If you cannot control your anger towards another, he controls you.

—Miyamoto Musashi, Go Rin no Sho

Paulo

The bakufu was always hunting for Christians. One of the behaviors they watched for was residents displaying insufficient religious zeal in their support of their home Buddhist temples and local Shinto shrines. So, my family was never found to be lacking in their support.

If one had to pretend to worship Shinto deities, Hachiman was a good choice for me. He was the god of war, so I always felt he was my kami, as much as I had any. Also, his festival, the festival of Fukugawa, featured sumo wrestling and illegal duels, two of my favorite entertainments. There was also plenty of saké. Why couldn’t the Church have festivals with a lot of fighting and drinking? There would have been a lot more Christian converts.

This year, however, I would not be drinking, betting, or fighting. Instead, accompanied by three samurai guards from the household, I was escorting my mother, sister-in-law, niece, and nephews. The prospect did not fill me with enthusiasm.

Watching Mateus bouncing around the house with excitement reminded me how much I had enjoyed the festivals when I was young. I used to go with Mother, Gracia, and Estêvão every year. Mother disapproved of the “pagan idolatry” and Estêvão imitated her, but I didn’t care. I loved the parades, the game booths, the wrestling, and the street players.

“Do you think Soboro is going to win this time?” Mateus asked me.

“Yes, I do.” My intended discussion of Soboro’s strengths was interrupted by Gracia’s entrance. She was wearing dark maroon kimono as befitted a woman in mourning. Her hair was up in an elaborate chignon held by pins and bands of silk. The style accentuated her perfect, round face and pale skin. Soboro was forgotten as I gazed at her.

She noticed me staring. “Do you think it’s too much for a widow in mourning?” she asked, indicating her hair.

“Oh, no. You look beautiful.” I stammered.

She blushed, dropping her gaze.

Quit staring like an infatuated fourteen-year-old boy. Her husband died six days ago for God’s sake.

I forced my eyes away from her. “But I am not the person to ask about women’s styles. You should probably talk to Mother.”

Keep this up, and you are going to get thrown out of the house again.

I snuck a glance at Grandfather, who had fixed me with a thoughtful gaze.

Shimatta.

“Are you coming with us, Ojiisan?” I asked, hoping to break his train of thought.

He snorted. “Wander around in this heat? I’m too old for that.”

“We were still in mourning for Estêvão, so we were only going to the shrine to deliver the family’s annual offering.” Mother came into the room. “Tokugawa Goro, the machi-bugyō of the South will be addressing the crowd today. Perhaps you would like to hear that, Otosan?”

Grandfather snorted. “That corrupt, venal, honorless--“ He stopped.

“What did Tokugawa Goro do?” I asked. Grandfather knew secrets about many of the men in power, but he rarely gave any hint of it. Did Estêvão meet with with this Tokugawa Goro? What kind of a man was the machi-bugyō of the South?

Grandfather waved his hand in dismissal. ”There are things in this world it is better not to know. Convey my regards to Hachiman. And don’t forget to give him that silk.”

He got up and left the room with an exaggerated limp.

Hachiman was not only the kami of war, he also was a kami of agriculture. With a famine going on, it was very important to please him, so we all had gifts to offer at the shrine

It was an easy walk to the shrine from the estate. About halfway there, I heard faint chanting. People were lined up on both sides of the street.

My mother called a halt. “We can watch the parade from here.”

We found a spot in the shade of a tea house. Our dark clothing was hot after walking in the summer sun.

The children ran into the tea house and begged for water. The proprietor gave them a bucket and some metal cups.

My mother smiled and ordered some tea and sweet bean cakes from him. Once they arrived, I bit through sticky rice exterior into the sweet bean paste with relish.

A mob came around the corner, mostly wearing red kimonos and white scarves around their heads. Behind them came dozens of young men carrying a portable shrine. Gold painted dragons coiled around the walls and roof of the shrine. It was dedicated to Suijin, a water kami. He was the kami responsible for bringing rain. His shrine was not usually included in the parade, but this year, with the terrible rainfalls that had caused flooding and destroyed the crops, it was hoped that honoring him might cool his anger and return the rain to normal.

