The Golden Naginata

by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

  One lick of the ox-keeper’s whip and the ox took off running as though chased by boars. The ox-keeper looked stunned. He began running alongside the cart, trying to get the ox to slow down or stop. It was very swift, convinced, no doubt, that uncouth plebians pursued. Imai Kanchira shouted, “Our lord is in danger!” Off he went, along with the other shi-tenno, running behind the cart and crying out, “Oh! Oh! Stop there! Oh!” They kept stumbling in their clothing and on their too-high geta, trying valiantly to keep their eboshi hats straight, and were not much help stopping the cart.

  When the other vassals, their wives, and few privileged servants saw the shi-tenno run off like that, they thought it best to keep up, to show their concern was equal to that of the Four Great Men; or, if not to prove their concern, then at least to keep the parade coming in a manner somewhat in the fashion explained to them earlier (though faster than explained). The shi-tenno were making a terrible racket, and the wooden geta on everybody’s feet went clickety-clackety, and the wheels of the cart rumbled; with all this, who could stop an ox? If it knew about oni devils and badger-spirits and such things, no doubt it believed its pursuers were such as those: impostors, not true Ryowa. Who could say the ox was wrong?

  As for Yoshinake, he simply could not keep his balance in the bouncing, speeding cart. He kept falling on his back and floundering. The excessively long sleeves of his robe wrapped around his face and he could see nothing. He was, furthermore, blaspheming in a superb way, so that the ox-keeper, unused to such sounds, clapped hands to ears and gave up trying to stop the ox. Lord Kiso shouted, “Kill that man! Kill that ox’s groom!” which quotation excludes many elaborations on how the killing should be done and under what unhealthy circumstances. The ox-keeper may have understood, about that time, that Lord Kiso meant revenge for this indignity, and so began to placate the thrashing occupant of the cart, saying, “Hold onto the rails, Honqrable Sir! Hold onto the rails!” Lord Kiso caught the rails in his fists and thereby ceased to flap about like some wounded hawk. In fact he found his balance quite nicely and this caused him to smile. He shouted over the din of the swift parade, “Is this the way to do it?” He stuck his chin out proudly. The ox-keeper, long beyond his youth, could not keep up with the cart any longer; but he did manage to say, before dropping out, “Yes, that is exactly the way!” Then he left off running altogether, fanning himself with a scarf in one hand, patting his forehead with it, watching the whole entourage dash past noisily in clogs and crisply crinkling costumes.

  Tomoe Gozen was last to arrive at the gate because she walked, much as had been instructed at the start.

  Sweaty and stinking in their cumbersome clothes, the whole group gave over their longswords to servants at the door, and were given folded iron fans instead. They were permitted only their shortswords within the Imperial palace, and even these must not be drawn under any circumstance whatsoever. The iron fans were token replacements for the longswords, to be worn in the obi where the longsword ordinarily belonged. This custom was ages old and nobody questioned it; if they had been of a mind to question it, their-fears would no doubt be alleviated to note that not even the castle residents responsible for protecting the premises carried longswords. The only exceptions ever made were, upon occasion, dancers, whose swords were mere decorations permanently adhering to their sheaths.

  The iron fans were called tessen and were commonly cast in one piece so that they did not really open. Only one of these fans was not of the artificial sort: Kiso Yoshinake was given a special example, more carefully made with several parts, opening the way a wood and paper fan would do. He realized this difference immediately, and felt immeasurably honored, justifiably privileged. He opened the fan and followed after the servant, fanning himself expansively. It might have gone without saying that Yoshinake was in a fine mood. He was beaming! He looked this way and that way and was most impressed with everything he saw, though truth be told, there was not much to be seen in the hallways. But the atmosphere impressed him anyway; indeed, he was wholeheartedly overawed by the wonders he imagined were behind every door. This was the house of Amaterasu’s godchild after all. Where gods or godlings lived, that was heaven. Kiso Yoshinake thought himself strolling through the corridors of paradise. The entourage behind him was perhaps less inclined to swoon, observing that their own headquarters, taken from the ousted Ryowa, was in fact the finer dwelling.

