A Snow, on Cherry Blossoms - 2
A novella
2
5 January 1905
Snow falls on bunch up cherry branches in, the of midst the white blossom winter. It was a frame that looked outside the woodland picture. The snow piled up, though without wind. The house my renting looks out on a patch of neatly groomed forest – a shrine to the dead. As you look at it, it looks into you – deciding whether you will be among the honored dead. Brother looked at it, just before he left, and pronounced it a fine garden with a deeply religious shrine. He left to be attached to one of the fleets; to win glory for his Emperor and his empire. I wish I had the gift to explain it in poetry – it needs a solid fact, that merges into poetic license, as it gives down, as syllables – until the cutting word instills the season. Or says Shiki, as it snows.
Yesterday, I wore a Western-style military uniform of Japan, today I am in the native clothes of the Empire – the difference between Western and Eastern in my name: Akira Ishawara, and Ishawara Akira. The Empire of the Rising Sun. I remember Yokoyama visiting the somewhat small apartment that we were children in, and he spent many hours with and my brother me telling stories about his adventures – including a samurai duel. I did not remember every word he said, but the feeling was more important – there was a laugh that covered fear in my voice, and my brother's as well. But Yokoyama was entirely different – it was a laugh that conveyed respect for the other men who had not made it their last nightfall. Every samurai dreams of this and dreams of it with respect. Most of them have their last poem – and a chance to recite it is valuable.
He recounted a moment when a leaderless took on 3 warriors attached to the local Lord. While the story was truly famous, to our young ears it was new and bright as a longsword was. The ronin, stood his ground – holding his sword above his head, and challenging any to attack him. He did so because someone – though he did not know who – had allowed their scabbard to just hit his sword. This was inexcusable, and he immediately took a stance – because, in his mind, his honor had been touched, and is wholly self-demanded that this was a formal duel – cleansed only with the blood of either his enemy or himself. Saya-ate, the touch was called – the scabbard strike. Unless there was a profuse apology from the man who struck his sword, it would be unthinkable to do anything but fall into a ritual that was as old as were. It was their nature to strike back, it was the heart of their creed.
3 samurai were serving the local Lord, they could not apologize to someone who was not serving anyone – this too was not allowed. So they lined up – because if you examined their faces, one stood out as vicious, and he was the one who accidentally struck the scabbard. But he knew that his 2 companions would back him, so on are must be maintained. It was truly unthinkable for 3 lorded samurai to bend to 1 who was unloaded. Before striking each one of them called out his name – at which point the ronin did the same. Many people gathered around, including another samurai. They were in favor of the brave ronin, rather than the 3 samurai – it was after all the sense that one was taking on 3, and the fact he was doing so for no more than honor. The ronin advanced towards the man in the center, who was after all the one who had started things. And the Ronin knew it by now.
Each step by the one has deeply planted the roadway, in a manner that an old master would have deemed sufficient in his little book. Then the samurai on the right, seeing a nod from the senior charged forward. Then the samurai on the left moved in as well – again because the senior demanded it – was not going to lead the charge, though he should have. It was at that point that the Ronin sweat cleanly from left to right, taking out the 2 juniors with a single stroke. Their swords flew out – but the attacker did not even look at them, instead trodding his way towards the senior. However, the remaining samurai took to his feet – almost at a run. At this point with victory all but assured, the loan ronin cleaned off his sword, and gently placed it in its scabbard. We all knew from the story that his next stop was to report to the magistrate, about the 2 who had been killed.
Brother and I felt a sense of courage from the narrator and straightened up just a bit – as if we had just maneuvered the stroke. But a deeper sense was when I realized that when one chooses a leader, one must die for that leader – no matter how stupid it was. The original choice was clear – one had to choose the right leader, and that meant serving under anyone that he chose. In the story, the 2 samurais chose badly, while the ronin not having made a choice – had chosen well. It is better to serve with honor nobly than serve for coin dishonorably. The lesson would be known only to the dead – because one must be dead to serve.
