The Seventh Samurai Page 5

  The train that passed through Hirakatashi on its way to Kyoto was jammed. Many of the riders were city dwellers with empty rucksacks, or cloths for carrying. Yoshimoto soon learned that this morning exodus into the countryside was to forage for food - winter vegetables such as cabbage or daikon, perhaps a few dried fish, or even a chicken. Livings were made trading in black market food.

  At Hirakatashi, Yoshimoto pushed his way out of the crowded train and handed in his ticket as he passed through the wicket. Homes, shops and industries clustered near the tracks, blossoming at major stations, had not escaped the bombing.

  However, fields were under cultivation and winter crops were thriving under the watchful eyes of farm men and women who had learned that to turn one's back on the crop was to lose it. Times were desperate and the worst weeks of winter lay ahead.

  The weather had turned fine and a warming sun was in an almost clear sky when Yoshimoto approached his grandfather's house. It was almost two kilometers from the station along a narrow lane that made right angle turns around rice fields. To his left, the fields rose layer upon layer, terraced over the years to drain from one to another. The rice had been harvested in October and the fields had been drained, cultivated and planted in winter crops that would be marketed long before a new crop of rice was put in just before the summer rains.

  A wisp of smoke rose from the partly ruined compound of Yoshimoto's grandfather. The last time Yoshimoto visited, there had been a large tile-roofed home with four spacious tatami rooms and many sliding doors. There had also been a freestanding kitchen, a bathhouse and three additional outbuildings. The structures formed a quadrangle around a large courtyard. They were filled by a high, tile-topped mud wall. The building walls on the outside of the complex were windowless.

  The boy paused a moment to study the familiar buildings. He guessed correctly that a bomb had landed in the courtyard, carrying away a section of the wall, reducing the outbuildings to rubble and destroying a good portion of the house. As he watched, a shabbily dressed girl emerged from the house and dumped a pan of water in the courtyard, then immediately returned indoors.

  Yoshimoto stepped through the breach in the wall, walked to the door where the girl had disappeared, opened it, and shouted the midday greeting - "Konnichiwa." The girl came into the hall, a towel in her hands. "What do you want?"

  "This is my grandfather's house."

  The girl looked him up and down suspiciously. "Who is your grandfather?"

  "Oda-san, of course," the boy shot back.

  His answer failed to satisfy the girl. This was a time when desperate men and women, often driven by hunger and fear, roamed the countryside individually and in small gangs. She was aware that the kanji for Oda was in a square of marble set in the gatepost. "What is Oda-san's first name?" she questioned, trying to appear calm. She had been alone in the house since the previous day.

  "It is Tooru Oda, of course. Where is my grandfather?" The boy was impatient.

  "He is not here. You will have to come back later." She turned to go.

  "One moment!" Yoshimoto said. "He is my only relative. I am just back from the war."

  "You, a soldier?" The girl stifled a smile.

  "Of course, I was a soldier for the Emperor!" Yoshimoto shouted. "Why would you doubt me?"

  "I am sorry," the girl replied, surprised at his sudden anger. "You do seem young, though."

  "Yes, I am not old. But I am old enough to be a soldier. Who are you and what are you doing in my grandfather's house?"

  "I suppose I am your cousin. My name is Suzuki. I am keeping house for your grandfather."

  It was Yoshimoto's turn to be suspicious. "My mother is an only child. I have no cousins! What have you done with my grandfather?"

  The girl responded with an icy stare and finally said, haughtily, "Your grandfather's sister was my grandmother. We lived on Shikoku. My family is dead. I've been living here for four months."

  "I'm sorry, Suzuki-san. Everything has gone to hell. When will Oda-san return?"

  "Not until tomorrow. He has gone to the Japan Sea to look after some property. You must be Akira-san?" The boy nodded and studied the girl. She wore a faded blue skirt that was ragged in several places along the hem. Whatever blouse she was wearing was covered by a heavy, dark sweater. A large apron covered the front of her body. Her feet were encased in thick wool socks.

  "Let's go in the kitchen. It's warmer in there. There's tea." The girl pointed to a row of slippers. Yoshimoto kicked off his shoes and slipped into a pair, then followed the girl into the next room and took a seat at a wooden table.

