Dale Furutani - Kill the Shogun

As he entered the merchant’s shop, the merchant’s wife and the woman who helped in the shop were taking in the flat wooden trays used to display the vegetables.

“Konbanwa , good evening,” the wife of the merchant said.

“Konbanwa,” Kaze answered.

“Will you be taking your meal in your room again, or will you join us for dinner?”

“In my room, if it is not too much trouble,” Kaze answered, starting up the steep stairs to his room. “Just tell me when it’s ready and I’ll come down and get it.”

“All right,” the wife responded.

Kaze saw both women looking at him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. He was sure they knew he had once been a samurai and that they pitied him for having tumbled so low, falling even from the precarious status of a ronin to that of a street entertainer. His samurai pride was repelled by the thought of pity, but his duty of finding the girl kept his pride in check. He finished climbing the stairs and went into the small room he had rented.

I’d like to follow him up those stairs,” the merchant’s wife said as she watched Kaze ascend to his room.

“You’d have to make room on the futon for a third, because I’ll be right behind you,” the servant said.

Both women laughed. The wife said, “If my husband knew I had such thoughts, he’d kill me! Still,” she said, looking up the stairs where Kaze had departed, “that is one handsome man. So good-looking, and with such muscles in his arms and shoulders.”

“I’m more interested in another muscle of his,” the servant said.

The wife laughed and slapped the servant’s arm. “You’re bad!”

“I don’t have a husband to worry about. I’ve been sending him signals ever since he showed up here, but he seems so preoccupied that I don’t think he notices.”

“He is very intense,” the wife said. “I also think there’s a sadness to him. I don’t know why.”

“He obviously wasn’t always a street entertainer. Such polite manners; you don’t learn such things on the street.”

“Maybe he’s fallen from some higher station in life,” the wife said.

“Maybe it’s some tragic love affair,” the servant said romantically. “He’s probably trying to forget some woman.”

“I’d like to help him forget! My worthless husband has been spending all his time and money on trying to get rich through gambling.”

The servant knew better than to agree about the worthlessness of the master. It was quite all right for a Japanese to criticize a spouse or child, but quite something else for a stranger to do the same thing, especially if he was a servant in the house.

Kaze knew there were people in the house long before he heard their voices. He slept with his hand on his sword, so he saw no need to act, or even move from the warm comfort of the futon, until he understood what was happening. Finally, one of the talkers raised his voice.

“Where is that worm?” A strange man’s voice.

“I don’t know. I suppose he’s out gambling.” The vegetable merchant’s wife.

“What! He’s gambling somewhere else? He owes my boss money. We want it! How dare he gamble somewhere else, after we’ve given him credit!”

“My husband says your boss doesn’t run an honest game. He says-”

A sharp slap, followed by a yelp of surprise and pain. Kaze quickly got up and shrugged into his kimono. They weren’t killing her, so there was no need to rush down the stairs dressed in just his loincloth and a sword.

“Please don’t hit my mistress!” The servant.

“Keep out of this or you’ll get the same.” A second man’s voice. So there were at least two of them.

“Hey, maybe we should give them both something, just so that bastard understands we’re serious!” A third voice.

“What do you mean?” The second voice again, so perhaps there were only three of them. Kaze, his kimono on, started down the steep stairs.

“Well, they’re no beauties, but they aren’t bad looking. Maybe we should… say, who are you?” The speaker spotted Kaze descending the stairs.

There were three of them. Two had swords, indicating they were ronin. One was the man talking to Kaze. The third man was not carrying a sword, but he towered over the others by a good head and his body was at least twice as wide, and very muscular. He could easily be a wrestler, like the kind who wrestled at the shrines during religious holidays.

“I’m your etiquette teacher,” Kaze announced.

“Etiquette teacher? What kind of stupid thing is that to say?”

Kaze sighed. “See why I’m needed? First you slap okusama , the honorable wife of this house, and now you are rude to me.” He shook his head. As he did so, he was gauging the manner of men he was facing. If he used his sword, he would have a relatively easy task, but he didn’t want to unsheathe his blade. The men had not yet done something that warranted death, and the inconvenience of three bodies would surely draw the attention of the authorities to this house. Kaze preferred to stay anonymous to the Tokugawa guards.

“I suppose I’ll have a lot of work to do,” Kaze said. “After all, rui o motte atsumaru , the same kind always gathers together. All three of you are probably badly in need of a lesson in proper manners.”

“A lesson! Why you-”

Kaze attacked.

Like all samurai, Kaze knew the value of surprise in a fight. In ancient times, samurai would formally introduce themselves before starting a fight. They would recite their lineage and the great deeds of their ancestors. If they had been in notable battles, they would tell their opponent of that, too. Then, after all the lengthy formalities were completed, the fight would finally begin.

Such stilted battle etiquette was long since forgotten, and for good reason. The warlord Nobunaga had defeated an army twelve times larger than his own with a surprise attack, and every warrior understood that striking first was usually a huge advantage. Kaze used this advantage to his benefit.

Keeping his sword in its scabbard, he brought it down on the head of the man he was talking to. With a surprised look, the ronin crumpled to the floor. His companion drew his sword and took a side cut at Kaze’s head. Kaze ducked under the swinging blade and used his scabbard to hit the swordsman right behind the knee, collapsing him on his unconscious companion.

The wrestler had charged as soon as Kaze started his attack. In the cramped confines of the vegetable seller’s house, Kaze didn’t have the room to avoid the man’s charge. The huge body hit his with a bone-jarring shock, lifting him off his feet and driving him against an outside wall. The wrestler put one large hand against Kaze’s chest, pinning him in place. He drew back his other fist and punched at Kaze’s face. Despite having the wind knocked out of him, Kaze remained alert enough to bob his head at the last moment. He felt the wrestler’s fist graze his ear and heard it smash into the wooden wall, splintering the boards as the wrestler punched his fist through the wall. The wrestler tried to draw his fist out, but the splintered wood acted like a cruel trap, jabbing into his wrist and causing him to wince as he fought to extricate his hand.

The tiny pause was all that Kaze needed. He brought his sword scabbard up between the wrestler’s legs. The huge man gave a grunt of pain, and Kaze saw tears filling the man’s eyes. Kaze repeated the maneuver, bringing his scabbard up between the man’s legs with all the strength he could muster. The man’s eyes squinted in pain and the hand that had pinned Kaze to the wall dropped to his groin.

Kaze twisted free of the giant and brought his scabbard down on the back of the wrestler’s head. The wrestler fell heavily to his knees, his trapped hand preventing him from falling all the way to the floor.