Sam Samurai (4 page)

We laughed like maniacs.

The samurai laughed with us.

I must say he wasn’t the smoothest magician I’ve ever seen. And he didn’t have very good patter. But we were so relieved he put his sword away, he could have poked himself in the eyeball and we would have laughed.

The full morning sun blazed through the doorway. The samurai looked around the room.

“But where do you come from? What is your province? What is your family? Why did you not answer me when I first asked you?”

Sam and Fred and I looked at each other. We didn’t know what to say. Finally Sam spoke up.

“We are traveling from the province very far away to the east called Brooklyn. We are looking for a lost book. It belongs to our ... um ... daimyo. We need to return it to him.”

The samurai gave us a questioning look. “Bookalin? I don’t know Bookalin. But from the east, you are surely supporters of Tokugawa Ieyasu.”

“E-eyuka what?” said Fred.

“Yes, surely,” said Sam.

“Who is your daimyo?” asked the samurai.

“Our leader is ... well ... the mayor,” said Sam. “Our daimyo is Rudy Giuliani.”

“Rudy Giuliani? Did he fight at Osaka?”

“Hoboken, I think,” said Sam.

“Hmm,” said the samurai. “No matter. It is good that you show such loyalty, and support Tokugawa. Especially in these times when so many armies are on the move. What are your names?”

“Joe and Fred, and I am Sam,” said Sam, introducing us all.

“My name is Tada Honda.”

“Like the motorcycle?” said Fred.

“A very old and honored name,” said Sam, talking over Fred.

The samurai bowed. We bowed back.

“Sooo,” I said, thinking of how to get out of there as quickly as possible. “It’s been nice talking to you. But we really do have to get going. Could we just peek at your blue book there? I think we have one just like it.”

Honda picked up the thin blue package. “Ah yes. One of my most precious treasures.” The samurai slowly unwrapped the bundle. Fred, Sam, and I braced ourselves for the twirling thrill of time warping home. Honda opened the book and... and nothing happened. No time warping. No green mist. Nothing.

“It’s my issue number one of Super Samurai Man,” said Honda. “Look what great condition.” He showed us an illustrated book of a crazy-eyed samurai guy.

“Oh,” we all said, trying not to look too disappointed that it wasn’t
The Book.

“But why did you have it hidden up there?” asked Sam.

“So my little brother wouldn’t find it and mess it up,” said Honda.

Fred smiled.

“The only thing more precious to me is the gift given to me by my daimyo—his armor.” He pointed to the suit of armor we had just put back together. “If anything happened to that, I would take the head of whoever dared touch it.”

Fred quit smiling.

“Well, of course,” I said. “No one should mess with a guy’s armor. Everyone knows that.”

“Where is your daimyo?” asked Sam. “And does he maybe have a thin blue book?”

“My daimyo was lost at the battle of Sekigahara,” said Honda. “So now I am a samurai with no master. I am a
ronin.
But I have sworn to serve the master my daimyo served—Tokugawa.”

Honda looked down. You could tell he still felt bad about losing his master. A single bird chirped outside. We didn’t say anything.

Suddenly the sound of a ringing bell split the quiet. Honda looked up.

“A runner.” He looked outside the door and down the road. “At last! It is the runner ahead of the troops of Ii Naomasa. Gather your weapons and armor. We will join the Red Devils on the road to Edo. We will go to see the great warlord Tokugawa and find the book for your daimyo Giuliani.”

We sat down on the edge of the wooden platform and put on our only armor—our sneakers.

“Join the Red Devils? Travel to Edo to meet Tokugawa?” said Sam. “Does that sound like a good thing? A safe thing?”

We could hear the tramping sound of horses and feet. It sounded like a lot of feet.

“Do we have a choice?” I said.

Outside it was a beautiful spring morning. And I’m guessing the leader of the Red Devils was an amazing sight. I’m only guessing because we were on our knees, faces planted in the dirt when he passed. All I saw was an ant trying to get around a leaf.

Fred, Sam, and I had run outside right next to the road to get a good look at a real samurai army. But as soon as the first red armored bodyguard came around the corner, Honda yelled, “Down! Down!” and pushed us down into a kneeling bow. “If you want your head to stay with you, keep it touching the ground.”

