“Why can’t you do that?” Yoshi teases me. “Then we wouldn’t have to stand around fishing so long.”
I would if I could. Anything to spend less time fishing.
My friends drift back toward Sensei and their rods. But the white crane holds me in place. It turns and looks. Standing straight and still, I raise my arms high.
“Aye-ee-yah.” I am the White Crane.
Aye-ee-yah. The other crane screeches in response, opening its wings wide and lifting itself into the sky. I watch it wheel over the river and head toward the town, the castle, and the ocean. My thoughts soar after it: I’ll see you there. I can’t fly yet, but I’m coming, too.
“It’s very beautiful.” Kyoko’s voice makes me jump. Not easy on one foot.
“So graceful,” she sighs. “Can I tell you a secret? You mustn’t tell anyone. Not even Sensei.”
“Okay.” It’s easy to agree. Whatever it is, Sensei already knows. He always does.
Kyoko smiles. Hesitates. Then blurts, “Sometimes I wish I was beautiful.”
I don’t know what to say, because she already is. I try to remember the words from one of the haiku poems we studied. That would help. But I always fall asleep in poetry class. It’s even more tedious than fishing. But right now I wish I’d paid more attention.
Kyoko shifts uncomfortably in the silence. “Forget what I told you,” she says, reaching out to grab the front of my jacket and twist it tightly. “All right?”
“Okay,” I agree again. It’s hard not to, with her fist in front of my nose.
“What did I say?” she demands.
“When?”
It’s the right answer, and Kyoko lets go of my jacket. “Thanks, Niya.” She turns and runs to join the others. A samurai girl is much harder to understand than any haiku.
“Got one,” Yoshi booms.
Not even Sensei could sleep through that, but his wizard eyes stay closed. They’ll open like magic the moment we have just enough fish. They always do.
“I’ve got one, too,” Nezume shouts.
It’s still another hour before we’ve caught enough. Kyoko strings the last one onto a long stick. Sensei’s eyes snap open.
“More walking, more practice,” he says, jumping to his feet and rapping his staff on the ground.
The last few days we have traveled the back road, skulked through the late afternoon or walked in the darkness. It’s dusk now. The road is almost empty because closer to town, it’s no longer safe. This is the hour when merchants and travelers hurry to their lodgings before the gangs of outlaws and robbers slink from the shadows. But samurai kids aren’t scared of anything except haiku lessons.
Here the road is paved. It’s easier for me to walk on the cobblestones, and the clip of my crutch has a familiar ring. I was born in a town, but none of my friends have even seen a road before. Their homes are in small villages with dirt paths and mountain tracks.
Taji tips his head sideways, the way he does when he’s listening hard for something. Have the ninjas and spies finally caught up with us? Sensei isn’t worried. He strides, whistling, his long legs hurrying us along. I decide not to worry, either. I’ll find out soon enough.
“Halt!”
Ten men block our way, roadside cutthroats whose swords glimmer, dull and greedy.
Sensei says nothing, eyes measuring the man in front of him.
“Give us those sweetfish and everything else you have,” the leader says, “or I will slice you and the kids where you stand.”
We move as one to protect our teacher and defend our honor. But Sensei waves us back, his gesture telling us to sit on the grass and wait.
“Do you have any more men to help you?” our master asks politely.
The man sees an old fool when he looks at Sensei. It’s his first mistake.
“Why?” he growls, amused.
“Because I have you outnumbered. It would not be a fair fight when you have only ten men to fight against me.”
Ki-Yaga is a master swordsman who could cut down this band of vagabonds blindfolded, with one arm tied behind his back and one leg tucked up. He draws his blade so fast, it is only a flash of light until it rests, point hard against the big man’s stomach.
This bunch is not stupid after all. The big man sees what he is up against. He bows low and edges back into the forest, taking his followers with him.
Sensei tucks his blade into his sash and waves us forward. We hurry to keep up.
In a small cleared area nearby, Sensei stops.
“Shouldn’t we keep walking?” I ask. I see danger everywhere now.
