Death at the Crossroads

CHAPTER 8

Kaze spent an hour chopping firewood. The full-sized ax was heavy and clumsy, but he kept at it gamely despite his fatigue and the difficulty. He was proud of the pile of firewood he had managed to create when the Sensei returned. The Sensei looked at the pile of wood but made no comment. All he said was, “I suppose you’ll want some breakfast?”

“Yes, Sensei!”

“Then follow me.” The Sensei led Kaze into his hut, where a big pot of okayu, rice porridge, was bubbling over the fire. The hut was sparsely furnished and almost devoid of personal possessions. The major exception was a sword stand in one corner, where a long katana and a shorter wakizashi were stored. Like every boy of his age in the warrior class, Kaze fancied himself a judge of fine swords. These were exceptionally fine. They were swords much finer than the everyday swords worn by the Sensei and even finer than the swords Kaze’s father kept to wear on very special occasions.

The Sensei walked over to a corner of the room, and Kaze thought he was going to get a bowl for the okayu. Instead, the old man picked up a piece of firewood. Turning suddenly, he threw it at Kaze.

Shocked, Kaze nimbly stepped to one side as the firewood bounced against the wall behind him and clattered to the floor. The Sensei looked at Kaze for a moment, then calmly proceeded to pick up a wooden bowl and a pair of hashi, as if flying pieces of firewood were the prelude to every meal. “Here,” he said, handing the implements to Kaze. “Help yourself.”

Kaze warily took the bowl and hashi from the Sensei, but the Sensei made no additional aggressive moves. “Find me when you’re done eating and I’ll give you a kendo lesson. You’re not my student yet, but it won’t hurt to see how stupid you are at learning.” Glancing at the piece of firewood that had been thrown at him, Kaze sat down to breakfast wondering what kind of teacher he had sought out.

His questions about this Sensei increased with the lesson, because the Sensei started Kaze’s formal instruction in the way of the sword by teaching him how to tie the sash on a kimono.

“In ancient times, we used to hang our swords from our sash with cords,” the Sensei began. “Now it is our custom to place our swords in our kimono sash. You have been wearing swords for ceremonial occasions since you were small. On those occasions the swords were for show. In battle the swords will be for survival. You have to learn to carry them as a samurai. Proudly, but also in a practical manner. You can’t carry them too loosely, or they will slip. You can’t carry them too tightly, or the sash will constrict your wind and cause you annoyance. Today you will learn how to tie the sash of your kimono in a proper fashion. It is a small thing, but from small, fundamental things the foundation for greater things is built. After you learn this lesson, you will observe how other samurai tie their sashes. That observation will teach you if a man is grounded in fundamentals or if he is just displaying his swords in a flashy manner.”

Under the Sensei’s instruction, Kaze tied and retied his kimono sash until he could do it perfectly. He had to admit that carrying the two swords of the samurai tucked into his sash was now more comfortable, but he couldn’t see what this had to do with sword fighting.

“Can I ask a question, Sensei?” Kaze said at the end of the lesson.

“What is it?”

“When will I be taught things that have to do with kendo?”

“Baka! This does have to do with kendo. Everything I teach you has to do with bushido, the way of the warrior. This morning you learned a lesson before breakfast. A bushi must keep fit, even if it’s through something like chopping wood. You should also learn calligraphy, art, and poetry, but a bushi can’t simply occupy his time with artistic pursuits while waiting for the next war. He must do things to stay in good physical condition. At breakfast you were taught another lesson, a famous one, when I threw the piece of wood at you. Bushi must remain alert and expect an attack at any time. Have you ever heard that?”

“Yes, Sensei.” Kaze anticipated another attack from the Sensei. That was what was usually done when students were taught this lesson, and he knew it. The student is told to expect an attack at any time, then he is asked if he understands that. When he says yes, the Sensei launches an immediate attack to illustrate that the lesson is fact.

“Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Sensei!” Kaze readied himself for the launch of some kind of attack, like the flying firewood. Instead, the Sensei merely continued with his lecture. Kaze was almost disappointed.

“In life things will happen to you and you must draw the lessons from them. You will not always have someone there to explain them to you, and you must learn to learn on your own. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Good, then go gather up some of the firewood you chopped this morning so we can make dinner.”

A simple dinner was eaten in almost total silence. After spending a sleepless night and a long day, Kaze could barely keep his eyes open. The dark hut and the flickering fire lulled him to drowsiness as surely as a mother’s lullaby. Kaze was given a futon and a quilt and shown a place to sleep in one of the outbuildings near the Sensei’s hut. “I’ll tell you by tomorrow if I want you for a student,” the Sensei said as he left.

Kaze dropped into a deep, exhausted sleep. The sight of dragon footprints and flittering ghosts and unearthly voices calling for blood entered his dreams. The frightening events of the night before twisted his dreams into a nightmare, and he was certain he could feel the presence of a demon or malignant spirit right in the room with him. Suddenly, a sharp pain across his arm and shoulder jolted him out of sleep.

He sat up confused and bleary-eyed. He looked around and there, sitting next to him, was the Sensei. A clay lamp was by the Sensei, and he held a stick of bamboo. He was looking at Kaze.

Kaze rubbed his shoulder and was about to protest being hit with the stick. Then he shut his mouth. After a moment’s silence, Kaze said, “Be prepared for an attack at any time.”

The Sensei nodded. “Good! Very good! You’re not as thick and stupid as you seem. I’ll take you as a student. Chop some firewood when you wake up, and after breakfast we’ll continue your training.”

Kaze smiled. One of his first lessons was to expect attack at any time, and yet he had still been captured at Jiro’s hut. He expected an attack, but he didn’t think about the nature of the attack. From his circumstances, he knew the attacker must be the local Magistrate. He held the slow, stupid Magistrate in low regard. Yet even stupid men can kill you if you are careless. Kaze hoped that this time he would survive so he could benefit from that lesson in the future.

The sound of footsteps snapped him out of his reverie. He opened his eyes. People were coming.