By Larry Hilf

Usagi followed the older man outside, up the steep hill that rose behind the inn. "Have you ever seen a finer sight, Usagi-san?," Ichime asked as they reached the top. The western sky was washed in bronze and gold, the sun’s red disk almost touching the horizon. Lake Ashi reflected the brilliance, while the high hills surrounding it were dark silhouettes. Below, a solitary traveler with a load of straw on his back hurried past the inn, towards Hakone Pass, hoping to reach the station before night.

"Magnificent," Usagi answered in a whisper.

"The Western Paradise," Ichime smiled broadly, sitting down. Neither man spoke for several minutes.

"You served Lord Mifune of Mutsu Province, neh?," Ichime asked quietly, nodding at the mon on Usagi’s sleeves.

"You know of him?"

"Only by word. He was said to be the most honorable and worthy of daimyo."

"So he was," Usagi replied, bowing his head. "I am sorry to say that I do not recognize your own clan affiliation," he replied, nodding at the blue and white iris crest on Ichime’s faded kimono.

Looking out at the sunset brilliance, Ichime smiled faintly. "Giri. Loyalty. Service. Fine words. Naïve words. I too was samurai, years ago. I was born and raised in Echigo Province, so, like you, I know what a winter truly is," the older man chuckled. He took a swig of sake, swallowed a mouthful and passed the bottle to Usagi. "My family was of low samurai rank, but had been very proud to serve the Genda Clan for generations. Genda Mutsuhide himself was only a regional lord, but had caught the eye of Lord Hideyoshi years ago when both fought for Oda Nobunaga. Later, when Lord Hideyoshi rose in power after Oda’s death, he remembered Genda Mutsuhide and made him a general for his victories against the Chosokabe, down in Shikoku. My father had served Lord Genda during the campaign and been personally commendated by him for bravery in battle. It was a tremendous honor for such a low ranking family as mine. At the time, I and my younger brother, Jiro, were still minors, but we were awestruck by the tales our father told of Lord Genda’s calm and cunning in the midst of battle, and of his own deeds in war. My father was a quiet man, not given to boasting, but whenever his old comrades would visit our home, they would stay up late into the night, talking over old campaigns. Jiro and I would hide outside the room, frightened of being caught but enthralled by the stories we heard. We both dreamed of future glory and devotion to add to the family’s reputation."

Ichime fell silent. The sun had almost disappeared below the edge of the lake. The sky had become darker, bronze turning to deep orange.

"When I came of age, I went into service to Lord Genda’s household in Echigo. The lord himself spent much of the year in Osaka Castle serving Lord Hideyoshi, but returned home to our province whenever he could. I was fifteen years old. Too young, too eager, so dazzled with the hopes of the future. Even as a mere foot-soldier, I felt graced to be serving our lord in so direct a way, and in his own fortress. Every time he inspected us in formation or passed by in the corridors, I was filled with gratitude that I was there. He was a short man, thick-set, and he always walked quickly. His bodyguards would often complain that they could not keep up with the man to protect him." Ichime grinned at the memory, took another mouthful of sake.

"After several years, our Lord Hideyoshi planned a campaign against the Hojo Clan, in the Kanto. My Lord Genda remembered that my father had served him with distinction years ago. He called me to join him in Osaka along with 1,000 other soldiers that he would commit to his lord’s army. The march south was the first time I had ever been ouitside of Echigo Province. You may not believe this, but I had never seen the ocean before in my life. It amazed me, terrified me, too, such an endless expanse of nothing but water. Whatever could lie beyond such a void? We marched along the Hokurikudo, then past Kyoto itself down to Osaka.

"Lord Hideyoshi’s fortress in Osaka was tremendous, I had never seen such an imposing building before in my life. Lord Genda called me for a personal audience with himself and our liege lord. It was probably the most exciting moment of my life, to kneel before Lord Genda, my master, and Hideyoshi himself. He was ordinary-looking enough, this former peasant’s son who had risen to rule the nation, of average height, average build. His features were small, his face almost like a monkey’s, but with a monkey’s devious cunning and cleverness in his eyes. Anyone could see that. Genda-dono spoke of my father’s bravery and laughed that I must be at least as brave. Our Lord smiled and replied, "Echigo, eh? He must be brave, like all you northerners, buried in snow half the year. Well, you will soon have your chance to add to your family’s honor, in battle."

