“Tell me again. I think I’ll be able to sleep after that.”
I sat on the edge of the bed. I wouldn’t be able to get to sleep anyway until Sausage was asleep.
“It was a fight to the death,” I began.
I told Sausage about the most famous duel between two samurais. In 1612, Miyamoto Musashi and Sasaki Kojiro, the two greatest warriors in Japan, faced each other. Musashi’s mother died when she gave birth to him. When he was seven years old his father died too. His uncle, who was a priest, took care of him and raised him to be a samurai. When he was thirteen years old he killed his first adversary in a duel. It was a grown man, an experienced warrior. Three years later he defeated a real samurai. After that he left home for good. He roamed the country looking for other samurai to duel with. He had become a wave man.
“Why were they called wave men?” asked Sausage.
“Because they drifted around the countryside,” I answered.
“And they fought with wooden swords?” asked Sausage.
“Most didn’t,” I said, “but Musashi did.”
“What was it called again?”
“The wooden sword? It was called a bokken.”
“That’s what we’re going to make for me, right?”
“Yes.”
“The ones who had wooden swords used to beat the ones with steel swords, right?”
“Sometimes.”
“Musashi preferred a wooden sword, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
Sausage smiled. He acted like he was Musashi already just because he was going to get a wooden sword. He was childish, Sausage. He was ten years old, but sometimes he acted like he was four. Like now, when I sat here like his old man telling him a bedtime story.
“Keep going, Kenny!”
“No samurai in all of Japan had survived as many duels as Musashi,” I said, “and when he met Kojiro he was twenty-eight years old.”
“That’s pretty old,” said Sausage.
“No, no, he was still young.”
“Okay.”
“Kojiro came from one of the best sword-fighting schools,” I continued, “and he had also defeated everyone he had ever faced in a duel.”
“Otherwise he wouldn’t have still been alive, right?” asked Sausage.
“That’s right. Kojiro was considered the most formidable of all samurai. He almost seemed super-human. He was a master of the sword. Of course, it was a steel sword. His specialty was something they called “the Swallow” where he brought the sword down with such lightning speed that it was like a diving swallow.”
“Wow!” said Sausage. You’d think he was hearing the story for the first time.
“He regarded Musashi as his greatest foe.”
Sausage nodded. I could see him there in his bed almost as clearly as during the day. It got light quickly at the camp. Soon it would be morning. Dragon Morning.
“It had been decided that the duel would be fought at the Hour of the Dragon,” I continued. “That meant at eight o’clock in the morning. And when it was just a little before eight, Kojiro’s men rowed him out to a narrow sandbank that lay between the two biggest islands of southern Japan. And there he waited for Musashi. There was a cold wind blowing. Minutes passed. Hours passed. But Musashi didn’t show.”
“I know what happened,” said Sausage. “Musashi overslept.”
“That’s right,” I said. “He barely had time to wash himself before he was driven down to the shore and rowed out to the sandbank. He was still sleepy and dozed off in the boat. He woke up with just enough time to carve himself a sword out of one of the oars.”
“Neat!” said Sausage.
“Then he jumped ashore. Kojiro mocked him about the oar. But Musashi just pointed the oar at Kojiro’s neck, and that was the signal that the duel had begun. They circled around each other. Both of them knew that one little mistake would mean death. And it was deathly silent too. The only sound you could hear was the waves washing against the shore and the screech of a few birds.”
“Like here,” said Sausage as he gestured with his arm to mean everywhere, “last night.”
I had tried to see if I could hear any sounds from outside. There may have been the cry of a bird. But I couldn’t hear any waves. The lake was calm last night.
“They stood there face to face,” I continued, “and all of a sudden, Kojiro lunged with his sword.”
“The Swallow,” said Sausage.
“That’s right, he did the Swallow. And at exactly the same split second, Musashi threw himself forward and brought his oar crashing down on Kojiro’s head. They both stood there as if turned to stone. Seconds went by and no one who saw the duel could tell the outcome. Then a little gust of wind came and Musashi’s headband was carried away with the breeze. It had been sliced in two. And Kojiro slowly began to sink to the ground.”
“Dead!” said Sausage.
“Yes, stone dead. Musashi’s oar had crushed Kojiro’s skull. But in order for him to do that, Musashi had to move in just close enough for Kojiro to slice the headband from his forehead with his sword.”
“But no closer!”
“Not even a hundredth of an inch closer,” I said.
“His own sword was too short,” said Sausage.
“Yes. Musashi needed something longer since Kojiro had the longest sword in all of Japan. But Musashi could not use another sword because Kojiro was the best when it came to judging the length of an opponent’s sword. So Musashi knew that he would have an advantage if he got hold of a new weapon at the last second.”
“The oar,” said Sausage.
“It was perfect,” I said, “perfectly calculated.”
“Now I can sleep soundly,” said Sausage.
4
But I didn’t sleep soundly. I hadn’t in a long time. There was too much spinning around in my head. A few times I tried counting sheep, but that was even more boring than not being able to sleep. Janne, who slept three bunks away from me, talked in his sleep sometimes. Weird stuff like he was sailing on some kind of ship. It was always the same thing.