The shrine was taller and longer than me. Elaborate carvings decorated the sides and lanterns hung from the roof. The heavy structure was mounted on four smooth logs and carried on the shoulders of at least two dozen bearers. They chanted as they walked to keep themselves in step. Shrine maidens danced through the mob and the Shinto priests led the way beating on fan drums.

The children shrieked with excitement and filled their cups with water. As the procession passed, the children threw their water at the participants. Customers came out of the saké house to join the children in soaking the people in the parade. I picked up a cup to throw some water myself and got hit from behind by all three of the children. At the same time. I suspected collusion, but it was a welcome relief from the heat, so I just laughed at the three of them. I used to do exactly the same thing to Estêvão when we were young.

Still, it was unlikely the children could have come up with that by themselves. I threw a suspicious glance at Gracia. She was watching the shrine intently while trying not to laugh. After that, water somehow seemed to get on me and the children as much as the parade participants.

Laughing, I realized that this was more fun than I’d had at one of these parades in many years.

Behind the shrine to Suijin came a group of musicians. I had to take the cup away from Mateus when he tried to throw water at the players.

The next group was a fire crew. These heavily tattooed men wore their heavy cotton fire-fighting gear. I was surprised to see Hitoshi among them, carrying the matoi, a large flag with the insignia of their brigade. The fireman’s coats also had this same symbol painted on them. The crowd cheered them and we threw more water.

After that were more shrines, musicians, and fire crews. I made three trips to the well for more water.

“You are all soaked! Did you get any water on the people in the parade or just on yourselves?” Mother exclaimed when it was over. She glared at me. “You too, Yujirō! You’re as bad as the children!” Laughing, the children returned the bucket and cups and we fell in behind the parade as it marched on its way.

Shortly after the parade reached the shrine, six men began beating on three enormous drums set up in front of the steps leading into the shrine buildings. Their pounding was so loud as to completely override the raucous noise of the lively crowd and made conversation impossible. People all around me stopped talking and turn to watch the spectacle.

A samurai mounted the steps to stand at the entrance to the building. He held up his hands and the drumming ceased. In the ensuing silence, he called out, “Today, we are here to celebrate the founding of the Tomioka Hachiman shrine. However, with the dreadful famine we have upon us, I call for extra offerings to be made as I am doing. We beg the kami Hachiman to intervene with Inari, the kami of the harvest, to provide us with a bountiful rice crop this year.”

The crowd cheered as the man motioned to some servants standing off to one side. The servants, carrying bundles and boxes, brought their burdens forward and laid them at the feet of the samurai. He unwrapped the bundles and opened the boxes to reveal an array of rich fabrics, saké, and other valuable items.

My mother leaned over to me and said softly in my ear, “That is Tokugawa Goro, the machi-bugyō of the South. I don’t know why Grandfather doesn’t like him. It shows his dedication to his office and the people that he is here today with such a generous offering.”

Or his dedication to putting on shows of piety.

If Grandfather still had the power to strike fear into the hearts of powerful men, it was because he knew their secrets. I stared at Tokugawa Goro curiously.

What does Grandfather know about him?

I instinctively disliked him. I didn’t know if it was his beautiful kimono that looked like it was made from Chinese silk. Perhaps it was the embroidered obi that cost enough to feed ten families for a year. He strutted about showing the costly gifts he was giving Hachiman and the crowd cheered. He looked down at us over a hooked nose acting like he was the shogun himself.

Something about him was familiar, but I couldn’t recall ever meeting him before. If I had been alone, I would have walked away in disgust, but as it was, I was forced to endure the spectacle.

Once all the offerings had been shown to the crowd and inspected by the machi-bugyō, he stood back and waved his hand. Acolytes from the shrine came forward, picked up the offerings and carried them inside the shrine. The offerings would be distributed among the priests and used for the maintenance of the shrine.

Everyone cheered enthusiastically as the offerings were accepted. The machi-bugyō held up both arms until the noise quieted down, then he said, “Let us pray that the god Hachiman will hear our pleas. Now, go out and enjoy the festival!”

At least he had the decency to keep it short.

Another cheer from the crowd was drowned out as the drummers resumed their pounding again. Once the machi-bugyō had walked over and entered his palanquin, the drumming stopped and the crowd began breaking up.

