“It’s a swan’s head,” I said out loud.
“You have a good eye,” said Highat, who’d walked up behind me. “I gave that thing to Nora’s mother the week before she asked me to marry her. Found it in the woods just like that. All I had to do was cut the length, so I knew it was an omen. Victoria approved, I’m glad to say, or I doubt I’d be here now.”
I examined the walking stick. The natural bend of the handle formed a perfect swan’s head and neck. A carving tool had never touched the wood. “It’s truly amazing,” I said.
“Yes. The very definition of a thing, isn’t it.” He laughed as he continued down the hall to the bathroom.
I returned to the studio, and a few minutes later Ray came hurrying through the front door, slightly out of breath. Everyone put down their fork or cup and stared at him. “Everybody . . .” he said. He had our complete attention. “I’m not used to making speeches, but I need to thank you all, especially Lennie and Nora, for what you’ve done for me. Giving me a place to live and . . . everything.”
Ray looked around at the staring faces, but when he got to Nora he dropped his eyes.
“Anyway, I didn’t know how to say thanks, so Bradley suggested I find a thing. I walked all over Schoolcross for days, looking, until one day I almost tripped over it.
“Well, where is it, man?” asked Highat, who’d returned from the bathroom and was watching Ray from the entrance to the hallway.
“Let’s see it,” demanded Lennie.
Ray reopened the front door, picked up the thing from the porch, and placed it carefully on the floor of the studio, for all to see.
“Amazing,” murmured Elisabeth.
Nora gasped.
“What is it?” asked Tamara.
On the floor in front of us sat the skulls of two enormous buck deer, locked together by their antlers.
“There wasn’t just one deer that left all those bones near Harkaway,” Ray said. “There were two big bucks.”
“They must have been fighting,” said Will, “crashing their heads together over a doe.”
He and Lennie came over to look more closely.
“They hit their antlers together and got stuck,” Will said.
“What a way to go,” I said. “I wonder how long they took to die. And what about the doe? Did she stand there and watch?”
“It probably took days for them to die,” Ray answered. “It’s not supposed to happen. I’ve been reading about it.”
“What do you mean, ‘not supposed to happen’?” I asked.
“It would be so wasteful of deer if they always killed each other over females. They’re supposed to crash antlers until the stronger one drives the weaker one off.” The antlers on each skull were about equal in span and girth, although one of the racks had more points, perhaps fourteen, and the other ten. Counting them was difficult because they were intertwined.
Nora remained seated, her eyes wide. Noboro was excited too, and came to gaze at what had been brought into the house. The hubbub over the antlers finally died down and people took their seats. Coffee, tea, and dessert were on the table. The interlocked skulls remained on the floor.
During a lull in conversation, Lennie tapped a glass with his table knife.
“I have something to say too,” he began. Even Highat and Elisabeth gave him their attention. “I have gifts for three special people, who have worked with me to learn an ancient art. To you especially, Sensei, my warmest thanks for your patience in teaching the way of the sword to three Western barbarians.”
Everyone laughed. Noboro smiled and shook his head while saying, “Not barbarians.”
“We’ll miss you,” Lennie concluded. Picking up his Champagne glass, he said, “A toast!” We all raised our glasses.
Highat said, “Here, here.”
I drained mine, resisting the urge to dash the tuliped crystal to the floor.
“Now the presents,” said Lennie. In front of him were four cylindrical cases, each about ten inches long, wrapped in identical blue cloth sheaths. He passed one each to Ray, Noboro, and me, and kept the fourth for himself. “They’re all the same, so it doesn’t matter which one you get,” he said.
I untied the sheath and withdrew a miniature Japanese samurai sword. At first I thought the gift was a toy, but its craftsmanship quickly told me otherwise. Ray, too, was looking at his and appeared as delighted as I was. On our last visit to the Big House he’d been entranced by the deadly beauty of a real Japanese sword that Lennie had displayed among the things in the sitting room. Now he had his own smaller version. The gifts touched us all deeply. “They’re real,” said Lennie. “Noboro got them from Japan.”
Ray had unsheathed his little sword and was inspecting the blade.
“Be careful,” said Tamara. “Those are wicked looking.”
“The blades are not live blades,” said Noboro. “They are true blades, but they are not live.”
“What does that mean, ‘true blades’ and ‘live blades,’ Noboro?” I asked.
“A true blade is made from true steel. The blank is heated red in a forge, hammered on an anvil, and folded over onto itself, many times. Impurities vanish in the forge and under the hammer. The many layers change the structure of the steel itself. This old way makes very strong blades.”
He took a sip of tea and continued.
“If these were live blades—like the one in the sitting room—the smith would have also put razor-sharp edges on them. These blades could have been given such an edge, but for these the smith only worked on the point. In today’s world there’s no need to turn a fine piece of craftsmanship into such a dangerous weapon.”
I inspected my new possession. In its wooden scabbard the sword measured perhaps ten inches in length. I grasped the handle, which was wrapped in brown braided cord, and when I pulled I felt only a slight resistance. The blade slid out smoothly.
“There are wooden display stands, but the plaques are being engraved,” said Lennie.