We heard the clomp of the horses, jingling armor, flapping flags, and tramping feet, but no voices. It was kind of spooky. After a few minutes, we were hidden in a low cloud of dust. Sam coughed and sneezed. And sneezed and sneezed and sneezed. I peeked my head up to see if Sam still had his.

Sam was rolling around on the ground, trying not to sneeze. Honda and Fred were up on one knee, still sort of bowed forward, but watching the passing procession.

And what a procession. It was not hard to figure out why they called them the Red Devils. Red-armored samurai, their two swords stuck in the left side of their belt, rode on horses done up with red harnesses, red saddles, even red stirrups. Solid red banners flapped from an L-shaped black pole stuck in a holder built into the back of the samurai’s armor. There had to be at least ten or twenty horsemen all together.

“Wow,” said Fred.

Next came the strangest thing. It looked like a big red and gold curtained box with two poles sticking out the front and back so guys could carry it. The curtains swayed, and you could see people inside.

“The daimyo’s relatives and honored guests,” whispered Honda.

Serious-faced samurai on foot carrying spears. More fancy curtained boxes being carried. Some with people, more with just bundles carried by some rough-looking tattooed guys. Tall red battle flags. Square red flags with gold writing. There were even a few soldiers with muskets. The whole crazy parade marched quietly past. After about ten minutes, the people at the end of the procession started looking more like regular folks. They wore robes, jacket and pants things like Honda wore, straw hats and sandals.

Honda picked up his bundle. “When I say ‘go,’ walk behind me on the road and blend in.”

“Oh that’s easy for you to say,” said Sam. “How are we supposed to blend in looking like this?”

I looked at the three of us wearing our usual jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers. We blended in fine in Brooklyn. In 1600 Japan we didn’t look anything like anybody.

“If anyone asks, I will say you are entertainers hired by my master. I am making sure you reach him. Ready?” said Honda.

As usual, we didn’t get a chance to ask any questions. We just had to go.

We jumped on the road and started walking with everyone carrying boxes, bundles, and bags. No one really did seem to take much notice of us. Fred, Sam, and I followed behind Honda and walked.

We walked down a neat road of sand and stone lined with pine trees. We walked by the last of a few small houses and then we were out in the country. Rice paddies filled with water made a checkerboard along either side of the road. Women in big round straw hats stood in the ankle-deep water, planting small green rice plants in neat rows.

“Look at that,” said Sam.

A beautiful, perfectly snow-tipped mountain appeared out of the clouds behind us.

“Mount Fuji,” said a small, smiling bald man in a plain brown robe.

Clouds covered the mountain again.

“Very nice,” said Fred. “But you know what would be nicer? Something with wheels. Honda, how are you guys going to make motorcycles and cars if you’re not using wheels?”

“What is ‘moto-syco’?” said Honda.

“No wheels on the Tokaido Road,” said the little bald guy. “Because armies moving slowly is sometimes a good thing.”

“Like when the army is not a friend‘s,” said Honda.

The bald guy laughed again. “Exactly, samurai.” He looked us all over. “I don’t believe I have seen you before. May I ask, what is your name?”

“Honda,” said our samurai, and nothing more.

“I am known as Bakana Zou,” said the man.

“Silly Elephant?” translated Honda.

“But you may call me Zou,” said the smiling little man.

Everyone in front of us suddenly stopped.

“And that is also why we have so many gates and passport checks,” said Zou.

“Gates?” said Fred.

“Passport checks?” said Sam.

“But of course,” said Zou. “When were you born? As it has always been on the Tokaido Road, just as this notice says.” Zou tapped a wooden sign at the side of the road and read it aloud:

Honda looked concerned. “You have no passports from your province of Bookalin?”

“Uh ... no ... not exactly,” I said.

“Oh now we are toast,” said Sam. “I told you we should have stayed.”

“Can’t we just sneak around through the fields?” said Fred.

“Oh no,” said Honda. “Guards.” He made a slicing sword motion.

“Forget it,” said Sam. “We are turning around right now.”

“But you know
The
Book is probably at this shogun’s castle,” I said. “That’s always the way
The
Book works. And it’s the only way we’ll really get home.”

The line of people moved up. Now we could see the gate across the road. Everyone was showing a passport.

“Does everyone have to show a passport?” I asked Zou. “Aren’t there any exceptions?”