“Time for dinner,” he says. “Not even I can stop a war on an empty stomach.”
Or without a head. Suddenly, I’m not in such a hurry to reach the castle. We quickly gather branches and sticks. Our teacher eyes them with a smile.
“No, not now,” I groan. Sometimes I can read Sensei’s mind, too. He thinks we should do bo practice. Fighting with sticks. It’s all about dodging, ducking, weaving. And one well-timed blow.
“A samurai may not always have his sword,” Sensei teaches us. “But he can always find a stick.”
We don’t argue. Once Mikko did. “A samurai can’t always find a stick. There are no sticks here in the classroom,” he had said.
Sensei then picked up the broom and Mikko ducked. Bo training had begun.
While we practice, Sensei cooks. After dinner we lie back under the stars and dread the night’s walk ahead.
“I am so tired, I think I will sleepwalk to the castle.” Yoshi yawns.
“It’s safe here,” Sensei says. “We can stay tonight.”
We’re almost used to sleeping in the day, but rest seems more comfortable and familiar under a blanket of darkness.
“Dream deep, Little Cockroaches. I am going for a walk.” Taking his staff, Sensei heads in the direction of the river.
Our master often walks alone at night. The others know what I think of that.
“Sensei’s gone for his evening fly around the mountains.” Mikko jabs me in the ribs.
“It might be true,” I say. “I’m not the only one who thinks so. Down in the village the old women say Sensei is a tengu.”
“Old wives’ tales. Now Niya is an old woman.” Yoshi laughs.
My friends are probably right. A tengu is a mountain goblin priest, a samurai who has fallen from grace. But Sensei is good, kind, and wiser than the mountains.
“What could Sensei have done?” Kyoko asks. “It would have to have been something truly dreadful.”
“The most dreadful,” agrees Nezume.
We know what that would have to be. Every samurai kid does. It’s the first thing a father teaches his child. “The most dishonorable thing a samurai can do is to share the sky with the man who killed his father.”
“It can’t be that,” Yoshi says. “Sensei would not hesitate to avenge his father’s honor.”
And he would never shirk his duty. Even though he teaches us that our swords should not be used for killing unless absolutely necessary, we know that Sensei has killed many men in battle.
“Go to sleep,” Taji grumbles. “Why are we even discussing this? Sometimes I think you have bean sprouts for brains, Niya.”
Yoshi chuckles. I’ve always been the quickest thinker, and my friends are proud of that. But it doesn’t stop them from giggling at me. Laughter between friends is a double-edged sword, held carefully so it does no harm.
The night quickly fills with snuffles and snores. Except mine. Sleeps runs ahead of me, and no matter how fast I hop, I can’t catch up to it. Under the full moon the White Crane is restless. I pull my blanket over my head, but it doesn’t help.
Hours later Sensei slips noiselessly back to settle against his cherry tree. In the moonlight I see his closed lids.
“Are you having trouble sleeping?” he asks me.
“Yes, Sensei,” I admit.
“Then you must ask the question that is keeping you awake. Only then will you
be able to sleep.”
It’s not easy to ask. “Can you fly, Sensei?”
“Everyone who dreams can fly,” he answers.
The White Crane nods drowsily.
“Can you sleep now, Niya?”
“Yes, Master.”
I close my eyes and dream I can fly.
Last night I dreamed I soared above the fields, over the town, and across the ocean. But when I woke this morning, the castle was still a day’s walk away. Sensei sets a fast pace, and we hurry along behind, telling stories about all the things we’ll see and do when we reach the Emperor’s court. No one mentions the terrible things that might happen.
Instead of taking the quickest route, Sensei veers right, onto a lesser road. Here the cobblestones are overgrown with grass and the road is empty. Safe.
“This is the way to my home,” I announce excitedly.
“Why are we going there?” asks Taji.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe Father invited us.”
“Ask Sensei,” Kyoko suggests. My friends are listening closely, but Sensei strides ahead, out of earshot.
He doesn’t need ears to listen. “I must ask Niya’s Grandfather for news of the castle. It is an advantage to know before we arrive.”
