Without waking the still sleeping Mariko, I dressed quickly, putting on a jogging suit and my running shoes. I got my jacket from the closet, wrote a quick note to Mariko, and checked to make sure I had my passport and wallet.
I walked out the front door of the Imperial and strolled to the corner where a light would let me cross the street to Hibiya Park. The chill air invigorated me and I started some simple stretching exercises while waiting for the light to change. When the light turned green I started jogging across the street and into the park.
Despite being bordered by busy streets, the park was quiet in the early morning hours, although by no means lifeless. As I jogged along I came across a group of Japanese students standing in their black uniforms doing calisthenics. Another student, acting as exercise leader, stood in front of the group of eight or ten of them.
I went past a lake with a fountain decorated with bronze cranes. The graceful bronze birds curved into the morning air. The earth by the side of the path was slightly muddy. It was fall and the bite of winter was in the air. Coming from California where there really isn’t a winter, I felt both wonder and excitement at the ancient cycle of seasons surrounding me.
As I curved around the lake, I saw a pavilion over to the side. In the pavilion a middle-aged man sat reading. I wondered idly what he was reading and why he decided to get up so early in the morning to read it in the chilled park.
I continued jogging and came across another path. I cut to the right on the path and slowed down to a walk. I felt better. My brain was clearer. With the short jog and the morning air, I started to relax, looking about me at the trees and the foliage.
Up ahead I saw a small snack stand and decided I would stop and try to get some hot chocolate or coffee. I walked up to the stand and an old man in an olive jacket, fatigue pants, and rubber boots was standing behind the counter. He grinned a toothy grin at me and gave some greeting in Japanese.
“Ohayo,” I said, smiling back. “Do you speak English?”
“English?” the man said with a thick accent. The man laughed and shook his head. “No. No English.”
Then as an afterthought, he dredged his way through an obviously meager vocabulary and added, “Sorry.”
I smiled at the man and said, “That’s all right.” I started looking over the wares being offered. There were a variety of colorful boxes, all of which seemed to contain different types of crackers or cookies. In a little glass-sided cabinet there were white buns of some sort made of rice dough and with some kind of filling, as well as cans of coffee. From the condensation on the inside of the cabinet, I could tell that these items were heated. I reached out and put my fingertips against the glass and felt the warmth.
I pointed at the cabinet and said, “I would like some coffee.”
“Ah, hai, kah-fee” he said, reaching into the cabinet and bringing out a can of coffee.
I reached into my pocket and took out a handful of Japanese coins and held them out to the man. The man laughed, and peering at the coins, picked through them and selected a few. Then he handed me the can of coffee.
“Thank you,” I said. “Arigato.”
The man smiled back his gap-toothed grin and dipped his head. “Do itashimashite,” he answered.
I tore the aluminum tab off the can, went to a nearby bench, and sat down. The short contact with the man running the concession stand seemed to cheer me up. I thought that the man seemed like a happy soul, content with his life and with meeting people in the park. I wished my own life was not so complicated or filled with theft, murder, and six ancient blades.
The coffee was bitter but it was hot and satisfying, and I sipped at the can as I looked around the park. The trees were wearing a protective girdle of straw put on them by patient gardeners. Another sign that winter would be coming soon.
Down the path came a woman with a young child. The woman had a quilted coat and carried a shopping bag. The child looked six or seven. She had a red jacket, blue pants, and red rubber boots. Her hair was cut in the inevitable bangs, and bright eyes peered out from a round, cute face.
The woman walked over to the stand and bought one of the white rice buns and a foam cup of hot green tea. She took some napkins from the holder and walked over to the bench next to mine. They sat down and the woman offered the child a bite of the bun. The child nibbled at it and the mother picked up one of the napkins and dabbed at the child’s mouth.
The child was at the age where she felt that her dignity was being infringed upon by this action and she pushed the napkin away. The mother lectured her for a few seconds, then handed the napkin over to the child, offering the bun for another bite. The child bit at the bun and this time wiped her own mouth. She said something to the mother, who reached into her shopping bag and pulled out a little plastic sack with a variety of toys in it.
The child reached in the sack and brought out a handkerchief which had its four corners tied together. The child undid the handkerchief and took out some pieces of plastic. They were brightly colored; red on one side and blue on the other.
I was fascinated by what kind of game this was. I noticed that the pieces were not all the same shape. Some were triangles, others were rectangles, and all of various sizes. The child dumped the pieces out on the bench and started arranging them so all the blue sides were up. Then she started moving the pieces around on the bench, placing the pieces next to each other, moving a piece from one side to the next and trying different combinations of the various forms. After a few minutes she said something to her mother, who looked at the pattern created by the child and nodded. Her mother went back to eating the bun as the child started rearranging the pieces.
I was intrigued, and when the child stopped and asked her mother to look, I stood up so I could get a clear picture of what the pattern was. I didn’t want to intrude on her privacy, but I was intensely curious as to what the child was doing. The pieces of plastic had been pushed around, forming a head, stumpy triangular legs, and a little triangular tail. The pattern looked like it could be a cubist rendition of a horse or dog.
Once again the child started moving the pieces around, forming another pattern. She was aware that I was observing her, and acted nonchalant. Still, I think she liked the audience. This time she shoved the pieces around into what looked like a stylized tree. She didn’t seem satisfied by that and moved the pieces around again.
Finally, after many rearrangements, she ended up with a triangular sail and the hull of a sailboat. Excitedly, she said something to the mother who looked down and nodded. The mother said something and the child flipped the pieces forming the sail over, changing the sail from blue to red, ending up with a bluehulled boat with a red sail. The child seemed very pleased by this and as I watched I also became pleased.
I now had a way to unravel the secret of the sword blades.
The woman and the child finished their snack and moved on. I sat on the bench thinking about my solution to the problem, thinking through the computer techniques necessary to implement it. I took a scrap of paper and a pen from my pocket and tried sketching out my solution to see if I was right. I was so immersed that I didn’t notice the two men walking up the path towards me.
As they came close, I glanced up and dropped the pen and paper. It was my two Yakuza pursuers, back again and mad. The tall one let fly with a fist to my head. I’d like to say my catlike reflexes allowed me to avoid the blow, but the only cat my reflexes match is the chubby cartoon character Garfield. I did manage to move my head enough so the blow was just glancing, but it still hurt. A lot.
I tried twisting away but the tall guy grabbed the sleeve of my jacket so I couldn’t run. Sitting on a bench is not the best fighting posture, but it does have the advantage of leaving your legs free to kick. Leaning over, I brought my right leg up between the legs of the shorter man. I connected hard, actually lifting him off the ground slightly. The enthusiasm for the fight drained from his face, along with most of his blood. He grabbed his crotch and doubled over.