by Tom Hoobler
“He would not talk,” said the judge, “although some of my men showed him the instruments of torture. So we left him alone with a sword, and he committed seppuku. ”
“What? He killed himself? But that means you can’t learn anything from him.”
“Oh, no. He told me all I really need to know. Except for a few details, which we will surely discover in time.”
Seikei blinked. The judge must be testing his loyalty. Surely he could not have solved the crime already.
The judge saw the look on Seikei’s face, and smiled. “Why would a man kill himself rather than confess to a crime?” the judge asked him. “The penalty for theft is not death.”
Seikei thought about it. ‘To protect someone else?” he suggested.
“Very good. And what sort of man would choose death rather than betray his friends?”
“A samurai?”
The judge nodded. “If he were of noble spirit. But why would a samurai be working as an innkeeper?”
Seikei could not answer that. Judge Ooka rose from the bath and began to dry himself. “Come. You can think about these questions later. Now you must receive your sword.”
Seikei dressed hastily. Even if it were only a wooden sword, he thought, it was more than he could have dreamed of.
The judge led him into the garden at the back of the house. Like everything else in the judge’s home, the garden indicated a love of beauty. Plants and trees surrounded a large rectangle of neatly raked white gravel. A few stones of different shapes and sizes were resting here and there on the gravel.
Seikei had seen gardens like this in Zen Buddhist temples in Kyoto. The monks gazed at them for hours, to clear their minds.
The judge sat on a wooden bench at the edge of the garden, motioning Seikei to sit beside him. Seikei knew that the stones were placed to fool the eye. Gazing at them long enough, you began to feel you were looking out on a vast landscape.
Indeed, it seemed that way. He could easily imagine the distant rocks as mountains and think of himself walking the raked lines in the sand, so tiny that he could not be seen. It would be a long journey.
Suddenly, the judge clapped his hands loudly, twice. He was summoning the kami, the spirits of nature that live all over Japan. The judge looked at Seikei, and he realized that he was expected to clap too.
Something strange happened when Seikei clapped his hands. The garden changed slightly, in ways almost too subtle to notice. A little breeze stirred up some of the grains of sand. The rocks in the distance seemed to move farther away. The back of Seikei’s neck tingled.
“We are going on a journey,” the judge said, talking to something unseen. “We ask you to guide our steps and help us accomplish our purpose. This boy needs to learn many things. I will teach him what I can, but when I fail you must show him the way. Look upon him with kindness.”
The little breeze died down, and the garden was calm and silent once more. The judge rose to his feet, and as Seikei turned, he saw a wooden sword resting on a stand behind them.
Bunzo must have placed it there, but Seikei had heard no sound. The judge picked up the sword. Seikei saw that the smooth, dark wood was polished to a high gloss. It seemed almost to glow, like a real sword. “I entrust you with this sword,” said the judge. “Treat it well, and use it with wisdom.”
Seikei took the sword in his hands. He was almost dizzy with joy. He wanted to swing it through the air to test it, but knew that was something a boy would do in play. He acted as a samurai would, and bowed low to the judge before slipping the sword through his belt. “I am ready,” he said.
Judge Ooka smiled. “We shall see.”
9: The Road to Ise
When Seikei and the judge returned to the courtyard, two horses stood saddled and waiting. Bunzo was nowhere in sight. Seikei was glad, for the samurai would not see him struggle to get onto the horse by himself. Surprisingly, although Judge Ooka looked heavy and slow, he mounted his own horse with ease. The judge took the lead, and Seikei’s horse followed.
They went out through the gate and onto the road that led east. “Aren’t you going to take any guards?” asked Seikei.
“I have you,” said the judge. “Won’t you defend me, if we are attacked?”
“Of course, but your own men—”
“Probably you thought we would be traveling like one of those great daimyos you must have seen on the road? With dozens of samurai and servants carrying banners and loudly commanding everyone to get out of their way. Is that what you expected?”