“Land ahoy!” he would shout out at three in the morning, imagining the whole camp was adrift at sea. Come to think of it, that wasn’t far from the truth. The camp was sort of cut off from the rest of the world. The only time there was any contact was when the moms and dads came to visit.
To make it out of here to the big road, you had to move along secret paths through the forest, or follow the dirt road leading from the camp. But Matron sent out patrols whenever she thought someone was trying to escape.
We were planning an expedition through the woods anyway. We were going to make our way into town.
But first, the castle.
And before that, sleep. I turned over on my side for the zillionth time. Janne called out again like some lookout on a pirate ship, and I felt like getting up and going over to him and shouting, “Ship ahoy!” or something like that in his ear.
Sausage had asked Janne what he was dreaming about when he talked in his sleep, but he could never remember.
That was too bad because it seemed pretty fun to be sitting up in the mast bellowing away. A lot more fun than being here in our waking life.
I fell asleep right in the middle of that last thought. I dreamt.
A hand held out a bag to me and I looked down inside, where pieces of chocolate lay, only they were red.
I was standing in the lake rubbing water into my eyes so they would stay open. It wasn’t a dream. I looked around and discovered that everyone else had already gone back up after the pretend morning wash. But I wasn’t pretending. The water was cold and I kept on rubbing. I could feel how it ran down my back. Then I heard something behind me. I turned around and saw Kerstin. She didn’t seem to be feeling cold.
“Isn’t it cold?” she asked.
“Not after a while.”
“Looks like you’re trying to wash away something,” she said.
“I’m washing away the sleep,”
I answered.
“What for?”
“You can’t go around half-asleep all day.”
“You can’t?” It looked like she smiled. “Sounds pretty nice to me. Dream yourself away.”
“You can do that at night,” I said as I left the water and dried my face with the towel that had been lying in the grass.
“I have trouble sleeping here,” said Kerstin. “There are too many people.”
“Mm-hm.”
“You think so too?”
“Yup. Especially grown-ups.”
“We’d be able to manage without them,” she said, looking sad, as though a cloud had just moved across the sun. I looked up at the sky, but there were no clouds. I rubbed my face again. This time it was to get dry.
“Pretty soon you’ll have no skin left,” said Kerstin.
I lowered the towel.
“Why are you here?” I asked. “Here at the camp? Now, this summer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on.”
“It was… so rowdy at home,” she said, and looked away toward the main building and the playground that lay below the gable end. The smaller kids had started to swing and spin on the merry-go-round and play in the sand. Everyone seemed to be shouting at the same time.
“Yeah, plenty of peace and quiet out here,” I said.
She looked back at me.
“It’s not like you’ve got any choice,” she said.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I answered.
The sun was in my eyes when I heard someone call my name. I was on my own in the lake. Kerstin had gone. It was Weine. He was another survivor from last summer. I didn’t like him. He didn’t like me.
Last summer we had fought without weapons. Neither of us had won, but neither of us had lost either. He wanted to be in charge, but he couldn’t be in charge of me. This summer he had kept his distance. We hadn’t spoken to each other even once. He had a small gang of flunkies who did everything he told them to. They weren’t a proper unit—no band of warriors. They’d be useless in battle.
I blinked in the sun and saw him standing at the edge of the water. He said my name again with a special intonation that he obviously thought was funny.
“Hey, Ken-ny!”
I didn’t answer. He called me Kenny and not Tommy. But it wasn’t to be nice.
“Get yourself all clean now, Ken-ny?”
I didn’t answer that either.
“Ever hear the one about the Japanese who mistook his toothbrush for a sword?”
“Ever hear about the idiot who got his face scrubbed with sand?”
“No. Is it about you, Ken-ny?”
I took a step toward him with my toothbrush in my hand.
“No weapons, we said!” He laughed after he said it. Then he gave a moronic salute, did an about-face, and marched off straight-legged in military style across the playground. I heard him laugh again. It sounded like a cackling seagull circling above the merry-go-round.
When Micke and Mats came up I was done brushing my teeth.
The toothpaste tasted awful and I tried to rinse away the taste with water from the lake, which didn’t taste too good either.
I snorted and spit the water out.
“How’s the soup?” asked Mats.
He was a little walleyed, and it looked like he was asking Micke as much as me.
“Better than cook’s,” I answered.
“And there’s more of it,” said Mats, looking out at the lake.
He could look left and right at the same time.
“Ever heard the story about the plane that crashed in the desert?” I asked.
They both shook their heads.
“The captain sent everyone out in search of food,” I said. “When they came back, one of the flight attendants remarked they had good news and bad news. ‘Let’s hear the bad news first,’ said the captain. ‘All we found to eat is camel shit,’ the flight attendant said. ‘So what’s the good news then?’ ‘There’s plenty of it.’”
Mats laughed, but Micke didn’t.
“What did he want?” he asked.