The narrator grew stern: “I must go now and deal with your parents because there are things that you do not understand. But you will in time.” Then he turned to me: “You must watch your younger brother, in all ways. Because in time there will be a war, and you will not be able to watch over him at that point. He must be prepared, and that is your responsibility.” I nodded at the time, not realizing that he knew, as I did not, want a weight that was on my shoulders.
It would then learn in time because my brother was on the fleet headed north to engage the Russians. Even now I thought that men made military maneuvers, but women knew all of the ends and outs of the people – as men knew the sharp steel of a Sabre. And on thinking about it, it may well have been the ladies who had the advantage in the choice of weapons. This because I thought about the gathering at the lady's soirée – and how the lady had deftly maneuvered everyone to their particular place and knew to do that at a particular time to achieve a particular result. What I did not understand was what that result was – though I knew it to be important.
Glancing out over the city streets, which were captured in a doorframe. This was, of course, a Japanese house, with every piece lovingly made by a carpenter. The joints were ancient in their roots: a top held to the sides by a single wooden joint. This was Shoji – a sliding door. It framed the outside with its frozen cherry trees and above them the Evergreen trees that scattered the land. Beyond that, it was a cityscape, with wooden buildings packed together – and the ubiquitous utility poles which were still using traditional structures to hold up modern needs. There was confusion – nearby it was forest and garden – where just a little ways away, Tokyo was blooming into a very contemporary city – to compete with London, Paris, and New York. I felt a swell of pride because this had happened only in the last 50 years. And both the modern and ancient had been participants in the structure as it was. Down the city streets, one could see ancient garb and modern uniforms mixed indiscriminately. Iy. Imagining that the men held large ideas, which they had no patience with the women – after all the Imperial city was a place of men. However, it seemed that in the West, women had a more subtle role in making a city fit for their use. It made me wonder how the women controlled the men because it seemed to me that the women thought they were inside, and looked outside with their hearts. And instructed the men to elaborate on their design.
It is like me to believe that there was a reason why the western woman controlled the men, whereas the men postured for each other. It also implied that Nippon was destined to be the same way. A thought which was appalling in its naked splendor. Quickly I pushed it out of my head, but it sat as a dragon sleeping sits – gnawing away at the air around it. Because oriental dragons do not eat the way Western dragons do.
Was it not obvious that the Russians should sue for peace? After all last year, we defeated them in Manchuria, and it would be a simple exercise to clean them out of their key landing points. But obviously, the Russian Czar – Nicholas II – was not convinced, nor were any commentators accept of course the British. But the British built our ships and thus had a keen interest in our progress. But all the rest thought that – somehow – the Russian Empire would triumph. The French call the “élan” and pronounced the Russians were filled with more of it. But I think that is because they did not realize that one Ronin would defeat 3 samurais. And the report would be filed in proper order, in the West.
Fools.
Just as the various foreigners did not understand the significance of the defeat of Russia, Nor did the Japanese understand what might be brought to bear if only Britain had wanted it. Being foreigners did they not realize that the Russians slaughtered civilians during their fight in Manchuria led the upper echelons of Japan to put distance between the Empire of the Rising Sun, and everything else which was in Europe.
There was no regal nature in the West. What kind of élan was slaughtering civilians? Was there a kind of noble chivalry and spreading rumors about the “yellow peril” that gripped the average Russian infantryman? That the average European citizen believed this was an indictment of their sense of whose forces were better equipped and better trained – it was this not prattling's about élan. One would hope that the French would offer their substance against better-trained troops, such as the Prussian troops. It was so obvious that both foreigners and the popular mass of people in Japan both had misinterpretations. The only question was who would find out 1st how badly their conceptions were mislaid.
