The Toyotomi Blades

12

It was late when I finally got back to the hotel. I thought of calling Mariko, but it would be early in the morning L.A. time and I didn’t want to wake her. Instead, I spent a restless night. When I did sleep I had bad dreams of being chased. It didn’t take a psychiatrist to figure out where that came from. Like many Asians, I place great store in dreams, but these dreams were neither illuminating nor prescient. They were simply disturbing. I woke tired the next morning and placed a call to Mariko at the Kawashiri Boutique.

“Kawashiri Boutique.” The connection was extremely clear. It was Mrs. Kawashiri.

“Hi, Mrs. Kawashiri. This is Ken. Can I talk to Mariko?”

A hesitation. Then, in a funny tone, “Mariko’s not here now.”

“Is something wrong, Mrs. Kawashiri?”

“No, no, nothing is wrong. She’s just not here now. But nothing is wrong.”

“Well, tell her I called. I’ll try her at home later.”

“She might be out tonight.”

I was puzzled. “Are you sure something isn’t wrong?”

“No, she just mentioned that she’d be busy tonight. Don’t worry, Ken-san. Everything is fine.”

“All right. I hope things are going fine for you.”

“Oh yes. Thank you for asking.”

“Well, I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Yes. You’ll have to tell me about your adventures in Tokyo.”

“Don’t worry. I’m collecting plenty of adventures to tell. I’ll talk to you later. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.”

As I was talking to Mrs. Kawashiri the message light on the phone blinked on, indicating that a call came in while I was on the line. I called the message number and an operator with impeccable English told me that Junko had called. I dialed the number the operator gave me and it was picked up on the first ring.

“Junko?”

“Yes.”

“This is Ken Tanaka.”

“I’m so glad you called right away,” Junko said excitedly. “Professor Hirota, the man who wrote the article on Kannemori swords, is back in town and he’s very anxious to talk to you and see your sword. I was hoping I could set up a meeting today.”

“Those swords are the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had an adventure last night. The two guys who chased me the night before chased me again. I’m beginning to think they might be Yakuza intent on taking revenge for the crime I solved in Los Angeles.” I explained to her what happened, including my interview with the police. We men are supposed to be strong, silent types, but it made me feel better to talk about what had happened.

“That’s very frightening,” she said. “You were very lucky that rikishi found you.”

“I found him by landing in his lap, but it was a stroke of luck that he was a fellow Hawaiian. Frankly, I’m reluctant to do more sightseeing in Tokyo with the Yakuza after me.”

“Let me talk to the producers,” Junko said. “I’m almost done with the tape introduction to your segment so you don’t have to be in town. Maybe the producers will pay for you to leave Tokyo until the show date. You can go to Nikko or someplace like that.”

“I’d feel a lot safer if that was possible. It would also be more fun than sitting in a hotel room for two days.”

“Why don’t you come down to the studio and we can discuss it,” Junko said.

“Okay, but I’m going to take a cab.”

When I got to the studio, Junko made me repeat my story in great detail. As I finished, her phone rang. Professor Hirota had arrived. “He must have rushed over,” Junko said. “I told you he sounded excited on the phone.” Junko and I went to a reception room with four leather chairs arranged around a coffee table to meet the professor.

Professor Hirota was not what I expected. Instead of some musty scholar, bent over and myopic from too many books, I saw a neatly dressed man in his early thirties carrying a Gucci portfolio under his arm, like some eager advertising executive. I stuck out my hand and he shook it. Instead of the soft hands of a scholar, I was surprised to feel the rough hands of a construction worker.

“Yukihiko Hirota,” he said. His English had a British accent to it. I’ve never met a Japanese who spoke British English instead of American English, and that surprised me.

“Ken Tanaka,” I responded.

“I’m extremely pleased that Miss Ohara called me,” he said, handing me his meishi, or business card. “And I have to admit that I’m bloody excited about the possibility that you might have another of the special swords made by Kannemori. I just got back in town and I had to rush over to see it.”

“Frankly, I’m excited about it, too. It’s something I picked up at a garage sale and I never anticipated that it would be worth anything more than decoration.”

“Well, I’m not a sword appraiser,” the professor said, “but if you’re interested in selling it I can introduce you to several chaps who would be anxious to buy it. The exact price would depend on the condition, but if it’s a genuine Kannemori, I’m sure it’s worth at least fifteen to twenty thousand dollars, American.”

That surprised me. A windfall.

“Is the sword here?” The professor’s eyes had a gleam of youthful excitement, like a little boy before Christmas.

“I’ll get it,” Junko said. “Why don’t you two sit down and relax. I’ll also get us some tea.”