“You mean Weine? You saw him?”
Micke nodded.
“Nothing; he didn’t want anything. Let’s not talk about him. He’s not worth it.”
“So what did she want then?”
“What do you mean?” I wrapped the towel around my sword and started to walk back toward the main building. “What are you talking about?”
“That girl, whatever her name is. I saw you talking to her just now. What did she want?”
“Are you spying on me, Micke?”
“Cut it out, Kenny. You know you can’t hide around here; you said so yourself. I just saw her—whatever her name is—speaking to you, that’s all.”
“Kerstin,” I said. “Her name’s Kerstin.”
“She’s from town,” said Mats. “I’ve seen her there.”
“Are you neighbors?” I asked.
“I’ve just seen her. She has a little sister, I think. But she’s not here.”
“What did she want?” Micke repeated.
“Have you become a parrot now, or what?” I asked.
“So you don’t want to answer?”
“What’s with up you, Micke?”
“Nothing’s up with me. It’s just…”
He didn’t say any more.
“It’s just what?” I asked.
“Just forget about it,” said Mats and pulled Micke’s arm.
“What are you doing?” shouted Micke. “Let go!”
“Take it easy,” I said.
Micke grabbed at his sword.
“TAKE IT EASY!”
“He touched me,” Micke muttered. “I’ve gotta defend my honor.”
“You’re in the same troop,” I said. “He can touch you without you having to kill him.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t have time to draw my sword,” said Micke, and he glared at Mats. Once a sword had been drawn from its scabbard, it had to be used; everyone knew that.
“Lucky for you,” said Mats.
I had gathered the troop together and we were on our way into the woods when two of the counselors came up.
“Where are you going?” one of them asked but without directing her question at anyone in particular.
I kept on walking.
“We asked you where you’re going, Tommy!”
I stopped but didn’t answer.
“His name is Kenny,” said Micke.
One of the counselors laughed.
“All right, Kenny then. Where are you heading?”
“Just out into the forest for a while.”
“You’re not thinking of running away, are you?” said the other counselor, who snickered too. “We were thinking of organizing a game of burnball,” she continued. “You can’t leave now. Then there won’t be any good teams.”
We looked at each other. It was a trick, of course. But we actually were the best. We’d been playing this kind of softball for years and could beat anybody.
There was a group of kids standing in the middle of the playing field in the distance.
They looked in our direction.
“We could forbid you to be in the forest,” said the first counselor.
She was wearing tight shorts. You could see a few black hairs squiggling out onto her thighs.
“You’ve already done that, haven’t you,” I said.
It was often like that. We’d be about to do something, and then the counselors would show up.
All our plans were ruined. It was hard to think more than an hour ahead, and yet you had to do it.
We split up into teams. My troop was spread over two teams. They were mixed girls and boys. Kerstin was on my team. I was happy about that. She was quick and good at catching the ball in mid air.
Last week she caught a few that I’d hit when she was on the other team. She stood farther back than anyone else and waited. Everyone knew that I hit the farthest
when I really connected with the ball, but she was the only one who realized just how far I could hit.
Sausage was ahead of me at the plate. On the third attempt, he got off a three-yard hit using the girls’ flat bat. The ball rolled slowly into the grass. It was hard to imagine Sausage as a samurai right then. Or anytime. But he wanted to learn, and he was a loyal servant.
The word samurai comes from the Japanese word saburau meaning “to serve.” Sausage had already understood that. For others it could take a lifetime—however long or short that ended up being for a samurai. But at the same time, a short life for a samurai was a very long life for an ordinary person.
It was my turn at bat. I saw that Kerstin was standing up front at first base along with a few others who were waiting to run. They hadn’t gotten anywhere yet. I tossed up the ball and waited as it reached its highest point. I concentrated on the ball. It was all in the concentration. The ball was the most important thing in my life at that moment. It hovered silently in the air and waited for me to decide when it was allowed to start to drop. My will was stronger than gravity.
I stood ready with the baseball bat. It was as long as a wooden sword, a bokken.
I held it like a samurai ready for battle: with both hands and with the blade angled upward.
I saw Kerstin and the others out of the corner of my eye. Everyone was motionless like the ball right now. They were in my control too. Nothing moved until I willed it.
I decided to let the ball drop. I lifted my sword and swung. The sword hit the ball’s lower half exactly where I had aimed. That gave it more lift and spin, and before I’d even lowered the sword, the ball had disappeared so far up into the sky that you couldn’t see it anymore. It had been swallowed up by the sun.
I knew it was my best hit ever. After a long moment, I let the sword fall to the ground where it transformed back into a bat.
Then I ran after the others. There was no hurry. That ball wouldn’t come down before nightfall. But still, I ran as fast as I could. I wanted to catch up to Kerstin. I caught up to the others but not to her.
She was waiting for me by home plate. Everyone on the other team was still looking out for the ball. I waited for someone to shout, “Ball ahoy!” but nothing came.
Kerstin smiled at me.
Samurai Summer Page 3