The Forging

by Jeffrey Hancock

  “Everything is all set. My body, mind, and spirit are all yours for the next seventy-two to ninety-six hours. It’s a long stretch. Are there some cots or sleeping bags?” With the question, everyone began to laugh. “What is so amusing?”

  “Nathan-san, we will not be sleeping. If we fall asleep, we must begin again, or the work will be corrupted and ruined.” He turned back to the shrine, “We must pray before we start. In the Samurai culture, they believed their sword, their katana, is their soul. Tell me, Nathan-san, what spiritual qualities would you want a katana to have?”

  “If I were forging my own sword,” I paused and thought a moment, “protection, I would want it to bestow protection to the weak and innocent – protection to all those who would be victims of the monsters of this world. Yes, I would want a katana of protection tempered with mercy.”

  “Hai. Interesting choice, Nathan-san,” Mr. Nobuharu Makiyama said. “Come do as I do.” The Grandmaster turned to the shrine and took a small dipper with his right hand from a trough filled with water. He retrieved some water with the dipper and poured it over his left hand. Next, he took up the dipper in his left hand and poured some water over his right hand. He transferred the dipper back to his right hand and cupped his left hand and poured more water into it. He took some of the water in his left hand and put it in his mouth. He spat out the water on the floor next to the trough. He placed the dipper in both hands, tilted it up, so the remaining water poured over the handle, and returned the dipper to its place on the trough. After his demonstration, I followed suit copying all his movements exactly. “Very good Nathan-san,” the old gentleman said with a broad grin on his face. “As before, copy my actions. We pray. I pray I create good tamahagane, good steel. When you pray, you must pray for the sword to have those qualities you wish.”

  The Grandmaster, I guess you could say my master now, turned back toward the shrine and rang a bell once. He motioned for me to do likewise. He then clapped twice and held his hands together and bowed. All the other men there did the same, so I clapped twice holding my hands together after the second clap. I closed my eyes and cleared my mind. I prayed not in words but in emotion. Rage began to fill my being. Rage at what one monster had done to my life. The thought of vengeance consumed me. After a moment while the emotions boiled, I felt – I cannot put it exactly into words, but it felt like someone is smiling at me. A calm came to me. It is an overwhelming feeling of serenity. It surprised the Hell out of me. My emotional prayer finished on that note. I opened my eyes to find all the other men had already completed the ritual while my master and I still stood there. The old man finished only moments after I did.

  My master turned toward me and gave a huge grin. “Hai, yes, it is time we begin. Yes, this is a fine beginning.” He walked to the forge. He patted the side of the forge “Yes, the Tatara is ready. This is called the Tatara. It is where we…” he turned to his nephew and said something in Japanese. His nephew answered in English. “Smelt the iron sand, satetsu, into good tamahagane.” The nephew, along with the other men, began adding the charcoal to the Tatara. Slowly the temperature radiating from the smelter began to increase. I picked out a shovel and started distributing the charcoal into the Tatara also.

  My sense of time is off somehow, and I am not sure how long this took. Every few minutes, the master would inspect the smelter. After a time, he announced it is time to start adding the satetsu or iron sand into the Tatara. We layered sand and charcoal for what must have been hours. My back is beginning to ache. During a break, we all sat down and watched the Tatara. “The Tatara is like our wife,” Mr. Nobuharu Makiyama said. “We must care for her. We listen, and she tells us what she needs. Listen to her, Nathan-san. Right now, she is saying she is happy. We can eat and rest for a time, but ever we must listen. She could get hungry for more food, satetsu. She may tell us she is cold, so we must put more charcoal on the fire. We will do this for the next three days.” Mr. Nobuharu Makiyama said something in Japanese to one of his other apprentices.