That the professor jumped into business before some of the Japanese social preliminaries were handled was surprising to me, but I had already concluded that Hirota was a rather interesting man. We both sat down in the chairs around the coffee table, with Hirota putting his portfolio on the table.

“Your English has a British tinge to it,” I remarked.

“Yes. People often comment on it. I studied comparative history at Cambridge for two years and I picked up the accent there. To tell you the truth, I’ve made an effort to keep it because it rather enhances my image in academic circles. There’s nothing like an English accent to make even the most banal statement sound reasoned and scholarly. It’s pulled my chestnuts out of the fire on more than one occasion when I’ve made a silly ass of myself in front of colleagues at conferences or such where we use English. Instead of branding me as a dunce, the accent causes them to nod sagely, as if I have just made a singularly intelligent statement.”

I laughed and he joined in.

“Are you a sword enthusiast?” he asked.

“No, not unless you count samurai movies.”

“Oh? Perhaps something like Zatoichi, the blind swordsman movies?”

I was almost insulted. The Zatoichi movies are great fun, but I’m not a kid. “Actually I was thinking of something like Inagaki’s samurai trilogy or any of Kurosawa’s samurai films. I even consider Ozu’s Uegestu a samurai movie, although most would classify it as a ghost film.”

He gave me a big smile. “You are a samurai enthusiast!”

“No, just an old film enthusiast. Most of the movies I see don’t have too many living actors.”

Hirota laughed. “Are you staying in Japan for very long?”

“Unfortunately, no. Just a few more days until the News Pop television show is on. I’m scheduled to leave Japan right after that.”

“That’s unfortunate. It would be wonderful if you could see the real Japan, not just the crowding and glitter of Tokyo. I perceive that you are of Japanese ancestry, and it would be wonderful if you could trace down your roots.”

“If I ever get to return to Japan that will be a project I’ll try to arrange. Right now I’m just trying to stay out of trouble until the television show.”

“Well, there are still many things to see in Tokyo. I hope you have a pleasant time in our country.”

“It’s been eventful, if nothing else, but I hope the rest of my stay will be nice.”

Before we could continue Junko came in with a tray holding two covered, handleless cups filled with green tea, the ubiquitous refreshment in Japanese business meetings. She put them down before us and left to get the sword.

“When you said ‘eventful’ you used a tone that makes me wonder what you meant. Has anything untoward happened during your stay here?”

“Well, I’ve been chased twice by a couple of Yakuza thugs, not something on the usual tourist itinerary.”

“Yakuza? What on earth for?”

“I don’t know for sure, but in the case that got me on News Pop, I put away the son of the head of the Sekiguchi-gummi. I think they’re trying to take revenge.”

“That is frightening. I do hope you’re taking every precaution to assure your safety.”

“I’m going to do what they used to do in the old West. I’m leaving town. I’ll return on the day of the show.”

“I thought the frontier marshal always stayed in town to fight it out with the tough guys.” Hirota picked up his cup to sip the hot tea.

“That was Gary Cooper in High Noon. This is Ken Tanaka in Tokyo. I don’t feel I have a responsibility to protect the capital city of Japan from a couple of Yakuza. The Tokyo police don’t seem too interested in pursuing the case, so I’m going to do what’s best to protect me.”

“Please do. I’m afraid this will probably leave a very bad impression with you about Japan. Our society seems to break down with each passing day and I’m sorry you’ve been disappointed by your visit here.”

“Not disappointed. It’s actually been wonderful. The situation I find myself in is a legacy from Los Angeles, so it’s not something the typical tourist would encounter.”

Junko returned with the sword in its scabbard. Hirota stood up, his eyes bright with anticipation. “May I inspect it?” he asked me.

“Of course,” I said.

He carefully took the sword from Junko and placed it on the coffee table. He unzipped his portfolio and took out a large piece of folded white paper. He unfolded the paper and placed it on the coffee table. It covered the tabletop, overlapping slightly. He moved the sword so it was sitting on the paper. Then he withdrew the sword from its scabbard and placed it down on the paper. He examined it in silence for several moments, then he picked it up and sighted down its blade, with the sharpened side up.

“It’s really in marvelous condition,” he said. “The scabbard and handle are a bit scruffy, but the blade, which is the soul of the weapon, is still bright and sharp. It certainly looks like a Kannemori sword, but I would have to remove the handle and examine the tang to make sure. I don’t know how complete an inspection you’ll allow me, but I’d like to, at a minimum, take a rubbing of the blade.”

He reached into his portfolio and took out two manila envelopes, each labeled in kanji. He opened them and took out two large pieces of tissue paper. Each piece of paper held the image of a sword blade, done in reddish-brown chalk. The tissue paper was put over the blade and the chalk was rubbed across the sword, transferring the patterns on the blade to the paper. The designs were quite clear. One of the blade rubbings ended at the sword guard, but the other was of the complete blade with the handle and guard removed. The tang of this blade had kanji characters incised in it.

