by Ben Stevens
‘‘And here comes our illustrious ‘Forty-eighth Ronin’ now,’ I then remarked, seeing through the now-fragrant smoke of the eels that hard-faced young man and his two friends approaching, the gathered townspeople hurriedly getting out of their path.
‘‘Well,’ growled the ronin. ‘Let’s see if you’ve made the filth sold by this old sod taste any better…’
‘As we handed him and his two friends a grilled eel on a stick, I noticed that they all sniffed the air almost with appreciation. Maybe, I considered, there was a chance. Maybe this young man’s bad intentions could be altered through something positive – an appreciation for fine food…
‘I watched as the three ronin bit into the eels. A few seconds passed; the two friends of this so-called ‘Forty-eighth Ronin’ exchanged cautious, almost secretive glances as they chewed. One nodded slightly, and I felt my heart fill with hope…
‘Then the face of their leader suddenly flushed, and he threw half of the eel left on the stick into the dust, and spat out what was in his mouth.
“Tastes even worse than before!’ he cried, his eyes blazing as his hand went for his sword. At this Mizoguchi suddenly groaned, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.
‘I attended to him in an instant, the eel-seller’s wife also crouching down, as the Forty-eighth Ronin emitted a callous cackle of laughter.
“Ah,’ he said, ‘I don’t even have to do anything to make this silly old fool pass out with fear. Just tell him, when he wakes up, that after tomorrow – New Year’s Day – he’d better not cook another eel in his life!’
‘And the three ronin swaggered away, the two other men obviously deciding not to inform their leader that they’d actually been quite partial to what they’d just tasted. Indeed, I believed that the Forty-eighth Ronin had been as well –but still not enough to make him change his unpleasant intentions towards the eel-seller and his wife.
‘We – that is, the eel-seller’s wife and I – finally managed to get Mizoguchi awake and to his feet, and then helped him walk to the small home he and his wife had nearby. Having put him to bed, his wife then insisted that I also stay the night in the only other room aside from their bedroom.
‘She also explained to me that the Forty-eighth Ronin and his two friends were widely known and feared in this area, and that they’d begun ‘bullying’ her husband just a few weeks earlier, demanding that he close down his stall and scaring away what few customers had patronized the place previously.
‘I lay awake for much of that night, thinking. If the worst came to the worst, then I would find some way of scaring the Forty-eighth Ronin away – for I was determined that he and his friends would not put anyone out of business; certainly not an aging eel-seller and his wife…
‘But still, if I had to resort to violence – or at least, the threat of violence – to achieve such a thing, then I would have failed in my objective. But how else to cause an obviously dangerous young thug to have an abrupt change of heart…?
‘The eel-seller had somewhat recovered the following day – that is, New Year’s Day – and he and his wife invited me to join them for a traditional midday meal, with shrimp and that special, spicy drink called Toso that is commonly consumed only over the New Year period, and which (it is claimed) can accomplish everything from curing illness to driving away evil spirits.
‘Mizoguchi and his wife seemed almost resigned to the fact that they would have to close their stall. They even talked of how they might have to leave the very town where they’d lived all their lives, although they were getting on in years and had little money.
‘I stayed largely silent, listening to them as they talked. They thanked me for they way I’d tried to assist them, although they still seemed a little confused as to the actual reason why I’d intervened.
‘I sipped my small cup of Toso, watching as the wife began quietly to cry, her husband doing the best he could to comfort her. An acute feeling of rage grew quickly within my chest, so that I almost made to leave this tiny building and search right now for this so-called ‘Forty-eighth Ronin’ (really, the heroic story of the Forty-seven Ronin being considered, was there anyone with less right to such a nickname?), as well as his two friends.
‘Except then… then I had a sudden realization. A way in which this whole situation could still be saved, without my having to act in a violent or threatening manner. A flash of inspiration, if you will.
‘‘Mizoguchi-san,’ I said, ‘I realize that this is New Year’s Day, and so you intended to rest – but I shall have to ask you to start grilling some eels straight away. We have work to do, if we are to have any chance of saving your stall.’
The eel-seller looked at me with dazed incomprehension; but wiping her eyes, his wife rose determinedly to her feet and said –
‘‘Come on, husband. I trust this man; and we still have to try; we can’t just give up yet…’
‘At midmorning the following day, Mizoguchi, his wife, I and those townspeople who’d gathered in disbelief that we were daring to open this stall again observed the approach of the Forty-eighth Ronin and his two friends.
‘‘What the hell?’ cried the leader. ‘Did you think I was joking? That I wouldn’t kill you if you didn’t do exactly as I say? Well, now you’ll find out just how serious I am…’
‘With the eel-seller again looking as though he was about to pass out, I said –
‘‘Just try some of what we are grilling…’
‘‘You – whoever you are,’ retorted the young thug. ‘You are closer to death than you can possibly imagine…’
‘‘Just one more time,’ I entreated. ‘That is all…’
‘The leader of the three men shook his head and hesitated for a few moments, but then motioned for the two other ronin to take the eels on sticks I was holding out. And one of the men passed one eel to the Forty-eighth Ronin, before biting cautiously into his own.
