The Golden Naginata

by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

  “Soon that cause will blossom and bear fruit; for the agreement between the two sects of warrior monks is imminent, and every other preparation is ready for the invasion of the Imperial City. Then, with the Mikado behind us, an attack will be launched against Kamakura itself. My husband will become Shogun, and I, like Madam Hojo before me, will share the power equally.”

  As though just remembering, Tomoe reached suddenly for the spirit-presents she had made with her own hands. These representations of toys and practical objects she placed within a char-stained receptacle built into the monument. With a piece of flint and iron kept there, she lit the spirit-presents. The paper had been treated to smell of incense as it burned. While the small fire was burning, Tomoe produced seven little pieces of spirit-money which she had obtained before leaving on her pilgrimage. They were golden colored and oval shaped, with square holes through the center. Of them she said, “In this life we samurai are supposed to eschew wealth; but it seems to me it is often useful, and I thought you might need these in heaven.” She dropped the paper coins into the receptacle where they flared. “If I misjudge your interests,” she said, “please do not take offense, but give the money to someone else for me, perhaps the family of the swordsmith Okio who died in poverty.”

  Darkness had fallen on the graveyard, but Tomoe was unperturbed by the eeriness of the nighted place. She unstoppered the bottle of saké and poured some into each of two shallow depressions on one level of the monument. She poured a bit more directly on the poles bearing her two friends’ names. Then she drank some of it herself, right from the bottle. “It’s good,” she said and smacked her lips, looking more carefree than before. Then she sighed heavily and said,

  “I wish I had news about our best friend Goro Maki, but there has been no word of him since shortly after tragedies broke us up. I told you last year that he became a monk, retiring from the world. I hope that he is healthy, but it is hard to know what a monk does. They never seek notice.”

  An owl made a noise from some hiding place, but Tomoe ignored it. She spoke to her frineds about this and that, and her mood went from laughter to unhappiness to severity. After a while she got up and went to the box she had carried through two provinces on her back. She dragged it toward the monument, saying, “This is the best I have yet to offer you, Ushii, Madoka!” She took the lid off and broke away the front of the box, revealing a fat stone god sitting inside. It had a kind expression. Three names were carved on its big belly: Shindo, Shuzo and Hidemi. Of the stone god, Tomoe said, “I had this rustic deity carved to look like one I saw in Isso. I have prayed to that other one to keep my father alive an extra day, so that I might see him once more. Although the little god was unable to grant that particular request, I have sometimes gotten the feeling that my good fortune afterward was due to him. That is why I had one made for you, so that the two of you may have good luck, too, and be reunited in heaven and in the next life.

  “You may want to know whose names are carved into this belly. Well, they were not such close friends as you, but they were the only ones at my wedding and I liked them. It was the sad part of my wedding day that they had to die for Yoshinake’s sake and for the sake of the Great Treason he has planned. I owe them gratitude and felt that my introducing them to you would help me atone for their deaths. I am sure you will all like each other very much, and maybe end up serving the same lord in a future life, becoming happy as a result. It is the most I can hope for everyone concerned. Perhaps the children of Yoshinake and myself will be great rulers after us, and you will serve them as privileged retainers; and they will be privileged, too, if that happens.”

  She hefted the statue and climbed with it to the top of the monument, setting it on the flat top and making the burial place of Ushii and Madoka that much taller. Then the smell of food reminded her that the priestess had promised a meal, which might already be getting cold. So she took up her sword from where she had set it and started toward the house; but something stopped her. Her sword was as light as air, and she held it up to look at it in the darkness. “This is strange!” she said, and drew the sword out a little bit, wondering why it was weightless. The steel was phosphorescent. She sheathed it quickly, hiding the unnatural light of the blade. As she slowly turned around, she saw Ushii Yakushiji sitting where she had placed the stone god. His face was maniacal; his hair untidy; his clothing in shreds. He laughed horridly and said to Tomoe,

