by Margi Preus
“Do you suppose people who live in a country that is never at war are different from people who live in a country that is constantly at war?” Jack mused. He turned to Willis, who blinked at him, his pale eyelashes fluttering nervously. “It certainly seems peaceful here,” Jack went on. The countryside, enveloped by a delicate gray haze, was tranquillity itself.
The Susquehanna was anything but. Its decks bristled with muskets and men armed with carbines, pistols, and cutlasses. Sentinels were stationed fore and aft, and neat piles of round shot and four stands of grape stood ready beside each gun.
Suddenly, a battery from land puffed a cloud of white smoke, and everyone on deck tensed, waiting for the explosion. But instead of the expected missile, a rocket burst in the air.
“ ’Tis but a signal,” Griggs, the grizzled old captain of the gun, announced.
“Will they be hostile or peaceable, d’ye suppose?” asked Ramsey, the rammer and sponger.
“As to the manner of our reception, there is nothing certain,” answered Davis, first loader.
“Orders are ‘Any unusu’l movement on shore or on the water, sound the alarm,’” Griggs said. “Boats’re not allowed to approach within rifle range. We’re t’ meet force with force.”
“I say we blow all the slant-eyes to the heavens,” Toley, another cabin boy, grumbled. “They’re naught but heathens anyhow. Ain’t I right, Willis?” He smiled at Willis, which, Jack knew, was Willis’s cue to agree.
Willis didn’t answer right away.
“Am I right, Willis?” Toley asked again, his smile tightening.
“Right,” Willis muttered.
Jack wondered if it didn’t irk Willis to always have to agree with everything Toley said. But maybe Willis didn’t mind. He never said he did.
“The commodore says our mission is to ‘bring a singular and isolated people into the family of civilized nations,’” Ramsey quoted.
“I’ll tell you the real reason we’re here,” said Davis. “It’s trade we’re after. To get some ports where American ships might land. Whalers, merchants, and the like. And to get coal to keep our steamers running.”
“They wants nothin’ to do with us, I tell ye!” Griggs insisted. “We’ve all heard their edick what says, ‘So long as the sun shall warm th’ earth, let no Christian be so bold as to come to Japan; and let all know that the king of Spain, or the Christian’s God, or the great God on all, if he should get it in his mind to come here, shall pay for it with his head.’”
“From what I’ve heard,” said Smith, one of the topmen, getting into the conversation, “they’ll have to go along with our demands. There’s those that think we could load all their cannon into one of our sixty-four-pounders and shoot them all back!”
“Maybe so,” Griggs went on, his voice becoming a low growl. “But ne’er forget, they be masters of the cold steel. ’Tis said their blades’re bright and sharp and can cleave a man asunder from head to foot.”
Ramsey nodded solemnly, then added, “Aye, and they slice so cleanly from shoulder to crotch that a man’ll walk on several paces afore falling in two!”
There was silence as all pondered on that.
Jack’s heart was as heavy as if it had been packed with grapeshot. Where had all his earlier bravado gone? All the way from Macao to Japan, he—and the others, too—had bragged about how many heathens they would knock off if it came to a fight. Jack had buzzed with excitement at the prospect of getting to be a powder monkey in the thick of the action. Wouldn’t that be something to tell his friends back home? He’d tell them about the real fighting he’d been in and how he’d blown the heads off a few of those slant-eyed devils.
Now, though, faced with the actual possibility of having fire directed back at them, and hearing tales of the Japanese swords, the buzz of excitement turned to a kind of rolling beat—farther back in his head, in the back of his throat, and thrumming away like a drum beating to quarters in the pit of his stomach.
4
THE ARMOR
The courtyard came suddenly alive. The young samurai roused themselves from the shade of the trees and stood blinking in the bright sunlight as the kendo teacher shouted instructions at them.
Kitsune stalked across the courtyard and addressed Yoshi and Jun: “Tell the house servants to make preparations, and to ready Hideki’s armor.” When the boys didn’t move, he added, “Don’t just stand there! Go!”
Yoshi and Jun turned and ran.