  "This wasn't always the kitchen," he said. It was a six-tatami room, six thick mats covered with rice straw, each of them a meter wide and two meters long.

  A kettle was steaming over a charcoal fire. The girl put green tea into a ceramic pot, then poured in the water. "The kitchen was destroyed in a bombing. How old are you Akira-san?"

  "Fifteen," he lied. But it was only days until his birthday and fifteen sounded better than fourteen. He guessed the girl was slightly older than him. "And how old are you?"

  She smiled as she placed a cup in front of him and filled it with tea. It was an attractive smile. Her teeth were straight and looked perfect, unusual for a Japanese woman. "I'm sixteen. It's nice to have a relative here. We are better off than most and we have to protect the house and the land. Another person will help."

  "There's money here?" Yoshimoto asked.

  "I don't know that. I don't think so. Maybe Oda-san has some, but I haven't had one yen since I've been here. But a cup of rice, a carrot, gobo - food is like gold."

  "There are criminals?" Yoshimoto asked in surprise.

  "I suppose. But they are hungry people. Hungry and cold. We have food. Many have none. I was hungry on Shikoku."

  "There are many farms on Shikoku?"

  "Yes, but the military took almost everything. We ate rice bran. Do you know how long a person can live on rice bran?"

  "Of course not," Yoshimoto said. "But I thought farmers would have food."

  "The military took the food," the girl repeated. "People have died of starvation in the middle of Osaka. Haven't you been hungry?"

  "Not hungry - maybe the food wasn't too good - but not hungry. There was food on Okinawa. Then in the army there was food. The Americans gave us plenty of food in prison camp."

  "You were captured by the Americans!" the girl said in surprise.

  "Of course. What do you think?" Yoshimoto was testy. "How do you think I got here? Everyone was captured by the Americans. Even the Emperor. We are all prisoners."

  "But you surrendered," Suzuki said.

  "No, I did not surrender," Yoshimoto said firmly. "My group formed a banzai attack. I was knocked unconscious and taken prisoner." He didn't bother to explain that he was drunk and stumbling and fell and hit his head on a rock. Later, he would emblazon the story with a few thoughtful heroic details, but for now he chose errors of omission.

  "You must be very brave," the girl said.

  "I simply did my duty," he said solemnly. It was the first time he had thought of himself as a heroic and somewhat tragic figure. He liked it. "And I will continue to do my duty," he said enigmatically.

  "Are you hungry?" Suzuki asked.

  She boiled rice and fixed miso soup, putting in extra carrots and an onion. And there was pickled daikon and ginger. After the meal they walked around the house and grounds. No effort had been made to make repairs. That would be left to professionals, or a neighborhood handyman.

  After the walk, Yoshimoto slipped into a futon and slept till almost dusk.

  They ate the rest of the rice and then talked about their lives by the flickering light of a candle. "Is there anything to drink?" Yoshimoto asked. The charcoal fire, which had never provided adequate heat, was dying.

  "I can make tea," Suzuki responded.

  "No. I meant alcohol. It is so cold here. Okinawa was warm."

  "You're too young to drink."
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  "I was a soldier," he said as sternly as he could. "On Okinawa we had sake."

  "There is some shochu. Oda-san drinks it with hot water. He likes lemon in it, but there has never been lemon since I've been here."

  "Good. Let's have shochu."

  "Girls shouldn't drink," Suzuki said as she fished the bottle out of the cabinet, half filled a teacup and poured water from a steaming kettle.

  Yoshimoto warmed his hands on the cup, then took a tentative sip. "What's your first name?"

  "Kyoko."

  Yoshimoto took a deep drink of the hot water and shochu. "I think I will call you Kyoko," he announced. "Kyoko's a nice name."

  The girl nodded.

  "I'd like you to be my lover," the boy said suddenly.

  The statement startled Kyoko. She was about to mention his age again, but she knew it seemed to upset him. "I don't want a lover."

  "What reason do you have to refuse me?" he questioned.

  "I simply don't want a lover. Not you, or anyone else. You'd better go to bed now. Your grandfather will be home tomorrow."