Turned from the outer view – covered with a light dusting of snow – to the inner cover compartmentalized apartment. - which was still built out of wood, unlike Tsukiji, which by Imperial decree was built out of stone. The yellow-white grasscloth was lining almost every inch of the available space – but this was normal. Even the Imperial Palace was subdivided into rooms that could hear everything that occurred around them. I was told that in the Royal Chambers of the monarchy of France – so long ago – everything that the royal couple did was in sight of several ministers, who each had the duty to protect one or another of the accouterments that defined some aspect. As it was in European royalty, so it was in Nippon.
Grasscloth was in the middle, timbers outside made of different kinds of trees, and if it did not burn down in a fit of destruction, it would be burned down intentionally. Every so often every building needed to be rebuilt in Tokyo – and indeed most of the cities in Japan. It was a ritual cleansing, that many would do. Everything that was reported to be old was in actuality rebuilt many times. Only the floor plan of the highest buildings would be spared. Long the timbers were various forms of remembrance – masks that resembled demons, swords that had a lineage, lanterns that had once upon a time burned on a particular night. This was part of our religion, the religion of spirits. There were 3 parts: Buddha for taking the body, the Imperial ritual for preserving it, and Shinto for keeping it alive in the form of children. At which point I bowed towards the ashes of my mother and father, who died quite young and left me in charge of all that they had kept in their hands. Which was quite a bit, because my mother came from a rich family – and was offered to my father who came from a poor samurai clan. It was my mother who kept the books and managed the money. A talent that I had and my brother did not.
This is why he joined up in the front ranks of the Navy – because he knew that he was no good at living, so he would die for his family. This was a great honor, and no one could deny him the glory. Because the glory was unending, and life would pass as a dream. That others would wish him to live, including me, did not occur to my younger brother. He was a dutiful junior samurai – and he hoped that I would carry on the illustrious family name. I realized that I was the senior and would have to strike down whatever Ronin was in the way. The moral of the story took a different tact in my brother's mind.
Deeper into the rooms, because neither of the 2 brothers had yet to marry – and for me, that was almost frowned upon by my elder relatives. For you see, my mother has brought money, she would want me to be married and carry the line. It was from her loins that my brother knew that I would have to marry. It was almost as if the ghosts of my ancestors were in communication with each other. Remembered the face of my mother's mother quite distinctly as she lectured me on virtually everything – she was a compendium of knowledge, that very few people would listen to. But I did and was introduced to how we did everything in our lives. Everything from dressing ourselves to the rituals of tea.
It was in the room which had a short long table for eating, that I sat down and picked up something strange to my parents: a newspaper. Of course, it had the propaganda of the age – but it was true propaganda, though it did not exactly say where the troops were massing. But they were massing someplace, and it named the Russian generals who would be skewered by their attacks.
That my long focus became short did not bother me, until the Butler came in and said: “My Lord, a man who has no title wishes to speak with you, on the matter of the rent for this place. Would you like to see him?”
Rent was in arrears, but February was the time to discuss this – clearly, he hoped to bring in other people or get the money for this place sooner. The hand went into the pocket and clinked with the coin. I should not have had it today, but there was a point where I had an opportunity to collect money that was owed to me, so I could dispense it to various people that I would owe money to. Be realized again, the power that women had – because it was almost certain that I had had the opportunity because of the lady. It suddenly seemed obvious that I was one of the people who she had some sort of affinity for – though I did not know how, or even why she would take such an opportunity with someone so low on the scales.
“Yes, I will see him.” This should be because he did not just drop by – he had someone who thought I would be without the money. So not only would he be surprised, but his spy would be as well.
Shuffling off of the butler, and returning with the broker took a long minute – during which the room grew darker. There was a storm coming, and what is more a large storm. He could see this even though there was no opening to the outside.