  “Why do you pray to me in heaven when I reside in Hell!” He laughed wickedly again and stepped down from the monument. Tomoe tried to see his feet, but they were hidden under long, tattered hakama. “I am an important man in Hell!” Ushii boasted. “I am sometimes privileged to know what goes on atop the earth. In your prayer you say it should make me happy to bow down to your children in some future life. You think your children will inherit the rule of Naipon. Baké!” He circled her menacingly, hand on his sword’s hilt. “You and the traitor Yoshinake will never rule Naipon! Forget your dream! You will be killed and come to me in Hell! There, each of your old friends will be waiting for you. They will rape you many times and cut you into pieces to feed you to the hell-flies; but you will be put back together by cruel Emma, King of the Land of Gloom, so that we can torment you again!”

  Tomoe said, “Poor Ushii! Your madness followed you even into death! Your threats would frighten me, except that I do not believe any of my friends aside from yourself reside in Hell. None of them were mad.”

  Ushii looked offended, but did not deny that he had lied. His face contorted into an ugly mask of hatred and he said, “Perhaps your friends are not in Hell with me, but neither am I alone! The swordsmith Okio is still here! He does not like you one bit!”

  Tomoe looked upset. She said, “I avenged him and his family. They should bear no grudge for me. Okio should be in Hell no longer, for he was avenged a year ago and can feel at peace.”

  “Baké!” shouted Ushii. “Baké-baké! Stupid Tomoe! Monster Tomoe!”

  “Stop that!” she said, and drew the weightless blade, its light bathing the monument and Ushii with silver. Ushii let go of his own sword’s hilt and stepped backward, looking afraid. He said, “I will not fight you. Ghosts cannot kill living people. But you cannot kill me either, because I am already dead. Still, if you think I am wrong to call you stupid, look to the West, Tomoe, and you will see. Look to the West!” She obeyed him, and saw in the west of the cemetery that an entire family of ghosts drifted over the gravemarkers and monuments: old woman, old man, young woman, children, and a man wearing the bent cap of a swordsmith. Tomoe was horrified. “Okio!” she exclaimed.

  “And his family,” said Ushii. “You and Kiso Yoshinake killed his other avengers. Now Okio requires vengeance for them! The men whose names you chiseled on that rustic god’s belly might forgive you; they are stupid, too. If they had lived in Hell a while, they would be more bitter. They would be less forgiving. Okio’s rage is increased by the rage of his parents, his wife, his children. They have not been able to reach you yet, because it is true a Shinto deity protects you; but it is only a matter of time before the protection wears away. This is what I was sent to tell you: only two of Okio’s swords are left unbroken on the face of the earth. You bear one; your husband bears the other. Through these your ruin will be achieved. Okio will find satisfaction; and I will find you here in Hell.”

  The woman samurai looked from the family of ghosts and then at the monstrous Ushii, wondering why he had to speak for them, why he should be any stronger than a whole family. She noticed that the ghosts of Okio’s small clan never quite touched the ground, no matter how low their specters dipped and glided. Understanding this difference between them and Ushii Yakushiji, it finally made sense to Tomoe that the psychotic man had been afraid of her drawn sword despite pretending it could not hurt him.

  “I see your toes!” exclaimed Tomoe. “Ghosts have no feet and cannot walk on the ground. That means you did not die when Hell swallowed you whole. How unfortunate that a living man shoul
d live the life of a demon or a spirit! I feel pity for my friend. I will release you from your misery at once!”

  Laughing Ushii backed away from Tomoe’s glowing sword. He said, “King Emma has granted me immortal life for as long as I reside in his country under the earth. You can cut me into pieces but I cannot die.” Hearing this, Tomoe held back, afraid her sword would only make her one-time friend’s existence more miserable. Ushii Yakushiji pulled his own sword from its scabbard and held it up without any grace at all. He said, “Stupid Tomoe does not want to cut me now!” He ran forward in an attempt to slice her, but a dog came growling through the night. Ushii dashed away from Taro, for a Shinto dog is enemy to any being out of Buddhist Hell. Taro worried at Ushii until the hellish man climbed back atop the stone monument. The white dog kept its paws on the gravestone, barking fiercely. When Tomoe looked up, there was nothing on top of the monument except the statue she had placed there.

