Afterward, when he had won, the rest of his humanity, which was crowded out by the pressure of the fight, returned. He looked around at the results of his skill and felt a wordless sadness. He understood why so many warriors became priests in their old age.
He had seen other warriors enjoy picnic lunches after a battle, sitting midst the blood, bodies, and hacked-off limbs. That was something unthinkable to Kaze. He enjoyed fighting, but he didn’t enjoy death.
He stood up and yanked his blade out of the neck of the dead bandit. He carefully wiped the blade off on the bandit’s clothes. There were a few groans from dying men and a peculiar snuffling noise. He looked around to identify the source of the strange noise and saw the youth crying.
Kaze walked out of the camp to the spring where he had made the dragon tracks. He stripped off his kimono and sat in the small pool of water. Its coldness surprised him, but he splashed the water against his body and face to erase the stench of blood. He got out of the pool and dunked his clothes in. As he squeezed his garment, a watery red stain spread in the pool. Kaze wrung out his kimono, and, holding on to it with one hand, he tossed it over his shoulder. Still gripping his sword in the other hand, Kaze casually strolled back to the bandit camp, naked except for his sandals and loincloth, as nonchalant as any man returning from a public bath.
When he got back to the camp, all the bandits were finally dead. The boy was still crying, and he watched Kaze approach him with wide, fearful eyes. Kaze strolled over to where the tied-up youth was lying, and he squatted down on his haunches. He studied the boy’s face. It was the broad, blunt face of a peasant. Tears streaked down his cheeks and a bubble of snot filled one nostril.
“What am I going to do with you?” Kaze asked.
The boy made no reply. He was either too fearful to talk or he didn’t understand Kaze’s question.
“I gave you your life once, back there on the road,” Kaze said. “Most people would have understood that the life of a bandit was not for them after that incident, but you immediately returned to this camp. Didn’t you understand that you’re not like them?”
“They never let me be one of them,” the boy blurted out. “I was only allowed to do stupid things, like guard the camp, guide people, run messages, or do the cooking and cleaning.”
“You had a chance to be one of them when you were supposed to stab me in the back, and you failed.”
“I didn’t fail!”
“Don’t try to deny that failure. It’s something to be proud of, not ashamed. That failure was the reason I let you live.”
“I’d have been as bad as any of them!” the boy shouted.
Kaze laughed. “It’s a twisted world we live in when a young man tries to claim how bad he is. If I untied you and gave you a sword, would you try to sneak up behind me and stab me?”
The boy looked at Kaze, confused about what to say.
“Relax,” Kaze continued. “I’m not going to put you to that test. I’ll risk my life, but I won’t play with it. First I’m going to gather up all the weapons I can see, then I’m going to release you. Then I want you to dig five graves and bury your comrades. If you do that properly, you shall have your life as a reward. This will be the second time I’ve given your life back to you. This time don’t waste it.”
Kaze spread his wet kimono out on a bush to dry, and, by the time he was done gathering up the weapons scattered around the bodies, the boy had stopped crying. Kaze cut the bounds of the boy and set him to work digging graves while he waited for his kimono to dry. Kaze found a tree limb, trimmed it to his satisfaction, and started carving a statue of the Kannon.
“What’s your name?” Kaze asked, deftly carving the edge of a robe on the statue he was working on.
“Hachimmmm,” the boy murmured, making it hard to hear.
“What?”
“Hachiro.”
“The eighth child, or did your parents name you Hachiro as a prank, when you were the first son and should have been named Ichiro?”
Hachiro looked blankly at Kaze, and suddenly realized the samurai was making a joke. He gave a small, tentative smile. “No, I’m the eighth child. There were fourteen in our family, although only seven lived.”
“I was a second son, myself,” Kaze said. “Why did you take up the life of the bandit?”
The boy stopped digging. “There was nothing else,” he said. “Soldiers killed my family. They killed my whole village.”
“What soldiers?” Kaze asked, not looking up.
“I don’t know.” Hachiro thought a moment, then he added. “They carried banners that looked something like a spider.”
Kaze froze, then slowly looked up from his carving. “A black banner, with a white diamond surrounded by eight white bamboo leaves, bent in the middle?” he said softly.
Hachiro stopped his work and looked at the samurai, surprised. “Yes! How did you know?”
“There was a tall thin man with a black winged helmet? A helmet with pieces like this?” Kaze put his hands up to the side of his face, still holding the knife with a couple of his fingers. He spread the remaining fingers outward from his face. “He might have had a steel war fan for sending signals to his troops,” Kaze added.
“How did you know? Who is he? Do you know why he destroyed my village and killed my family?” Hachiro was excited and forgot to be afraid.
“He is someone in the service of the Tokugawas, and he came to your village because your District Lord was undoubtedly a follower of the forces loyal to the Toyotomis, the late Taiko’s family. As for why he destroyed it and killed, that was simply because it pleases him. He needs no other reason.”
“Do you know him?”
Kaze’s face twisted into a look of pure hatred. “Yes, I know him. It was Lord Okubo. He was a boyhood acquaintance of mine.”
Despite his consuming curiosity, the samurai’s reaction frightened Hachiro. After a slight pause, he bent down to his work again. Seeing the effect he was having on the boy, Kaze fought to control himself. Finally, after struggling to suppress all the rage the conversation raised in him, he tried to change the subject by asking the boy, “How did you end up with the bandits?”
“They captured me. They told me a farmer’s life was too hard. They said that now the Tokugawas have won, there is no need for new soldiers, so there was no way to better yourself.”
“Then you should not have bettered yourself. The life of a farmer is hard, but it can be long. The men you’re burying all died because of the life they led. If I didn’t kill them, they would have been killed by someone else. They were ruining this District. Perhaps Lord Manase would have put together an expedition to wipe them out when things finally became intolerable.”
“Oh, Manase-sama wouldn’t do that.”
Surprised, Kaze asked, “Why?”
“Because Manase-sama needed my master, Boss Kuemon, for money. Manase-sama has borrowed money many times.”
Kaze stopped carving. “How do you know that?”
“I used to take the money to Manase-sama’s mansion. I was always running errands, exchanging messages, leading people that Boss Kuemon had captured on the road to the mansion, or taking money to Manase-sama.” He stole a glance at Kaze. “Manase-sama may be very mad at you killing Boss Kuemon.”
“If he is, that will be something I will have to deal with. Right now you have to deal with digging those graves before it gets dark. Hayaku! Hurry up!”
CHAPTER 18
The cock thinks the sun
exists to serve its crow. We
think we serve our heart.
“I’ll draw a map of the location of the bandit’s camp. The Magistrate can go there to see if there’s any stolen material that can be returned to its rightful owners.”
Kaze was sitting on the worn veranda of Lord Manase’s manor. Before him the District Lord sat, practicing his calligraphy. Manase was once again dressed in layers of colorful kimono and he sat with his brush poised over the surface of a roll of fine paper. Next to him was an inkstone with a scene of grasshoppers carved in bas-relief in the head of the stone. In the well of the stone was high-quality ink, freshly ground and mixed with pure spring water.