by Walt Mussell
None came.
Just Uji’s pronouncement: “Father is in the secondary armory. He will want to know.”
The words struck Nobuhiro’s gut, but he held back any comment. He pulled at his fingers, but there was no erasing the tension or warming his clammy palms. He had hoped to avoid his father.
His brothers wouldn’t judge his failure to capture Funaki.
His father would have no such reserve.
The three brothers left the castle and went to locate their father. They found their father talking with two other retainers.
Nobuhiro locked eyes with his father, bowing slightly.
His father didn’t return Nobuhiro’s bow, nor did he acknowledge Nobuhiro’s presence.
Nobuhiro’s fists clenched, but he kept them by his side.
“A word, Father?” Uji said.
The elder Tokoda dismissed the other two retainers, then looked at his oldest son. “What is it?”
Uji handed the sword pieces to his father, who examined them, turning the pieces in his strong, dexterous fingers.
His father’s face did not flinch. “This looks like Funaki’s blade. Why do you have it?”
“Nobuhiro brought it to us,” Uji said.
The old man turned and finally acknowledged Nobuhiro. Nobuhiro’s cheeks seared under the gaze, which soon bored into him.
I am your son. Not your enemy.
“How did you obtain this? Explain,” his father said in a quiet voice that indicated only a cold logic in the mind of the speaker.
“Funaki was prowling at the Goami residence, listening at the window. I charged him from behind and slammed him into the wall of the house.”
“Go on. Do not leave out any details this time.”
Nobuhiro gritted his teeth and recounted the rest of it, staring at his father the whole time. He tried once to look at his brothers and include them in his explanation. The sharp inhalation from his father made Nobuhiro shrink and return to the conversation.
His father pondered the story for a few minutes.
Nobuhiro straightened his back and prepared for the rebuke to come.
“And so you let him flee,” his father said. It wasn’t a question.
No concern. No caring. No credit.
Just cold.
Nobuhiro had fought hard with the only weapon at his disposal. Yet his past demons resided in the disappointment in his father’s words.
Enough.
I defeated a samurai.
I protected the family of the master I serve.
You will not make me feel less of a man for it.
He raised his face to stare at his father. “Yes, he got away. One of your men ran away. Have your training methods fallen so much that one of your retainers could not stand up to someone lame like me? Perhaps you should retire. Your time is over.”
Nobuhiro steeled himself for the verbal barrage to come. He’d challenged his father and in front of his brothers. Such insults would not be overlooked.
Instead, the elder man lifted his chin to the left only slightly, not losing eye contact. “Perhaps.” His voice was unchanged. Icy.
His father turned and headed toward the door, carrying Funaki’s sword. Before exiting the room, he looked back, his gaze flitting to Nobuhiro like a dagger backhanded at a target.
“Thank you for bringing this matter to our attention,” he said. “Ensure that the young lady heals before returning. Make sure she has a suitable escort. You would probably suffice.”
He then whipped around and walked out.
Nobuhiro swung back and allowed himself to face his brothers. Both were grinning, trying to contain their laughter.
“There are some plusses to not reporting to Father,” Uji said. “Maybe you had a good idea when you left seven years ago.”
Toshi nodded. “Fighting Funaki with iron tongs was amazing. But standing up to Father? It would be easier to face ten heavily armed men without a weapon.”
Nobuhiro exhaled, letting out his anxiety along with it. “I feared his reaction. But I realized I’d fought well. I wasn’t going to let him belittle what happened.”
Nobuhiro felt a hard slap on his back. It was Uji, trying to comfort him. “Don’t concern yourself with it. Father expects those who serve him to be able to tie down a typhoon. Anything less faces a greater wrath than the weather.”
“I do not serve him,” Nobuhiro said.
“Then, Nobuhiro,” Toshi said, his face adopting Uji’s usual stoic manner, “maybe you should ask yourself why you try so hard to impress him.”
The rebuke struck Nobuhiro hard and his chest tightened. He hated it when his brothers were right. However, they often saw things with more presence of their surroundings than he did.
A trait he didn’t inherit.
From his father.
“We’ll walk you to the main gate,” Uji said. “Please give our regards to Sen. I hope her injuries are minor.”
Sen. How much had the meeting with his father distracted Nobuhiro? He’d forgotten about the woman who’d gotten hurt trying to protect him.
He nodded back to his brothers and followed them to the door.
The walk back to the house would be long.
###
Sen leaned back against the wall, holding a compress to her cheek and right eye. A tray of rice and soup lay to her left. Her mother shuffled in carrying two wooden teacups on another tray. She grabbed the pot hanging over the hearth in the middle of the room, adding hot water to both cups. She handed one cup to Sen and then knelt, sitting on the backs of her feet.
“It’s my turn to fuss over you now. How do you feel?” her mother asked.
Sen pressed the compress to her face and her cheek recoiled in pain. “It hurts.” She grimaced with every word. The trip to the doctor’s place had been a relief. Nothing more serious than a black eye. Her right cheek was bruised. Thankfully, her jaw wasn’t broken.
“You’re fortunate you weren’t hurt worse than you were.”