‘I watched the face of the leader closely. Confusion at first… extreme surprise then anger, his skin turning a little purple, so that for a moment I thought he would throw the food back down into the dirt and reach for his sword…
‘And then – amazement. Really, there is no other way to describe what was at once pictured on that cruel, hard face. An expression also mirrored by his two friends, as they took further, greedy bites from their eels...
‘‘Hey – you, and you,’ called the Forty-eighth Ronin abruptly, pointing at several of the townspeople huddled around, his chin shining from the juices running from his mouth as he spoke. ‘Get some eel, now! You have to try this…’
‘The townspeople hastened to oblige, as Mizoguchi similarly hastened to pour some of that special sauce we’d spent several hours concocting the previous day over the grilling eels.
‘For it was this sauce that had wrought such a shocking transformation in the attitude of the Forty-eighth Ronin towards this shabby stall. It was primarily just the sauce I’d brought two days before – only with a little something extra now added…
‘‘Hey! Make sure you pay him!’ berated the leader of the three ronin, as the townspeople initially accepted the eels on sticks without any money changing hands.
‘With these people thus obliged to do as the Forty-eighth Ronin demanded, Mizoguchi and his wife quickly saw the bowl used for collecting coins start to overflow…
‘I poured more sauce over the eels, passing them out, making sure that the Ronin received second helpings…
‘People were laughing now, trying to talk even with their mouths full. The Ronin were shouting at people passing, except this time almost good-naturedly, exhorting them to try the eels for themselves. But many of these people needed no such encouragement; the smell of the grilling eels was all but heavenly…
‘Mizoguchi’s face had become flushed and jolly, his wife’s face the same. The success of their stall was now assured; people would actively come from miles around, even, to try these eels. Yet as I watched those Ronin gorge themselves, and then finally start to swagger
away, I felt a coldness grow within me.
‘..They would be back, once the euphoria caused by those eels and the special sauce had evaporated. They would start demanding ‘protection’ money. They would also demand to know what made this sauce so special – or rather, what had been added to it since the last time they’d tasted it. They would demand the recipe (so that they could sell it on) which I intended only for Mizoguchi and his wife to know, until such time as they retired and thus found someone they considered suitable to pass it on to…
‘Yes, these Ronin would be back – unless I discreetly followed them, soon to deal with them in no uncertain manner…
‘So, I had failed in my experiment. I had briefly caused those three violent young men to have a change of heart – through what I’d realized could be added to the sauce for the eels, so to make its taste quite simply outstanding – but their base character remained the same, of course, and so they would certainly return to bully and harass the eel-seller and his wife again in the very near future…
‘I set off, my departure unnoticed by Mizoguchi and his wife – so busy were they being kept cooking and serving the sauce-drenched eels – or the townspeople cramming the delicious food into their mouths.
‘The ronin seemed to be heading towards some woods surrounding this town, where doubtless they had a camp of sorts. That was good; for it was in such a lonely place, I decided, that I would strike…’
…My master stopped talking, his eyes distant.
‘And the sauce, master,’ I heard myself say quietly. ‘Can I know just what this ‘special ingredient’ actually was…?’
‘It was the Toso, Kukai,’ declared my master, swiveling his eyes to look at me. ‘We spent some time that New Year’s Day, Mizoguchi and me – and his wife – working out in what ratio to add that spicy drink to the already delicious sauce I’d given them.
‘But, once such details were finalized (not so much Toso was required, as it turned out), we’d improved the taste almost – ten-fold, perhaps. No one could resist it. It really was something quite special.
‘Only, don’t tell another soul. I happen to know that Mizoguchi and his wife are still alive and in good health – and continuing to do an excellent trade with their ‘secret sauce’. When the time is appropriate, they’ll decide just who to pass this particular secret on to –’
My master was interrupted as the sliding door to this room suddenly flew open. There stood a man with a wild expression, his kimono patched and dirty. Two swords were in separate scabbards, worn on his left-hand side, so that I recognized immediately that this was presumably –
‘Ah, it’s our friend the so-called ‘Forty-eighth Ronin’,’ declared my master easily, still reclining as though he’d nothing to concentrate on save the digestion of his meal. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it? You’ve arrived just in time to answer the next question I believe my servant Kukai here was about to ask.’
The ronin didn’t so much as glance in my direction, his eyes like fire as they instead focused wholly upon my master.
‘We finally meet again, Ennin,’ he growled. ‘You’ve become pretty famous, haven’t you? But now I’m about to make my name as the one who finally killed you – along with your servant here – with both your heads then being presented to the person who will pay me so handsomely for your deaths.
‘But of course, I will destroy you first and foremost out of revenge; for the cowardly way you surprised me and the two others, there in that forest several years ago…’
‘Ah, I was wondering when you’d start coming to the point,’ muttered my master, barely stifling a yawn.
‘Silence!’ the ronin almost shrieked, his eyes bloodshot and bulging. ‘Creeping up on us as we slept, first tying us up and then awakening us, and then…’
For a moment the ronin’s voice faltered; and there in that softly-lit room, in a voice that was suddenly like ice, chilling my very bones, my master interjected –
‘All I said was words; merely words… But you knew, if ever you returned to that town and bothered that eel-seller and his wife again, that I would find out, and that you would pay more dearly than you could ever imagine…’
The ronin abruptly shook his head, although for a moment naked fear showed in that otherwise hard and callous face.
