Shadow Stolen
by Kakita Kaori April 2000
These events take place during the time of Fire and Shadow, and relates to events from the 12th Crane Letter. It was written to demonstrate the horror of the enemy we face, and the reason we must fight with all our strength to oppose it.
The middle-aged samurai knelt at his writing desk, reviewing the document that had been sent him. It was a report from the village yoriki, tallying the yield from the rice crops taken in each of the village fields. His clothes were simple, but well made, and his hair was bound up tightly in a knot appropriate to a local administrator.
“Papa-san? Is this one right?” He lowered the paper to look at his young daughter, stretched out on the ground with her ink and brushes, practicing her calligraphy. The girl, no more than four, held up a piece of rice paper with the simple kanji for ‘Woman’ – Jo. The girl’s black eyes shone with pride at her accomplishment as the samurai said “Hai” and returned to his reading.
A woman entered, cradling a baby in her arms, and, after bowing to her husband, went to kneel next to her daughter and look at the Kanji. “This is very good. Now, you must write the kanji Kuni, Country. It is the one that looks like a square.” The baby laughed and reached up with pudgy hands to grab his mother’s black tresses. He pulled a fistful of hair into his mouth and sucked on his hand contentedly until his mother pulled it gently away from him. “No, no, little one....I have work to do. Stay here with your sister.” She to lay him down next to the little girl, wrapped tightly in his blanket. The girl smiled. “I’ll take care of him.” The woman turned to her husband, but he had returned to reading his crop reports. She started humming a lullaby to the little boy as she slipped out of the room to prepare dinner.
The man set down his crop reports. There seemed something strange about them. He seemed to remember there being fifteen rice fields in the village in production, yet his reports only showed sufficient rice for eight. Which villagers had not prepared their taxes? Surely the yoriki would have mentioned…who? The administrator frowned, carefully going over the list of farmers paying taxes this season. They were all there…
“The meal is finished,” the samurai’s wife said as she returned to the room.
His daughter looked up and put down her brush, leaving her papers scattered about. “Good! Can I have a bean cake, Mama-san?”
The woman surveyed the room with a critical eye. “Not unless this room is tidied up. Look! You have left papers everywhere! And what is this blanket doing on the floor? Were you playing with it, daughter? It should not be out.”
“But I didn’t take it out, Mama-san. Really!”
The woman smiled and shook her head, carefully folding the blanket to return it to the empty storage chest for the day that the Fortunes granted her a second child. “I fear, then, that you cannot have a bean cake….for the same mysterious ninja who put this blanket on the floor must have eaten them all.”
The samurai laughed as he put down his documents, shooing his little girl ahead of him into the dining room. “There will be more tomorrow, I’m sure.”
Some time later, the Samurai returned to the room. His wife settled on the floor in the corner, carefully mending one of his kimonos that had been torn. He looked down at the pile of papers strewn across the floor, and the inkstone and brush laid to one side. “Have you left the shoji screen open, my wife?”
The raven-haired woman turned to look. “It is open a crack, husband. I can close it.”
The samurai nodded slowly. “Please do. The wind must have blown these papers all over the floor.”
The woman slid the screen shut, and the samurai picked up the papers and brushes. He ground the inkstone and added water, mixing it with the brush to the right shade. He frowned at a piece of paper, marked with the Kuni kanji. That wouldn’t do. He discarded it for a clean piece. He dipped brush in ink and started to write.
Dear Buto-sama,
Please forgive me for troubling you with this small matter. Your duties to Lord Uji-sama are far greater than any insignificant troubles in these lands. However, a matter has arisen that will mean a delay in sending the complete tax for this region to you and Lord Uji. I have found that seven of our fields have not produced rice this season, but cannot determine from my records who is responsible for these fields. I believe that there is some small confusion, easily resolved, however, I cannot send in the koku of these fields until I determine who is responsible for them. I am sure that the issue is minor, and the rice will be sent within a few days. Thank you for your indulgences on this matter.
He marked it with his chop in red ink, sealing the message. He would deliver the message in the morning, and then return to resolve this matter with the field. Now, he had the whole evening ahead of him to spend, as so many other evenings, alone.
The samurai surveyed the shadowed room. Outside, no crickets chirped, and the moon was veiled. Only the light of his small oil lamp let him see in the darkness, and everything was cold and still. He wondered again why he had never married. There never seemed to be time. He was so busy watching over the village, troubling himself with rice yields and bothersome ronin. Still, it was a pity. The house seemed so lonely.
The administrator stood. He blew out the oil lamp, tucking his wakizashi into his belt. He slid open the shoji screen and stepped outside. He carefully slid the screen shut, put on his zori, and walked out into the night.