“Perhaps not that,” said Seikei. “But you are a judge, one of the shogun’s own officials.”
Judge Ooka nodded. “Yes, and now I am in search of a criminal. That is one of my duties. Think of it as if we were looking for a deer in a forest. Deer have sharp ears, and frighten easily. If you march through the forest with many soldiers, the deer will only run away. If you want to catch him, you must become a tree.”
“A tree?”
“Yes. Deer are used to seeing trees, and have no fear of them. And a criminal will have no fear of a fat old man and a boy."
Seikei saw the wisdom of this. The road was crowded today. Even on horseback he and the judge moved slowly, for people on foot or in kagos blocked their path. Unlike Lord Hakuseki, the judge did not order people out of the way. He seemed content to move along with the crowd.
“Shouldn’t we hurry a little?” asked Seikei.
“Why?”
“The thief must have left early in the morning. We are far behind him.”
“But if we know where he is going, why should that bother us?” said the judge. “We will arrive in our own time.”
Seikei thought about this, but could not understand. “Do we know where he is going?”
The judge nodded. “Think about the nature of the crime,” he said.
Seikei thought. “A jewel was stolen. You think, then, that the thief will go someplace where he can sell it?”
Judge Ooka shook his head. “He has another purpose.” Seikei tried to think of one, but could not. He followed the judge, who seemed more interested in the scenery than in looking for the thief. But why not, if he really knew where the thief was going?
Seikei decided to watch the other travelers. Among them, he saw a man wearing a dark blue robe and a basket over his head. The basket had a little slit for him to see through. He pointed the man out to Judge Ooka.
The judge nodded. “That is a komuso. You have not seen one before?”
“No.”
“They are wandering holy men. See the flute he carries? The komusos play music to beg for food.”
“Why does he hide his face under a basket?”
“That is part of the komuso tradition. They want to lose their outer selves so they can dwell on the spirit within.”
Seikei shook his head. Something else for him to wonder about. “But,” he said, “it would be a good disguise for a thief.”
“Ah.” The judge smiled. “You are right. Keep an eye on him.”
Seikei felt glad to be doing something useful. But the komuso moved more quickly than they did, because he could slip easily through the throngs of people. Seikei tried to urge his horse to go faster, but it lazily continued to follow the judge’s horse. And when the road turned around a hill, Seikei lost sight of the komuso. He strained his eyes, but couldn’t find the bobbing basket-head in the crowd.
In places along the road, people had built little huts with straw roofs, where they sold tea, noodles, fish, pickles, and rice. The judge decided to stop at one of them. Seikei slipped down from his horse. His legs felt wobbly as he followed the judge into the hut. Inside, an old lady with gray hair stirred a large pot of miso soup.
Seikei’s mouth began to water as he smelled the aroma from the pot. He realized that he had not eaten anything since breakfast. Judge Ooka placed a coin on a rough wooden table in front of the shopkeeper. She ladled noodles and broth into two bowls and set them down. Seikei finished his quickly, and the
judge ordered another. “Pretty soon, you’ll be as fat as me,” he said.
Seikei thought it would take a long time, but said nothing. After the judge ate his noodles, he asked the shopkeeper, “Have you seen any kabuki actors on the road today?”
The old lady glanced at the two swords at the judge’s belt. “So many people pass by, Lord. I don’t see them all.’’
Judge Ooka placed another coin on the table. The woman slipped it into her sleeve so quickly that if Seikei had blinked he would not have seen it.
She sucked on her teeth and cocked her head. “But early this morning something unusual happened. A group of men passed with a horse loaded with two large black trunks, like the ones actors sometimes use to carry their costumes and such. One of them wanted a bowl of noodles, but the others urged him not to stop. They wanted to go on.”
“That was not unusual,” murmured the judge.
She nodded and smiled, showing that she had only a few teeth. “Oh, yes, but this fellow said he had no money. He offered to do a trick for me if I gave him noodles.” She put her hand over her mouth. “I cannot help laughing as I think of it. It was very funny. I let him have a bowl, for he made a face with very sad eyes. Just like an actor, you know?”