‘Enough, Ennin! I have waited years for this moment; the other two men are gone, now, lost to alcohol and women; but at least I, I, will have my revenge. It’s taken me so long to get on your trail, so elusive are you, and yet finally – ’
‘Actually, I allowed you to both find and start following me some six – or is it now seven? – days before,’ declared my master mildly, before taking another sip of sake.
‘You’re one of a number of people who would dearly love to separate my head from my shoulders,’ he continued. ‘Please don’t assume that your burning sense of injustice, derived from the way I treated you at some point in your tragic waste of a life, is somehow unique.’
At this, the ronin’s hand moved suddenly to the handle of his long sword. I started, beginning to rise, yet certain that my master and I were about to be cut down. We had no weapons – there was nothing we could do against a master swordsman, no matter how skilled my master was at unarmed combat…
Yet my master casually continued –
‘You’re a sound sleeper, aren’t you? I’ve had the opportunity to observe you slumbering no less than twice now…’
‘Wha…?’ grunted the ronin, his hand faltering by the sword handle, his mouth gaping almost stupidly open in surprise at my master’s words.
‘Yes,’ nodded my master. ‘Once there in that forest, of course – but also last night, as you rested in the room of that other inn which is nearby. I realized that you were about to make your move, aware as I was that you’d bribed the maid downstairs into telling you what time we had booked this room for – this room at the very top of the inn, rather ‘snug’ and private, where you considered you could pour out the nature of your grievance before chopping off our heads with your sword.
‘And that folded sack you have hanging off from your belt? That is to put our heads in, I assume? How charming.’
And with a slight, mocking burst of laughter, my master reached for the sake flask and refilled both our cups!
Again, the ronin made to draw his sword. But again he faltered, saying –
‘You… you crept into my room at that inn and watched me asleep… last night…? Knowing that I was going to come here and kill you? Yet you did nothing; you didn’t kill me, nor even attempt to run…’
My master’s voice was at once hard and contemptuous –
‘I have no need to run from you, little fool. Now, I grow bored of this tedious conversation. Just get on with what you came here to do, and stop procrastinating.’
With a roar of rage, the ronin pulled his long sword. Yet there was no ‘singing’ of sharp metal leaving the scabbard; no flash of deadly steel…
Instead, my mouth fell open as I realized that a thin strip of bamboo had somehow been attached to one end of the ‘sword’ handle – that is, the end where the actual blade should have begun…
‘It took me a good hour to make this little modification to your weapon,’ declared my master mildly. ‘I made as little noise as possible while doing so, removing the blade and so on. Certainly your drunken snoring was louder, in any case.’
‘Ah!’ croaked the ronin, dropping his useless ‘weapon’ and now pulling his short sword…
But this, too, also had only the strip of bamboo where previously there been a razor-sharp blade.
‘I’m sorry – I should have said ‘weapons’… But you don’t read much, do you?’ said my master rhetorically, as he began slowly to rise to his feet. ‘There is a story about a samurai who meets with such financial ill-fortune that he is obliged to sell his very sword. But by attaching a length of bamboo to a sword handle, and retaining a scabbard, he is thus able to ‘keep up appearances’, as it were.
‘So, I confess, I in fact copied the idea for this ‘bamboo sword’.’
At once the ronin turned as though to flee – which was when my master started forward quicker almost than thought, grabbing our would-be assassin by the scruff of his kimono.
‘Yes,’ said my master in a musing tone. ‘Once again, when I have you at my mercy – without a sword in your hand – you show that, inside, you are about as strong as rotten tofu. I remember how when I awakened you, there in that wood several years ago, you showed your sudden sense of terror in quite a… definite manner, shall we say.
‘Needless to say, even your two friends were taken aback by your somewhat… offensive… reaction. I should imagine the memory of this still rankles, as it will until such time as your pitiful existence finally comes to an end. I should imagine that this will be in an inn somewhere, an empty flask of alcohol by your side.’
My master shrugged, as this so-called ronin made futile attempts to free himself from that steel-like grip of his kimono.
‘But don’t worry – I shan’t be the one who ends your life, as that would merely be to commit cold-blooded murder. However, I shall now begin to severely chastise you, until you give me the name of whoever it is who intended to reward you so handsomely for the heads of my servant and me…’
With this, my master began to beat the man in such a methodical manner that I could barely watch. The ronin shrieked and begged for mercy, but none was forthcoming. As my master’s fists found yet another area on that man’s face and body to strike, he merely repeated his calm desire to know who would have paid the ronin to kill us.
Finally, the beating ceased. The ronin had called out ‘I don’t know! Please, I don’t know – always any communication was just by a message delivered…!’ so many times that it was impossible that this was not the truth.
‘Go,’ my master told the battered, bleeding ronin. ‘Go and never, ever seek to find me again – I give you just this final warning. Ignore it, and what just happened to you will seem merely like the midnight caresses of a geisha…’