The family joined the queue of people bringing offerings to the shrine. Everyone seemed to have had the same idea we did and the area in front of the shrine was packed, but it wasn’t very long before we stood before one of the shrine acolytes. Mother gestured to one of our guards who was carrying the family’s offering, and he brought it forward to show it to the official. The box contained saké, some rice, and two bolts of silk cloth. The acolyte took the box and all of us bowed deeply to him. I made my own offering of a knife I had taken off a defeated foe. It was not worth a lot, but it was the offering of one warrior to another. If Hachiman existed at all, I thought he would understand. Now that we had behaved in a sufficiently un-Christian manner to avoid suspicion, we could go home.

“I want to go see the sumo!” Mateus yelled and started running off.

I reached over and snagged him by the collar before he got more than two steps. “Just a moment. No running off by yourselves. We are going to stay together. Let’s talk to your mother and grandmother and see what they say.”

I kept my hand on Mateus’ shoulder to prevent him bolting again. “What to do next? My nephew wants to go see the sumo wrestling.”

He started waving his hands excitedly. “Grandmother, they have a wrestler here from Kyoto. He has actually wrestled in front of the Emperor and some say he is better than any of the other wrestlers here in Edo. I want to see how good he really is. I bet Soboro will beat him.”

My mother smiled at his enthusiasm. “We really should go home. We are still in mourning for your father. It is hardly respectful to be watching wrestling matches.”

The children’s faces fell. My mother studied the three downcast children and sighed. “Very well, we’ll go see the sumo wrestling for a short time, but then we have to go home.”

As we were walking down the steps of the shrine, I complained to my mother, “I don’t remember you being that agreeable when Estêvão or I wanted to do something.”

She laughed at me.

We made our way past booths selling food and featuring games of skill. The children clamored for some sweets, so Mother followed them to a booth selling dagashi.

Gracia and I waited near a booth featuring a ring toss game. She leaned towards me and said, “Do you remember when we used to go to the festivals together? You always won something for me. I still have a comb you won.”

I laughed. “I remember that. I made you touch each ring for luck. Estêvão complained we were being silly.”

Her smile faded and sadness returned. “That was so long ago. It is almost like we were different people.”

“Do you want me to win something for you now?” I asked, hoping to bring the smile back.

She smiled briefly, but shook her head.

Mother and the kids returned and we moved on, only to have to stop to watch a family of acrobats. The father played a drum and sang while the children performed flips, backflips and other maneuvers.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

If anything, the crowd around the sumo matches was bigger than the earlier crowds at the shrine entrance. Mother, Gracia and I settled into one of the pavilions on a small rise between the sumo ring and a clearing surrounded by booths. It was back from the ring and didn’t offer the best view, but it was covered and offered a place to sit. It had been set up for lower-ranked samurai. The daimyō had their own pavilions with much better views. The children and guards went and watched the wrestling.

Gracia sat up. “Is that—yes, it’s Greengrocer Makoto.”

She stood and walked over to the ring. Emiko-sensei was there with her father. Her father was quite involved with the sumo, yelling and gesticulating as he watched the matches, but Emiko seemed quite bored.

Gracia spoke a word or two with Emiko’s father. He nodded without taking his eyes from the ongoing match, then Gracia brought Emiko back to our pavilion. Emiko smiled at Gracia and my mother and said, “Thank you for inviting me. Father follows the sumo wrestling quite closely, but … I don’t find it that interesting.”

“Oh, we understand. I was quite ready to leave after making our offerings, but the children would have been heartbroken if they couldn’t see a match or two,” my mother said.

Emiko leaned forward and put her hand on Gracia’s. “How are you doing? I know the last few days must have been difficult. We all miss Maeda-sensei.”

Gracia smiled sadly. “I try to stay busy and pray. I know he will be in a better place. I can only hope to join him someday.”

Emiko nodded. Sadness crossed her normally cheery face.

The crowd roared. I stood up to see what was happening in the match. The two wrestlers were at the edge of the ring, struggling. Finally, one was forced out. The priest refereeing pointed his fan at the wrestler still in the ring. The two men bowed to each other. The loser left the ring while the winner stayed to accept the cheers of the crowd and the congratulations of the priest.

Once it was quiet enough to talk again, Emiko turned to me. “What did you think of the Academy? How does it to compare to the others you have been in?”

“Academy? I … I’ve never been in one before,” I answered.

“We had a tutor,” Gracia explained.