  "Not so fast. I want to settle this thing."

  "As far as I'm concerned it is settled," Kyoko said, rising from the table. "I'm getting in my futon."

  "We should sleep together, it's warmer," he persisted. He drained his cup and set it down on the table with a sharp crack.

  "Be careful. You'll break the cup. If you keep this up I'll tell your grandfather."

  "I'll give you five American dollars if you sleep with me."

  This was another surprise to Kyoko. The amount seemed a fortune to her. She had little money while growing up on Shikoku and had been given no money since coming to Hirakatashi. The offer was very appealing. "I don't believe you have five American dollars."

  "I do have it," Yoshimoto insisted.

  "Well, I don't believe it. And I'm sleeping here, in this room. You sleep in the other room." She pulled a futon from a shelf and began arranging it on the floor.

  Yoshimoto was angered that she didn't believe him. He dug in his pocket for the stolen American money, keeping an eye on Kyoko. He didn't want her to see how much money he had. He found a five and smoothed it on the table near the candle. "There it is," he said in triumph.

  She walked to the table and looked at the greenback. She looked from it to Yoshimoto, then back to the currency. She picked it up and examined it on both sides. "It looks real," she finally said.

  "It is," Yoshimoto said quietly. "And I have more. The money's yours if you want it."

  She hesitated and took a deep breath. "You have more American money?" she questioned.

  "Yes. And later I could share more with you."

  "If I become your whore?"

  "That's not it, Kyoko. The war was bad, now we must help one another. You sleep with me and I'll share my money." He knew she was tempted and he was careful with his words.

  "OK, I'll do it," she said. "Do you have condoms?" She used the word sakku for condom, which is very much like the word saku for blossom, or sakura for cherry tree.

  "No, I don't," Yoshimoto said, then quickly added, "but I can get some tomorrow."

  "Your grandfather will be home tomorrow. But I don't want a baby. So I guess we can't do it."

  Yoshimoto was on his feet and moved near the girl. "Kyoko, just one little chance. I have the money. I'll have condoms tomorrow. But tonight, what's just one chance?"

  She still held the bill in her hand. "Well, I guess maybe once. All right." She pushed the money into a pocket. "It's so cold. I don't know how this is going to work."

  "Take off your clothes," Yoshimoto said.

  "In this weather? I'd freeze."

  "I'd like to see your breasts."

  "That's no treat. I'm flat-chested. I probably look like you," she sniggered. "Take off your clothes and look in a mirror."

  Yoshimoto scowled. This isn't the way he thought it should be. "Well, take off your skirt."

  "Akira-kun, really, it's much too cold. I'll take my pants off, but nothing else. She reached under her skirt and stepped out of a pair of men's boxer-type underpants.

  "Women don't wear those things," Yoshimoto said.

  "We wear anything we can get. I'm crawling in the futon. Blow the candle out and get in."

  CHAPTER 7: The California Connection

  Detective Watanabe had considerable trouble figuring out what time it was in El Centro, California. He wanted to talk to the police chief, but he didn't want to call in the middle of the night. He finally dialed 0056 and asked an international operator what time it was in L.A. No problem. He dialed direct from Nana's late at night. To his surprise a sergeant answered the phone and put him through to the chief immediately.

  "Detective Watanabe, Osaka, Japan, police. I wrote you a letter two or three weeks ago about Ben Hardy."

  "Yes, Chief Jerry Dillard here. I got your letter and I talked to this Hardy. I've been meaning to write to you. I understand it wasn't urgent."

  "That's right," Watanabe said. "At least something's gone right in this case. You actually talked with him?"

  "Yeah, but he doesn't have much to say. I'm afraid you're on a dead-end on that score."

  "He lives there in El Centro and he is the same Ben Hardy?"

  "Oh, sure," the Chief said. "He lives out on the desert near here. Drives an old truck. I don't know what he does out there. Lots of folks out there. Some say they're artists, some are criminals, some deal drugs, some drink, some steal, some do nothing, most want to be left alone. Not a bad idea."

  "And when you saw him, he talked about Japan?"