“These are rubbings of two other Kannemori swords with these unusual patterns. This sword is at the Japan National Museum.” He indicated the rubbing without a tang and then pointed to the other rubbing. “And this is a Kannemori sword owned by a private collector in Kyoto.”

“They’re different,” I pointed out.

“Yes. The patterns on each are quite distinctive. It’s a highly unusual feature for a Japanese sword. You’ll note I couldn’t get permission to remove the handle of the sword at the Japan National Museum, so I don’t have an impression of the tang. I had a request in to the museum to allow me to do this, but the sword was stolen before it was granted.”

“Stolen?”

“Yes. A student who was working as an intern at the museum apparently stole the sword. He was only a suspect, but he recently committed suicide, apparently in remorse. They searched his room, but they couldn’t find the sword. It’s a very tragic case.”

“Why is the tang important?”

Hirota pointed to the kanji on the rubbing with a tang. “This is the name of the swordsmith and the date the sword was made. ‘Nineteenth year of Keicho,’ which is 1614 on the Western calendar.”

“Your article said there was also the number three on the tang,” Junko said. “Did you get any more information on what that means?”

“Here’s the number,” Hirota said, pointing at a kanji that looked like three parallel strokes. “I’m afraid the number is as mysterious as when I wrote the article. Frankly, I’m curious to see if Mr. Tanaka’s blade also has a number on the tang. I’m prepared to take a rubbing of your blade right now, but actually I’d like to take your sword with me and remove the handle to take a complete rubbing of the tang. I’ll take very good care of it, and the sword will be restored to proper condition. In fact, I’ll even have the handle restored at my expense, because it looks in need of refurbishment.”

“Will you have the sword back by the show?” Junko interjected.

“When is the show?”

“In two days.”

“Oh, I’ll be done by then,” Hirota said. “And I know an expert restorer who I’m sure will restore the handle on a rush basis, if I ask him. I’m positive I can get my work done in two days. So what do you think, Mr. Tanaka? I’ll be able to authenticate your sword as a Kannemori, you’ll get the handle refurbished, and I’ll guarantee that I’ll have the sword back in time for the television show. Will you let me take your sword?”

I wanted him to authenticate the sword, but I was a little curious about the blade and wanted more information. Without answering him I asked, “Do you know what the patterns on the blades mean?”

“It’s supposed to be some kind of message, although what kind of message I don’t know. On your blade there’s a mountain with two peaks and what looks like a line of some kind. I don’t know what that line means, but the mountains are yama in Japanese, so they may be part of two names.”

“I met a wrestler named Torayama last night,” I said.

“That means Tiger Mountain, a good name for a rikishi,” Hirota said. He pointed at one of the rubbings. “On the Kyoto blade there’s a rock outcropping that looks like the letter M and what appears to be a forest. On the Japan museum blade there are two temples and a stream between them. I’ve wracked my brain but I don’t know what this is all supposed to mean.”

“What about the legend?” Junko said. “Your article said something about a legend, but it didn’t give any details.”

“That’s what Sonoda-san says. He’s the owner of the Kyoto blade. He says there’s a legend associated with the blades and that the patterns on the blade give some kind of instructions. I don’t know if that’s true, because I’ve checked the ancient texts and there’s no mention of a legend associated with these swords. Sonoda-san says he has a family connection that allowed him to learn of the legend. I could repeat what little I know, but it would be a lot more interesting coming directly from Sonoda-san, who knows all the details. If you’re serious about learning more, I could introduce you to Sonoda-san, and I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you what he knows.”

“Mr. Sonoda lives in Kyoto?”

“That’s right.”

I looked at Junko. Getting things from the horse’s mouth is always best, but I wasn’t sure how I would get to Kyoto. “Instead of Nikko, would the producers pay for me to stay in Kyoto until the show?”

“I’m sure they would. It actually might be easier to stay out of trouble in a big city like Kyoto, instead of a small town like Nikko.”

I turned to Hirota. “Dr. Hirota, you are welcome to examine my blade as fully as you wish. I’d like a couple of things, though. One is a copy of whatever rubbing you make of my blade. I can frame it and it will make a nice keepsake if I ever sell the sword. I’d also like photocopies of the other two rubbings you have.”

Hirota looked surprised. “What on earth for?”

“In addition to the Japan National Museum theft, two other Kannemori swords were stolen recently, one in New York and one in Rotterdam. That makes three swords by an ancient Japanese swordsmith stolen in a short amount of time.”

“How do you know that?”

