BlindSide Chapter One
Cherry Blossoms Turning
in the Wind
The Secret Origin of BlindSide
The Broken Strap 21 April, 1986
Yukie looked out upon the
lake; it always brought peace to her. Its waters, calm in the thick, serene
summer air reflected the lights from the few houses on the waterfront. And with
the light of the half moon, she could see the slightly disrupted mirror image
of the forested far shoreline as well.
As with most such nights
when her husband was away on his business, she waited there. But this night was
more special than any of the others. In her arms, wrapped in silk, she carried
her gift to him. And she waited.
As always, she did not hear
when her husband approached until he wanted her too. And tonight, seeing his
wife with a bundle in her arms, Shinjo Toranaga smiled as he removed his mask and hood of the shinobi shozoko and then
said excitedly, "It was tonight, then? I wish that I did not have to go
out and kill Kondo tonight."
Yukie turned. He could see
the exhaustion in her eyes, but her pride came through that and burned
strongly. "Yes, my husband. Tonight our son was born."
"My son! Wonderful.
The Shinkou will have a new ninja master then,"
he said as took a step forward toward his wife.
"Would you like to
hold him?" she asked, but needed no answer. Tora-sama
took the babe from her, and he awoke in his father's arms as he pulled back on
the silk swaddling. The proud smile on the ninja master's face quickly changed
when the boy's eyes opened and stared up at him.
"No pupils, no irises.
This is no son of mine!" the ninja master declared. Eyes burning, he
glared at his wife, "This is all your
fault. You disrespect the spirits by failing to pay attention to omens. You do
things without thinking of 'four,' you step on the borders of the straw mats, you sleep with your head facing north. Why even just
last week you broke a strap on your geta. And you never remedy the omens."
Walking in a wide circle
around the room, Shinjo Toranaga
kept his head turned away from both his wife and his child. He still held the
infant, but no longer cradled him tenderly. Yukie cowered in the corner near
the door, awaiting the strike that would surely come. "I will grant you
your life, woman, but you will become a servant in here from now on, and I will
marry one who can bear me a worthy successor. The Shinjo
have always been masters of the Shinkou clan. And
this one can be nothing more than a beggar pleading to people on the street for
his next meal.
"As for your
punishment for this most grave transgression . . ." The angry man slowly
completed his journey about the room, at the open door that brought in the air
from the lake below. He casually flung the swaddled child into the night, into
the water. The ninja master said, "You forfeit your child as your
punishment. Let's see if you will remedy this bad omen."
A loud splash broke the calm of the night. A scream cut
through the thick air disrupting the steadiness of thought just as ripples
spread from the source of the splash and rocked the boat.
Kato had been sitting on
the boat, peering up at the house to gain insight on how best to attack his
enemy and rival, the master of the Shinkou—the
man who slew his parents and left a young boy to perish in the flames. Twice
already, he had tried to kill the man, but a combination of the ninja master's
skill and his host of ninja was too much for a lone
ninja to take on. Still, some day, Kato knew, he would find a way to defeat his
enemy.
He had seen and heard the
exchange between Yukie and Toranaga. The last member
of the Tora-no-Yuki clan had a suspicion about the
source of the splash. He took up the pole that lay on the boat and began to
push the craft quickly on the lake.
Diving into the water, he
found the colorful bundle and the babe within. And, now, Kato knew, he would
succeed in slaying his enemy. He only needed patience.
The Cat's Claws 18 August, 1994
"What color is the
cup, sen . . . kunteki?"
Haru had nearly called the man sensei, but that would have earned him a buffet. It was always kunteki—master—never
sensei, and certainly never father.
"Ha! You are blind,
boy. What does it matter, the color?" Master Kato retorted.
It was always the same. Haru felt a need to know what others sensed, what they saw.
And Master Kato did not understand why a boy devoid of the sense of sight
needed to know that which he could not perceive.
"Please, master, humor me. Is it brown? Is it
red?" the boy asked.