The judge nodded. “And then?”
“He took the bowl of noodles in his hand—just where you’re standing now—and flipped backward, heels over head, into the road. Landed on his feet. But he didn’t spill a drop of the soup! I don’t know how he did it. I laughed and laughed. It was worth the soup to see that.”
“Was he short?” Seikei broke in suddenly. “With a scar on his cheek, here?” He drew a line across his face.
The woman nodded and touched her cheek. “Oh, yes. Must have cut himself somehow. But he had a lovely face, even so. I never saw anybody with such beautiful eyes.”
The judge thanked the woman and left her another coin. He and Seikei mounted their horses and rode on.
“Why did you ask the shopkeeper if she had seen a short man with a scar on his cheek?” the judge asked.
Seikei told the judge about the incident at the checkpoint. When the beggar stood in Lord Hakuseki’s way and then flipped backward to avoid being trampled. “It seemed to me that they must be the same man,” said Seikei.
Judge Ooka nodded in approval. “You are observant,” he said.
“Could he be the one who stole the jewel?” asked Seikei.
The judge smiled. “Can you see a connection? Did the spirit you saw look anything like the man in the road?”
Seikei tried to remember. “I think the spirit was much taller. It had horns, and its face was very white. I didn’t see any scar.”
“The hallway was dark,” the judge pointed out.
As they rode along, Seikei realized that only yesterday, he yearned to travel the road like this—out in the open, where he could see everything. The road wound along the seacoast here, and he looked out over the waves crashing against the stone-covered shore on his right. Seikei took a deep breath of the air, smelling the salt of the surf.
An ancient pine tree, twisted and bent by the winds, clung to a crevice in a rock at the edge of the sea. It drew Seikei’s attention. He wondered how the tree managed to survive. He thought about how many people had passed by it during the years it had grown there. For some reason, it made him feel sad.
“You are thinking about that tree,” said the judge.
“How did you know?” asked Seikei.
“Everyone looks at it,” he replied. “Because it stands alone next to the sea. Look on the other side of the road.”
Seikei looked at the hillside that rose above them. Pine trees grew all over it, one just like another.
“They are straight and tall,” said the judge. ‘They follow their nature as trees, which is to grow, spread their branches, and in time drop their cones so that new trees will grow in their place when they die. Most people live like that, don’t you agree?”
Seikei nodded. “Yet,” the judge said, “everyone looks at the tree that stands alone. It is different. Fate has put it where it cannot grow straight and tall. It reminds us of something that we fear. What is that?”
Seikei thought. “I don’t know,” he said.
“You, a merchant’s son who thinks like a samurai? You don’t know? Have you ever felt that you were in the wrong place? That fate had made you different?”
“Many times,” Seikei admitted softly. It was a secret thought that he had never told anyone except the girl on the terrace. He was surprised that the judge could see it so easily.
“People who feel that way sometimes become criminals,” said the judge. Seikei felt guilty, as if he himself had been caught committing a crime. But the judge’s smile reassured him. “Only sometimes, not always,” he said. “But I think about this when I look for a criminal.”
In the middle of the afternoon, they came to a fork in the road. To the left, the main road continued on to Edo. But some travelers took the smaller road that led south, toward the coast.
“They are going to Ise,” said the judge. “Making the pilgrimage.” Ise was the holiest place in Japan. The ancient temple there was dedicated to Amaterasu, the goddess of the sun, who was the ancestor of the first emperor of Japan. People came from all over the country to ask Amaterasu to bless their families and villages.
Judge Ooka swung his horse to the right. Seikei was surprised. “Aren’t we going to Edo?” he asked.
“In time,” said the judge. “We will only lose a day at Ise. Have you ever been there?”
