Sword Of Gloom

In the 16th year of the Genroku era [1703], Kenichi sat in the darkness of his spartan samurai house. Though he couldn't directly see it at the moment, he could not escape the presence of the sword mounted on the wall. Its name: Rice Merchant [swords were often named after a victim].

Rarely a day passed that Kenichi didn't think of the day of that Fatal Event. Was he right? Was he wrong? One thing he knew for sure: he had fought in anger. Now it occurred to him that knowing full well he'd win, he should have walked away. That's what a strong man would have done.

This sword that everyone praises...is more of an embarrassment every day. I was weak. Soon they will figure this out and I'll go from hero to coward. If so, I'll not be able to refute it.

The rice merchant's widow, Hisaka, she knew. Sure, her loudmouth husband had been stupid to pick a fight with a samurai, and merchants were considered the lowest class in Japanese society, but he did not deserve death. Hisaka knows the truth, but no one will let her speak it. She'd be derided from all sides. She's as trapped as I am.

In his imagination, Kenichi dreamed of smashing the blade, melting it into a plow, never able to mock him again. But he also knew that to destroy the blade was to be defeated by it. No, he should be able to be free regardless of its existence. But how could that be?

Legally, he was home free. Samurai have the right to take a non-samurai life at will except in the most egregious of circumstances. Kenichi was immediately praised for killing the obnoxious merchant, the city populace surrounding him with congratulations. Yet when his head cleared, he realized his extollers were his captors.

For him to even hint at a morsel of regret, Kenichi was resoundingly shouted down: He didn't know what he was saying. He was being weak. He must not betray. Betray what?

It was something he'd never wanted to face. And until he acted on it, Kenichi too would have behaved as those who supported the killing, exalting violence as a solution. But guilt drove him onward to the truth he needed to stay alive. In this, Kenichi found that to question his killing was same as questioning the favored Japanese tenet of violence [not unique to Japan but Japan was all he knew].

Yes, he surmised, a very known but not fully conscious faith in violence ran in a constant undercurrent to everyday life. Now that he was looking for it, he saw it everywhere. In day-to-day speech, in mandates from the Shogunate, even in the play of children. One day this violence will consume us if we don't reject it and Japan will trigger a great and terrible war. I fear that outcome and for our very survival.

Kenichi was in the unenviable position of having to "come out from among them." That was the price he must pay for his hasty strike, to give up the shadow world life of the samurai. He knew no one would be more mocked than a samurai for renouncing violence. True, there was a history of warlords renouncing the world and entering the Buddhist priesthood when politically advised. But rarely did they rid violence from their hearts.

Kenichi would certainly lose his place in the clan, perhaps even having to return to his home village to be a farmer. His life would be over. Just like the rice merchant's.

As expected, came anger, rejection, and bitterness for Kenichi's newfound awareness and renouncement of the killing. While filled with fear when he hid in the dark, Kenichi found these reactions quite amusing as he stepped into the light. Why do they concern themselves so? I cannot grant them absolution. They scatter like cockroaches before me. So bitter!

Also, the day came when he was finally able to face Hisaka, walking directly to her upon sighting her in the pathway street.

"I don't see how I can ever ask for your forgiveness. But I wish to tell you, that in a way, your husband saved my life. I realize the error of my ways. Should you wish to take vengeance on me it is yours to take. Set me free."

"Up until this moment I wanted you dead and to suffer harshly. But I only felt emptiness when I heard you lost your station with the clan. And your words just now have quenched my fire - and for that I am grateful. Who among us is free from moments of rash anger? Certainly my husband was not when provoking you. Neither am I. Perhaps for us to survive we must face the fact we cannot marry violence to these inevitable lapses."

Later, Hisaka composed a haiku before embarking on a new life.

Our world without swords,

A lost widow's foolish dream,

Wisdom from folly.

My friends wonder what is wrong with me