The Spaces in Between (7 page)

The Tokugawa government has been trying to kill him ever since he mediated the meeting that brought the Choschu and Satsuma clans together. The
Bakufu
with their swords and bamboo armor would be no match for the
Ishin Shishi
’s Winchesters and Howitzers, but it would never come to that. Ryoma had already made sure that Japan will not be torn apart by Civil War. Words had changed the world – not bloodshed. Not even his death would stop the words put into motion. While war within Japan came much later it was never on the scale that it could have been.

The Tokugawa Shogunate sent twenty men to arrest him the very night after the meeting, and he still managed to get away. He stayed in Kyoto to celebrate his great victory.
Sonno-joi
was changing – it was becoming more than just Ronin randomly killing officials or destroying Tokugawa property. Between Choschu and Satsuma a modern, industrial army and navy would rise with the capabilities of obliterating the antiquated and lethargic samurai like the Western militaries could.

He and his bodyguard Miyoshi stayed the night in the Terada Inn’s Plum Room. The Terada Inn was a favorite amongst young samurai, and Ryoma found one of the waitresses quite fetching. They had been drinking earlier, because the Japanese seal deals like Norse Gods. Just substitute mead with sake. He said a few things that some might find unbecoming of a samurai, but in samurai rankings he was nobody.

Now many samurai abused their rankings to be downright rude or worse to women. He had every intention of a traditional courtship, but just wanted to get the ball rolling since that could sometimes take centuries. There was a knocking at their door, and he really hoped that he would be asking Miyoshi to get another room tonight.

Ryoma slid open the door, and it was far better than he could have hoped. Standing in the doorway was the waitress Oryu clothed only in the light of the moon. She was soaking wet, the heat was steaming off her, and it was quite obviously cold. He had absolutely no idea what to say.

“
Arigato gozaimashita.
” Ryoma took off his outer kimono and lay it across her shoulders despite how much it pained him to do so. “Go back the way you came. Quickly. We’ll get out once we know they can’t trace you to this.”

“
Demo-
“

“Now! Quickly!”

“
Wakarimashita!
”

He prayed a moment that those soldiers would not find her on their way to his room as he watched Oryu run off. He slid his door closed again. “We’re in for fight, Miyoshi.” Miyoshi smiled and uncovered the bundle he carried with him – a naginata. The katana was essentially a three-foot long razor blade. Now attach this to a five-foot pole and you have the naginata.

They stood side-by-side and waited. Ryoma relaxed his mind and body into the Zen calm, and entered the now state where great swordsmanship dwelt. He was a master of the sword, but he used those techniques to control an even greater destructive power. He reached into his kimono and loosened his weapon from its holster.

“Vagrant and Ronin Sakamoto Ryoma from Tosa!” cried the fully armored man that just kicked in the door with sword drawn. “You are under arrest by order of the Shogun for suspicious behavior and treason against the Empire.” The wooden support column beside the man exploded into a cloud of splinters.

A smoking Smith and Wesson .45 smoldered from his hip. He was a master shot with the pistol and did not miss. His bullets always went where he intended. He wanted the man to know three things: (1) he had a gun, (2) you cannot possibly dodge a bullet (this was an important lesson since Ryoma was sure none of these men had ever seen a proper gun), and (3) they should be afraid.

It was because of warning shots like this that Ryoma would later get the reputation of never taking a life. Ryoma thought this was an unlikely claim. He’d shot a few people in his career, and was bound to have killed at least one of them. He pulled back the hammer on his revolver.

“I treason only against the
Bakufu
. Now the Emperor has always had my full support.” Calmly Miyoshi and Ryoma held the doorway with only the threat of their superior reach. “I think you should retreat. We hold the terrain and you’re numbers are pointless.” He was reminded of the Sparta at Termipoli pass he had read in military histories while founding the naval academy.

