“Perhaps you can’t achieve this step. Most people go through all their lives without understanding what is inside themselves-that core, that essence that makes them themselves. Some few achieve this consciousness late in life, as their years of study and meditation bear fruit. You had something from the first time I met you that let me know that you had an inner core wtih great possibilities.”
“But Sensei, you’re always criticizing me!”
“Yes. I am. And those criticisms are always true. But that doesn’t mean that the greatness is not still inside you. It simply means that my expectation for you is merely perfection. When you’re not achieving perfection, that’s when I’m criticizing.
“Let me explain to you the final secret of the Yagyu school of fencing. After a student has mastered all its secrets, he is told one final secret and asked to meditate on its meaning. The student is asked the meaning of ‘the moon in the water.’ Do you know its meaning?”
“That the moon is so lofty that we can only capture a watery image of it here on Earth?”
The Sensei shook his head and sighed. “Perhaps I was wrong about your progress. That answer is neither Zen nor accurate.”
Kaze thought furiously and said, “It means that it is the nature of water to reflect the image of the moon, just as it is the nature of the moon to be reflected. All bodies of water have this ability to reflect in their nature, from the great sea to a lowly mud puddle. Yet the water has no conscious desire to reflect the moon. It is simply inherent in every body of water. By the same token, the moon has no desire to be reflected by countless bodies of water, it is simply inherent in its nature, too. Thus it is with men. Some are destined to be reflected, and others have it in their nature to reflect.”
The Sensei nodded. “You always surprise me, which is why you are my favorite pupil. A teacher is always happy to be pleasantly surprised by a student. That is the proper answer and, if you were a Yagyu student, you would receive a fancy piece of paper attesting to your skill and the completion of your training. As my student, you will receive no such paper. Instead, your life will be the testament of the training you have received from me. It’s time to leave me and return to your parents.”
“But, Sensei!” Kaze protested. “I still have so much to learn from you! Surely my training could not be finished.”
“Baka! Fool! I don’t know why I’ve bothered with you all these years. You are so exasperating! Urusai!”
Kaze cringed but was determined to stand his ground. He didn’t want to leave the Sensei.
More kindly, the Sensei said, “There is really no more I can teach you. It is time for you to teach yourself. Your life with me was just a temporary dream, just as all of life is an ephemeral moment. It’s now time for you to leave this dreamlike existence and return to your life and your karma. You must go down from our mountain retreat and enter the world of men and women again. You’re still young, and it is time for you to see what kind of man you will become.”
Kaze was heartbroken and thought of a thousand stratagems to stay. But the Sensei was insistent, and Kaze knew he must follow his orders. He had to return to his family and the life that was laid out for him.
The next day, as Kaze was about to go, the Sensei stood, his eyes watery as he fought to control his emotions. The Sensei’s white mane framed his weathered face. His back was as straight as a fine spear’s shaft, and he refused to let his thick shoulders sag, despite the emotional burden they were bearing. The power of the Sensei’s suppressed emotions washed over Kaze. Despite the lack of outward reaction, it made Kaze realize the bond he had with this old man who had been educating him for many years and the debt he owed him. Kaze gave one final, formal bow to his beloved teacher.
“Go!” the old man said, his voice husky. “And look only forward. Look neither to the side nor behind. Simply advance, as I have taught you to do.”
Kaze turned on his heels and did exactly that.
The clanging from the forge stopped. Kaze hopped off the tree limb with graceful agility and made his way to the swordsmith’s domain. The forge was in a wooden structure open on three sides. Kannemori was talking to one of his assistants. Although the swordsmith had aged, he was still a small bull of a man, with thick muscles in his neck and shoulders, a bald head, and a quick smile at all times, except when he was working on a sword. Then he was the picture of concentration and seriousness.
Kannemori looked up at the sight of a ronin approaching the forge. The man was of average height but very muscular about the arms and shoulders. He walked like a swordsman. Each step maintained a centered balance so that, if he were suddenly attacked, he could immediately take a defensive or offensive posture. He did not shave his pate, and his long hair was gathered at the back of his head in a topknot. He was handsome, and Kannemori judged the man to be in his early thirties. There was something about the set of his squared jaw and the sharp glance of his dark brown eyes that evoked a memory from long ago.
Then the swordsmith remembered. The Sensei’s young pupil. The one who had come to Kamakura over two decades ago. The promising young man that the Sensei called, out of the hearing of the young lad, his most promising student. Kannemori told an assistant to take away the blade he was working on. He would finish it tomorrow. Kannemori gave a quick bow to the shrine and then walked out to meet the man, wiping the perspiration from his face with a white cloth.
He said, “Is it you? The Sensei’s pupil?” He gave a wide grin.
The man looked surprised. “Yes, it is, Kannemori Sensei. But now I’m known as Matsuyama Kaze, not by my former name.”
Kannemori considered that and knew the reason instantly. “Are the Tokugawa looking for you?”
“Yes. Especially Lord Okubo.”
“Lord Okubo,” Kannemori said thoughtfully. “That is a bad enemy to have.”
“Nonetheless, he is the enemy I have.”
“And how can I help you, Mr. Wind on Pine Mountain? Do you need lodging or help in some other way?”
“I need a sword.”
Kannemori eyed the sword in Kaze’s scabbard. It was a fine, but not exquisite, sword with a tsuba with a falling cherry blossom design. His expert eye could see that the sword was not the mate to the scabbard. It was clearly a stopgap measure. “What happened to your sword?”
“It broke during a duel with the owner of the sword I now carry.”
“Broke?”
“Yes, Kannemori Sensei. I don’t know why. It was a fine Kiyohara blade, and it had served me faithfully from the day it was first presented to me by my former Lord.”
Kannemori rubbed his chin. “It broke….” His voice trailed off as he contemplated the meaning of this event. Swords sometimes did break, but they were invariably inferior weapons, katana forged by worthless swordsmiths, usually to equip common foot soldiers. A fine blade like a Kiyohara would not break, except for a reason. “Who was the man you were fighting when it broke?”
“A bandit chief. He was intent on killing a merchant I came across on the Tokaido Road. Even after my sword broke, I was able to kill him.”
“And now you carry his sword?”
“Yes. A dead man’s sword. I would like to replace it with one of your blades, if you would sell one to me.”
“For the Sensei’s pupil, I will always have a blade. Always.”
Kaze gave the master craftsman a deep, formal bow, keeping his back straight. “Thank you, Kannemori Sensei.”
Kannemori returned the bow, but not quite as deeply. “Come, let us go to my house. I want a bath, and then we shall share some sakè.”
CHAPTER 14
Evil buzz and a
habit of tormenting me.
Die, pernicious fly!