  They were conducted to a huge chamber where serving girls waited with trays of covered food. These girls were sitting near the walls, behind pillows on which the honored guests were to sit. They looked nervous and afraid when the doors first slid open, for they had been told the warlord Yoshinake was ferocious. But seeing who tumbled in, these girls began to grin in an unbecoming fashion, and had trouble looking serious for a while.

  Yet another servant (the palace crawled with them) showed the group their places. Directly, everyone was seated neatly along two walls, one side facing the other.

  The center of the floor was bare, polished wood. The sides of the room were covered with tatami mats, and the pillows arranged on top of some of the tatami floor-coverings. Yoshinake and Tomoe sat nearest a raised area which was a stage. Imai Kanchira and Higuchi Mitsu were next closest. Across the way, against the further wall, dark Nenoi and pale Tade had positions of honor nearly as important as their lord and Tomoe Gozen, except the stage was not quite centered. On the stage itself there was a large screen, behind which the Mikado would later sit.

  Yoshinake’s bright mood dimmed with disappointment. He had thought the Mikado would be waiting to receive him. Perhaps he thought there would be a shining man upon an elaborate dais. Lord Kiso looked about the room, seeing for the first time that it was an ordinary enough place, at least there was nothing shimmering the way he had dreamed it as a child. The home of the Sun’s descendant ought to shine, oughtn’t it? Well. Yoshinake was a grown man and must have known in his heart that the Mikado’s palace would be made of the same stuff as castles and temples. Still, the child in a man can live a long while; and it is sad, sometimes, to let a part of that child go. Yet there was relief as well as sadness in Yoshinake’s manner, for at least he need not fret that he manipulated some god instead of a man.

  Everyone sat rigid in their fancy clothing, in the most formal of postures, waiting. The maidens uncovered the trays, and the entourage poked at rice and pickles and radishes, everything prepared in pretty ways and arranged within the bowls in pleasing patterns. No one ate much. There was saké before long, and this the warriors were more eager to receive, nervous as they were.

  Tomoe Gozen watched her husband carefully. He was out of his own, for sure. How magnificent he would have been, coming here in full regalia, armor a-clatter, face stern, manner curt but profoundly courteous. By his expression, he was no longer pleased, no longer blind to his awkward appearance, no longer awed by his surroundings. The food was food; the wine was wine; the tatami were tatami; the wooden beams were only made of wood. What else he should expect was hard to know, but surely he expected more than an ordinary feast and drink in an ordinary chamber … or to be left there waiting.

  No one spoke, or at least not really. The maidens plied the men and wives with pointless questions, but the answers were quick. There was no atmosphere of gaiety. Rather, the atmosphere was as stifling as the court costumes. The Mikado would arrive, they were told, in good time, from some other part of the palace; but time was passing, rice became dry, nothing interesting happened.

  Lord Kiso scowled terribly, craned his neck, tried to see behind the screen. Tomoe leaned toward him and whispered, “Be patient this while, husband. The Mikado no doubt fears your intentions are no better than were those of the Ryowa. You must show him you mean only respect, and tolerate his slow arrival.” Lord Kiso made an even more sour face, but nodded with understanding; still, he was hurt, as would be any spoiled boy expecting praise and getting silence. In a while, Tomoe added, “Our men are edgy, too. See how they squirm? They accept saké too quickly. We
must set them an example.”

  Kiso Yoshinake knew by his wife’s words that he must be calm at any cost. Further, he should extend his strong personality across the room to hold at bay the ready impertinence of his vassals. All were being tested by the Mikado’s tardiness, and they must not fail. They must not believe his Augustness was in any manner at their beckoning.

  The vassals and other invited guests were taut as strung bows and needed to be more relaxed.

  Unexpectedly, Lord Kiso stood. He was eager to meet the challenge of putting his men, and himself, at ease. Every eye was on him. He held his iron fan outward to one side, opening it section by section. His posture was dramatic. When he spoke, it was not with military toughness, but with the lively tone of an entertainer. He said, “As you know, Imai Kanchira, youngest of the shi-tenno, has been learning to play the tsuzumi drum and to recite tales of our conquests! It is proper that every samurai have some art beyond his sword.”

  Tomoe saw her husband’s intentions and said very quietly to a serving maid, “Quick, fetch a drum from somewhere.” Yoshinake was still speaking in his sweet, introductory manner:

  “You may also know that I was at one time famed for my ‘hermit dance.’ It has been a while since I have had the chance to practice my boyhood skill. Perhaps those gathered here will help me to discover whether my ‘hermit dance’ is rusty or still bright.”