Lost in shadow, the home crumbled into dust behind him.
These events take place during the time of Fire and Shadow, and relates to events from the 12th Crane Letter. It was written to demonstrate the horror of the enemy we face, and the reason we must fight with all our strength to oppose it.
The middle-aged samurai knelt at his writing desk, reviewing the document that had been sent him. It was a report from the village yoriki, tallying the yield from the rice crops taken in each of the village fields. His clothes were simple, but well made, and his hair was bound up tightly in a knot appropriate to a local administrator.
“Papa-san? Is this one right?” He lowered the paper to look at his young daughter, stretched out on the ground with her ink and brushes, practicing her calligraphy. The girl, no more than four, held up a piece of rice paper with the simple kanji for ‘Woman’ – Jo. The girl’s black eyes shone with pride at her accomplishment as the samurai said “Hai” and returned to his reading.
A woman entered, cradling a baby in her arms, and, after bowing to her husband, went to kneel next to her daughter and look at the Kanji. “This is very good. Now, you must write the kanji Kuni, Country. It is the one that looks like a square.” The baby laughed and reached up with pudgy hands to grab his mother’s black tresses. He pulled a fistful of hair into his mouth and sucked on his hand contentedly until his mother pulled it gently away from him. “No, no, little one....I have work to do. Stay here with your sister.” She to lay him down next to the little girl, wrapped tightly in his blanket. The girl smiled. “I’ll take care of him.” The woman turned to her husband, but he had returned to reading his crop reports. She started humming a lullaby to the little boy as she slipped out of the room to prepare dinner.
The man set down his crop reports. There seemed something strange about them. He seemed to remember there being fifteen rice fields in the village in production, yet his reports only showed sufficient rice for eight. Which villagers had not prepared their taxes? Surely the yoriki would have mentioned…who? The administrator frowned, carefully going over the list of farmers paying taxes this season. They were all there…
“The meal is finished,” the samurai’s wife said as she returned to the room.
His daughter looked up and put down her brush, leaving her papers scattered about. “Good! Can I have a bean cake, Mama-san?”
The woman surveyed the room with a critical eye. “Not unless this room is tidied up. Look! You have left papers everywhere! And what is this blanket doing on the floor? Were you playing with it, daughter? It should not be out.”
“But I didn’t take it out, Mama-san. Really!”
The woman smiled and shook her head, carefully folding the blanket to return it to the empty storage chest for the day that the Fortunes granted her a second child. “I fear, then, that you cannot have a bean cake….for the same mysterious ninja who put this blanket on the floor must have eaten them all.”
The samurai laughed as he put down his documents, shooing his little girl ahead of him into the dining room. “There will be more tomorrow, I’m sure.”
Some time later, the Samurai returned to the room. His wife settled on the floor in the corner, carefully mending one of his kimonos that had been torn. He looked down at the pile of papers strewn across the floor, and the inkstone and brush laid to one side. “Have you left the shoji screen open, my wife?”
The raven-haired woman turned to look. “It is open a crack, husband. I can close it.”
The samurai nodded slowly. “Please do. The wind must have blown these papers all over the floor.”
The woman slid the screen shut, and the samurai picked up the papers and brushes. He ground the inkstone and added water, mixing it with the brush to the right shade. He frowned at a piece of paper, marked with the Kuni kanji. That wouldn’t do. He discarded it for a clean piece. He dipped brush in ink and started to write.
Dear Buto-sama,
Please forgive me for troubling you with this small matter. Your duties to Lord Uji-sama are far greater than any insignificant troubles in these lands. However, a matter has arisen that will mean a delay in sending the complete tax for this region to you and Lord Uji. I have found that seven of our fields have not produced rice this season, but cannot determine from my records who is responsible for these fields. I believe that there is some small confusion, easily resolved, however, I cannot send in the koku of these fields until I determine who is responsible for them. I am sure that the issue is minor, and the rice will be sent within a few days. Thank you for your indulgences on this matter.
He marked it with his chop in red ink, sealing the message. He would deliver the message in the morning, and then return to resolve this matter with the field. Now, he had the whole evening ahead of him to spend, as so many other evenings, alone.
The samurai surveyed the shadowed room. Outside, no crickets chirped, and the moon was veiled. Only the light of his small oil lamp let him see in the darkness, and everything was cold and still. He wondered again why he had never married. There never seemed to be time. He was so busy watching over the village, troubling himself with rice yields and bothersome ronin. Still, it was a pity. The house seemed so lonely.
The administrator stood. He blew out the oil lamp, tucking his wakizashi into his belt. He slid open the shoji screen and stepped outside. He carefully slid the screen shut, put on his zori, and walked out into the night.
Lost in shadow, the home crumbled into dust behind him.