Ha! Sensei doesn’t know everything after all.
But the wizard does know what I’m thinking and his blue eyes drill into mine.
“A samurai must be prepared. Swordsmanship is not everything. In battle it is sometimes useful to know on what day your opponent was born.”
We wait for Sensei’s lesson to solve our puzzled faces.
“Even the fiercest warrior will hesitate and smile if you yell ‘happy birthday,’” Sensei says, swinging an imaginary sword to make us duck. “He who hesitates has lost. And often what he has lost is his head.”
It’s hard to believe that Grandfather knows any useful information. He is not wise like Sensei. He stands straight and his eyes are clear, but his mind is bent and muddled. Wisdom came with age, but it left with even older age. Sometimes, for no reason, Grandfather laughs in the middle of a sentence. And sometimes he disappears for days.
“Where has Grandfather gone?” I would ask my father.
He’d smile and say, “Our Eldest One is like the wind. He blows out and he blows in.”
Father never seemed worried, and he was right. The wind always returned. And so did Grandfather.
“My grandfather will not be much help,” I confess. “He tells many stories, but they’re not all true.”
Sensei grins. “Like the tale of the imaginary ghosts of Hell Valley? The best place to hide a fact is behind a screen of fiction.”
Grandfather was right about the ghosts. I think back over all the other stories he told me. Shape-shifters. Wizards. Tengu goblins of the mountain. Maybe he can tell me a story about Sensei.
“I can’t wait to meet your sister. I’m bored with boy talk.” Kyoko covers her ears, pretending to be in pain.
“You’ll be disappointed,” I yell. “Ayame talks endlessly about dolls and spends all day changing their kimonos and braiding their hair.”
I laugh at the faces Kyoko makes. My sister, Ayame, is soft and fragile like a flower. She’s not like Kyoko at all. Ayame couldn’t kick her way out of a rice-paper bag.
“As long as the pillows are fluffy and my bed is warm, I don’t care how many giggling girls I have to put up with,” Mikko says. “I’m tired of sleeping on the ground.”
“I can’t wait to see the town. What’s it like?” asks Yoshi.
“People rush everywhere. They are busy like bees, packed tighter than honeycomb in the hive,” Sensei says.
The others gather around, hanging on every word.
“When I went to bed, I could hear the people next door snoring,” I tell them.
Nezume laughs. “I bet they could hear you snoring ten houses away.”
“I don’t snore,” I insist.
But when Sensei nods, I decide not to protest so loudly.
“I thought we didn’t want people to know where we were,” says Taji. “Why are we going into such a crowded place?”
It’s a good question. Walls have ears, and a town is nothing but rows and rows of listening walls.
“If you don’t want to be found, where is the best place to hide?” Sensei asks.
Taji knows that, of course. “Where no one would look.”
Pleased, our teacher claps his hands. “Excellent. No one would ever expect us to go to Niya’s home.”
It’s true. Not even I did.
“The ninja will,” Yoshi teases. “I bet they’re watching now.”
Mikko brandishes his sword at the nearest rock. “Come out and show yourself.”
“The ninja creep like the wind. No one can hide from that,” Sensei agrees. “But we have nothing to fear from them either.”
My thoughts are warmed by the fire waiting for us at home. Around me my friends chatter about market stalls and how many types of sweets the vendors might sell. Their cheeks are full of imaginary balls of cherry blossom gum.
But one question bothers me. “Do Mother and Father know we are coming, Sensei?”
My parents are very proud that the great Ki-Yaga chose to teach me. But Mother has a voice like a bird and she never stops singing. If she knows we’re coming, it will be all over the tearooms, from one end of Japan to the other. Everyone will know where we are.
Sensei smiles into my eyes, and his voice is a shadow against my ear. “Your grandfather will tell them when we are closer.”
How can he? He doesn’t know.
I will tell him, the wizard whispers inside my head. Just like this.
It’s almost midnight when we reach the edge of the castle town. I guide my friends through the dark, narrow streets toward my home. We trudge past rows of houses, stacked and packed like origami boxes.
