Strange Light Afar (3 page)

THREE

HONOR

◊

T
hey say the man Samon Hasabe was a scholar who lived in the town of Kako in the province of Harima. They say he was a samurai of thin frame and fair skin, whose delicate features mesmerized young women. They say his skills with the sword were unrivaled.

On a clear day one winter, Samon was enjoying a meal with a distant cousin at the town's inn. Once, when their conversation fell silent, they heard a man's anguished voice through the wall. Painful moans continued as the two men tried uncomfortably to carry on with their merriment.

Finally, Samon called the innkeeper.

“He told me he was from the west,” said the innkeeper with some disdain. “He asked me to put him up for a night. He seemed like a respectable samurai, so I did not refuse. Little did I know he would come down with fever and be unable to leave. He's been a bother like this for the past three days.”

Samon placed a hand on the innkeeper's shoulder. “I can understand well the awkwardness of the situation. But it must be terrible to be ill among strangers in unfamiliar surroundings. I have come across herbology and other healing methods in my studies. Perhaps I should examine him.”

Both the cousin and the innkeeper felt this was inadvisable.

“What if the sickness is contagious?” asked the innkeeper, studying Samon's insubstantial frame. “This is why I don't even allow my staff to tend to him.”

A flash of anger ignited behind Samon's eyes. The innkeeper hastily retreated a few steps. The sword of emotion was quickly sheathed, however, and Samon smiled gently.

“Our fates are already written,” he said. “Of this we have no control. All we can do is allow virtue to guide our actions. I know you wish to protect me, but I would like to try to help this poor man.”

When Samon entered the room, the ill traveler had cast aside his comforter and was tearing at his broad chest that burned with fever. With a voice brittle from thirst, he begged for water. Samon immediately called for some to be brought in a large kettle. He took the patient's pulse and placed an ear to his chest. When the water came, he asked for some rice to be cooked into gruel. He also sent for some licorice, thyme and chives to be chopped and brewed into a medicinal tea.

“Why are you being so kind to a stranger?” Samon's patient asked, settled somewhat in fresh bedding with a cold compress on his forehead. He was handsome in a way very different from Samon, with the honed, muscled look of a warrior.

“It is simply the way of humankind,” Samon said.

The stranger was moved almost to tears by the casual tone of Samon's reply. “Truly, you are right, but it is nonetheless a rare, wondrous thing for the sick to encounter compassion rather than fear. I shall find a way to repay your kindness, even if I should die.”

Samon laughed. “Forgive me for telling you this, my friend, but although your illness is serious, you are far from dead. I imagine you will be up on your feet in a few days, then live to a fine old age. In the meantime, I shall look in on you daily.”

“Your words are as comforting as they are kind,” said the stranger. “I am truly more fortunate than I deserve.”

They say Samon kept his word and visited daily, even when the winter winds blew across the dusty streets. The sight of this elegant nobleman doting on his large, rugged patient made the maids chuckle like squirrels when they thought he was beyond earshot.

As the traveler gradually regained his strength, he recounted his circumstances. His name was Akana Soemon, born and raised in the village of Matsue in Izumo province. Akana and his cousin Tanji were teachers of the classics and the martial arts to their lord, Kamon of Tomita Castle.

“My lord chose me to deliver an important message to the lord of a neighboring province, and I did so gladly, leaving Tanji to tend to my duties in my absence. Shortly after I left, however, the previous lord of Izumo, Amako Tsunehisa, executed a sneak attack on Tomita Castle on New Year's Eve. After a bloody night of fighting, Lord Kamon was killed.”

Being away at such a crucial moment, Akana felt helpless. He desperately tried to find allies with whom he could avenge his master, but no one heeded his plea 
—
not even those he once considered friends.

“Spineless cowards,” he spat. “I decided to return home to ascertain the current state of affairs. I also wished to meet with my cousin to devise a course of action. It was during this journey that I fell ill.”