“I know.”
The morning’s events cascaded through her head. Mother was right. She could have been killed, ending any hope of fulfilling her duty to her parents. They needed her more than Nobuhiro did.
But she couldn’t stand by and watch him fight alone.
“You owe Nobuhiro thanks,” her mother said.
“I know. I’ll tell him when he returns.”
“You also owe him a debt.”
Her mother’s words resonated in her heart. She owed a blood debt to Nobuhiro. Not easy to repay.
She had tried to satisfy one from the incident with the archer.
Now she owed him two.
She took a sip of tea, letting it warm the inside of her mouth as the steam heated her face. Her stomach growled. It had been a while since she had eaten. The rice would be soft, but she doubted she could chew. Miso soup would be good and it wouldn’t hurt.
Thinking about her debts to Nobuhiro caused enough pain.
“So, what were we discussing when we were interrupted?” Sen tried to smile but soon brought her hand to her face.
Sen’s mother didn’t return her cheerful attitude. The good spirits she had shown earlier dissipated, replaced with a pained expression that matched Sen’s own.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her mother said.
She’s avoiding it. Maybe it’s too early to bring it up.
Still, the desire within Sen drove her to push on. “We were discussing the cryptic message you mentioned earlier.”
Her mother gazed at the window before turning back to Sen. “I don’t wish to discuss it. That man may be around somewhere.”
“By now he must be in hiding. There’s nowhere for him to go. Once Nobuhiro tells his brothers, I am sure they will catch up with him quickly.”
“I don’t care. As I’ve told you before, your sister’s gone. I don’t intend to lose you to such foolish actions as well.”
Sen considered her mother’s words. Foolish actio
ns? They repeated a theme. “You’ve mentioned that before. What do you mean?”
Her mother sighed and shook her head. Sen recalled that look from her childhood, at times when she’d begged her mother for things. She was about to give in.
Sen rose and walked toward the window, looking intently to confirm if anyone was there. Convinced, she closed the sliding panes, locked them, and knelt back down. “Are you satisfied?”
Her mother hesitated, trying to shrug as if her shoulders bore an unseen weight. “Do not make light of a mother’s worries. One day, when you have children, you will understand. For now, just accept a mother’s wisdom.”
Sen shook her head. Her mother’s resolve had returned. The conversation kept hitting barriers as solid as the mud walls that protected some temples. This was something else. “What did you mean by ‘foolish actions’? You’ve mentioned it twice. What did Haru do?”
Sen’s mother rubbed her forehead, something Sen had seen her do many times. She didn’t remember if her mother did it while Sen was growing up. It was a habit now.
“Do you have a headache? Can I get you some water?”
Her mother looked as if she was about to burst with sadness. Her eyes moistened. Tears flowed slowly down her cheeks as she buried her face in her hands.
“Mother, what is it?” Sen rose and rushed to her mother’s side.
“Haven’t you realized it yet?” her mother asked in a tone that sounded almost disapproving. “Are you so dense? Someone spies on us and it doesn’t concern you?”
Her concern for her mother. Her worries for her duty. Her feelings for Nobuhiro. They had all clouded her judgment. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Please explain it to me.”
Her mother hesitated, as if trying to draw strength from some untapped source. “Your sister’s death was not an accident.”
Sen’s entire body went weak. She put her hand to the tatami floor to steady herself and took several breaths. Her pulse raced inside her, touching nerves and finding them deadened. “What do you mean? Haru and her husband died in a fire. It was in the letter you sent.”
“Yes, but I didn’t tell you everything. I couldn’t. I was afraid.”
Sen imagined her sister, dealing with what must have been a painful way to die. To find out that it hadn’t been an accident was more than she could bear. “What was missing? What didn’t you tell me?”
Sen’s mother dried her tears with shaking hands. Then, she grabbed her kimono, tightly balling her fists, as if ready to rip the light blue silk.
Sen put her hands on her mother’s shoulders and squeezed tight. “Mother, what didn’t you tell me?”
“Haru . . . and Jiro . . . were attending a church service. Someone set the place on fire while they were there.”
Chapter Eleven
Nobuhiro rose early, like always, and went to the workshop to prepare it for the day. The spring months, particularly the crisp, cool, early-morning air, usually brought out his best mood.
However, this late April morning didn’t lighten his spirits.
Two days had passed since the attack at the house. Life had returned to normal. He had checked on Sen the previous night. She was better and would return to the castle soon. He had hoped to spend some time with her, but her mother doted on her continuously, leaving him little opportunity.
He lit the candle in the lantern affixed to the wall. The shaded panes cast a glow on the workshop that overlaid the moonlight streaming in from the window. A cup of tea and a rice ball lay on a tray on the table. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
Sen knew his schedule.
That knowledge lifted his mood in a way that spring could not.
Nobuhiro took a sip of the green tea. Its bitterness was a sharp poker to his senses. He then lit the forge and sat down for his snack, adding more wood. Within fifteen minutes, the fire was roaring. He got to work.
After two hours passed, his stomach gnawed at him. He considered sneaking into the kitchen and grabbing something but decided now was not the time.