  About ten minutes, later the apprentice brought over a tray with bowls of rice on it along with cups of water. I was polite and took my share of plain rice and tepid water yum, yum, yum. The expression on my face must have betrayed my true feelings for the meal because Mr. Nobuharu Makiyama is grimly looking at me. “This is the traditional meal while we work.” He spoke in Japanese to another apprentice. The apprentice brought over another tray, but whatever is on it is covered. The apprentice presented the tray to me. Removing the towel, I uncovered what is on the tray. My eyes beheld ambrosia, the food of the gods, an In-N-Out Double-Double Cheeseburger animal style, fries, and a large diet drink. In-N-Out is my all-time favorite burger place. Mr. Nobuharu Makiyama said, half laughing, “It is tradition to have rice and water, but not a requirement.” He did a little bow toward me, then grabbed a fry and ate it, smiling the whole time

  “Master, I don’t know what to say.”

  “Thank you is proper at times like these.” I thanked him and indulged. When our meal was over, Mr. Nobuharu Makiyama said, “Nathan-san, if you please, work the bellows for a time. I must see to my wife and future child.” I gave him a quizzical look, and he replied, “The Tatara and tamahagane.” I nodded and mentally slapped my forehead for not remembering.

  In the same rhythm as the gentleman I replaced, I pumped the bellows. Watching my master examine the Tatara, I noted he is not happy. He retrieved some charcoal and began distributing it into the Tatara. He raised his hand a bit and started moving it as a conductor does while the whole time listening and watching his “wife.” I altered the rhythm of my pumping in time with his hand. His hand would go up, and I would fill the bellows. His hand came down, and I pumped the handle down. We did this dance of the bellows for maybe ten minutes. He turned to me and over the sound of the smelting said, “Have you worked a bellows before Nathan-san? You follow my direction perfectly. It is good, hai.”

  For three days, this has been our routine. We would pour layers of sand and layers of charcoal into the Tatara, rest, eat, and watch. All of us apprentices would take turns working the bellows. Sometimes the master would give gentle instruction to each of his apprentices. By my reckoning though, he spent the most time teaching his nephew. He spent as much time with me, an outsider to this world. I hope his other apprentices don’t take umbrage with me usurping their pecking order and becoming the master’s number two. Thinking that, the voice of Patrick Stewart came to me, “Make it so, Number Two.” To think the chain of events leading to this work all started with a doodle.

  I am beginning to feel bone-weary. I want to sleep something fierce. The master, Mr. Nobuharu Makiyama, looked tired, but not as tired as I feel. For the last six hours or so, he has been taking small samples of the tamahagane through vent holes at the bottom of the Tatara. He is intent on how the samples looked. Every time he took a sample, Mr. Masafumi Asahara is there also. The master is instructing his nephew in the finer points of smelting tamahagane. In the end, the master tried to stand but stumbled slightly. His nephew caught him. It appears to me all this might have been too taxing for Mr. Nobuharu Makiyama. The master waved off attention from his nephew, stood up straight, and smiled at all of us. “It is ready. Hai, it is good. Come, we must hurry. Break open the Tatara. All of the apprentices went to retrieve some tools which looked like metal rakes.

  Mr. Masafumi Asahara handed me a rake and said, “Come, we must help in the birth of the tamahagane.” All the other apprentices had already started the process of breaking up the Tatara. I joined in the work. The heat given off by the Tatara is unbearable. We all took turns breaking it apart. When the heat grew too hot for an apprentice, he would step out, and another would take his place. Since the Tatara is mostly broken up, the heat is beginning to abate. In the middle of what is left of the smelter, laid a large chunk of metal hot and still glowing. After about an hour of watching the metal cool, we all worked together to wrap chains around the tamahagane. Like the men of old, we muscled it out o
f the remains of the Tatara.

  As we pulled in unison, the song, “Sixteen Tons” by Tennessee Ernie Ford came to mind. So, I began singing in time with our work rhythm. “You haul sixteen tons, and what do you get? Another day…” I got some strange looks from the other apprentices. Who cares? Here I am working hard the last three days, and finally, I am not obsessing on my failures or the threat to the family. It is cathartic.

  The tamahagane is clear of the debris. We all took a breather. The master proclaimed, “It is good. I am pleased.” There are bows and smiles all around. One of the apprentices opened a bottle of sake and began pouring a celebratory drink for everyone. I took a cup, but only feigned drinking. Someday I may have a taste of spirits, but for now, keeping the promises I can keep is important to me.

