Twenty years later…
Yanta, now a retired hero, spends his days sitting and relaxing with his grandchildren that aren’t easy to count, but he’s used to that. Each day, one by one, they want a story or stories, the circle turned, it was Hirohime’s turn. The princess in all her wisdom, as much as five-year-old could have, looked him in the eyes.
“Do you have any specific story you wish to hear?” he asked.
“No,” she replied like whip cracking.
“Strange,” he looked at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Are you truly?”
“Yes.”
“Are you truly sure?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, then, let’s start.”
“Who’s in it?”
“A dancer.”
This is the tale of Sakura-ko, Flower of the Cherry, who was the beautiful dancer of Gim. She was a geisha, born a samurai’sdaughter, which sold herself into bondage after her father died, so that her mother might have food to eat. Ah, the pity of it! The money that bought her was called Namida no Kané, that is “the money of tears.” She dwelt in the narrow street of the geisha, where the red and white lanterns swing and the plum trees flourish by the low eves. The street of the geishais full of music, for they play the samisenthere all day long. Sakura-ko played it too; indeed she was skillful in every lovely art. She played the samisen, the kotto, the biwa, and the small hand-drum. She could make songs and sing them. Her eyes were long, her hair was black, her hands were white. Her beauty was wonderful, and wonderful her power to please. From dawn to dusk and from dusk
“This is the happy time of all my life. I thank the dear gods,” said Flower of the Cherry one evening. “My dear,” the young man bade her, “fetch hither your samisenand let me hear you sing.” So she did. She said, “I shall sing you a song you have heard already.” “My mother bade me spin fine threadOut of the yellow sea sand—a hard task, a hard task.May the dear gods speed me!My father gave me a basket of reeds;He said, ‘Draw water from the springAnd carry it a mile’—A hard task, a hard task.May the dear gods speed me!My heart would remember,my heart must forget;Forget, my heart, forget—a hard task, a hard task.May the dear gods speed me!” “Sweet,” he said, “what does this song mean, and why do you sing it?” She ans
The princess cheerfully looked around her, catching all the details that the room had to offer. Her grandfather was amused with her powers of deduction; the powers were stronger than most skillfully trained detectives. The genetic material, that was passed from generation to generation, was indeed strong in her. It amused him. Such a thing was unheard of even less witnessed by someone. These were the things that normal science couldn’t answer, so it didn’t exit, at least in the normal terms. And, yet again, what was normal in this country? Where warlords rise from the dead, not as vampires but true living men what they were a few days ago. Is there a way for science to explain these strange phenomenons? Of course, there isn’t. Most of them are the work of nature or sorcery. “Is it natural for your king to be that large?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied. “I was the smallest of my brothers.” “No way, I don’t believe it.” “It’s true.” “How did you…”
The Otokodate were friendly associations of brave men bound together by an obligation to stand by one another in weal or in woe, regardless of their own lives, and without inquiring into one another's antecedents. A bad man, however, having joined the Otokodate must forsake his evil ways; for their principle was to treat the oppressor as an enemy, and to help the feeble as a father does his child. If they had money, they gave it to those that had none, and their charitable deeds won for them the respect of all men. The head of the society was called its “Father”; if any of the others, who were his apprentices, were homeless, they lived with the Father and served him, paying him at the same time a small fee, in consideration of which, if they fell sick or into misfortune, he took charge of them and assisted them. The Father of the Otokodate pursued the calling of farming out coolies to the Daimios and great personages for their journeys to and from Gim, and in return for this
“Oh, dear! What shall we do?” said Shônosuké. “We have lost my father's football in his absence; and if we go and ask for it back from that churlish neighbor of ours, we shall only be scolded and sworn at for our pains.” “Oh, never mind,” answered Tsunéhei; “I will go and apologize for our carelessness, and get the football back.” “Well, but then you will be chidden, and I don't want that.” “Never mind me. Little care I for his cross words.” So Tsunéhei went to the next-door house to reclaim the ball. Now it so happened that Zempachi, the surly neighbor, had been walking in his garden whilst the two youths were playing; and as he was admiring the beauty of his favorite chrysanthemums, the football came flying over the wall and struck him full in the face. Zempachi, not used to anything but flattery and coaxing, flew into a violent rage at this; and while he was thinking how he would revenge himself upon anyone who might be sent to ask for the lost bal
As they were speaking, the waitresses brought in fish and wine, and Jiurozayémon pressed Chôbei to feast with him; and thinking to annoy Chôbei, offered him a large wine-cup, which, however, he drank without shrinking, and then returned to his entertainer, who was by no means so well able to bear the fumes of the wine. Then Jiurozayémon hit upon another device for annoying Chôbei, and, hoping to frighten him, said-- “Here, Chôbei, let me offer you some fish;” and with those words he drew his sword, and, picking up a cake of baked fish upon the point of it, thrust it towards the wardsman's mouth. Any ordinary man would have been afraid to accept the morsel so roughly offered; but Chôbei simply opened his mouth, and taking the cake off the sword's point ate it without wincing. Whilst Jiurozayémon was wondering in his heart what manner of man this was, that nothing could daunt, Chôbei said to him-- “This meeting with your lordship has been an auspicious occasion
For a moment Banzayémon was taken aback, but quickly recovering himself, he replied, “Ah! Sir Sanza, you may well be angry with me; but since I stole the Muramasa sword and fled to Gim I have known no peace: I have been haunted by remorse for my crime. I shall not resist your vengeance: do with me as it shall seem best to you; or rather take my life, and let there be an end of this quarrel.” “Nay,” answered Sanza, “to kill a man who repents him of his sins is a base and ignoble action. When you stole from me the Muramasa blade which had been confided to my care by my lord, I became a disgraced and ruined man. Give me back that sword, which I may lay it before my lord, and I will spare your life. I seek to slay no man needlessly.” “Sir Sanza, I thank you for your mercy. At this moment I have not the sword by me, but if you will go into yonder tea-house and wait awhile, I will fetch it and deliver it into your hands.” Sanza having consented to this, the two men
It was at this time that Shirai Gompachi, who was living under the protection of Chôbei, the Father of the Otokodate, was in love with Komurasaki, the beautiful courtesan who lived at the sign of the Three Sea-shores, in the Yoshiwara. He had long exhausted the scanty supplies which he possessed, and was now in the habit of feeding his purse by murder and robbery, that he might have means to pursue his wild and extravagant life. One night, when he was out on his cutthroat business, his fellows, who had long suspected that he was after no good, sent one of their number, named Seibei, to watch him. Gompachi, little dreaming that any one was following him, swaggered along the street until he fell in with a wardsman, whom he cut down and robbed; but the booty proving small, he waited for a second chance, and, seeing a light moving in the distance, hid himself in the shadow of a large tub for catching rain-water till the bearer of the lantern should come up. When the man drew nea