The way of the warrior is a long walk. So many paths to travel — Buddha, Tao, Zen. We walk in never-ending circles until our brains spin like goldfish swimming in a bowl.
“When you have lost your place in the world, you are enlightened and your mind will triumph in battle,” Sensei taught us.
That’s good news for me. I’ve got a terrible sense of direction, and I get lost often. I’m on the fast track to enlightenment and victory.
But tonight our walking is almost over.
“Are you nervous?” whispers Kyoko.
“Just a little.” I haven’t seen my family for years.
Yoshi puts his arm around my shoulders for support. Friends make the best crutches.
Memories rewind inside my head. Father painting. Mother’s song as she sweeps. Ayame playing with her dolls and Grandfather dozing in the garden.
“Here we are.” I knock gently, and Mother opens the door. Her arms wrap me up like a present.
“Welcome, Ki-Yaga.” Father bows. “My home is yours tonight. I am proud to have so many sons and daughters.” He nods in my direction, a small nod, hardly noticeable. But I understand what it means. He’s especially proud of me. The White Crane preens, fluffing its feathers.
“Your house is huge,” Kyoko whispers.
It never seemed that way to me. Our house being on the outskirts of town means that Father is not an important samurai. Not influential or wealthy enough to live inside the castle walls. But the buildings of the ryu have only one room and my house has seven. More rooms than Kyoko has ever seen.
Father ushers us into the main room, where Grandfather and Ayame are waiting. My little sister wears a pink kimono and shimmers like a spray of cherry blossoms.
Sensei and Grandfather bow low, scraping their foreheads on Mother’s perfectly swept floors.
When I used to laugh at her constant dusting and cleaning, she scolded me.
“We must do things many times to get them right,” she said.
And now I understand. Over and over. Round and round. Many paths lead to enlightenment, and my mother sweeps hers clean.
“Our ho
me is bright and shiny,” I whisper in Mother’s ear. “I am happy to be here.”
When Mother smiles at my compliment, the house is even brighter than before.
Grandfather claps his hands. “Now we are together, we must share tea. Ayame will serve us.”
“Yes, Eldest One.” She bends gracefully.
Kyoko raises an eyebrow in my direction as Ayame leaves to begin the preparations. This is not the irritating little sister I left behind. Tea making is an ancient and sacred ceremony. It requires special skill. Sensei doesn’t let any of us touch his tea utensils.
“You are not yet ready,” he had said. And he was right. We didn’t want to waste our time pouring hot water on dry leaves. But if Ayame can do it, then maybe I can, too.
Sensei nods at me and smiles approvingly into my thoughts.
The entrance to the tearoom is so small that we have to kneel to pass through. Respectfully, Sensei stops in front of the scroll alcove to read the words especially placed there:
The rat scuttles, the big cat creeps, the monkey dashes,
The bat glides, the white crane soars, the lizard darts,
And the owl hoots
In the middle of the night.
We recognize ourselves, but who is the owl?
“Sensei must be the owl,” Yoshi whispers. “He’s wise.”
Nezume agrees. “And he sleeps all day.”
“And flies at night, if you ask Niya,” adds Mikko.
“Shh,” Mother reminds us.
Pausing, Sensei admires the kettle and the hearth. The tea ceremony is a ritual of rules. Even getting to the mat is hard. You have to shuffle slowly. It’s bad manners to tread on any lines between the tatami matting squares. When we were little, we used to yell, “The ghosts will get you if you do.” But it wasn’t ghosts we had to worry about. If you stepped on a line, Father would bellow. Just as scary.
First, Grandfather is seated. Then Sensei, the guest of honor. Father and Mother sit on either side of Sensei. We let Yoshi go next, because he’s our leader. Feet tucked under, we rest back on our heels. Samurai kids have been doing this since the day they were born. It’s easy, even with one leg.
Grandfather gestures for Ayame to begin. In the moonlight, her eyes glow bright and serious. Placing the tray on the ground, she slowly removes the cloth cover to reveal the tea bowl and tools of my ancestors.
Owl Ninja Page 5