One of the samurai in the back charged them both before he was cut down with a flash of gunfire. Now the real fighting would begin. His palm fanned the Smith and Wesson’s hammer and gunfire dropped the first row of men. Ryoma then slipped behind the large man Miyoshi and replaced the spent shells while Miyoshi dispersed any organized charge of soldiers a slash of with his great spear. Ryoma snapped the cylinder of his revolver back in place and circled around Miyoshi to mow down anyone in the front row he deemed too close.

Ryoma held his calm watch of the door only pulling the trigger when he saw one of the soldiers move. Suddenly they surged forth and Miyoshi cut down their front line with a slash of the naginata. Ryoma squeezed his last three rounds into the charge.

Six shell casings hit the ground after he opened the Smith and Wesson’s cylinder. He dumped another six shells into his hand from a pouch concealed in his sleeve. His highly trained fingers dropped them into the cylinder. When he snapped it back in place one of the samurai dived under Miyoshi’s spear and came at Ryoma. He put a bullet to the bold man, but the samurai’s sword still raked across his fingers.

Miyoshi ran through the last man in the door and paused. “More are coming through the front.” Ryoma heard them too. He looked down at his hands. They were bloody lumps with five digits attached, each one cut to the bone. His revolver remained clutched in his hand. He willed his fingers to move, but they were unresponsive.

“We need to go! Out the back door!” Ryoma and Miyoshi slipped down the back staircase, but they were amazed that no soldiers stood in the backyard. They heard the soldiers crashing in the upstairs room then crept around the lawn as silent as ninja. It is a common misconception that stealth was the primary tool of the ninja. Mostly ninjas kill with infection by swords they left in the latrine for a week. Ryoma often referred to the smaller swords used by ninjas as ‘shit-blades’.

Two soldiers peeked through the backyard and looked around. Miyoshi and Ryoma could not find a door to the neighbor’s home. The Makoto family was in bed and reported what happened to police the next morning. Two Ronin covered in blood crashed through the walls, out the door, and into history. Within the week Ryoma would marry Oryu and under Saigo’s insistence they went away while his hands healed.

The owners of the Omi Inn found Ryoma dead and Shintarou dying. Once he had wrote to his sister shortly after his exile from the Tosa Han. “Men like me don’t live very long, but we accomplish the most. Japan could use a lot more men like me.” He died at the age of thirty-three and a month later the rule of Japan passed from the Shogun to the Emperor. But the irony of this would not be lost to Ryoma.

***

He watched as his body was carried away. He watched for three days as Shintarou lay dying in a doctor’s bed singing the praises of Sakamoto Ryoma. He refused to see Oryu receiving his corpse for their first anniversary. He saw the peaceful exchange of power to the Emperor. He saw the assassination of each Ishin and the corruption of the Senate that took the power from the Emperor and the swords from the samurai. He saw the civil war he died to prevent happen, and it was an absolute bloodbath.

Japan became corrupt and far from the course of Ryoma’s eight-point plan. He stood in smoldering rubble surrounded by thousands of confused and frightened ghosts. A single US plane flew over Hiroshima. There was a flash of light and it all happened so fast none of them realized they were dead. At the pressure of the Americans the Emperor relinquished any claims of divinity.

When Ryoma’s view of the world expanded he wondered:
why didn’t they make the Pope relinquish his title when Italy was defeated?
Times changed, but he could not leave. He was anchored to Japan by some task he could not comprehend or simply could not remember. Ryoma began to ride people whenever possible going with them to arcades and movies.

But he would later stop going to the movies. There was a movie about a hairy foreigner going to Japan to whip the Japanese army into technological shape. This was not the portion of the movie that bothered Ryoma. So far this was a movie that he could get behind, and he loved the main character’s choice in revolvers. The part that bothered him was when the man was taken prisoner by samurai rebels, learned their ways, gave up his gun, and fought in the Boshin War as the last samurai.

