The Samurai's Heart by Walt Mussell

Author:Walt Mussell [Mussell, Walt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Walter Mussell

Chapter Fourteen

Nobuhiro spent the next month rarely leaving the workshop and grounds. Work varied during the day, but his nightly activity did not change. After work was over, he stored his traditional robe in a closet, making sure there were no spots on the ceremonial garment. He washed his face and hands, wiping away the dirt and soot and then drying himself off.

Some small tools lay on a workbench. He shook his head. He thought he’d put everything away. He must be too distracted. Master taught him early in his apprenticeship that the workshop of a sword maker was like a temple to samurai. It was the reason swordsmiths wore fine clothes while working. The reason swordsmiths treated their trade with respect. The reason they imbued each creation with a piece of their soul.

Then, Nobuhiro sat on a workbench and pulled out a piece of parchment from his pocket. The parchment fibers were weak from the number of times he had folded it. Fingerprints and dark smudges covered the paper.

On the parchment were written the words Sen had told him.

Joy springs from burying your bitterness in the ground.

He traced the letters, his fingertips feeling the ink. He meditated on the phrase every night before going to bed, as if it brought him closer to Sen.

A bead of perspiration trickled down his face. The late May heat in Himeji made for occasional sweltering nights, but not too intolerable. He wiped his head with a towel lying nearby, pulling the wet cloth to the back of his neck. It cooled him down.

Trace remnants of pine pervaded the air, mixed with the smell of fish. Master’s wife was preparing dinner. His stomach growled in anticipation.

Soft footfalls from outside broke his concentration. He straightened.

Uji’s voice broke the silence. “You study that parchment like a schoolboy preparing for an exam.” Nobuhiro turned and saw his brother in the doorway, smiling at him. “What makes you focus so hard after such a long day?”

Nobuhiro folded the paper, putting it in his pocket as he rose and bowed to greet Uji. “You are losing your step, brother. I heard you coming.”

Grinning, Uji nodded. His face an exhibit of mock disbelief. “If you were an enemy, you still couldn’t have stopped me.”

“We’ll never know.”

Uji entered slowly, surveying the workshop as he did. His reverence for the solemn interior evident on his face. Nobuhiro’s chest swelled. His brother respected and admired his craft. “What are you studying so intently?”

Nobuhiro showed him the parchment and filled him in on the details. Uji steepled his fingers and considered it.

“What do you think?” Nobuhiro asked his brother.

Uji licked his lips, his face blank. “I’d like to hear your musings first.”

Sighing, Nobuhiro expelled a rush of frustration. “I’ve been trying words, reforming them, substituting different options. However, nothing has provided me with any plausible solution.”

“I believe you should modify your approach,” Uji said. “It sounds like an ideograph riddle.”

Nobuhiro stared at the phrase as he massaged the sudden tightness in his neck. An

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