Highat was inspecting Lennie’s. “Reminds me of the Fairbairn-Sykes commando knives,” he said, “except they were double-edged.”
“‘Boys with their toys,’” said Nora, smiling.
“I’m not discussing toys, young lady,” said her father.
CHAPTER X
◊
It seemed that Nora had forgiven Ray. The morning after Thanksgiving she joined Noboro, Lennie, Ray, and me for our walk, saying her horses could do without being ridden for one day. We decided to hike the riding trail to the edge of Harkaway. Ray said he’d show us where he’d found the deer skulls.
This route would take us past the stable and Nora could check on her horses and give them their morning feed. It was Noboro’s last walk at Schoolcross, and our mood had a trace of post-Thanksgiving melancholy.
Despite Nora’s protestations, Noboro and Lennie accompanied her into the barn while she did the morning chores. Ray and I waited outside, leaning against a paddock fence, anxious to be moving. Everyone was dressed in winter hiking gear—the air had gotten chilly. I suddenly realized that the dog hadn’t kept me awake barking last night. Perhaps my hate finally had poisoned the beast, or at least rendered it mute.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Ray asked.
“You mean like when our eyes met at LaGuardia?”
“Seriously,” he said. “I’ve been reading poetry for the first time. Keats and Donne and Yeats. Romantic poets.”
“So what about love at first sight?”
“Do you know much about it? The idea that there’s only one true love waiting for each man, and that it’s all fated in the stars?”
“You mean like star twins? Or soul mates?”
“Yes! You have heard of it.”
“Hey, Ray, I’m like most people with a liberal arts education. I had my Celtic Twilight phase.”
As Lennie, Noboro, and Nora emerged from the barn, I asked, “Hey, Lennie. Did you go through a Celtic Twilight phase?”
“Pro
bably,” he said. “I tried to hit all the phases.”
“You know, one soul rendered atwain and both parts searching longingly for each other? Ray’s been reading romantic poetry.”
The three of them were in front of us now.
“I missed that one,” said Lennie, “but Nora majored in poetry at Vassar.”
“How about it, Nora?” I asked. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
Ray blushed bright scarlet at my question.
“Only sophomores believe in love at first sight, Bradley,” she said. “Sophomores and morons.”
“Wait a minute,” said Lennie. “I believe in love at first sight.”
“Me too,” I said.
“I do too,” Noboro said. “Most definitely.”
“That’s because you’re men,” said Nora. “That makes your belief system completely different.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“When I was single I had men give me the ‘love at first sight’ line. The idea does have a seductive appeal, I must admit.”
“But . . . ?” said Lennie.
“I noticed that guys never gave that line to the homely girls. Where were their soul mates? It may be true that there’s only one woman out there for every horny guy, but that one woman isn’t me.”
Lennie and I howled with laughter. Ray looked devastated.
“Gosh, Nora,” I said. “Sounds like you had a real problem with self-image and rejection as a young girl.”
She wasn’t finished. “Maybe the homely girls’ misfortune is that their soul mates were born Chinese or . . . or . . . Lithuanian. They’ll never meet.”
The men laughed appreciatively, although I wasn’t sure Noboro understood the joke.
“This conversation reminds me of a game we used to play in college,” Nora said. “I hadn’t thought about it in a long time. I can’t tell you what it was, though.”
“Tell us, tell us, tell us,” we demanded.
“Okay,” she said, “but remember, you made me.”
She looked beautiful wrapped in her blue parka, her dark hair falling around the hood.
“Whenever a guy said anything with the word heart in it, to figure out what he meant, you substituted the word dick.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“Try.”
“I love you with all my dick?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “Like that.”
“Absence makes the dick grow fonder?” said Lennie.
We were all laughing except Noboro. Maybe his English couldn’t handle the subtleties of the conversation.
“If you don’t say yes, you’ll break my dick?” said Ray.
Tears flowed from my eyes and crystallized in the chill. Lennie was laughing so hard that I knew we had to separate before we hurt ourselves. I grabbed a thoroughly baffled Noboro by the arm and dragged him toward the trail. We needed to get this walk underway. Ray, Lennie, and Nora followed, discussing poetry, as I asked Noboro about his plans for the future.
“Can we stay in touch?” I didn’t know where he lived other than “California.” He handed me a business card. It read, “Tanaka School of Driving; Noboro Tanaka, Principal and Chief Driving Instructor.” There was a telephone number and address in San Francisco.
“You were the principal of a driving school?”
“Yes, that is how I have earned my living. A man today can’t raise a family on earnings from calligraphy or kendo instruction,” he said.
“When did you retire?”
“I’m not retired, Bradley-san, only on vacation. When Leonard-san invited me to visit Schoolcross, my son-in-law said I must take this opportunity to instruct such a famous man. He assumed all my duties temporarily.” He enunciated “temporarily” precisely. “Now I must return to my position as principal and chief driving instructor.”
“I’ll bet you’re a terrific driving teacher.”
He smiled gravely and bowed at the compliment. “The Tanaka School has an excellent reputation.”
“Is your son-in-law a kendo master as well?”
“Oh, no, not a kendo man at all.”
