When Jack looked back at the samurai, they were no longer watching him. Jack let out his breath. He picked up his last piece of sushi with his chopsticks and ate it calmly.
“Very good,” said Basho, smiling at him.
“Thanks,” said Jack.
“Let us go now,” said Basho.
Basho folded his napkin neatly and left it beside his plate. Jack and Annie did the same. Basho paid for their meals, and then they stopped at the entranceway to put on their shoes. As they stepped outside, a drum began beating loudly. A huge crowd had gathered on the grassy riverbank.
“What’s happening?” Annie asked.
“Come, I will show you,” said Basho.
People moved aside so Basho could lead Jack and Annie to the front of the crowd.
A large ring had been marked off on the ground with straw. In the middle of the circle, two enormously fat men squatted at opposite sides of the ring. Each man looked as if he weighed more than four hundred pounds. They clapped their hands. Then each began stomping his feet.
“Who are they?” said Annie, her eyes wide.
“Sumo wrestlers,” said Basho. “Sumo wrestling has been our most popular sport for over a thousand years.”
The two wrestlers were now perfectly still. Crouching down with clenched fists, they were glaring at one another. The whole crowd seemed to hold its breath as the wrestlers stared into each other’s eyes. Suddenly one wrestler lunged forward and grabbed the other. Then the hugely fat men began pushing each other around.
“They are trying to force each other out of the ring,” said Basho.
Grunting and groaning, the two men moved backward and forward as spectators cheered wildly. Then one wrestler made a quick move and shoved his rival out of the circle. The crowd roared. Jack found himself cheering, too.
When the noise died down, Basho turned to Jack and Annie. “The first match is over,” he said. “Shall we go now?”
Before Jack and Annie could answer him, two samurai stepped in front of them. One had a big scar on his face. The other had fierce dark eyes.
“Excuse me,” the scar-faced man said. “May we see your passports, please?”
Jack froze.
Basho stepped forward. When the two samurai saw him, they bowed. “Good afternoon, Master,” one said.
“Good afternoon,” said Basho. “These are my students, Koto and Baku. I am afraid they left their passports at home today.”
“They are your students?” said the samurai with the scar.
“Yes, excellent students,” said Basho. “They have much natural talent.”
“Ah.” The two samurai looked at Jack and Annie with interest. “Will you share your talent with us?” one asked, smiling.
What talent? Jack wondered frantically. Some samurai-warrior talent?
Basho saw Jack’s confusion. “Perhaps you would each recite one of your poems,” he said.
“One of our poems?” squeaked Jack. What kind of samurai talent is that? he wondered. Do samurai warriors have to know poems?
“Sure,” said Annie. “Here’s a poem.” She took a deep breath and then recited:
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
The samurai with the scar nodded. “Very good, Koto,” he said. “The little star twinkles like a diamond.”
The other samurai closed his eyes as if he were seeing the star. “Yes, yes, very good!” he said. “A sparkling diamond high above the world! Excellent.”
Both samurai then turned to Jack. “And you, Baku?” one said.
Jack stared at them. He couldn’t remember any poem—not even a nursery rhyme!
“Uh … a poem? Right,” said Jack. “Um. Let’s see…. Okay.” He took a deep breath and said:
I love Japan.
Oh, man.
I really love Japan.
The land of Japan
Is cool.
Jack bit his lip. He knew his poem was bad. He glanced at Annie. She looked as if she were trying not to laugh.
The dark-eyed samurai turned to Basho. “An excellent student?” he said.
Basho nodded. “Well, yes…. Baku has a—a special talent. He needs work, but the talent is there.”
The samurai frowned. “You say he left his passport at home, Master Basho? Where is his home?”
Just then the drumbeat started again. The samurai turned to look. A new sumo match was beginning. The two samurai moved closer to the ring to get a better look.
Basho turned to Jack and Annie. “We should leave now,” he said calmly. “I will take you to my home, where you will be safe.”
