Historical Fiction by Rocky Gunn and Kazuko Sakura

Jingoro sat comfortably by the fireplace, surrounded by his young grandchildren. He had served in the Emperor’s army for twenty years and had been awarded the highest honors for his meritorious service. He had worked his way up from a young foot soldier to a wise and respected counselor who was pursued not only for his knowledge in military affairs but for his uncommon understanding of people and situations. Now retired from the service of his country, Jingoro spent many happy hours recounting his life and experiences for his grandchildren. The children profited from hearing the rich and entertaining stories in addition to the beneficial advice concerning their personal and social well being.

Often they would interrupt their grandfather and ask about the meaning of certain parables. Such was the case on this occasion when one of the eager listeners spoke up and said, “Grandfather, I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand, Hana?” Jingoro replied, smiling softly as he answered his youngest granddaughter.

“How could the samurai trust that other man? How could he have known that the other man was a good person?”

“Sometimes we must use other ways besides what we can see if we are to succeed in our desires.”

“How can you know what you cannot see?” questioned another child.

“Close your eyes, children”, Jingoro ordered gently. “Now, then. Can you still see me?”

“No, Grandfather”, cried the children.

“But you know I am still here.”

The children laughed as they opened their eyes.

“Of course we know,” they all exclaimed. “We saw you before we closed our eyes and we could also hear you.”

“But if you could not see or hear me, I would still be here, wouldn’t I?”

The youngsters all nodded in agreement.

“Now think hard, children,” Jingoro persisted. “How else could you know I was here?”

Silence followed. After a while, Hana said, “I think I could feel that you were here, Grandfather.”

“What do you man, Hana?” asked Jingoro.

The girl closed her eyes as she continued. “I can see you even with my eyes closed, Grandfather.” The children all began to laugh but Jingoro interrupted.

“Listen, my children. There are many ways to know of things without seeing them with your eyes and hearing them with your ears. These abilities are important, but beyond them, there is another part of you — Your soul. If you try hard enough, think deep enough, and concentrate correctly, you may be able to open a new path of vision. You can see beyond the limits of your eyes and ears.”

Failing to grasp the full meaning of the grandfather’s words, the children left the living room and ran outside to enjoy the few remaining rays of the day’s fading sun. It would be dark very soon.

It was several days later when Jingoro sat on his favorite chair by the fireplace trying to repair a broken harness. His gray hair and weathered face reflected the years of labor he had endured. Although in his sixties, the old warrior still possessed the alertness and energy of a much younger man. The old man pondered the memories of his youth as he worked diligently on the harness. How much longer could the wisdom of an experienced mind continue to compensate for the failings of an aged and worn body?

Call To Arms

Jingoro’s quiet thoughts were suddenly shattered by the shouts of his daughter-in-law and the thundering hoofbeats of approaching horses. There was more shouting and screaming as he ran laboriously to the window.

“What’s happening?” Jingoro cried. “What’s going on?” He looked out into the yard and saw only darkness. Soo, his daughter-in-law, sobbing and weeping, entered the house and pleaded in anguish, “Grandfather… please take care of the children.”

“What’s happening?” the frustrated old man demanded to know.

“It’s Honjiro and his band of outlaws we’ve heard about. They’ve come to rob us,” the daughter-in-law said. “But they won’t stop at that. They’ve run over little Hana, and they’ve hung your son up and are going to murder him.”

Clutching at Jingoro’s clothes, the daughter-in-law screamed, “You must take the children and run. Try to save your lives.” Quickly, she turned and bolted out the door before Jingoro could even utter a word. Realizing that he could not escape with the children by running away, Jingoro reacted as he had been trained to react many years before.

Instinctively, he reached for his weapon, which hung over the front door of the house, then stepped outside and surveyed the goings on in the yard. Despite the desperation of the moment, it felt good to the old man to once again grip his kusarigama, a hand held sickle. It was a short sword hafted onto a hardwood handle. From the handle hung a weighted chain.

Jingoro listened carefully to the screams of his son’s family and the terrible laughter of the bandits. The sky was now dark, and with the scene set in his mind, he stepped briskly to the center of the yard. Immediately, the clamor around him died out, and the bandits all turned their attention to the old man and his curious weapon.