But the answer came not in
the form of words. A pair of chopsticks flew at him. They couldn't kill him,
but they could hurt. Had he eyes, it was likely that the force was such that
the wooden eating utensils could blind him permanently.
Haru's reaction was quick: he parried the
two sticks fairly easily. One spun off to the side and landed on the floor. The
other careened off and hurtled into the side of the bowl, causing it to tip and
spill soup.
"Slow! Too slow,
boy," the master ninja declared. "By now you should be able to catch
them and send them back at me."
Nothing was ever enough to
satisfy Cat's Claw Kato. Haru knew that he had
reacted well, but every time that he thought that he had met his master's
expectation, the bar was already raised higher.
"How can you kill your
father if you fight without ferocity, if you are too slow, or too weak? You
must work harder, boy." The man had a malicious grimace that told
everything. And Haru knew already what he would say
next. "He is the man who killed my family, my clan. He is the man who
threw you in to the water the day that you were born. And I was the one who
saved you. Do not forget it, boy. Strive to be better so that you might slay
our enemy."
Haru nodded his head in acknowledgement.
With that speech, he knew that today's training session would be twice as hard.
There was a moment of silence enough that he could hear birds and insects
outside the house: a bark of a dog, children his age laughing as they sang a
song.
Master Kato stood up quickly
as he always did. "Boy, it is time to practice again." Then he said
something that surprised Haru. "Brown."
It was just one word. But
still it was something of a reward. Then, Haru
remembered what Master Kato had said would be the next level of training. And
when he thought about the words live targets he felt nauseous. And he
knew why his kunteki
had just now rewarded him.
Wings of Shadow 14 July, 2003
He landed, but not
gracefully. His nerves, his mind, were going at a hundred kliks
a second. The dirt path was smooth and obviously was swept often by the monks
of the shrine. Haru stumbled, not from any clumsiness
or weakness of strength, but from an anxiety, an anxiety of what was still left
to be done. The smell of clean—natural clean not that of detergent or
antiseptics—and the faint sound of nearly imperceptible ripples induced
by the light breeze told him where to go.
At the well, he let himself
fall to the ground again and let his burden strike the ground, too, with a thud. He opened the bag and let it fall
aside with the head facing him. He pulled the eyelids down to keep it from
staring at him. Even if Haru could not really see its
gaze, it seemed to burn him like some sort of spiritual flamethrower. Taking
the long-handled ladle, he scooped water and poured it on the severed head of his
father. Two more scoops and he replaced the ladle. This was not part of the
Master's plan, but somehow, Haru felt that by going
through a purification ritual, he too was cleaner.
Now the head of his father
smelled clean. The faint iron smell of blood was nowhere near that of the
strong smell emanating from his ninja-to.
He placed the wet, but still warm head on a wooden block and attached the sign
that he had made earlier. His elegant calligraphy strokes announced:
Shinjo Toranaga, Ninja Master of Shinkou,
killer of men, women, and children no longer.
Then he stumbled to the fence and leaned over as his dinner bubbled up and then
poured over an exposed root of the cherry tree.
At the beginning of the
night he thought that the killing would be the hard part of the mission that
Master Kato sent him on. The infiltration of Shinkou
was hard, but they were too proud to believe that one among them could be a
traitor. Killing his father was even harder—the man who slew the family
of Master Kato, the man who tossed his own infant son into the sea because he
was blind. But the hardest part was the purification ritual. That was not part
of the mission. It was something that he had to do for himself. And whether the
difficulty was in facing his dead father or trying to purify an evil man, he did
not know. Likely, it was both.
Haru looked at the well, wishing a drink
to wash the acid taste away, but he willed herself to forget it. The wind blew
a gust, causing the trees to shake, sending a spray of cherry blossoms to
shower him and the rest of the temple's courtyard like twirling snowflakes
borne aloft by the gentle breeze.
White . . . he knew that
they were white. But that word was just a vague concept—all colors were
just vague concepts. White, red, blue, pink, green, black, purple, crimson . .
. all were even less tangible than concepts like infinity or zero, far less
tangible than the concept of hate.