Jack, Annie, and Basho quickly left the sumo crowd and blended in with shoppers walking down a busy street. Peddlers carried long poles over their shoulders with baskets swinging on the ends. They shouted about their wares: “Shoes and socks!” “Cakes and pastries!” “Rope and twine!”
One woman had a large box strapped to her back. “Books! Books!” she shouted.
“No thank you,” said Jack. He loved books, but he kept going. He was afraid the samurai might show up again at any moment.
A boy carried birdcages and shouted, “Birds! Birds!”
Suddenly Jack felt a hand on his shoulder. He nearly had a heart attack! But it was just Basho. “I live that way,” said Basho, pointing. “Over the bridge.”
Jack and Annie walked with Basho over a small, narrow bridge that crossed a canal.
Basho led them past a temple, then past small bamboo houses with chickens in their yards. Little children were spinning tops on the dusty ground. One called out, “Hello, Master Basho!” Basho smiled and waved.
Then Jack and Annie walked with Basho along the dirt path bordering the river. Tall pine trees lined the riverbank. A dry wind blew leaves and pine needles into the shallows. Jack started to breathe more easily. He felt safer now.
The trail grew more narrow. The sun slipped behind the tops of the trees. Jack was eager to get to Basho’s castle. He looked for a steep roof and high stone walls like the castles of the samurai.
Through the deepening shadows of twilight, Basho led them to a clearing not far from the river.
At the center of the clearing was a pond overgrown with weeds. On the far side of the pond, moss-covered stones led to the door of a tiny hut. The hut was made of bamboo and had a roof of wood shingles. Next to the small hut was a large plant with droopy green leaves.
“Welcome to my castle,” said Basho.
“This is your castle?” said Jack.
Basho smiled. “In my heart, my humble cottage is grander than all the castles of the samurai,” he explained. “And my banana tree is more beautiful to me than all the beauty of the Imperial Garden.”
Jack and Annie stared at the large plant with the long, droopy leaves.
“I like this tree so much I have taken my name from it,” said Basho. “Basho means ‘banana tree.’”
“Cool,” said Annie. She looked around. “It’s nice here.”
Not really, thought Jack. The cottage was shabby and the droopy banana tree looked scrawny and sad to him.
“Please come inside,” said Basho. He slipped off his sandals and left them outside. He picked up a bundle of wood, then ducked through the low door that led into his hut.
Jack and Annie took off their shoes, too, and followed Basho into a small, shadowy room.
Basho opened his shutters to let in the evening air. “Please sit,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Jack and Annie. Jack looked around the room for chairs, but there weren’t any. The only furniture was a low wooden table and a bamboo chest. Three straw mats covered the earthen floor. Jack and Annie sat down on one of the mats.
Basho lit a small oil lamp. Then he made a fire in his fireplace. “I will prepare tea for us,” he said. “Rest while I draw water from the river.” He picked up one of the two wooden buckets near the doo
r and headed outside.
When Basho was gone, Jack and Annie looked at each other. “I guess this is a three-mat house,” said Annie.
Jack nodded. “You’d think a famous teacher of the samurai would have a hundred-mat house … or at least a fifty-mat house,” he said.
“I like this house, though,” said Annie. “It’s cozy.”
“I wonder who Basho is exactly,” said Jack.
“If he’s famous, maybe he’s in our book,” said Annie. “Look him up.”
“Good idea,” said Jack. He pulled the research book out of his bag. By the light of the crackling fire, he looked up Basho in the index. “He is here!” Jack turned to the right page and read aloud.
Basho is one of Japan’s greatest poets.
He wrote short, beautiful poems that
speak to people as clearly today as they
did during the Edo period of Japan.
“Basho’s a great poet!” said Annie. “That explains everything!”
“Sort of …,” said Jack. “It explains why we had to recite poems to the samurai. But it doesn’t explain why Basho lives in such a dinky house.”
