The Toyotomi Blades (19 page)

“What we do is divide the photograph, such as the photographs on these two faxes, into a series of tiny squares. With photographs of this size, the squares will be about one-tenth the diameter of a hair: very, very small. Then we take the section of the photograph that we are interested in and digitize it. That is, we give a number to the square, based on its color value.

“In a good black-and-white photograph you should have all sorts of tones, ranging from almost a pure white to a pure black. You can measure these tones and apply a number to each tone, let’s say from one to ten. One is white and ten is black. The gray values in the middle would have numbers like two, four, or six. This way we can number, or digitize, each spot on the photograph.

“The actual numbers we use are much more complex. They go up to 1,024 for the shade and over sixteen thousand for the hue, or color. Still, the process is the same as the one-through-ten example I gave you. By scanning the photograph and taking a reading at each of the tiny squares that we have marked out on the photograph, we can apply a value to how light or dark that square is.

“After we have digitized the photograph, we can keep the values for each point on the photo in computer memory and save them for later manipulation. Let’s say that on one small portion of the photograph we end up with a pattern like this.”

Kiyohara took out a pencil and drew a diagram on a pad of paper.

777777777
777577777
333333333
333333333

“Remember, this pattern represents a very small section of the photograph, perhaps the size of the head of a pin. You’ll see that we have a row of darker colors here, represented by sevens, right next to a row of lighter colors, represented by threes. We have computer programs that look through the patterns and find situations such as this. Our assumption here is we are looking at the edge of something, a straight edge against a lighter background. Based on that assumption, we would adjust the one dot which is out of place, here.”

He put his pencil down on the 5 that broke up the string of 7s.

“Our working assumption is that this five is a flaw, a problem with the photograph and that what is really represented here is a straight line, so that all these values should be seven. Therefore, we would darken this single dot to a seven. We would go through the entire photograph looking for these types of flaws and make the dots lighter or darker, depending on what the surrounding values look like.”

Kiyohara smiled. “That is the science portion of it. Now the art comes in. We have someone sit in front of a screen and look at these patterns. He can look at the entire photograph or he can zoom a section up, to look at the individual dots that make up a section. Using a light pen and a keyboard, he can lighten or darken dots to enhance a particular section of the photograph. The computer programs do surprisingly well in enhancing the photographs on their own, but sometimes you also need a human eye to look at the patterns to see if they make sense. Some things, such as vegetation, don’t have regular, sharp-edged forms, and it’s hard to program the computer to do a completely accurate job.”

He placed his finger on one of the faxes. “This, however, is a steel sword. Fine geometric shapes, hard edges. It should come through photo enhancement very nicely.”

“How long will this take?” I asked.

“I don’t think it will take too long. Perhaps one hour, perhaps two hours. Would you like to wait or would you like to come back?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to wait. I’m quite anxious to see what the results are.”

I spent a pleasant hour sipping green tea and looking at car brochures until Kiyohara returned. He handed over an enhanced photograph of one of my faxes and said, “Is it good enough for your purposes?”

I looked at the enhanced photograph and smiled. “Perfect.”

20
      

B
y the end of the morning I had two enhanced prints of the blades from Rotterdam and New York. A Nissan stockholder might think the computer power burned up to get me those prints might be better spent designing cup holders for minivans, but I was pretty pleased with the results. On the Rotterdam blade I could make out a single slash on the tang that Kiyohara told me was the number one, and on both blades I could see the patterns. One had what looked like a village on it and the other had a mountain and a waterfall. Just as important, I got an offer of more help.

“We’ve been talking about this mystery,” he told me when he gave me the finished prints, “and perhaps there’s more we can do for you. The digitized map of Japan we’ve been working on has things like temples and mountains on it, just like the designs that are on these blades. If you’re right about the blades forming a map, maybe we can match that map against our digitized map of Japan to help you pinpoint where the treasure is.”

“Can you help me figure out where the blade I’m missing is? There are supposed to be six blades, and I’ve only got images for five.”

He laughed. “No. Perhaps you should go to a …” He sought the English word. “A psychic.” I wasn’t sure he was kidding.

I spent the rest of the day working on finding the sixth blade with very little to show for it. Junko called Professor Hirota, but his assistant said he was already off on another trip. I talked to Sonoda-san in Kyoto, but although he seemed pleased to talk to me, he wasn’t able to give me any more information than he had when I was in Kyoto. Junko and I searched every database to which
News Pop
had access, in English and Japanese, and we even tried calling the U.S. to try some databases I knew about. No luck.

Mariko and I had dinner together, and she told me about her sightseeing that day. I was so engrossed in trying to figure out a way to find the sixth blade that I wasn’t much company. While Mariko watched an English-language movie on TV, I sat on the bed looking at the enhanced prints and the rubbings of the blades, trying to make sense of them. When we fell asleep I dreamed about colored sword blades dancing in the air, forming endless patterns as they combined in different combinations. If Walt Disney had been Japanese, perhaps something like that would have been in
Fantasia.

The next morning the light woke me. I had forgotten to close the curtains in the room. I looked at the clock and saw it was only 6:10 A.M. I was tired, but not sleepy, and after lying in bed a couple of minutes, I slipped out of bed and got up.

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.