“What’s his name?”
“Alvin Mermelstein.”
“So he’s not Japanese?”
He shook his head.
“At first I was worried about Yukari marrying a Caucasian, but, because we live in a modern age, her mother and I finally encouraged them to follow their love for each other.”
“How did they meet?”
“She came from Japan on a trip to America with nine other girls and two chaperones. The visit was only for two weeks. She met Alvin—his brother was their tour guide in San Francisco—and they fell in love.”
“And she never returned to Japan?”
“Oh, no,” he answered. “She came back as planned. The next month, Alvin arrived in Tokyo. He spoke no Japanese at all.”
“That certainly shows commitment. What did you and her mother think of this?”
“Yukari’s mother had been at Nagasaki as a child. She was very sick with blood cancer. She said to Yukari, ‘Follow your heart.’”
As we passed through the gate into the woods, I tried to point out the jump where Ray had broken his nose, but Noboro was deep in thought, perhaps remembering when his wife had blood cancer. We penetrated the woods, following the trail that would branch toward Harkaway and lead us across the stream. I hoped the water wasn’t high or we’d have to turn back. The weather was too cold for wet feet, even in hiking boots.
“What did you think when Alvin arrived?” I asked.
“At first Yukari feared my reaction, but Alvin had traveled a long distance out of love for my daughter. And we had a common bond. He was also a driving instructor.”
“Well, Yukari and Alvin sound like authentic star twins to me. Nora needs to hear this story.” I looked behind me. Lennie was now walking ahead of Ray and Nora, who were deep in animated discussion. “So then what happened?” I asked.
“Alvin went back to San Francisco and waited. When my wife had been dead one month, we followed. My son-in-law and I still work together in the school, and I have two beautiful granddaughters.”
Lennie caught up to us. “I hope you two aren’t discussing Algernon Swinburne,” he said with mock disgust. “The glittering eyelids of my soul’s desire . . . The conversation was way too sentimental for me. I had no idea Ray could wax so poetic.”
It was nine-thirty a.m. by the time we returned to the Big House, but instead of going our separate ways, Nora invited us into the kitchen. Noboro had a present to give before we said our final good-byes. Gladys Rhodes—Claude’s wife—was there, and she and Nora served us coffee or tea and English muffins around the big wooden kitchen table. The room was warm and I removed my barn coat and sweater. Noboro had disappeared into the house when we’d arrived, but he was soon back, carrying a paper scroll.
“I have a present for my host and hostess,” he said, as he cleared a corner of the butcher-block table and unrolled the gift carefully.
I put my cup on the counter, well away from Noboro’s present, and stood up to see what he’d brought. It was a calligraphic sketch of a bird in flight.
“It’s beautiful,” said Nora. “What does this character mean?” she asked, as she pointed to the inscription drawn within the body of the bird.
“Perhaps it’s best translated into English as ‘patience,’” Noboru answered. “Although this needs explanation. In English, the word ‘patience’ has . . .” He had to think for a moment before he found the right word. “. . . a passive quality. Yes,” he repeated, pleased with himself. “A passive quality—like one who waits ‘patiently,’ at ease, for an expected event.” He searched our faces for a moment to see if we understood.
Nobody spoke. Mrs. Rhodes had left the room to do chores elsewhere, and the kitchen was quiet.
“But this character,” he continued, “also has another quality, an active quality, so that the ‘patience’ described is dynamic patience.�
��
“What can be dynamic about waiting patiently?” I asked.
“Perhaps it will help if I explain the origin of the character. This part . . .” He pointed to the lower half of the drawing. “. . . represents the heart of a swordsman.”
Lennie and I looked at each other but resisted the temptation to substitute the word dick, at least out loud.
“I don’t see a heart,” said Nora.
“The character has become stylized over time,” Noboro said. “But watch . . .” With his finger he traced a heart over the lower half of the picture.
“I see it now,” she said.
“This part,” Noboro said, tracing his finger in a short arc along the upper left of the figure, “is the katana—the sword. You can see the tsuba, the hand guard, here. So you see, by ‘active patience’ I mean ‘heart under the sword.’ That’s what the character shows.” Nora still looked confused and he addressed her directly. “When one swordsman faces another, death may come at any moment. As long as their eyes engage, the danger is immense. That is the meaning of this sword.”
He traced the arc on the paper again. “They cannot run away, however much they would like to, for swordsmen must be strong in the heart. So each waits for the proper moment. If he strikes too early, he dies. If he strikes too late, he also dies.”
He drew the character in the air, hugely, with flowing movements of his arm.
“Patience!” he said. “Heart under the sword!”
“That’s beautiful,” said Nora.
Will Fox appeared at the door and said it was time to leave for the airport, but we lingered. I hadn’t made a new friend in many years, and in the last three months I’d made several. I hated to lose one so quickly.
“Noboro,” I said. “I’m sorry to see you leave. I’ve enjoyed learning from you and hope you will consider me your friend, even though we’ll be so far apart.”
“Our friendship isn’t over because I’m going home,” he said. “Keep my card. Call me on the telephone. Visit me in California. It’s not so far away.”
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