Basho opened the door and came in with his bucket. Jack closed the book and slipped it back into his bag.
Basho poured river water into an iron pot over the fire. He pulled three tiny bowls and a small cloth bag from the bamboo chest. He took loose green tea from the bag and dropped it into the bowls. Then he waited patiently for the water to boil.
Jack and Annie waited patiently, too. Listening to the soft rushing sounds of the river outside, Jack started to feel peaceful for the first time all day.
When the water was hot, Basho poured some into each of the tea bowls. Then he handed the warm bowls to Annie and Jack.
“Thank you,” said Annie.
“Thank you,” said Jack.
“You are welcome,” said Basho.
Jack carefully took a sip from the steaming bowl. The green tea tasted bitter, but he didn’t mind it.
“Hmm, interesting taste,” said Annie. “Basho, Jack was wondering, if you’re a famous poet, why do you live in such a dinky house?”
“Annie!” said Jack, embarrassed. “She’s kidding. I wasn’t really wondering that.”
Basho laughed. “Long ago, I trained to be a samurai,” he said. “But I was not happy. All I wanted to do was write poetry. A poet does not need to live in a castle. A poet needs to live with the wind and the clouds, the flowers and the birds. Here, I have a small garden and my banana tree. I have the sound of the river all day long. Here, I have everything I need to write my poems.”
“What do you write about?” asked Annie.
“Small things,” said Basho. “A crow picking snails out of the mud, a woodpecker hammering a tree, pine needles scattered by the wind. A poet finds beauty in all the small things of nature.”
“And you teach poetry to the samurai?” asked Jack.
“Yes, the samurai greatly honor the art of poetry,” said Basho. “Poetry helps focus the mind. The samurai believe a truly brave warrior should be able to compose a poem even in the midst of an earthquake, or while facing an enemy on the battlefield.”
“Can you say one of your poems for us?” asked Annie.
“Let me think,” said Basho. “Well … I was working on a new poem yesterday.” He reached for a wooden box under the table. He took a small piece of delicate paper from the box and read aloud:
An old pond:
a frog jumps in—
the sound of water.
Basho looked up at Jack and Annie.
“Hmm,” said Jack. “Nice beginning.”
“It is not just the beginning,” said Basho. “It is the whole poem. A small moment in time.”
“I think it’s great,” said Annie. “I love frogs. Your poem makes me love them even more.”
“Would you read it again, please?” Jack said. He felt like he must have missed something.
Basho read again:
An old pond:
a frog jumps in—
the sound of water.
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Good,” he said. “It’s really good.” And he meant it. The poem made him feel as if he himself had been right there, by that pond, hearing the frog splash into the water, breaking the silence.
“If you like it, you may have it,” said Basho. He handed the paper to Jack.
“Thanks!” said Jack. As he put the poem in his bag, a bell rang softly in the distance.
“Ah, the temple bells,” said Basho. He stood up. “It is time to rest. I will take a mat and sleep outside. I enjoy sleeping under the stars. And now, because of the poem you recited today, Annie, I shall think of them as diamonds in the sky.”
Annie smiled.
“You can stay inside and cover yourselves with these mosquito nets,” said Basho. He pulled some nets from the bamboo chest and handed them to Jack and Annie. “But do not worry, in my small house there are only small mosquitoes— not giant ones like those in the Imperial Palace.”
Jack and Annie laughed at Basho’s joke. He gave a net to each of them. Then he picked up one of the mats from the floor and pulled it outside, closing the door behind him.
The fire in the fireplace had died down. The light from the oil lamp had nearly gone out, too. Jack and Annie lay on the straw mats and covered themselves with the mosquito nets. A cricket chirped on the hearth. Jack noticed a patch of light on the floor. He realized it was moonlight coming through the open window.
Jack reached out from under the net and put his hand on the square of pale moonlight. He could hear the rustling of the banana plant in the breeze. Half asleep, he imagined himself swaying with its long, broad leaves.