“Old man,” one of the bandits shouted in a mocking tone, “what do you think you are going to do with that chain in the dark? Old men can’t fight, and they can’t see at night.”

Jingoro turned toward the intruder and replied defiantly, “Step forward, coward, and find out.”

The bandit scoffed and said, “That weapon you hold takes a trained warrior.” Five or six other mocking voices followed with a chorus of jeers.

“Take what you want and leave us along,” Jingoro said. “If you do not harm my family, I will not harm you.”

“No, no,” the bandit said laughing. “I don’t think we could do that. We’re going to take everything, your lives included. It’s getting darker, old man. We’ll just wait and watch you beat yourself to death with your own chain.” The other bandits laughed again.

“Very well,” the old warrior said quietly as he remained standing erect. The situation seemed very familiar to him.

Two of the men approached and playfully waved their swords at the lonely, darkened figure. But as they got within striking distance, Jingoro lashed out with his kusarigama, instantly and simultaneously striking one of the attackers in the neck with the chain and cutting the other with the sharp double-edged blade. The two men fell, and once again the voice of the bandit leader shouted from a corner of the yard.

“So, old one, you are a warrior. Too bad it’s so dark. You might be able to give the rest of us a pretty good fight if you could see us better. But we have the edge, old man. We have young eyes, and there are four of us. Get ready, old man. You are about to die by torture.”

Jingoro said nothing and instead quietly prepared for the next attack by listening carefully to the movements of his enemies.

Quickly, three of the men took positions surrounding Jingoro, who responded by swinging his chain at a furious velocity. In a few short seconds, the end of the iron weight had gathered enough momentum to crush the skull of the nearest assailant. Side-stepping quickly, the cagey combat veteran snared the sword of one of the other outlaws, then yanked the off-balanced bandit forward and killed him with the blade that jutted out from the wooden handle. But before Jingoro could untangle his kusarigama, the third assassin drove a sword deep into the old man’s back. Jingoro winced as he felt the cold steel blade invade his weary body. But applying his many years of yoroi kumi-uchi, he wheeled around in the dark, a powerful hip-and-leg lock that slammed the surprised enemy to the ground. A swift movement of the short blade finished the technique.

Covered with the blood of the five outlaws he had already slain, and bleeding mortally from his own wound, Jingoro struggled to remain erect as he faced the bandit leader, Monjiro.

“Well, old man, you’ve done yourself in,” Monjiro said with a snicker.

“So it seems,” the battered warrior conceded. “But at least I was spared the disgrace of dying by the sword of a coward like you.” Jingoro stood very still and studied the movements of the only remaining bandit.

“Well, old man,” retorted the now angry Monjiro, “we’ll see what we can do about that.” The bandit mounted his horse and charged at the ancient warrior, who waited with his blood-stained Kusarigama. Monjiro slashed wildly with his sword as the horse came upon the standing target, but Jingoro, anticipating the attack precisely, jumped back and avoided the blow. The horse turned and charged once more, and again the old man stepped clear, through this time the loss of blood and strength forced him to his knees after the attacker had passed. The bandit laughed as he raised his sword for the kill and turned his animal for the final charge.

Determined to save his family and die on his own terms, Jingoro reached inward for his last effort and struggled to his feet. He counted the hoofbeats as the horse galloped across the dark yard, and at the proper moment ducked the menacing swipe of Monjiro’s lade and lashed out with the kusarigama. The chain caught the arm of the attacker and flung him to the ground, and a final blow with the hardwood handle eliminated the last of the six bandits.

Jingoro remained standing for a few moments, painfully savoring the most important triumph of his long and celebrated career. But by the time his son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren had freed themselves from their shackles, the old man had fallen to the ground. He attempted to find the sky but saw only darkness, the same darkness that had helped him defeat his enemies.

The grandchildren ran over and called out to him through their tears. The old man smiled at them gently, as he had so many times before, and whispered his final message. “Children, please remember what I told you. You must try to see beyond what your eyes see. Close your eyes and read my heart.”

Then Jingoro, and old man who had gone blind twenty years before his greatest victory, closed his own eyes for the last time.

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