“No,” Seikei said, but he had long wanted to. It was said that a sacred mirror was kept in the temple. Indeed, it was the same mirror that the other kami used long ago to lure Amaterasu from her hiding-place. Had she not come out, the sun would never have shone on Japan. Whenever a new emperor took the throne, he came to Ise to ask Amaterasu to continue to bless Japan with her presence.
“You may be surprised,” said the judge.
Seikei was. As they rode into the town of Ise, Seikei saw that it was a rowdy place. His horse was surrounded by people hawking magic charms and portions. One man shouted that his could cure any disease; another told Seikei that his would bring wealth. Seikei struggled to keep up with the judge.
Jugglers and conjurors performed their acts in the street. Seikei saw a crowd watching a trained monkey that danced and begged for coins. Young women called out to travelers, trying to get them to stop at the inns and teashops that lined the streets. One of them tried to grab the bridle of the judge’s horse, but he pulled away from her. On every building, it seemed, signs proclaimed that this was the best place for food, for lodging, or for entertainment.
The judge guided his horse past all of them. Seikei expected that he would stay at the headquarters of the local government official. Again, he was wrong. The judge stopped at a stable, where he paid to have their horses fed and watered and kept for the night.
Then they walked to a back street where the houses were small and shabby-looking. Seikei was glad to be able to stretch his legs, but wondered what the judge was looking for here. A few of the houses had simple signs in front, reading TEA or RICE. None were as fancy or appealing as the shops on the main street.
“Did you keep track of that komuso we saw earlier?” the judge asked.
Seikei admitted that he had lost sight of the man.
“There he is,” said the judge.
Seikei saw the komuso standing in front of one of the teahouses, playing a soft, haunting song on his flute. It did look like the same man, Seikei thought, but it was impossible to tell because of the basket on his head.
The judge walked past the komuso without looking at him, and went into the teahouse. Seikei followed, kicking off his sandals at the door. Inside, people sat at a long table, drinking cups of tea. They looked curiously at the fat samurai who had just walked in, but immediately a little man in a brown kimono appeared, carrying a tray of teacups. When he saw the judge, he put the tray down and
beckoned for him to follow.
The man silently led Seikei and the judge down a narrow corridor. He slid open a door at the far end, and they went inside. The room was small and bare of any furniture except straw mats that covered the floor. The judge sat down on a mat and sighed deeply. Seikei started to ask him a question, but the judge put up his hand.
In a moment, the man returned with bowls of soup and a pot of tea. The soup was surprisingly tasty, with pieces of green onion and tuna in it. When they had finished, the judge took his swords from his belt and laid them carefully on the mat.
“Perhaps we should get some sleep,” he said. “Tonight we are going to a kabuki play.”
Seikei stared. “I thought samurai were not allowed to go to kabuki theaters.”
“That is true,” said the judge, “but I am forced to do so as a duty to the shogun. You may enjoy it. I want you to pay close attention, so rest now.”
In a moment the judge was snoring, but Seikei lay on his mat, his mind racing. He had too much to think about.
10: The Forty-Seven Ronin
Seikei and the judge walked up the hill that led to the holy shrine of Ise. The judge had left his two swords behind so that he would not be known as a samurai. But he told Seikei to wear his wooden sword. “Sometimes,” the judge said, “the crowds are rough, and there are pickpockets among them. I’m depending on your keen eyes and courage.”
Secretly, Seikei hoped there would be no trouble. He loved to feel the sword tucked under his belt, but he had no confidence in his ability to use it.
The shrine contained many buildings. One was a monastery, where Buddhist monks spent their lives. Another building was open to travelers who could afford no other place to stay. Beyond the monastery stood the two ancient wooden shrines that were the heart of Ise. But the stream of travelers that visited them by day did not come at night, for the sun goddess slept then, and did not like to be awakened.
During the night hours, the pilgrims crowded into one of the theaters just outside the monastery grounds. Pretty paper lanterns of many colors decorated the entrances, and just as at the inns of the town, women tried to lure customers inside.