“Your honor was violated by the cowardice of others,” said Samon, shaking his head. “That would be enough to make any samurai ill.”

When Akana's fever left him and he had regained some of his strength, Samon insisted that while the danger had passed, his patient was still too weak to resume his travels. He invited Akana to his small house on the outskirts of town where he lived with his mother.

She was delighted by the arrival of the stranger. Her back was hunched over, so she needed to turn her neck and look up whenever she talked. However, she kept repeating how her son generally spent his time alone, and that Akana's arrival was a blessing.

“Please stay here for as long as it takes you to fully recover,” she implored.

The two young samurai became inseparable. They spoke through the day on a wide variety of subjects. Akana was not well read in the classics, but Samon admired the traveler's deft mind that grasped difficult concepts quickly and provided astute insights.

Akana volunteered for physically strenuous chores to regain his strength. He brought water from the well with a large, full bucket in each hand. He tilled the vegetable garden, but swung the hoe with just one arm — an hour with the right, then another hour with the left. Soon he was helping other villagers to uproot trees and cut firewood in the bush.

He fashioned a practice sword from a thick branch 
—
one much heavier than his real sword 
—
and swung it endlessly whenever he had time. They say his strength returned within just days of moving into Samon's house. They say he possessed the might of five ordinary men.

Samon's approach to martial arts was almost the complete opposite of Akana's. At the break of dawn, he sat for hours in deep meditation. Afterwards, he performed traditional sword forms with precise balance and coordination.

Akana's mouth fell open the first time he saw how fast his new friend could draw a sword. They say Samon, the fair samurai with delicate features, could draw, cut a dewdrop falling from a drooping willow branch and return the sword to its scabbard in one blindingly fast stroke.

Akana implored Samon to teach him how to move with such speed, while Samon asked Akana for coaching on developing strength. They practiced fencing like children playing with a ball, with delight and wonder at each other's skill.

Samon's mother moved with great difficulty, so he cooked dinner on most nights. He took delight in watching Akana eat the grilled freshwater fish and mountain vegetables with obvious enthusiasm. Mealtimes with just his mother used to be quiet routines. Akana brought the gift of laughter, and now both Samon and the old woman found themselves looking forward to dinner each day.

One such day of contentment, Akana asked if his new friend would consider taking mutual vows of brotherhood.

“I was orphaned at a young age,” he said. “But your mother has been so generous and gracious, I wholeheartedly desire being responsible for her well-being. If you would not mind having such an incompetent elder brother, of course.”

Samon's smile burst forth like the morning sun. “My mother has always worried about me spending my life alone. She will welcome this news with nothing but joy.”

And indeed, Samon's mother burst forth with cries of unbridled happiness.

“My son spends all of his time reading and practicing martial arts. His ideas are so old-fashioned that no one takes an interest in them. Please teach him the ways of the world as an elder brother would.”

Samon nodded deeply.

“Honor is never old-fashioned,” Akana replied. “It is more timeless than fame or fortune. Today you both have honored me with your love and respect. As long as I do not disappoint you, I know my life is well lived.”

Outside their humble hut on the outskirts of the village, the spring cherry blossoms were starting to fall. The spinning pink petals rode the same winds that brought change. A hint of dampness weighed on the air. Summer was approaching.

“These past few weeks have been the happiest of my life,” Akana said one evening at dinner. Smoldering firewood crackled periodically and threw sparks into the dim light. “However, I was on my way back to my homeland to check on the state affairs there. My intention was to plan for a future, regardless of whether such a plan would include exacting revenge on Amako Tsunehisa.”

Both Samon and his mother laid down their chopsticks, and a forlorn expression clouded their faces. Akana immediately held up a hand.

“Please do not misunderstand,” he said. “It is my firm intention to come back here as soon as possible. Indeed, it will take my entire lifetime to repay you for your kindness. However, I hope you can see that I must go just this once.”

“We shall not stop you, my brother,” said Samon. “But when do you think you might return?”