"I’m sure you’ve heard about the Hojo campaign yourself, Usagi. Not much of a war, it was over relatively quickly. But I did experience battle. The night before, I feared I would be too scared to fight. Strange. Once I was in the midst of the fighting itself, I had no time to feel fear. Everything around me, the enemy soldiers, the horses, seemed just out of reach, almost as if I were a bird circling over the battlefield, observing it from a distance. It was during the battle that I met Saito Matsuo, another young warrior, from Hideyoshi’s own home province of Owari. We were separated from the rest of our division, on top of a small mound of earth. We fought back-to-back, our lords’ banners planted next to us. Matsuo and I screamed and laughed and struck down anyone that came near us. I thought that I would surely die that day. Our lord’s forces drove the Hojo back, routing them from the field. Afterwards, on our return to Osaka, Hideyoshi himself promoted us to captains for our bravery. "They stood like mountains, eh? The hot mountain from Owari and the cold mountain from Echigo!"

"It was like a dream come true. I couldn’t believe that I had gained so much honor, such a distinction. My family was more than proud. Again, the gratitude and respect from one’s lord for one’s devotion. Matsuo and I became fast friends, sharing our time off-duty drinking and exploring the city, talking endlessly of our families and homes. I would tell him stories of winter storms that made him shiver, and he told me of the sands of the beaches near his home, and of fishing out in the surf, something I could scarcely imagine."

Ichime sighed heavily, looking beyond the scarlet of the western horizon into the past.

"Those years in Osaka were the happiest in my life. The feeling of completeness, of being samurai, of serving utterly. The feeling of being necessary to our lords, even in the most routine of night watches or the dullest of duties. To be needed…" The older man scratched at the back of his neck, his scalp. Another mouthful of sake swallowed.

"Our Lord Hideyoshi was going to not only unite the entire country, but cross the sea and conquer Korea as well, and finally, China itself. Matsuo and I watched as his army marched to the sea to set sail. We were not among them, but just to serve a man with such ambition was an honor for the two of us, for if he could rise and accomplish as much as he did in one lifetime, surely we could at least become generals ourselves one day."

"Years passed, and though our lord was growing older, he dreamed again of conquering Korea. This time Matsuo and I were among those to be sent out, to relieve and support our garrisons already established in Korea. The crossing was horrible. I suffered from sea-sickness, many soldiers did. Matsuo helped me through it, kept me laughing. He always did."

"Our division fought against the Chinese at Nam-Won, capturing the city. Genda samurai, myself leading them, were amongst the first to enter the fortress. Have you ever heard stories of the Korean campaign? We slaughtered the entire garrison, every Chinese soldier there. We even cut off the corpses’ ears afterwards, pickling them in brine to send back to Osaka as proof of our victories. There were piles of ears, Usagi-san, tens of hundreds of them. We laughed as we sliced them off, losing count."

"With autumn, the rains came and mired everything in mud. Roads, paths, fields, we were up to our calves in it. Horses got stuck, broke their ankles. Day after day of rain. Dismal gray clouds hid the sun from us. Matsuo joked that we should find an old witch to turn us into warrior fish so we could swim all the way to China."

"The weather grew colder and grayer as the year neared its’ end. Our company was sent to support our northernmost garrison before the snows forced the army to encamp for the winter. The march north was the hardest thing I have ever had to endure. Once the snow started to fall, it did not stop. And the wind…so numbing, we might as well have been naked. It tore through our armor, seeped into our bones. It never stopped. The fortress was probably only twenty-five or thirty ri north but it seemed farther away than the moon. It was a blessing to finally reach it, to get out of that blasting cold."

"The Chinese attacked us there, attacked us over and over. They were numberless, always surging towards us, waves of them. We may have been outnumbered, but we always forced them back. They blow horns when they attack an enemy, a weird, hollow sound. We came to fear it more than anything else. We lived in our armor, never knowing when we would have to defend ourselves again. Dead men and horses covered the ground outside. At night, sometimes, when that demon wind died down, you could hear foxes and rats rustling among the dead, gnawing softly in the dark, yipping, squeaking."

"That’s how I lost my eye, in one of those attacks." Ichime shrugged his shoulder up at the steel patch that covered his left eye socket. He scratched at the thick raised scar tissue that trailed off across the left side of his face. "An enemy spearman slashed me. The surgeons in the fortress had to cauterize the wound, it bled so much. A strange smell, burning blood and skin. It hurt more than the wound itself had in battle."