Emiko looked confused. She asked Gracia, “You were being tutored with them?”

Gracia smiled at her. “Yes. I have lived with the Maedas since I was ten.” She looked embarrassed. “There was a problem involving a high ranking samurai back home. My family thought it would be safer if I left Nagasaki. One of my brothers married a cousin of Mariya-san, so she arranged for me to come here.”

“Not that Yujirō spent much time with the tutor,” Mother interjected.

“I think the tutor spent more time searching for Yujirō than teaching him,” Gracia added with a laugh.

I pretended not to hear and watched the next two contestants enter the ring.

“But, you are scheduled to teach a class,” Emiko said to me with a worried look on her face.

“Yujirō and I have been reviewing,” Gracia said. “He will be ready.”

I gave up on watching the matches. Leaning against one of the poles that held up the roof, I remarked to Gracia, “You should teach the advanced Confucian classes. You are better qualified than I am.”

Gracia blushed. “Get up in front of men and lecture? I couldn’t do that. They might think me immodest.”

“It can’t be worse than teaching a bunch of boys. Just have Yujirō-san sit in the back and look dangerous. They will behave,” Emiko assured her.

“Teaching those boys must be awful,” Mother said. “I have never understood why you do it.”

“Learning to read and how to do sums will greatly improve their prospects when they grow up,” Emiko responded. “They don’t appreciate it now, but some of my earlier students have told me what a difference it made in their lives.” She leaned forward. “Mariya-san, you could teach the tea ceremony and flower arranging to chonin women. Those would be popular subjects.”

I stared at her in astonishment. “Why would chonin want to learn the tea ceremony?”

“Even chonin appreciate beauty and refinement,” Emiko replied sharply.

I was saved from further admonishments when Elisabet came racing up the hill to us with one of the samurai guards in pursuit. “The firemen!” she shouted.

I signaled the guard to return and watch the boys.

Elisabet climbed onto the pavilion and peered out the other side.

“Oh, look. It’s Hitoshi!” Emiko exclaimed. She stood up to watch.

On the other side of the hill groups of firemen were holding up bamboo ladders about four times the height of a man. Hitoshi was climbing to the top on one of them. The men below used long poles to keep the ladders vertical. Each brigade had a ladder up.

The fire brigades were usually day laborers. They were rough, crude men. Often troublemakers. But they were the common people’s heroes.

As we watched, Hitoshi reached the top of the ladder and then hung upside-down, using only his legs to hold him in place.

Emiko gasped.

Gracia joined us. “I do love the acrobatics.”

“I can’t watch,” Emiko whispered, never taking his eyes off him. “If he falls, he could die. Why do men do this?” Emiko asked me.

“Someone has to. If we had no firemen, this city would burn down every year. I remember the Great Fire of Meireki. Was that twenty years ago? A bit more. Before you were born. A quarter of the city burned. What you see Hitoshi doing today, he does over burning buildings. He holds the ladder with his legs so that he can use his hands on the matoi to signal wind direction and catch flying embers.”

Hitoshi grabbed the ladder with both arms and then flipped upright.

I laughed. “Well, maybe not that.”

I looked at the women. They appeared to be unconvinced.

“There are things one must do, even if it means risking death. Don’t tell me there is nothing you would face death for?” I searched their faces.

They said nothing. Nothing could be said here in public, but merely being Christians was risking death. True, Christians were not put to death often now. Instead, they were tortured until they apostatized. But any captured Christian’s fate was up to the inquisitor.

The performance ended and a group of young girls dressed in brightly colored kimono ran up and gave each of the members of the fire brigades a scarlet hyacinth flower as a show of appreciation.

Hitoshi came over and bowed to Emiko. With a flourish, he handed her the flower. “Did you like the show?”

She blushed very prettily.

Someone mounted the pavilion behind me. Emiko’s father Makoto stood beside me, glowering at Hitoshi. Emiko cast her eyes down and moved next to her father.

Hitoshi is going to have to talk to Emiko’s father soon if he doesn’t want trouble, but will Makoto permit a non-Christian to marry his daughter?

“Makoto-san,” Hitoshi bowed. “How did the wrestling go?”

“Well enough,” the older man growled.

A voice came from nearby. “Well, isn’t this a lovely sight? Everyone in a happy family group.”