  Imai Kanchira, red with embarrassment, but smiling with the joy of it as well, took the tsuzumi which the maid had fetched, and held it upon his shoulder, prepared to strike it with his right hand. Yoshinake faced Imai and bowed one time. Then the warlord moved to the center of the floor and took a stance as might an actor in a play, an illusion increased by the brocaded robe and glistening silk hakama. Crouched thus, he raised his fan straight upward and closed it with a snap.

  Imai struck the drum: pohmp.

  Only that once.

  Imai chanted in his sweet boy’s voice: “I am the Knight of Kiso, Rising Sun General, famous from Nikko to Nagasan for my arrow-deflecting art!” He struck the drum twice more: pohmp-point. Yoshinake turned a full circle as the line was chanted by his vassal, moving his fan out and across as to deflect arrows in slow motion. He no longer looked the least awkward in the colorful costume. It suited him well, just then. Imai sang the next line: “By dint of trenchant blows has his Augustness been freed from the nefarious circle of dragons!”

  Lord Kiso made three powerful sweeps of one arm, turning his head slowly, his face fixed with an actor’s fierce expression.

  “In battle I met Toriyoka Gembei and sliced him through the neck!” Pohmp, pohmp-point.

  Yoshinake ran forward to Nenoi Yukika, sweeping the closed fan toward the dark man’s neck. Nenoi feigned the loss of his head, slumping forward.

  “I grappled Kunugi-no-Nara and bit a hole in his throat!” Point point pohmp. Lord Kiso scurried to the opposite side of the room going at a stylized, bow-legged trot, baring his teeth at Higuchi Mitsu, who sat next to Imai. Higuchi was delighted to pretend his throat was bitten, and fell over on his side in hammy death.

  Pohmp! Pohmp! “My well-known horse Grey Cloud Demon and righteous Sword of Okio fought on without my taking note!” Pon-point.

  Yoshinake went back to the other side of the room where light-skinned Tade Shimataka awaited his turn to be killed.

  “General Yohara refused to die when his arm was cut off!” Point.

  Tade Shimataka let his arm go limp when Yoshinake’s fan pointed at it. Imai struck the tsuzumi a number of times, rapidly, stopped suddenly, shouted, “So I chopped off his other arm as well!” PHOMP POHMP PHOMP POHMP. Tade’s other arm went limp.

  This went on some while, until most of the vassals in the room, their wives, and ultimately the servants, were all tipped over, pretending to be dead, but sporting tremendous grins. The serving maids were starting to die just as someone interrupted.

  It was the surly page who appeared on the raised stage. He stood in front of the Mikado’s screen, gazing in a haughty fashion at the dancing warlord, his Tsuzumi-playing vassal, the assorted warriors and guests and the palace’s own maids … most of them stretched out in idiotic postures playing dead. Such a gaze of disapproval did that boy have! What right had he? Kiso Yoshinake froze in mid-step, turned his head to see the boy upon the stage. Those spread out on the floor sat up one by one, making themselves more dignified (or trying to), each seeming embarrassed to have been caught at such play. Imai Kanchira peered sidelong at Higuchi Mitsu and, as though to spite the silence that fell upon the room, smote the drum once more: a sharp sound: Doh!

  The boy on the stage said, “The Mikado is present.”

  The hush was more startling then. Everyone began to bow. Kiso Yoshinake hurried toward the place of honor, settled to his knees, last to bow and first to look up, hoping to see the man behind the screen. He did not know what the Mikado looked like. As a child might wish a glimpse of some hero, Yoshinake maneuvered his head back and forth, hungry for a chance to see Naipon’s living flesh.

  The haughty page before the screen was heavily powdered and lightly perfumed. There were brow-smudges made high on his forehead. His court costume was of brilliant colors, suited to his young age. His tabi socks were red, like a girl’s. This fancy lad held a scroll in one hand and, with the other, began to unroll it before his own eyes. The moment the boy began to read it, Lord Kiso realized it contained the very commissions he had requested.