  My master came up to me and said, “We are done for a time. We must wait while the tamahagane cools. You can go home and rest. Soon we will break up the tamahagane, and we will choose the best pieces for the katana.” He motioned to his nephew to come over. They spoke for a moment in Japanese. Mr. Masafumi Asahara made a call on his cell phone and spoke to someone on the other end in Japanese. If everyone keeps talking in Japanese around me, I will start learning it by osmosis.

  Mr. Masafumi Asahara said, “I have called for a car and driver for you. He will return you home. Get some rest and be ready. It will only take a few days for the tamahagane to cool.”

  “Thank you; I will wait outside for the driver.” Standing in front of the warehouse, I took deep long breaths of the fresh air. The fresh air felt invigorating. My body and soul felt better than it has in a long time. Feeling better didn’t mean I wasn’t weary to the core, but it is a satisfying weariness. Rarely have I done hard physical labor. I have gone out of my way in the past to avoid it. There is something pure in hard physical work, though. I may have to rethink my stance of “no sweaty work.”

  The limo pulled up to the warehouse. The driver opened the door for me and gave a short bow. Grime and dirt covered me from my work. There should be a towel or something on the seat to keep it from getting contaminated. A couple of extra strength air-fresheners are in order also because I reek.

  The drive home was quick. Before I knew it, the driver was gently tapping me on the shoulder and saying, “Sir, you are home now.” My eyes shut the instant I sat in the limo until the moment I arrived home.

  “Umm, thank you.” Dragging myself out of the limo and through the front door took all my concentration.

  My daughter screamed, “Daddy’s home. Daddy’s home.” She came running and nearly tackled me to the ground when she hit me with a big hug. I gave her a huge hug back and a kiss as well.

  “I’m not enjoying this, but daddy needs to take a shower in the worst way.”

  “Yeah, you’re stinky!” She started laughing hard. It is heavenly to hear her laugh again.

  The shower is compelling me, but I held it at bay while I stopped to say hello to my wife. She is reading and resting in bed. She put down the book and said, “Nathan, I heard Moiraine proclaim your return. How did it go?”

  “It went well. It is satisfying to be part of a team with a single-minded goal. More importantly, how are you doing?”

  “Healing, I guess. I have no energy, and it bothers me that I don’t feel like I can get out of this bed. I feel useless.”

  “Not being able to give the house a once over has got to be killing you,” I said, smiling the whole time.

  She stuck her tongue out at me, then said, “You know it. Now take a shower. No offense, but you stink,” she said in a half huff.

  Peeling out of my working clothes, I examined them one by one. Nothing can save them. Burning them is the merciful thing to do now. I wonder if there is a ritual for that? The hot shower is melting away my exhaustion. Now I am only tired, not weary. The steam of the shower kept obstructing my view in the mirror as I shaved, but I am not deterred. With a fresh razor in one hand, my favorite shave cream in the other, and a can-do attitude, I managed to remove the stubble without committing a demonic blood rite. As I stepped out of the shower, I looked at myself in our big mirror. I am oh so pretty again.

  As I was drying off, Char said in a disappointed tone, “Oh, you shaved. I was hoping you were finally going to try and grow a beard. I’ve always thought you would look handsome in a beard, especially now because you have a little grey in it.”

  “I can think of a few comebacks to her remark, but I am too tired, and my bed beckons.” I dressed in my jammies and hit the sheets. I fell asleep as my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Someone was rummaging around in the bedroom and woke me. Without moving or even opening my eyes, I said, “Sleep. Need more sleep.”

  “Sorry, Nathan. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “What time is it?” Rising from my warm and comfortable bed, I threw off the covers and swung my legs over the edge. All I did for a time was sit there rubbing my eyes.

  “It is getting close to dinner time. Go back to sleep if you are tired.”

  “How was your doctor’s appointment? What did he say?”

  “He told me I am healing remarkably well,” Char said it as if it is bad news. “He said I would make a full recovery. In four to six months, I should be one hundred percent.”