Startled by the sudden interruption I turned around. Masakado stood in front of the pavilion. “So, Sleeping Tiger, now that there aren’t two dozen armed retainers around to interfere, what do you say we finish what we started? They are asking for you at the dueling ring.”

Is he drunk?

“Go away, Masakado. We are trying to enjoy the matsuri.”

He ignored me. “Come on, Sleeping Tiger. When will we have a better chance? Let’s just go over to the dueling area and we can have a quick match and settle the question once and for all. Noboru will pay you just to get in the ring with me. So you will still be ahead when you lose.”

I refused to answer him.

He smiled at Gracia. “The pretty lady here can even win some money by betting against you.”

Gracia turned bright red. A surge of rage flooded through me.

Mother stood up. “That is quite enough, young man. Have you forgotten how a samurai behaves?” She called over two of the guards. “Get rid of this boor and ensure that he doesn’t bother us further.”

Masakado yelled as they dragged him away from our pavilion. “Come on, Sleeping Tiger! Are you afraid?” He shook off the hands of the two guards and stalked off.

I told Mother, “I think it’s time to go home.”

“Yes, let’s leave. I had not intended to stay this long.”

I threw an irritated glance at Masakado’s back. “I will make my own way home. I will come by tomorrow.”

Mother stared at me. “Is that a wise decision?”

I returned her gaze. “Maybe not but it is my decision.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head in disapproval. But she said nothing, instead calling, “Children, come on, we are going!” Emiko said a quick goodbye to Gracia before rejoining her father, Hitoshi following behind. The three guards closed in around my mother, Gracia, and the three children, clearing the way through the crowds for them.

I headed in the opposite direction—towards the dueling rings. Duels were technically prohibited by bakufu edict, but then so were samurai getting drunk and gambling. The dueling grounds gave one the chance to flout all three laws at once. No one would take any notice unless someone were killed in a duel. At that point, the municipal police would become involved and the surviving duelist would be charged with murder.

I patted my wallet. Dueling was a good way to make some quick money—if you won. I usually won. My funds wouldn’t last long with me spending all my time investigating Estêvão’s death. A duel or two should help with that and Masakado was getting to be annoying. It was a great plan, except that I had never been able to beat Masakado. He might be an aho, but he was a skilled and tricky duelist.

A bamboo enclosure had been set up in the middle of the square. Spectators lined the outside shouting advice and encouragement to the two duelists inside as they circled each other looking for an opening. A ragged red and white canopy sat to the side of the enclosure.

I approached the canopy and studied the men inside. They were puffed up and strutted about, trying to look dangerous. They were so young and stupid looking. I wondered if I once appeared that dumb.

“Sleeping Tiger! I have been looking for you. Are you planning to join the festivities?” A scarred and wrinkled older man pushed aside the young ones and approached me.

“Noboru,” I greeted him. “That idiot Masakado has challenged me. It might be time teach him some humility.”

Noboru brightened. “I will give you a prime slot and twenty silver monme for the fight. Is that enough?”

I nodded.

He turned and shouted at the man in front of the dueling boards. “Masakado against the Sleeping Tiger. Make it at the Hour of the Rooster.” He dug twenty silver coins out of his purse and placed them in my hand.

I crossed the compound. The man at the betting table looked up from his list of wagers as I approached. “Ah, Sleeping Tiger,” he said. “You are planning to duel today?” When I nodded, he said, “Who?”

“Masakado.”

He shook his head in disapproval. “He has beaten you, what—three times already? Not many will bet on you. Five to one against you.”

I scowled at him. “I am more skilled. I can beat him.”

“You might be the more skilled, but he knows your weaknesses and exploits them. You don’t seem to be able to do the same. Five to one.”

Well, twenty-four silver monme will get me back two gold koban at that rate.

I opened my wallet and laid out the twenty-four silver coins. “Here is twenty-four monme. Make sure you have my koban ready for me after the match.”

I watched the duels while waiting for sunset. Most of the new, young duelists held little promise, but there were a few who would bear some watching. None of them seemed to have studied widely, though. It was clear that most of them cared little for anything beyond winning fights. No one appeared to value their talent for the beauty of the art. Their crass indifference to the subtleties of the martial skills saddened me.