At Hideki’s dwelling, wind chimes clinked and clanged in lonely fashion. It seemed like the only sound in the whole house, except for old Chuu, who was solemnly sweeping the entryway.
“Where is everyone?” Yoshi asked.
“Family members are in their chambers, making preparations. Some servants ran away,” Chuu said. “Afraid of the white devils.”
“Why haven’t you run away?” Jun asked.
Chuu tapped the broom handle against his bad leg. “Can’t run,” he said.
“What should we do?” Jun wondered aloud. “Maybe we should run away, too.”
“And tomorrow morning not have our jobs?” Yoshi said. “Or, worse, our heads?”
“Aren’t you worried about the barbarians?”
“I’m more worried about the wrath of Kitsune than I am about the barbarians,” Yoshi said. “I think we’d better find and prepare Hideki’s armor ourselves.” His fingers twitched with the anticipation of actually touching real armor.
The boys found the large chest that held Hideki’s armor and opened it. The smell of mildew knocked Yoshi back for a moment.
“Here it is,” he said. “He inherited his grandfather’s armor or something like that. I remember hearing about it.”
“Ohhh . . . ,” Jun said. “That doesn’t look good.”
As Yoshi lifted out the large body piece, some of the metal scales fell off. Its lacquer finish was spotted with mildew; the colors of the lacing were faded and moldy.
“This helmet,” Yoshi said, lifting it up, “must have been magnificent in its day.” Now, though, it was flecked with rust, and one of the metal wings was bent. Yoshi had expected to feel excitement, but the frayed silk and bent metal in his hands filled him with melancholy. He’d heard it said that the days of the noble samurai were over. Here was the proof: armor dissolving into dust, mildewing into a white powder.
Samurai armor. (Yuko Shimizu)
“How could this have happened? How could Hideki have neglected his armor this way? How could it have been overlooked for so long?” Yoshi whispered, feeling in his gut a deep and powerful emptiness. For without the mighty samurai warriors, who would protect them from the barbarians?
As ragged as it all was, Yoshi reverently laid each piece out on the tatami in the right order. First the short kimono and trousers. Shin pads, thigh guards. Next the padded sleeves would be pulled on, and then the chest guard and throat protector. For just a moment he indulged himself, wondering what it would be like to wear this armor, to ride a horse into battle, to wield a flashing katana.
The shoji door slid open abruptly, and the boys looked up to see another young samurai standing there.
Yoshi and Jun went down on their knees as he entered.
“Where is Hideki-san?” the boy demanded. “He is wanted at the assembly.”
“Begging your pardon, honorable sir,” Yoshi said. “He must have been detained by something very important. Please convey his deepest apologies.”
The young samurai nodded at the armor laid out before them. “Is that his armor?” he asked.
“I believe so,” Yoshi whispered.
“A disgrace!” the samurai said, then spun on his heel and marched away.
“He said that like it was our fault!” Jun said, once the young man was gone. “Why is everything always our fault?”
Yoshi ignored the question. They had bigger worries. “Where do you suppose Hideki has gone?” he asked. “Should we try to find him? Or what should we do?”
“It’s hard
to know what to do without someone giving us orders,” Jun said.
“You finish this,” Yoshi said. “I’ll go look for him.”
Yoshi walked along the deserted corridor, looking into rooms until he came upon Hideki, wearing his formal haori and hakama, and on his knees. His two swords were laid on the floor before him.
Yoshi entered on his knees, head bowed.
“Yoshi-chan,” Hideki whispered. “Please help me.” Yoshi glanced up. Hideki’s face was wet with tears. “I cannot fight,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I do not even want to fight!”
It was so quiet, Yoshi could hear the tap of Hideki’s tears on the tatami floor.
“I am a coward!” Hideki choked out. “I will disgrace my family and our country. You would be a better warrior than I!”
“Do not say so, my lord,” Yoshi whispered.
“Yes, it is true,” Hideki said. “I am such a blunderer, it is likely I will be unable even to end my own life.”
Yoshi’s head jerked up. “No!” he blurted, before he had a chance to compose himself.
“I cannot live with the dishonor, nor can my family. Please help me.” Hideki nodded toward the swords on the floor.
