Samurai

TRIGGER WARNING: Physical Violence/Gore

Ige Tsuneo ran his fingers over the dusty old book that traced his family’s heritage. It went back to the early 1600s, though he grew up hearing stories that were much older. He recalled his father putting him to bed at night, recounting the tales of Ige Tsuneo, the samurai his parents named him after.

“The shores were teeming with Mongols,” his father would say. “If you could see it from above, it would look like thousands of black ants dancing over a mound of sand. Our people were greatly outnumbered by the invaders. The samurai fought without fearing death, knowing that the Mongol forces were four times greater than their own.”

Tsuneo hung on his father’s every word. Their heritage meant everything to him. He would tell the other kids in school about the samurais in his family, but they never seemed to care. Some would pick on him, throwing rocks at him during recess to see if he would defend himself. He never did. This made his father proud.

“Meiyo, honor, is one of the core tenants of the samurai code. By rising above those bullies, you honor our family.”

Tsuneo endured, believing his father’s words to be true. He would uphold his family honor to please his father for as long as he lived. One day, however, his world was forever changed. He sat on a bench during recess, as little rocks rained down on his head. His teacher crossed the grass and joined him. The bullies scattered, disappearing among trees and bushes. She paid them no attention.

“Tsuneo-kan, you’re going home early today. Your aunt is here to pick you up. I will walk with you to the classroom so you can gather your things.”

His normally calm teacher didn’t waste a second in standing him up and leading him back to the classroom. In no time, he had his backpack on and was the entrance to the school. He was surprised to see his aunt. She lived in Yokohama, which was almost an hour away from his home in Tokyo. He went to the lockers near the door. As he changed from his school slippers to his outside shoes, he noticed her red, puffy eyes. He bowed to his teacher and left with his aunt. The drive home was not long, but their silence made it feel eternal.

His aunt’s car dashed through the narrow city streets, stopping in front of the apartment building where his family lived. There were 4 police cars parked on the curb. Upstairs at his door, they’d blocked everything off with yellow tape. Inside, his mother was talking to an officer, trying to provide information between hysterical sobs.

At that moment, Tsuneo ripped his hand from his aunt and bolted. He ran down the stairs, out to the street, and rounded the corner to the main road. He ran past the Chinese restaurant where he and his dad would pick up take-out, past the parking lot where his car was still parked, past the mini-mart where his father would buy him ice cream treats before dinner, to the park where they would sit and eat them on a bench near the swings.

Later he would learn that his father had been killed by his business partner. Their friendship was older than the business by 30 years, but one disagreement was enough to divide them past the point of reconciliation. As an adult, the memory of his father’s death still felt as fresh as the day it happened. He looked his father’s killer in the eye in the courtroom, and he’d gone to jail, but Tsuneo didn’t feel that justice had been served.

His father’s absence had taken a toll on the small family. Neither he nor his mother could afford to go to university. Tsuneo always thought he would go, and while his father was alive, that was the plan. But that dream died along with him. 

To help his mother, he took a job as a metalworker. He began as an apprentice, making very little money to clean the shop. He was fascinated by the artisans who would spend the day cold forging iron into thin sheets that resembled knives. The shop was very traditional and ran counter to large factories that mass-produce knives. Sometimes tourists came to see how katanas were made, and one of the workers would do a demonstration. Tsuneo would watch in awe along with the group, wishing he could make art out of steel.  

In time, his boss Takeo trusted him enough to handle metal. It was frustrating at first. He worked by hand to learn the process, using a hammer to strike the blade. Hit too hard or too soft and the piece would be ruined. With a few months of practice, he began to find a rhythm of his own and was much happier with the work he produced.

All the money he earned he brought back home to his mother to help her pay the rent and buy food. She never had to work outside of the home while Tsuneo’s father was alive and struggled to find work. Thinking it best for the family, she went on dates with men in the hopes of finding a new partner who could support herself and her son. Her efforts were in vain, however. She was only 45 and was stunning, but nothing seemed to work out. She tried to avoid telling her potential suitors about her son. That bought her an extra date or two before they lost interest.

There was one man who didn’t lose interest so easily. Tabata Shinji took Tsuneo’s mother out for 6 months. During that time, Tsuneo had to tolerate story after story about Shinji. He had to listen to his mother detail everything that was said over dinner and laugh over jokes he told. Seeing her so happy with anyone who wasn’t his father made him sick.

What his mother didn’t know was that Tabata Shinji had a secret. Tsuneo discovered this secret one night while walking home from the metal shop. Shinji’s apartment was only two blocks from the shop, and Tsuneo passed it on his way home every night. Shinji had never bothered to get to know Tsuneo, so he had no way of knowing. He never suspected that Tsuneo would see him opening his apartment door with a bag full of groceries. He had no idea that Tsuneo would catch a glimpse of a woman rushing to the door to help him with a toddler at her feet.

The next day at work, Tsuneo began a new project. Katanas take about a week to produce in the shop, but Tsuneo had never made one before. He took a second week to complete it, and even then, there were obvious imperfections. The shape wasn’t right, and the pattern was a little off, but the blade was sharp. That’s all he cared about.

One night, when work was finished, he waited for all of the artisans to leave. He volunteered to clean since he was still an apprentice, and he said he would lock up afterward. He did as he said he would, but before locking up, he slipped into the bathroom and changed his clothes. He took off his dirty work shirt and pants and donned a samurai costume he made one year for Halloween. He started at the bottom with the shin guards and put the armor on from the feet up, as was customary, finishing off with the helmet. His was adorned with a small crescent on its side, with the tips of the moon facing the heavens.

Tsuneo took to the streets and walked two blocks to Shinji’s apartment. He saw the man getting out of his car, leaving it in the parking lot, and walking towards the building. Tsuneo walked quietly in his direction, not letting his feet make a sound. He tried his best to embody the grace of a real samurai. As he got closer, he began to hold his breath, afraid that a single movement would alert his target. When he was within a foot of Shinji, he let his presence be known. He clicked the sword sheath open and slid the weapon out. It made a cool metallic sound as it emerged.

Shinji spun around finding himself face to face with a real-life samurai. He felt like he was in a movie or a textbook. It was surreal to be faced with a relic of the past. He was also terrified, but his fear was short-lived. Tsuneo let his blade fly from left to right, slicing cleanly through Shinji’s neck. He let the head fall to the ground with a thump as the body slumped down to join it. The blade may not have been perfect, but it was indeed sharp, and now it had tasted blood.

Tsuneo stared at his victim for a moment, who lay in two pieces and a pool of blood. He expected to feel torn, but he didn’t. His father had taught him the tenents of the samurai code years ago. He remembered how proud he’d been when Tsuneo didn’t react to the bullies at school. He honored his family. Another tenant, however, was justice. Looking down at Shinji’s body, Tsuneo felt that justice had been served. He never thought of the samurai code as contradictory, yet he wondered how he could turn the other cheek with honor while upholding justice. How could he uphold justice while showing compassion?

He had a lot of thinking to do, but this was only the beginning. He opened the book. Its red leather spine creaked and complained. He flipped to the end of the book where his father’s name was and wrote his own underneath.