  "Made no secret of it. And when I mentioned your name he said to tell you this is deep shit and you'd best stay out of it."

  "Deep shit? He said deep shit?" Watanabe asked.

  "He did that and seemed sincere. It might be good advice."

  "You know something else then?"

  "What do you mean?" the chief asked.

  "You said it might be good advice. Why would you think that?"

  "First of all because he said it, and he knows something or the other about what this case is about. Now if he's a suspect and you have specifics, I'll pick him up when he comes back to town."

  "No, I'm just after information. He's clean, as far as I know. Do you have another reason to think it might be good advice?"

  "No. But I've learned to listen to what people say. I've seen men ignore a few words and end up in considerable trouble. My other reason was just Japan. I've heard some strange things about how they operate over there. Now that I've told you all I can, will you fill me in?"

  "I could and would, but it's complicated and I seem to be left with no facts. Also, I'm paying for this call. What I'll do is put it in a letter, or, better yet, I'll ask my boss if I can come to El Centro and talk to Hardy. Then I could tell you in person if there's anything to tell."

  "It's that important? You'd make that trip?"

  "I really don't know, Chief. The thought just came to mind and I said it. I will ask though. If I'm turned down, as I expect, I'll write you a letter."

  After he hung up, Watanabe sat quietly, studying his fingernails. Nana, seated on the couch reading the Japanese Times, asked, "You want a beer?"

  "Split one."

  She went to the kitchen and returned with an uncapped 633-milliliter bottle of Asahi and two glasses. She filled a glass and passed it to Watanabe. "Deep shit, huh?"

  "That's what the El Centro police chief said. He talked to Hardy, and about all Hardy said was, stay out of it, this is deep shit."

  "The plot sickens," Nana quipped. "He was given a first class JAL ticket and told to exit old Nippon. There's something happening, Taro. Somebody, somewhere, and not at ground level, has something to hide."

  "I suppose," Watanabe agreed. "Well, I'll talk to Shibata-san tomorrow. Ask him if I can go to El Centro. He'll refuse and that will be the end of it."

  "Why should he refuse?" Nana asked. She tore open a sack of shredded, dry bonito and dump
ed it into a bowl, then picked up one of the leathery shreds and began to chew. She liked the taste, but it sometimes got caught between her teeth.

  "With the facts that I have to give him, if I were in his place, I'd refuse me." Watanabe helped himself to the bonito and took a sip of beer. Life was good.

  Nana played with a scrap of the dried fish. "I have a vacation starting Christmas. You get time off for New Year's. If you could add a day or two we could have a week or nine days."

  CHAPTER 8: Akira Yoshimoto's Pledge

  Yoshimoto's grandfather returned to Hirakatashi and because they were better off than most families, Yoshimoto was enrolled in high school. Winter turned to spring, and when the plum trees bloomed, Kyoko found she was pregnant.

  Kyoko and Akira managed the abortion without the knowledge of the grandfather, but two weeks later Kyoko collapsed while doing the laundry and required hospitalization. She was gone from the house for the better part of a month. The women's hospital was some distance away and neither Yoshimoto nor the grandfather bothered to visit her during her stay. That was a job that would have normally been handled by female members of the family, and Kyoko was the only female. Yoshimoto's mother had not yet returned from Okinawa.

  When Kyoko returned she found Yoshimoto alone in the house. She placed the cloth containing her possessions on the kitchen table and said, "You can fuck me as much as you like now, Akira-kun. I can never have children."

  Yoshimoto digested the information and nodded slowly. "When I returned from Okinawa, Kyoko, I vowed that I would never marry. I intend to devote my life to the revival of Japan, to an ultimate reprisal for the terrors the enemy has inflicted on us. I intend to keep that pledge."

  Being more than a little saddened by her own melancholy plight and the prospect of a barren future with no hope for children and hence no hope for marriage, Kyoko was somewhat taken aback by Yoshimoto's reply. "You can marry if you want, but the choice has been taken from my hands and from my womb. As for the war, we started it, we lost it. It's bad for everyone. Thousands of Japanese are stranded in China; many have abandoned their children. It can't be helped. We will endure and we will continue."