The bloodless revolution he brought about was vilified on screen by the corrupt senators manipulating Emperor Meiji. The samurai way of life was praised. Ryoma could remember the samurai way of life – pure bureaucracy. The men with two swords bullying townspeople, killing on a whim, and raping on less- all out of frustration of no longer being needed ever since the clans had stopped warring.

***

“You’re shit Sakamoto-chan!” one of the older boys in Tosa delivered another kick to Ryoma’s ribs and spat on him.

“Sakamoto-chan! Sakamoto-chan! Yellow trash samurai!” the other boys chanted. Their leader was thirteen not quite a man but old enough to know better. The others were Ryoma’s age – eleven. The older one was son of the Daimyo and the others were sons of local lords. Heirs to their families and in other words could do whatever they damned well pleased.

“Don’t show yourself around here again Sakamoto-chan!” the oldest yelled. “Just because your family bribed some officials for a title doesn’t make it a real clan.”

Bruised, beaten, and with blood flaking under his nose Ryoma slipped through the backdoor of his parent’s home. His sister was waiting there for him.

“Those other kids beat you again, didn’t they?”

“They say our family isn’t a true samurai family.”

“Why? Because we had to work to get where we are and not have it handed to us by the Bakufu?” In retrospect the new Japanese government probably reclaimed those families’ lands, but money retains its value afterwards. Most likely those boys were beggars now unless they were fortunate enough to get killed in the
Bakumatsu
.

“They’re still stronger than me.”

“Well…” his sister said, “How about tomorrow we enroll you in a Kendo school? It won’t matter if those boys wear two swords if they can’t swing the one.”

At his sister’s urging Ryoma did study to become a sword master and after seeing the black ships he resolved to us those skills to assassinate the high ranking official Katsu Kaishu. Instead he found Kaishu to be an incredibly persuasive man.

“Heaven’s justice is upon you, Katsu Kaishu!” Ryoma announced with sword drawn.

“A revolutionary?” Kaishu inquired, “
Nihon
will not change at the point of a sword. She has already changed at the barrel of a gun. The only true path to
Sonno-joi
is to evolve. When
Nihon
can stand-up to the Western military only then can the barbarians truly be expelled.”

So instead of killing him, Ryoma fell to his knees and swore allegiance to Katsu Kaishu. Together they founded the Japanese naval academy.

***

Modern times came back into focus for Sakamoto Ryoma. The movie was over and the whether or not he caught the ending didn’t matter much to him. He left the body of the man behind and walked the Tokyo streets. Lights buzzed around him in the night as far as the eye can see. He was a mere ethereal droplet in this ocean of a city.

Leaning against a nearby lamppost was a man made of glowing white light. He made a “come here” gesture with his fingers. Ryoma peered at the man since ghosts rarely ever noticed him. He approached the man, and the man took off into the sky. Ryoma gave chase. This was the first interesting thing he had seen in a century and didn’t want to lose it now.

He chased after the white creature for what felt like days, weeks, and years. Japan was far behind him as well as Earth. Darkness was all that lay before him and all that lay behind him. Ryoma had no choice now but to catch this creature or be stranded in the black. Suddenly a bright light pierced through the black. Far brighter than the flash over Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Is this paradise?

The white light was surrounding a European sailing ship, but not one of the modern ones. One of the far older models that he had read about while creating the naval academy with Kaishu. The deck of the ship was encased in a glass bubble, but that didn’t mean much to him. Inside the bridge sat a man with red dreadlocks dressed like one of those pirates the Americans like to make movies about.

“Hey,” he said. “I guess you got my call.”

“I’m Sakamoto Ryoma. And you are?”

“They call me the Dread Pirate Cameron, but you can call me the Pirate King,
wakari
?” he said. “Now I’ve got a job proposition for you. Work as my first mate, and I’ll bring purpose back to your existence. Do we have accordance? If not feel free to find your way back, but there are things that even you would find dangerous out here.”