Akana sipped from a cup of hot tea and seemed to consider the question carefully. “I should be back no later than autumn.”

“Let us be more specific,” suggested Samon. “What about the Chrysanthemum Festival on the ninth day of the ninth month? Be sure to return then, brother, and I shall prepare a splendid meal that will be waiting for you along with a sprig of chrysanthemum.”

The vow was exchanged 
—
as was done in those days 
—
with words and nothing else.

They say that Akana left the very next day. Samon stood by the road watching his brother's back as his figure grew smaller in the distance and finally disappeared beyond a hill. Summer did come shortly after 
—
days and nights of heat and humidity, perspiration and insects.

Still, not a day passed when Samon neglected his studies or practice. He read during the day and practiced his fencing forms in the early evening, his joints and muscles limber in the warm air. And not one night passed when he did not think of his blood brother.

In the ninth month, the stagnant air finally began to move and cool. On the ninth day, Samon awoke early to begin his preparations. He cleaned the tatami straw mats and dusted the shelves. Bright yellow and white chrysanthemums were in full bloom in the yard. He placed three stems in a tall vase that he put in the alcove. They say he had been putting money away since the spring to buy the food and wine for the celebratory meal.

The afternoon sun flooded their small hut as Samon fretted in the kitchen, preparing the mackerel for grilling as his mother looked on, increasingly worried.

“Akana is from Izumo, which is more than a hundred leagues away, far beyond the mountains,” she said. “You cannot be certain he will make it today. Why don't you wait and prepare the food after he arrives? It might all go to waste otherwise.”

“My brother is a samurai,” said Samon. “He will stay true to his word. Any lack of preparation could only be interpreted as my doubting his honor.”

The breeze through the window carried the voices of passersby and screams of children playing. As the sun slowly descended from the sky's peak, these and other noises ebbed and eventually dispersed into nothing.

Samon could not suppress his disappointment 
—
or, if he were to be honest, his anger 
—
as he watched the food he had prepared turn cold as darkness fell onto their hut.

“Don't be angry with him,” his mother said. “It simply is too far for anyone to accurately predict when they will arrive. And the chrysanthemums will be in blossom for days longer. I am sure Akana will be here before the petals dry and wither like your mother's old face.”

Samon smiled despite himself, and he encouraged his mother to eat. Though he was famished from working all day, he refrained from touching even a morsel of the feast.

They talked into the night until his mother finally agreed to go to sleep. He watched her crawl into her bedding, and before long her thin shoulders were rising and falling peacefully beneath her futon.

Restless, Samon stepped outside and turned his gaze toward the shimmering constellations overhead. The moon appeared cold and cruel, and the regular breath of ocean waves in a distant bay overwhelmed him with loneliness. He stood alone for a long time among the chirping of insects and the occasional call of nightbirds.

He had almost forgotten the late hour when a dim shadow appeared from behind the hut. As the moonlight fell upon the man's face, Samon could not suppress a cry of delight.

“Brother! I have been waiting for you all day and feared some misfortune might have befallen you. But of course you were true to your word. Nothing could make me happier!”

Akana nodded faintly and allowed Samon to lead him by the hand into the hut. Samon directed his weary friend to a cushion and laid a tray of food in front of him. They say Akana covered his face with his sleeve at the sight, as if the smell nauseated him.

Samon could not hide his irritation. “I'm sorry if my humble efforts do not please you. However, this was the best I could do. Everything has turned cold now anyway.”

He regretted his remark when he saw the pain on Akana's face. The samurai's muscular shoulders trembled. He choked on his words as a tear traced a solitary track down his unshaven face.

He finally composed his breathing and said, “I cannot thank you enough for preparing this feast, and for waiting up for me. I must apologize for my tardiness. I have something to tell you now, and you must remain calm.”

They say he paused here, closing his eyes as if he had finally made peace with his fate. He then looked at Samon with grim determination.