Blossoms and single petals
continued to fall, having no regard for the turmoil within Haru,
perhaps trying to bring peace once again to the shrine's courtyard. It might
have been hours before Master Kato's weapon of revenge noticed the man standing
at the doorway of the shrine's building.
The task had so distracted Haru that he neither saw nor heard the round-faced monk
approach. Something within told him that the monk had been there the whole
time, waiting patiently and unafraid, despite the bloody sword still in Haru's hand.
"You are not like
him," the monk said softly. But Haru could not
be certain if the man meant his father or his master. Truly, though, he wished
that it were true of himself with regards to both. He
continued, "Please, come inside this house of Buddha and let the
Enlightened One help you to find peace and realization."
Haru rose and followed the priest into
the shrine building through a small side door. Even before he entered, he could
smell the spiced scent of burning incense. Once inside, he followed the monk's
example and removed his tabi.
It was harder to make his way about now. The straw mats dulled the sound of
footprints and the closed door now stilled the air. There was little vibration
and sound; the sharpness of definition to which he was accustomed blurred.
Something inside him wanted to shout or wave his arms to help his perception,
but he could feel peace in here. And that was something that was not familiar
to him.
The young ninja bumped into
a wooden object, perhaps a bench, sending sound abounding in the room, setting
off a vibration from something metallic and large. Such clumsiness would have
earned him a buffet from Master Kato. Haru wordlessly
cursed at himself, but not for his clumsiness. He had disturbed the peace of
this place.
"A killer of a killer,"
the monk said softly. "That is both what you are
and what you are not. Perhaps it may be what you were and what you will not
be."
Still Haru
said nothing. The monk hadn't said much that was not a riddle. Yet for all that
Master Kato had spoken plainly, it was always about death and killing. The monk’s
confusing words were about life and seemed to echo the boy’s own thoughts
without so much of the background noise.
"Life starts with
acceptance of what you are, son," said the monk, this time in a more
normal tone of voice. He had a gravelly voice, which told Haru
something of his age. Perhaps if the monk did not shave his head or chin, he
would hear the faint shifting of wispy hair that both absorbed and redirected
sound but not air vibrations.
At last, the ninja spoke.
"Brother, please give me guidance. Tell me what I must do."
The monk shook his head,
stirring the air as his body moved slightly as well with the top of his robe
shifting. "I can not tell you to do what you must. I can not tell you how
to do what you must. What you must do first is ask yourself what it is that
would set peace upon your soul. Search first for feelings, search second for
words. Then do what you must and ask Buddha to help you achieve it in the right
way. Enlightenment does not come in one day. For many, it takes several
lifetimes. But each must start somewhere. For all, it is a journey."
Haru pondered the words and then lofted
his sword through the air and into a waste receptacle by the door. It clattered
for several seconds, setting of air currents and bouncing sound waves. He had
never been in a temple before, and now he knew what one felt like.
He bowed deeply to the
priest, then turned and walked to the door. Stopping momentarily to remove his shinobi shozoko, Haru left the temple thinking of what he must do. Certainly
he needed to find shelter and food, for he would not now nor ever go back to
the dojo of Master Kato. But shelter and food were trivial things and he needed
only a minimum of such.
Haru discarded his pack, too, in the
trash can. Then just as quickly, he retrieved it and removed three items from
it before putting it back, leaving any implement of ninja gear forever behind.
He sat under the cherry
tree and laid the three items before him. A single drop of water wet the inkstone. The brush liberated the black particles from the
stone into liquid. And then, he applied soft strokes on the paper. A haiku for
his dead father. The first, but not the last. He would find each person who had
suffered from the killings carried out by his father and grandfather. Haru would meet with them wherever around the world they
lived, offer his sincere apologies, and present them with a gift from his
heart. It wouldn't bring their dead family and friends back. But it would be a
start to Harmony.
Now and then, I go,
Heart held high and head held low,
Turning in the wind.
Ukiyoe painting artists (from top to bottom): Kazuma, Shotei, Yoshida, Hiroshige