"During that winter, we told stories to bolster our courage, every fable we could remember ever hearing. Matsuo would dance, making up stories as he sang. We would recite our family histories, and laugh that we would be able to add our own courageous deeds to them, to tell our own children one day."

Ichime shook his head. "So naïve. We really believed it meant anything. Supplies began to run low. Soldiers would be sent to forage for food and wood at night, until a party was captured by the enemy and butchered in front of the garrison walls. The Chinese beheaded them, one by one, and pointed at us, laughing, flinging the heads of our comrades at us."

"Hunger gnawed at the pit of our bellies, and the wind ripped at our faces, but we never lost hope. Filthy, stinking, infested with lice…Five times messengers were sent in the middle of the night with pleas for support from our superiors. We never saw them again. The New Year came and went in that forsaken place, surrounded by the Chinese. We killed our horses, those faithful companions, and cooked the flesh. When rice started to run out, I began to lose all hope. To die in battle is one thing, but to die slowly, little by little…We trapped rats and mice and ate them, melted snow for water…Some snuck outside at night and scavenged the dead for any morsel that could be found on them. We heard nothing from the outside world, the other garrisons to the south. For all we knew, we could have been the only samurai left in Korea."

"Sickness spread through the garrison. Some died from lung sickness, coughing up blood. Others simply froze to death while on watch. Matsuo came down with a burning fever. His body was so hot to the touch, and the whole time, he shivered uncontrollably, complaining of how cold his arms and legs were. He would lie there laughing shakily and tell me that we should have no fear of Hell. We were already suffering through one that must be worse than any of Enma’s eight cold hells, and as for the eight hot hells, at least they would be warm."

"One morning…" Ichime closed his right eye, wincing. "One morning, Matsuo didn’t wake up. I kept telling him, "Time to get up, it’s your turn on watch, get up." I kept shaking him and started yelling "Wake up! Wake up!" I kept yelling at him…When I realized he was dead…I lost my mind. Even today, I can barely remember the rest of it, screaming incoherently, pounding my fists against the floor, cursing Amaterasu for abandoning us in this place and Amida and Kannon for not saving us from the horror. I raved constantly for the next month, filled with hatred. I looked forward to the next attack so that I could kill more Chinese. I…snuck outside one night and hacked at the most recent corpses, stabbing them over and over like a madman with my sword. I howled at the sky." Ichime smiled faintly. "I must have terrified the Chinese encampment that night. I hope so."

Ichime laid back against the grass. Half a dozen bright stars shone in the cobalt darkness above. The glow of sunset had faded to a thin greenish band of light reflected in the lake waters.

"Eventually, a month or so later, a relief column came up to us from the south. I remember little of the march back to the sea. By that time I was sick with fever myself, and half-dead from starvation. That period is like a vast smear of spilled ink to me, featureless. My closest friend, so many of my comrades, were dead. I and my fellows recovered and regained our strength. I felt empty inside, drained of emotion. Spring came and word filtered down to us that Hideyoshi would begin evacuating our army from the peninsula, bit by bit. On the ship home, I looked out at the waves lifting and falling endlessly and wanted to throw myself overboard. We survivors were commended for our loyalty and courage by Hideyoshi, who was ill himself by that time."

"I returned to Lord Genda’s service in Osaka, but it no longer mattered to me. I felt dead inside. The first night I slept in the barracks in Osaka, I awoke screaming in terror, soaked with sweat. In Korea, I never dreamt at night, I always had a soldier’s sleep, deep and peaceful. Now, night after night nightmares tormented me, of being lost in an endless field of blood, of rats chewing away at the flesh of my limbs, squeaking loudly. Of Matsuo lost somewhere and my running, running to try to find him and not being able to."

"I begged Lord Genda to release me from his service. I wept hysterically in front of him, banging my head against the floorboards, saying over and over that I was not worthy, I was not strong enough. He took pity on me and let me go, home to Echigo. I will never forget his words to me. "No one could have been braver. You honor your family." He provided for an annual stipend for my livelihood, but I refused it, asking him to give it to my family instead."

"The journey north was meaningless to me. When I did return home, I was not prepared for what awaited me. It had been a bitter winter in our district. An epidemic had broken out during the worst of it. My mother had become ill, but with so many sick, medicine ran low. My father rode out one day towards a neighboring town and must have gone off the path in a sudden storm that came down. He was found frozen to death days later. Mother died in her sleep two days afterwards. Some said it was because of her illness, but Jiro was convinced that she had died of a broken heart."