The samurai were once warriors. But the civil war had ended and now there was only the occasional rebellion and border skirmish since my grandfather was young. Men who once would have been warriors became bureaucrats instead. My grandfather had nothing but contempt for these samurai. When he was young, we had been fighting a civil war for over 200 years. He railed against men who fought duels with their tongues instead of swords. He trained us as he had been trained, to be deadly and efficient. Few of these men had that advantage now.

I fought a couple of quick challenges against men that had very little chance of defeating me. I took my time and added some crowd-pleasing flourishes to the battle, but everyone knew how it would end, so I made little for my efforts.

Finally, the sun had just touched the horizon and the Hour of the Rooster arrived. Masakado and I squared off in the center dueling ring. There was much pushing and jostling of neighbors as all the spectators tried to crowd into the viewing area. The chant of Masakado, Masakado was so loud it hurt my ears. I thought I heard the occasional Sleeping Tiger, but I might have been mistaken.

He may be a little drunk, but that has never been an impediment in the past. It could also be a trick, so don’t fall for his stunts, Paulo.

He assumed the medium guard position, but his blade was ever-so-slightly wavering, an effect I attributed to the saké. When his bokuto slid to his left, I struck at his right side, hoping to take advantage of his impairment. Faster than the eye could follow, the bokuto straightened and he knocked my attack to the side. With a desperate twist, I managed to bring my weapon back into line for a guard position, but Masakado had come close to defeating me with a single blow.

There was no longer the slightest wavering in his stance. The tip of his bokuto stayed centered on my chest, rock-steady. Masakado wore a twisted smile. I cursed inwardly.

He wasn’t drunk at all—it was a trick.

We circled each other. I struck at his head and he deflected the blow. He tried to catch me with a quick jab at my leg, but I stepped back to avoid his weapon. He was a bit slow in his recovery, and I landed a strike on his left arm. He winced as he moved the arm.

I got him that time. Your tricks won’t help you, Masakado, you’re going to lose this time.

He stepped back a tiny bit and the grin returned to his face. “Your sister-in-law. She is a shy one. They say that the quietest ones are tigresses in bed. Is that the case with her?” He began rocking his hips back and forth obscenely, sliding his bokuto in and out as he did so. “Is that why you are taking over for your brother? Planning to replace him in everything?”

My vision seemed to go red. Without even thinking, I stepped forward and snapped a strike at his head. He brought his bokuto up in response and cracked me across my left elbow. My arm went numb, and my bokuto fell from my nerveless fingers. Masakado laid his bokuto across my throat and softly said, “You lose.”

He stepped back, dropped out of the guard position and laughed. “That was easy. You’re a decent swordsman, but you really need to watch that temper, Sleeping Tiger.” He walked away, laughing.

I left the enclosure, the onlookers booing and jeering at the quick defeat. Rubbing my pained arm, I went back behind the pavilions to get away from the crowds. I couldn’t believe that I fell for his tricks again. My grandfather had been warning me about my temper since I was eight, but I still let rage cloud my judgement against one of the most dangerous opponents I knew.

You are a fool, Paulo. Everyone but you knows it.

I stepped around the corner of the pavilion and not far away were six men in deep conversation. I stepped back out of sight, not wanting to speak to anyone. They took no notice of me.

Only then did I realize that one of the men was Tokugawa Goro, the South machi-bugyō, and another Noboru, the promoter. The machi-bugyō stood to one side, looking out over the spectacle of the matsuri, but his men were talking to Noboru.

“You have the money?” an unfamiliar voice said.

Noboru answered, “Yes, here is two-hundred seventy gold koban. The agreed upon amount of ten percent of the take.”

The first man said, “There has been a change in plans. The cost is going to be twenty percent.”

Noboru protested, “The machi-bugyō can’t just demand an extra two-hundred koban from me. I have expenses!”

The first man didn’t say anything, his complete indifference to Noboru’s objections clear even without seeing his face.

Finally Noboru sighed. “Very well, here is five-hundred forty koban.” The clink of metal followed his statement.

The first man said, “The machi-bugyō appreciates your cooperation. He looks forward to working with you next year. The constables will be busy in other areas of Edo, and unable to worry about the gambling and dueling here.” The sound of receding footsteps marked the departure of the two groups.

Is this an example of the how Tokugawa Goro works? Was this what Grandfather was referring to?