  Shan On came hurrying down the stairs from her house, shouting a word of exorcism: “Norito! Norito!” She threw blessed beans at the ghostly family drifting toward Tomoe. They withdrew in terror of the priestess. When the many ghosts as well as Ushii Yakushiji were gone, Tomoe’s sword ceased to glow and regained its weight and balance. As the samurai sheathed her sword, she was shaking with fury and confusion. The priestess said,

  “We must stay inside tonight. It is not even the Hour of the Ox and already ghosts are flying. Forgive my taking so long to hear your trouble.” The priestess and the samurai bowed to one another. The white dog followed them toward the house.

  Tomoe Gozen trod the road in peasant cottons. She had traveled several days afoot and now approached Yuwe, a city not far from Kyoto. She carried a cloth-wrapped parcel across her shoulders, about the length of a sword, but fatter. One hand kept the parcel from falling from its resting place; the opposite arm swung free. A pilgrim’s hat hung at the parcel’s further end.

  The road was busy with samurai, as Yuwe was occupied by Yoshinake’s eastern allies (Tomoe’s relations, to be exact). A bare month before, Yoshinake together with Tomoe had quelled a certain lord’s intended rebellion, giving him only enough time to commit seppuku before capture. Yoshinake had set up a headquarters in the captured castle, becoming, in the Shogun’s name, a threat of chastisement should loyalists of the Imperial forces in nearby Kyoto attempt to undermine the authority in Kamakura. The threat had been enough, and no other lords had caused trouble for the past month. It was this very calm which decided Tomoe to go on a pilgrimage, but her itinerary had been cut short by the spectral visitations in Shigeno Valley Cemetery.

  Although Tomoe did not hide her face under the brim of a hat, she did wear a blue bandana which held her hair out of sight and covered her chin where the knot was tied. None of the samurai passing her realized who they ignored.

  One samurai approached on horseback, riding slowly. He was young and very pretty, yet clearly held some rank. Tomoe stepped off the road and bowed until he had gone by. He scarcely noticed her, expecting nothing less than quick courtesy from heiman. When he was past her, Tomoe bent to pick up a small stick and tossed it like a dart. It struck the young man in the middle of his back, where a small clan seal was printed. He stopped the horse immediately, then sat frozen as though shocked to immobility, considering the meaning of such an insult. He lifted one leg from its stirrup so that he could turn halfway in his saddle; but realization shone in his eyes and he said, even before he saw her,

  “Tomoe?”

  She had known her brother would remember his own childhood game-of-points. As a tike he had revelled in his ability to come up behind his older sister unawares, and score a point with a pebble or a twig flung at the family seal. If he missed, or if she detected him, he gave her the point. If he struck the target precisely, he would run off laughing, only to return whenever she was off guard. This was the first time she had ever returned the sport.

  His name was Imai Kanchira, and since the death of their father the young man had become fixated on his brother-in-law, virtually worshiping Kiso Yoshinake. He had been made vassal to Lord Kiso, an impressive position for one so young, but not unprecedented since Imai was a family heir. An important young lord should not be seen too readily in the company of a peasant; so Tomoe scudded humbly to the side of the horse, bowing once and saying loudly, “Excuse my unnecessary presence on this highway, good samurai!” As she bowed, she slyly tucked a letter in the horse’s stirrup, under Imai’s foot. She looked up and said in a hoarse whisper, “My pilgrimage ends earlier than I anticipated. Expect me at the castle after nightfall. In the meanwhile, the letter is for Lord Kiso; I would entrust it to none but my own brother. Ask me nothing now. Kick me away from your horse and go on.”

  Imai Kanchira hesitated a moment only, then raised his foot—stirrup and letter with it—to feign a kick at Tomoe. She fell back holding the side of her face. When he rode on, she continued the other way, politely inconspicuous to others on the road.