"They had had no news from me for months, and so feared that I had been killed. He was stunned to see me alive. We both wept bitterly together that night, for hours."

"After that day, a disgust started to grow in me. The nightmares continued, night after night. I could not fall back to sleep, so I would pace in circles in my room, or go out and wander through the fields and forests. I drank more and more frequently, desperate to blot out the memories, the feelings that still left me haunted. At least I did not shame myself in public. I drank in my room, refusing to leave

for days at a time. Jiro, as much as he loved me, was a husband and father now, and had become the head of our clan after my parents had died, and was privately embarrassed by my behavior. Drunken, unkempt. We argued many times. Guilt ate away at me. I had not been there to mourn for our parents. I visited their graves everyday, filled with grief, missing them terribly. Anger boiled inside me, too. What had our sacrifices accomplished? What had been the point of it all? Giri? Honor? The words now sickened me. When Hideyoshi himself died at the end of summer, I was devastated. Now it had all been for nothing, nothing. The five daimyo Hideyoshi had appointed as Regents to his heir were now free to fight each other for control of the country."

"The day after I heard of his death, I took my swords into the forest, found the largest two stones that I could carry, and smashed the blades between them. Enraged, I threw the pieces into the river and cursed the day I had first worn them. I left our family home that night, without a word to anyone. To this day, I have never worn or even held a sword again, and I never will."

"I eventually made my way to Echizen Province. I found refuge at a temple there. The monks were kind to me. I swept floors, chopped firewood, polished the altars. I considered taking vows and becoming a monk myself, but no longer believed that anyone in Heaven listened to any human prayers."

"One winter night, so tired at heart, I went out and threw myself into the snow, no longer caring if I lived or died. It was perfectly silent, icy-cold. I do not remember how long I laid there, hoping death would claim me. The silence seemed to swallow me utterly, a stillness that had no boundaries. And, as I lay there, feeling the cold numb my body, I slowly realized that I no longer had to be afraid. I do not know why I was certain of this. I became calm. I even laughed loudly. That night in the temple, I slept the first truly peaceful sleep I had had since Korea. The nightmares never returned after that night. Since then, I have wandered far and wide, working as a woodcutter, a street-vendor, digging ditches. I was even a horse-messenger on the Nakasendo for a time."

"Lord Genda became a loyal vassal to Tokugawa Ieyasu, and fought for him at Sekigahara. Jiro is a loyal vassal to Lord Genda still, serving him in our district and at his Echigo home, as I had done. And I know that someday, perhaps soon, or in ten years, the Tokugawa will find some pretext, create some reason to attack Osaka Castle, and they will eventually defeat Hideyoshi’s son and his supporters, and then Lord Hideyoshi’s dreams will truly be finished, gone as though they had never existed."

Ichime closed his eye. Usagi sat silently, stunned by his story.

"I came here three years ago. The innkeeper’s wife had passed away so he needed help. I clean up, serve patrons, talk to people. I like listening to other people’s stories. They seem to enjoy telling them to me. I keep an eye out for bandits in the area and make sure that any ronin staying at the inn don’t cause trouble. A quiet life."

"Why then do you still wear a samurai’s topknot, and the Genda mon on your kimono?," Usagi questioned.

"It is a constant reminder to me that all things pass. Loyalty, duty, service. Even feelings. All things fade, like the sunset," Ichime remarked, pointing at the sky, now completely black and dotted with stars. "To hold on to anything in this lifetime, to hope and need anything, is utter vanity. Utter folly."

"You truly believe that?," Usagi answered in disbelief. "Have you completely abandoned the tenets you were raised with?"

Ichime swallowed the last of the sake, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Have you understood none of what I’ve told you, Miyamoto Usagi-san? Perhaps not. You are still loyal to your Lord Mifune, even after his death. You still believe that means something now, even while you live like a leaf blown by the wind. I am older than you, and grateful that I see the illusions for what they are, simply illusions."

"What, then, is the point of living at all? Without something greater than ourselves to live by, dedicate ourselves to, there is only emptiness."

Ichime laughed. "Find peace in your giri, then, samurai, and allow me to find peace in my emptiness. Come, I’ve talked for far too long," the older man said, standing up and stretching. "Let’s go down and have some tea, eh? It’s getting cold."