mori cleared his throat. "In our enthusiasm and haste overTomita, certain things were overlooked." I said nothing and he continued.

"There are a variety of requirements for membership in the Konoe-tai," Mori explained. "The young man was more than qualified in terms of training and ability. Education. It was almost a year before ... irregularities were discovered."

Yamashita spoke up, as if helping Mori shoulder an unpleasant load. "The person of the emperor has both political and religious significance, Professor. He must be guarded from threats of many types ..."

"I don't get it," I said.

"The emperor, as a descendent of the sun goddess, must be protected from ritual threats as well as real ones. You know something of this, I am sure," Yamashita said. I nodded. Shinto religious beliefs stress ritual cleanliness to the point of horror of spiritual contamination.

"The Emperor must be protected from any source of possible pollution," Yamashita concluded.

Mori picked up the thread. "You must understand, Mr. Burke,

that we Japanese place great significance on our uniqueness as a people. On our purity. We try to ensure that the emperors guards reflect that concern."

"This recruit was an excellent candidate ... I still believe so to this day," Yamashita said. "But when it was learned that he was the product of a mixed marriage ..."

"His father was of Hawaiian and Japanese blood. An American who had married a Japanese national," Mori said.

He looked at me as if presenting a type of trump card. I tried to keep a blank expression on my face. I knew the Japanese were tremendous chauvinists who believed in the "purity" of their people. To an American of my generation, it sounded absurd. But these men were deadly in earnest. Each of us in that room knew from personal experience about the Japanese feeling for outsiders. Gaijin are dangerous in many ways.

Yamashita continued. "Many of the other sensei felt it was inappropriate. Someone who was not a pure Japanese should not be Konoe-tai." He paused and looked at Mori for a minute, then at me. "I did not agree with the decision, but I was bound to support it." I nodded in reluctant understanding. The Japanese need for consensus, the devotion to group solidarity, was a powerful thing. Even Yamashita couldn't fight it.

My sensei swallowed and it was one of the few times I ever saw any sign of an interior emotional state, however subtle. "I was chosen to deliver the group's decision to Tomita." Yamashita set his face in a hard mask as he said it. I imagined it was the same expression he used when he came, against his will, to tell Tomita he was cast out from the group.

"It was during one of the outdoor exercises. The trainees spend so much time in the field, they say they hardly feel human. They call themselves yak en Are you familiar with the word?" I

shook my head no. He smiled briefly at a thought. "It means 'wild dog." But no matter. He was a true warrior, that one. He bowed at the decision and left the field. He turned once to look at me. The expression of hatred in his eyes has remained with me for all these years."