“Good morning,” Sen said, walking through the doorway with a tray of food. Her dark hair, tied with a white ribbon, brushed her shoulders. It looked like silk against the linen of her green yukata, the summer kimono she wore. A matching obi was tied across her middle. The swelling in her face had receded but was still noticeable.
She was still beautiful.
He put down his tools and bowed as she walked into the room. “Good morning. It’s good to see you up and around. What’s all this?”
“I prepared breakfast for my parents. I wanted to bring you a tray as well.”
“The rice ball was nice. I can eat when your father gets here like I always do.”
“My father is with my mother this morning. She is fine, but Father’s concerned that she may be tired. He trusts you’ll take care of the shop.”
Master Goami’s trust was appreciated. Nobuhiro had been here many years, but was he ready to go out on his own? He had a lot to learn in his final year.
Sen placed the tray on a low table near a workbench. Dried fish and cold pickles sat on the main plate. Two bamboo bowls, one filled with rice and the other with miso soup, were on the right. A raw egg lay next to them. A pair of chopsticks lay along the bottom of the tray, one end perched on a small stand.
The soup’s aroma made his mouth water and his stomach growled in response. “I hope your mother improves. Did she eat at all this morning?”
Sen glanced down, trying to hide an embarrassed smile. “Neither of them had started eating when I left my parents’ room, but they asked that I return in an hour and pick up the trays.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I’m really not hungry. Maybe later after I clear the dishes.”
Nobuhiro knelt, catching a slight frown on her face. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing. I just realized I forgot the tea. I’ll be right back.”
She returned shortly carrying a small pot, her slippers making no sound on the wooden floor. His face grew hot. He hadn’t touched his food since she left. She grinned and motioned to the tray. “Please eat before it gets cold.”
He obliged and asked her to join him. She knelt, sitting back on her feet and sweeping her yukata under her knees. The green suited her well.
He cracked the egg and allowed the contents to congeal on his steaming rice. Then, grabbing the chopsticks, he lifted the bowl to chin level and began eating. “It’s good your mother is better. I’d asked your father about her, but he didn’t say much.”
“Father isn’t talkative on issues like this. It’s not his nature.”
He put down the chopsticks. “Do you need to do anything else for them? I don’t want to keep you from something.”
“You’re not. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to talk with you since the intruder.”
He stared into her brown eyes and winced at the fading bruises. Nobuhiro would never forget him. The sight of him striking her. The hatred on his face. It stayed with him.
She tilted her head. Her down-the-middle part held, revealing a few strands of red.
Nobuhiro sat back. “Your hair. You have red hair?”
She looked away and blushed, running her hands through the streaks and burying them under the rest of her black locks. “Yes, just a touch.”
“It’s rare. I’ve heard stories that some women have it, but I can’t remember having seen it before.”
“More women have it than you’d think.”
“Why do you hide it?”
Pausing, she rolled her lips inward, flattening them. “It’s not good to stand out sometimes. Red hair is a memorable feature.”
He nodded, understanding the implication. The proverb “the nail that sticks up gets hammered down” defined society. Her hair, like her faith, stood out and made her different.
Another thing for his father not to like about her.
Toshi’s question came back to him. Why did Nobuhiro care what his fath
er thought?
He had been correct.
Even though Nobuhiro had stood up to his father, the assertiveness was only a start. His father still ruled him.
Whatever it took, though, Nobuhiro would protect Sen.
He took a bite of rice. “The color suits you.”
Her face flushed as a smile crossed it. “Thank you.” She turned toward the ground. When she raised her head again, the smile had disappeared. “How was it? Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
“Yes, it was good, though I don’t deserve a special meal.”
“You fought to protect my family. You escorted me home the day I came here. I never showed my appreciation. Also, Father tells me you’ve been working extra long to allow him time to care for my mother.”
His face warmed at her kind words. “That’s my duty. I have learned much from your father.”
A breeze blew through the room and goose bumps rose on his arms. He looked at the forge. He’d neglected it. He rushed over and added more wood. The smaller pieces caught quickly and he applied the bellows. The heat grew and warmed his frame. Satisfied the fire was growing hotter, he turned toward Sen. “Speaking of duty, if I don’t watch the fire, your father will say I’ve neglected mine.”
He sat back down and looked directly at her. “Why do you believe in this God?”
She grabbed a second cup from a pocket in her coat and poured herself some tea, holding the ceramic cup in both hands, staring into space, and not focusing on anything as she wet her lips. She was choosing her words. “Why do you ask?”
“Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t understand how it’s benefited you. Jiro tried to explain it to me. Your sister did as well.”
“Haru spoke to you about it?” Sen asked, her eyes sparkling.
Nobuhiro recalled his conversations with Jiro. His friend believed, but Haru was the strength behind his faith. “Yes, she did, but I never understood the need for it.” His tone perked to match Sen’s. He felt duplicitous but couldn’t help himself. He would do anything to see that smile. “Perhaps you could explain it to me. From the beginning.”
The corners of her mouth turned up as she began the story of the man she called the Son of God. Her smile never wavered with a single word.