  “By right of services to His August Son of Amaterasu, Go-Temmu the Living Flesh of Naipon awards Kiso Yoshinake, the Rising Sun General, the high title of Grand Councilor, in addition to which he shall henceforth be made Commissioner of Police.”

  Yoshinake visibly swelled. His face was tight with excitement. His right hand clenched the iron fan tightly. Tomoe Gozen, too, could barely suppress a smile, for she liked to see her husband thrilled as this. The boy on the stage read further:

  “His Augustness also bestows upon the honored Knight of Kiso the position of Commander of Guards, in addition to which he shall henceforth be made Protector of Shrines, Temples, and Treasures of Art.”

  A long breath issued from between Lord Kiso’s clenched teeth as he grimaced with a kind of ecstatic pain. Tomoe thought her husband might swoon for sure, tipping on his side and groaning. He managed not to do so. His eyes were wide and round as he listened to the page who was still not finished. The page unrolled the scroll a bit further and continued:

  “Further is the Liberator of Kyoto to be made Bodyguard to the Sixty-Six Provinces, in addition to which he shall henceforth be appointed Barbarian-Suppressing Generalissimo.”

  This last title made him, effectively, the Mikado’s regent: Shogun. Lord Kiso’s dream was realized in that moment. He placed a hand upon the floor before himself, needing balance, staring at nothing, like a man wounded near to death. Then, of a sudden, he realized the page was done, the highest position a samurai could achieve had been achieved. Lord Kiso began to bow many times in rapid succession as a mere peasant might do, and saying in a loud strained voice, “Thank you! Thank you very much!” which was not at all the correct procedure, but disarming in its way, and appropriately humble.

  The scroll was rolled tight, a band tied around it, and a servant took it from the Mikado’s personal page and carried it to Kiso Yoshinake. His hand shook to accept it. His thoughts may have stroked the realization that he was now fully qualified to march on Kamakura and take the military capital as his personal seat of government … but more simply, his mind was filled with a less specific delight, an unnamable pleasure which knows no thought, no reason, but is like a shining light at the center of the self. He snapped out of his daze a moment, looked up at the haughty page, and made his promise:

  “I shall be the Unifier of Naipon!”

  The page did not look at him. Instead, he clapped his hands three times, and a line of dancing girls came into the room from a door beside the stage. They were dressed in archaic costumes, an older type of eboshi ha
t on each of their heads, robes trailing the floor, a straight variety of longsword attached decoratively to their obi and sticking out behind like tails under overcoats. Young female musicians appeared, too, with stringed instruments and bells; they sat on the floor in front of the stage. The twenty dancers arranged themselves in rows upon the hardwood portion of the floor, between the two rows of honored guests. The musicians began performing (Imai Kanchira surreptitiously played his tsuzumi with the young women) and the dancing commenced. The audience quickly settled into comfortable postures. Saké went freely among them, and only Tomoe Gozen did not partake. Everyone watched the spectacle of grace and elegance which the dancers represented. Everything grew merry.

  The page was sulky. He stood before his master’s screen, watching all of this, never smiling; but he could not dampen the mood of Yoshinake’s success. Nenoi Yukika stood from his pillow, skirted the room to join Lord Kiso for a moment, and in his master’s ear whispered, “I will make that rude boy my lover.”

  Tomoe barely heard this said; Imai was not paying attention. Yoshinake looked askance at the pouty, disapproving face of the Mikado’s page and companion, then at the dark face of Nenoi, and said, “Please feel free.” Nenoi returned to his side of the room, leaned to Tade Shimataka, and exchanged a joke and laughter. Both of them began to stare at the page upon the raised part of the room, no longer affronted by his unforgiveable hauteur.

  Tomoe Gozen whispered to her brother, “Imai, please refrain from drinking.” He registered surprise at her insistence, but obeyed without question. She volunteered an explanation: “Our Lord Kiso is more drunk on his achievement than on saké. If it were otherwise, he would notice that these dancing girls are not soft-looking like these other women of the court. I think they are stragglers. I think they are Ryowa clanswomen.”

  At that very moment, the decorative swords proved not to be decorations at all. The women had maneuvered themselves before the chief vassals and Tomoe and Lord Kiso, their maneuvers seeming innocent parts to their dance, until steel licked out toward the faces of the guests. The musicians ceased their performance, sat quietly, and were clearly unsurprised by the event.