  In this manner she arrived without detection at a convent in the hills above Yuwe. The building was behind short walls and adjunct to a Buddhist temple called Yuwe-ji, which she passed without respects. She struck a wooden bell hanging at the gate to the convent. After a while she was noticed and a young novice dressed in black and yellow came to see her. The girl’s head was covered, but undoubtedly shaven. Although the girl acted gracious, Tomoe sensed nothing of true regard for a peasant standing outside; for the Buddhists catered to wealthier people, save only one or two sects, and left the heiman to the Shinto ceremonialists. A Shintoist herself—though of a class rapidly converting to Buddhism—Tomoe was annoyed by the girl’s patronizing friendliness rather than honest hostility. Therefore Tomoe untied her bandana, letting long hair flow back. She placed her free hand on the shortsword in her obi and fixed an authoritative eye upon the youngster.

  “I recognize you!” the girl said, looking surprised. “In the recent battles, you were the woman-general outside these very gates! Why are you dressed like this? Are you ninja?”

  “I am no spy. I have been on a pilgrimage and went about it humbly. The priestess of Shigeno Valley Cemetery bid me return to Yuwe and seek the blind nun of this convent.”

  The girl inside the gate looked more startled than before. She said, “She sees no one. It is the strictest rule.”

  “How will you stop me?”

  “I would not try. But the Mothers are fighters; and the priests would come along the back trail from the temple if their help were needed.”

  “A child threatens a samurai?” Tomoe was almost amused. The girl, however, was terrified, but brave enought to adhere stoutly to the policies of the nun-mothers. Tomoe said,

  “The blind woman was a hero when the mainland invaded Naipon sixty years ago. She was a warrior like myself.” Tomoe tried to sound as polite as possible, considering what she intended to say. “You cannot deny one samurai the right to see another. The military makes the laws, not the Buddhists.”

  The young novice looked back over her shoulder, desiring aid; but if anyone watched and listened from the austere-looking nunnery, none came out. The girl argued, “This is her home since losing her vision. It upsets her too much to remember her life before retirement. It would be cruel to annoy her with reminders.”

  “Either you know too little,” Tomoe complained, “or your Mothers lie to you, for that woman held inside did not retire due to blindness. She fought in three more important battles before she was forced to retire because of politics, not invalidism. A blind warrior is useful in darkness and in other ways, but powerful adversaries did not want her in their ranks. The resultant rule of seclusion was made too long ago for it to matter anymore. Others rule Naipon today; the convent will not be punished if she is allowed to speak. If you cannot let me enter on your own authority, when run and tell your Mothers that a nervous samurai in peasant clothing has threatened to kill everyone in her way to save Okumi from her prison!”

  The novice’s eyes bulged frightfully
before she turned and ran away. Tomoe followed at leisure, dawdling to look at a stark arrangement of rocks and raked gravel around them. Before she reached the door of the convent, three nun-mothers came out. They carried staffs in case of trouble, but in fact there was none. They had listened to Tomoe and the girl arguing at the gate, and made a quick decision. They led Tomoe through the convent’s interior, along bleak corridors, to the smallest of rooms in which there was no light. Incense was heavy in the atmosphere. Sutras were quietly sung by someone with a brittle voice. One of the three nuns lit a small, square lantern inside the room. It was not much light. The three nuns backed away, turned, and left without comment. Tomoe listened to be sure they did not linger close enough to hear any conversation. When she was certain they were gone, she lowered herself to her knees in the tiny, dark room and whispered,

  “Okumi?”

  The sutras were left off. An old, heavily built woman was sitting on her knees before a reliquary; Tomoe had not seen her at first. The old one seemed to detach from the shadows as she pivotted to face her visitor. Her eyes were shut so tightly, and for so long, that they seemed only two more wrinkles in an elderly face.

  The blind nun was large of girth, almost fat, like a lucky, pleasant grandmother-goddess.

  “I am Tomoe Gozen, wife of Kiso Yoshinake, Lord of Kiso, field marshal for the Kamakura military regime.”

  That old face leaned nearer, shaking slightly with palsy. Dim candlelight played over her features in an odd way, making her look young a moment, then older than old. Okumi asked, “Should I know you? I do not.”