  “Praise be.” Jumping out of bed, I threw my arms around my wife. I leaned in to give her a big kiss.

  “Nathan, you’re hurting me,” she started pushing me away. I let her go. “She is still healing. You idiot.” I thought to myself. Char gave me a weak and unsatisfying kiss on the cheek.

  There was a knock on our bedroom door, and John said, “Pizza is about ready. Come and get it.”

  We made our way to the dining room where the table is set with paper plates and a roll of paper towels. John and Moiraine had worked together to make homemade pizza. It is hot, delicious, and I ate more than my fair share. Charlene had a couple of bites, but she is still on a restricted diet. Bland food is the order of the day until her digestive tract gets back to full speed.

  After dinner; we played a game of “Pretty Pretty Princess.” John looked silly with the crown and all the jewelry on. Following game night, we retired to the living room and watched a movie while Charlene read. Moiraine is cuddling with her mother. John is in the recliner, and I am relegated to the far end of the couch. Life is back to normal.

  The house phone rang. No one else stirred, so I went to answer it. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Nate.” The voice on the other end drew out my name in a mocking way.

  Turning my back on the family and lowering my voice, I asked, “Why are you calling me here? Haven’t you tortured my family enough?” A little laugh came through the earpiece. It is the laugh of the shell of what was once Mark Galos.

  “Not even by half. Congratulations on your wife’s recovery. It will make my revenge even sweeter knowing the anguish you’ll feel over losing her again.”

  “You listen to me you son-of-a-bitch. Leave my family out of this. This is between you and me.”

  His voice is remarkably even as he said, “This is between me and the rest of you pathetic meat sacks. You will all eventually pay for this carefree life you have led. We will take our just due. We will snuff out the flames of your pathetic insignificant lives like candles on a birthday cake.”

  “A man should know the name of his murderer. Tell me yours. I know it’s not Mark.”

  There is a bit of surprise in his voice, “I have had many names over the countless years. You will have to remain ignorant of my real name. What would you call me?”

  “A parasite for you lived within Mark Galos. You drained him of all he was. You killed his spirit and inhabited the husk of what was left.”

  This parasite answered in a matter of fact manner, “True. So, you know some small part of the whole. I doubt you can even conceive of the whole. If he had only stopped fighting me, he could have lived as I have lived. He would have been a witness to the return.”

/>   “What return? Answer straight out none of this cryptic crap.”

  “I will leave you with this. Our sacrifice was before your time. Your time would never have been without us. The debt is due, and we will extract payment. Before I go, and you begin to ponder my words, did you have a fruitful visit with the mother of this shell?” Click.

  “Who was on the phone, Nathan?”

  “Some jerk,” I sat back down on my end of the couch. My eyes are on the television screen, but my mind is elsewhere.

  “We interrupt this broadcast with this breaking news,” the TV spewed. My attention immediately snapped back. “We go live to a news conference called by the San Diego Police Department.” Detective Captain Sergeant walked up to a podium. “I want to thank all the media here. As you know, two police officers were recently murdered. We have learned two more officers were also slain. All four officers were working on the same case. Mrs. Galos, the suspect’s mother, was also found murdered. All of these killings are tied together. We are asking for the public’s help in apprehending this man,” a mugshot of Mark Galos came on the screen. “We ask anyone who sees him to be cautious and not approach him. If you see him, call 9-1-1 immediately and let us know. Again, do not approach this man as he is considered very dangerous. Remember he has killed four officers and one civilian and would not hesitate in killing more if he is crossed.” The screen returned to Captain Sergeant. “The Police Department wishes to thank the media for all their help in this matter. Funerals for the fallen officers are…”

  Click, I turned the TV off. The sound of Moiraine crying filled the air. She had her head buried into her mother’s shoulder. A look of horror is on Charlene’s face as she was comforting our daughter. John’s face betrayed a dour mood. My resolve is renewed to see this creature, this parasite, in the shell of Mark Galos to pay for his crimes. I stated, “Maybe we should call an end to this evening and go to bed.”