“Junko uncovered it while doing computer research for the show.”

“So Kannemori blades are being stolen?”

“That’s correct.”

“Which means …” Hirota raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued.

I laughed. “I don’t know what it means. I’m just curious and lately I’ve been making a hobby of satisfying my curiosity.”

Junko made the photocopies of Hirota’s rubbings for me, reducing them to a sheet of paper that was approximately legal size. Hirota promised to contact Mr. Sonoda in Kyoto to arrange a meeting and he said he’d tell Junko about it.

When our business was done Hirota left, clutching my sword. Junko looked at me as soon as Hirota left the meeting area and said, “What do you have in mind about those swords?”

I sighed. “Do you have hunches in Japan?”

“Hunch?” It was the first time I had stumped her with an English word.

“A feeling. Intuition. The thought that something might be important, even though you don’t have all the facts to prove that thought is true.”

“Oh yes, chokkan. We have that,” Junko said.

“Well, I’ve got a hunch about these swords. It’s strange that, in a few weeks’ time, several examples of the work of some obscure seventeenth-century swordmaker should get stolen. I believe in coincidence, but if this is only a coincidence, it’s a very strange one. I just want to gather some information about these swords to see if there’s a pattern.”

“So you’re starting to work on another mystery while you’re here in Japan?” Junko asked, rather excited.

I laughed. “I don’t know what I’m doing, except satisfying my curiosity. I don’t know if there is a mystery. In mystery books and detective movies all sorts of things fit together to form a complicated plot, but in life things just happen. Sometimes they’re connected and sometimes they’re not.”

Sugimoto stuck his head in the room and nodded to me. “Sorry to hear about last night,” he said. “I should have gone with you to the hotel to make sure you’d be safe.”

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “No real harm was done, and I got to see the inside of a Tokyo police station.”

“Can you excuse us for a minute while we talk Japanese?” Sugimoto said.

“Sure.”

He started talking to Junko and both their demeanors changed radically with the switch in language. He became very abrupt during his conversation and Junko became very submissive, even bowing her head at the end of the conversation. It surprised me to see the transformation, and although my meager Japanese wouldn’t allow me to keep up with the conversation, I heard Sugimoto say baka, or fool, several times. When he was done he looked at me and said, “Sorry to interrupt your conversation,” and left abruptly.

“What was that all about?” I asked Junko.

“He thinks I’m wasting time on this sword business and ordered me to stop. I apologized for upsetting him.”

“Have I gotten you in trouble?”

“No. Japanese males think they can order any female around. I didn’t want to argue, so I nodded meekly and agreed with him. Now he’s going away happy and I can continue doing what I want to. That’s how we females handle things here. I have what you call a hunch, too. My hunch is that this might turn into a terrific story, and I want to help you get more information about the swords before the show. Sugimoto-san may think it’s stupid, but if it doesn’t turn out to be a good story we won’t lose too much.”

“How are you going to help?”

“I’ll make sure Hirota-san sets up a meeting for you with Sonoda-san in Kyoto. I’ll also make sure the producers pay for your trip. I’ll make the arrangements so you can leave tomorrow morning. I’ve also got some other ideas that I want to check on.”

“That sounds great. I hope this doesn’t cause conflict for you with Sugimoto-san.”

“Sugimoto-san doesn’t accept it, but for now we’re equals on the show. He can’t tell me what to do. With his connections he’ll be far above me someday, but right now he can’t really do anything to me.”

“He’s got connections?”

“Oh, yes. His family is very rich. His father owns a record business and the family bought a lot of Tokyo real estate in the sixties. The real estate market isn’t what it used to be, but Sugimoto-san’s family got into it early enough so they weren’t too hurt when the market deflated. Buzzsan is in television because he thinks he’s making it on his own, but his family’s money and influence have opened a lot of doors for him.”

“But he told me he’s a rebel. I didn’t see him as a member of an establishment family.”

Junko laughed. “He’s just old for being a rebel. A lot of Japanese males go through a stage of rebellion before they settle into a corporate life as a salaryman. Usually it’s in college, but Buzz-san has just clung to that role longer than most.”

“A salaryman is an office worker?”

“I guess you would call them a company man in English. Buzz-san will stop wearing the Levi’s and T-shirts some day and slip into a dark suit and tie. Then his family connections will shoot him to the top, and he knows it. That’s why he’s so conservative. Did he talk to you about the decline of Japan yet?”

“Just briefly at dinner last night.”

“It’s one of his favorite subjects. Don’t let the clothes fool you. In his heart he’s still a fiercely traditional Japanese male.”

“Junko, did you tell Buzz about my encounter with the two thugs last night?”

“No. Why?”

“No reason,” I answered vaguely.