The man who was brought in was a stocky thick man – moreover, it was a man whose station in life was unknown – several people thought he came from the lowest class of people – burakumin, will technically it mean a “Hamlet person”, did not was really about what they did for a living, butchering of animals, or producing leather – these type of work was considered unclean. But no one knew what it was he did, what it was his father did, what his ancestors did – because he did not have any relics from the past, nor stories to tell about his youth. But other than his thickness and slightly smaller features which bunched on his face making it look slightly ugly – there was no reason to ascribe anything either unnatural or untoward. He came in, respectfully, and asked:
“Good morning good sir, I have a matter of some delicacy to talk with this establishment, but I did not know who to talk to. If there was a wife, I would talk to her – or the eldest female.” What he meant was the person in charge of dispensing money – because, in old custom, the father would never do this – and since I was in the older clothes, it would seem that I would not dispense money as well. Which left a quandary – because there was no female to call upon. As far as he knew only two people lived in this rather small building – me and my Butler. Of course, there was no impropriety in this, but it still left a quandary. He would have tried asking the Butler if he would give money and have replied in the negative. Thus, he was forced to ask me if I did it myself – and the contortions from asking were noticeable, he had wedged his neck up and several times girded his neck. Because of force, he was in modern dress, and his color was far too short. It almost made a comical appearance as he picked at his throat. Every time it seemed that a wedge of his neck came spinning out from his shirt.
It was almost impolite, to watch the neck spew out of his modern dress – but I had to do so because it was chucklingly funny. But Finally, I resisted any more of the comical and eventually said: “ If you want to ask for money, then I am the person who will dispense it. I am sorry if there was any mistake about it.” A year and a little bit more had taken residence, during that year the initial payment from a land broker had paid – thus he did not know who to ask regularly.
“Then you must know the payment for this house is in arrears.”
Their countenance distorted, there was a long pause upon his face. My lip held slightly open, to worry his tongue – but before he could speak again, I opened my jowl: “The butler has the money for the next year, you should have come forward sooner.” I was speaking as if I were different from all of the others – as if the hatred of the world was known to me but rejected as part of my image. Of course, there was money until deep into the night before. Then the solicitor's nature tugged his eyes to my servant, who had already gotten out coins for the next year’s rent. It would be best if the coins were scattered across the floor, and the solicitor would cast himself to catch each one. The jingle and klang of money interspersing with his cavorted greed in finding it would be amusing. But naturally, the Butler did not do any such thing – instead of putting the coins on the table – he counted them as he did so. A century ago many of the major powers used silver – Nippon among many, including China, England, Spain, and the United States. But now money was almost entirely made of gold – with a few exceptions. Gold was indeed different – it is the yellow color was only one difference. All over the world in the past generation had switched to gold, because of the mining of Africa – once there was no question but that gold should be the standard of the world. Silver had been found in a number of places, but the refining of gold made it the kingdom of armies, and fleets. With armies and fleets, one could land anywhere and secure gold. But to engineer a flow of gold into the coffers of the state, meant that it had to be the standard of all things. Every transaction wanted to be in gold and was gradually working its way to that. Rice used to be the coin of Japan since armies were paid in it. But now we had to have armies and fleets that could bind beyond our islands – and we had for the moment to pay other lands for the ships. While he went his own way, I stopped to think about how everything was designed to make trade and war possible, because gold made ships, and ships protected merchants. I had even heard last night about how some people in England wanted to make oil the driver of the fleet – as opposed to coal. If this was true, then the entire world would move to oil. But Japan had no oil.
I looked up, but could only see timbers and grasscloths, but in my mind, I could envision our Japanese fleet taking arms against the Russians, and the results would be the same as last year: crushing defeat for the European power. I wandered back to the opening onto the covering of snow. It seemed that the Europeans would have to admit two countries to their inner circle of power: the United States and the Empire of Japan. Obviously, the taking of Port Arthur was not sufficient – at least 2 of the diplomats were assigned to Japan. I wondered what it would take – as I sat and watched the flurries mount outside, reading my manuals which were updated on the 1st day of the Western year – each page fluttering as the snow-covered branches.