“Please do not think of such a thing!” Yoshi pleaded. “I beg you. Just go away for a while. Maybe nothing will come of all this, and people will forget.”
“Do you think so?”
“I am sure of it,” Yoshi said. “Please, go to the temple. The monks are kind there; they will help you. I will find you some other clothes, so you won’t be recognized as easily.” He moved toward the door.
“Shh!” Hideki whispered. “Someone is coming!”
Far down the corridor, Yoshi could hear doors sliding open, then shut.
“Quickly, then,” Yoshi said. “Take my clothes.” He stripped off his rough-spun short kimono and helped Hideki into it. “First chance you get, cover your topknot with a hat!” he added.
“Now you must have my clothes,” Hideki insisted.
“No!” Yoshi protested.
The footsteps in the corridor were coming their way.
“Go! Go!” Yoshi whispered.
“Come with me, Yoshi,” Hideki begged. “I don’t want you to take my punishment.”
“No,” Yoshi said. “People are looking for you. I will distract them while you get away.”
The footsteps drew closer.
“Go—now!” Yoshi urged Hideki out the door.
But what should he do? Yoshi wondered. He needed something to wear. He’d have to wear Hideki’s clothes. He slipped into the wide-legged hakama, rather too long for him, and the haori, also a bit too baggy. He would change into something correct for his station as soon as possible.
Then he noticed Hideki’s swords. The shorter wakizashi was there on the floor where it had been placed, and next to it, the katana. What should be done with them? Yoshi wondered. He picked up the sword from the floor and held it reverently. The feel of it startled him; its weight and heft were so different than his bamboo sword. And the blade! The blade seemed to pulse—as if it had its own heartbeat.
Katana (top); wakizashi (bottom). (Yuko Shimizu)
Maybe, he thought, maybe I could take Hideki’s place. Maybe I will go to fight the white devils after all. But with the sound of approaching voices, he gave up the thought. He would have to hide the swords somewhere and find something else to wear, and quickly, before he was discovered in Hideki’s clothes.
He stuck his head out of the room, glanced in both directions, and, seeing no one, hurried out across the courtyard.
“Hideki!” a voice behind him shouted. It was Kitsune.
Yoshi froze. Should he run? What should he do? He had promised to distract the others, to help Hideki’s flight, so he slowly turned to face Kitsune. The wide-eyed Jun peeked out from behind the big man.
Then Kitsune realized who it was. “On your knees!” he shouted.
Yoshi lowered himself to his knees, respectfully setting the two weapons down as he had so often practiced with his bamboo sword.
At the command, Jun also went down on his knees, and began to tremble.
“What have you done with Hideki?” Kitsune demanded.
Yoshi was silent.
“Speak, worm! Why are you wearing his clothes? And holding his katana? What kind of outrage have you committed?”
What could he say? Yoshi wondered. Nothing. So he remained silent.
“Where is he?”
Again, Yoshi was silent. He knew the longer he could detain Kitsune, the better chance Hideki had of getting away.
“You have committed some kind of horrible act!” Kitsune said.
Behind him Jun trembled so hard, he was like a dog shaking water off itself.
“Why do you laugh?” Kitsune barked at Jun. “What do you find so funny? Control yourself!”
“Excuse me,” Yoshi said. “He is not laughing; he is afraid.”
Kitsune turned his wrath back on Yoshi. “Why do you speak for him but not for yourself? Tell me what you have done with Hideki—or prepare to die!”
Jun sputtered, his choking sobs indiscernible from gasps of laughter.
“Speak!” Kitsune shouted.
But Yoshi said nothing.
“Then die!” Kitsune said.
With his head still bowed, Yoshi heard the subtle shift of Kitsune’s weight, the scrape of his sandal on the dirt. He heard the great, long katana drawn from its scabbard, felt the air move as the sword was raised, sensed the steel blade overhead, so huge it seemed to block out the sun.
He had heard that the earth was as round as a ball, and that it floated in space like a star. It turned, it was said; it spun. How was it he had never felt the earth’s movement until now? How was it he had never wondered more about this huge, round earth, even to wonder what lay beyond those hills on the far side of the bay? Now he was seized by longing. Longing to know what else there was on this earth.