“This dinky hut is much nicer than a castle,” Annie murmured. “I feel like we’re tiny crickets going to sleep.”
“Yeah … I feel like I’m holding moonlight in my hand,” said Jack, “and like I’m a banana leaf… dancing in the wind.”
“Sounds like a poem,” said Annie.
“Yeah … maybe I should write it down …,” said Jack. But instead, he fell fast asleep.
Clang, clang, clang!
Jack opened his eyes. The sound of bells filled the night—not the gentle ringing of the temple bells but a harsh clanging.
Jack smelled smoke. He and Annie threw off their mosquito nets and stumbled to the door.
Basho was standing in his yard, looking at the dawn sky. It was black with smoke. The bells kept clanging.
“Is there a fire?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” said Basho. “It must be very big, for the bells do not stop ringing from the watch-tower. This is what we have feared most. I must go and help the firefighters.”
“We’ll help, too,” said Jack.
“No, stay here,” said Basho. He pulled on his socks and sandals, then grabbed a wooden bucket by the door. “If the fire gets close, wade into the river, where you will be safe.”
“But we want to help!” said Annie.
“Yes, wait for us!” said Jack. He and Annie pulled on their socks and sandals.
“Come, then,” said Basho. “But if the fire begins to spread, you must promise to return here to the river.”
“We promise!” said Annie.
“Then bring the other bucket and follow me,” said Basho.
“I’ll get it,” said Jack. He hurried into the hut and grabbed the wooden bucket by the hearth. It was heavy, even without water in it. Jack hugged the bucket to his chest and rushed back outside.
Jack and Annie followed Basho through the pine forest. They passed a farmhouse where two small children stood outside, looking at the fiery sky.
“Our father says the lumberyard near the river is burning!” the boy shouted to Basho.
“He has gone to help fight the fire!” said the girl. “Great piles of wood are burning!”
The fire bells kept clanging as Basho, Jack, and Annie rushed past the temple and across the narrow footbridge.
They hurried up the winding dirt path until they came to the shopping market. In the smoky red dawn, people were pushing carts piled high with goods. They were running away from the fire.
But Basho, Jack, and Annie ran toward the fire. The air grew hotter and smokier near the teahouses and the performance stages. Sparks flew through the sky. Tiles on rooftops were catching fire and crashing to the ground.
Basho led Jack and Annie farther through the smoke until they came to the lumberyard. The fire roared as it burned piles of logs. Flames rose high into the sky.
Firefighters were passing buckets of water up a line from the river to the fire. Others waved huge fans to beat back the windblown flames, while the most daring worked with hooks and axes, trying to separate the burning timber.
“Help the bucket brigade!” Basho said to Jack and Annie. “Get water from the river!”
Basho rushed to help the men beating back the fire with fans while Jack and Annie hurried down to the river. Jack filled their wooden bucket. With water inside, it was so heavy he couldn’t lift it.
“Do it together!” said Annie.
“Right!” said Jack.
Using all their strength, Jack and Annie carried their bucket up the bank of the river. As they stumbled along, they tried not to spill the water. Jack could hardly breathe in the smoke-filled air. His throat and eyes burned. His face felt red-hot. Finally, when he thought he couldn’t take another step, they got to the bucket brigade. They gave their bucket to the person at the end, who gave them an empty bucket. “Get more!” he said.
Jack and Annie hurried back to the river with the empty bucket. They filled it with water and then struggled back up the bank.
Over and over, Jack and Annie hauled buckets of water back and forth from the river to the line of firefighters. Everyone worked hard to battle the great blaze. But the flames kept shooting into the sky. Eventually the fire leapt over the river, and timber on the far bank began to burn.
“Oh, no!” cried a woman. “All of Edo will catch fire now!”
“The rice-storage houses will burn down!” said a man. “The harvest will be destroyed!”
Dragon of the Red Dawn Page 3