But when it was clear my soul longed for the sword and I excelled at kenjutsu, the Shimada chose me over all others as their swordmaster. As you know, my mother and hers before her were honored to tend the fox shrine far from the clamor of town. And in return, the Shimada clan led with integrity and treated us with respect. They asked much of those who followed them, but they inspired us to give it. Lately, the Shimada have consumed my idle thoughts. But the Shimada understood that honor and loyalty forge the strongest bond between ruler and ruled. You and I know well enough, we two who make and wield the sword, that while their castle was indeed strong stone, the Shimada were no gods, but people-and criminals at that. Shimada Castle still sits high in its place of glory, overlooking our city like a stalwart stone temple awaiting a benevolent deity. Then, happy with their souvenirs, these day visitors skitter back onto the train before nightfall, when the lanterns flicker to life and the Hashimoto pound on closed shop doors, taking their “share” of what is earned by the labor of others and funneling it up to their betters through the aptly named Tora no Sumika. They eat ice cream from the cat café and burn their yen at the arcade or the new shopping mall you have yet to behold.
Most of our favorite places are kept alive thanks to the tourists who delight in visiting quaint old towns such as ours. Yui’s dog, Mochi, is getting on in years, but his likeness still spins on the sign of the pottery school. It was crowded today, as many have come to celebrate the cherry blossoms. You will doubtless be pleased to hear that Ichiko refuses to change the family recipe at Gozan Ramen, and the black garlic oil is as delicious as ever. Many things remain unchanged, of course, in these eight years since your last trip home.
Perhaps it will grant us both a little peace, even as I turn my blade to keep the peace here from shattering altogether. For as winter leads to spring, let me write a letter of lightness-a warm breeze bearing drifting blossoms. Sometimes I think I hear you there, yet it is always only the wind.īut I will not linger here. So is your own voice, your singing to the sword as you brushed it with yakibatsuchi, and the crackle of the fire when the blade hit the forge and the hiss as it cooled in the water. The musical hammering of the hot tamahagane, the song of the steel, is missing from this place. In other ways, I feel your absence even more keenly. It helps us feel close to you in many ways. The forge of Yamagami Blades remains locked up tight, and since we last saw you in the autumn, we have moved into the upper level. Our daughter appreciated your recent gift, though I pray the blades you forge for the Hashimoto aren’t nearly so sharp, that what you craft for them is only equal to their sordid selves. I hope they value your work enough to bring us together soon. Strange that we are so close, yet we can visit you only when our current “masters” wish it. The season returns me to the winter day when the Hashimoto took you away from us, when snowflakes fell as the petals do now. The cherry blossoms are in glorious bloom after a gentle winter, soft clouds of pink against the green trees on the hillside.
0 kommentar(er)