The kendo teacher had said a true samurai is ready to die every moment of every day. But Yoshi wasn’t a samurai, and he didn’t want to die. In fact, he had never wanted to live more than he did at this moment.
These thoughts passed through his mind in an instant, and in the next he tucked his head and rolled forward, knocking Kitsune down. The man sprawled in the dirt, stunned. On the roll, Yoshi picked up Hideki’s katana, the way he had seen the kendo teacher do it that very day.
Jun stayed on his knees in the dirt, too petrified to move.
“Run!” Yoshi shouted at him, but Jun just stared at him, open-mouthed.
Kitsune had gathered his wits, risen, and now stood with his katana in his hand. “Then Jun shall take the punishment for both of you,” he said, and raised the big sword once more.
5
THE FIGHT
Honorable Kitsune,” Yoshi called with as much confidence as he could muster. He intended to have a proper fight with Kitsune, and do as well as he could, but when the fierce-eyed samurai turned, Yoshi forgot all his practice. He closed his eyes and took a wild swing with Hideki’s sword. He felt the blade sweeping through the air and slicing through something—he hoped it wasn’t flesh—but when he opened his eyes, he saw blood.
Kitsune’s hand went to his face, where a bloody gash had opened his cheek. The startled man looked at the blood on his hand and turned his eyes on Yoshi.
“You!” Spit sprayed from Kitsune’s mouth. “Your life is not worth this.” He kicked dust from the ground.
Yoshi knew it, and in quick succession he dropped the katana, grabbed Jun’s arm, yanked him to his feet, and ran, half-dragging the boy behind him.
The two boys scampered up and over the garden wall, across the bridge, and down the dirt road, finally veering onto a path that cut deep into the forest.
“I’ll find you!” Kitsune’s voice echoed through the forest. “I’ll follow you and you will be punished!”
“Wouldn’t you think he’d be more worried about the barbarians than about two peasants like us?�
� Jun panted.
Yoshi didn’t answer. He was running too hard to say anything, pushed on by the thudding of footsteps behind them. He yanked Jun behind a bunch of thickly clustered hydrangea bushes, and the two boys crouched there, breathing hard.
“Do you think it’s true what they say about Kitsune?” Jun whispered. “That a fox spirit got into him and he can turn into one of them?”
“No, that can’t be true,” Yoshi whispered back. “Listen to him crashing around. And the way he walks? Thud thud thud. If he were really a fox, he would step more softly.”
“I’ll find you dogs!” Kitsune’s voice cut through the hydrangeas the way his sword sliced off the big, globe-like flowers. “You should know to be obedient and loyal to the family who took you in, who looked after you!”
“He’s talking about you,” Jun whispered.
“Shh!” Yoshi hushed him. He knew he owed loyalty to the family who had kept him on as a servant after his mother had died, but did that loyalty extend even to having his head lopped off? “Our whole lives long, we are as good as invisible,” he whispered. “Nobody seems to see us. Nobody wants to see us. Why is it that when we need to be invisible, then no such luck?”
“I’m working on it,” Jun whispered. “That is, becoming invisible. I’ve been practicing.” His eyes gleamed in the flickering green light.
“You’d better make yourself invisible now!” Yoshi whispered as the crashing sounds drew nearer.
Jun squeezed his eyes shut, while Yoshi watched the flashing blade cleanly slice through the bushes not far from where they crouched. The blossoms, each as big as a child’s head, toppled from the stalks.
“Did it work?” Jun whispered.
Yoshi glanced at him. “No,” he said. He turned his attention back to the movement of the bushes. After a moment, he said, “Kitsune has moved away. But he may come back. We’d better get out of here.”
The boys climbed out of the bushes and ran, Yoshi holding up his too-long trouser legs so he wouldn’t trip. They turned first onto this path, then that, through forests of pine and cypress. Broadsheets attached to the trees fluttered in the wind. Even a quick glance was enough to see they were printed with an edict forbidding anyone to go near the Black Ships.