In medieval Japan there was a swordsmith who volunteered to execute a felon so he could perform tameshigiri—test cutting—on his latest blade. When the convicted man saw the sword maker he said, “If I had known it would be you, I would have swallowed stones to ruin your blade!”
Some days you’re the sword maker, slicing cleanly through flesh and bone, and some days you’re the poor bastard forcing rocks down your throat right before they put the steel to you. Sure you’re going to die, but you don’t have to go easy.
We walked twenty minutes through the kitchen gardens before we got to the southern wall. The gate wasn’t manned but we only had to wait a few minutes before the guard walking the parapet got there, slung his rifle, and came down the ladder, huffing and puffing.
He checked Sensei’s pass and then Richard pushed forward, like he does, to be next. The guard glanced at Richard’s pass and then up at his face. “Richard Torres? You look like your brother. Didn’t he go missing a few weeks back?”
“You think?” snapped Richard. “Why do you think—”
Sensei touched Richard on the arm. “No sign of Diego, I take it?” Sensei said to the guard.
“Not on my watch, no.” He gave Richard back his pass, took Lou’s, looked at her, and blinked. They all do when they see her. I mean she’s gorgeous most days but for some reason, today she glowed.
“Louise Patterson? I think I knew your sister in high school. How is she?”
“Dead,” said Lou.
Nine out of every ten died in the infestation. You’d think he’d know better.
He swallowed, gave her back the pass, and took mine. “Hello. I don’t think I’ve met you before. New to town?”
I laughed sourly. “You sat behind me in Algebra, Danny. You kept copying my work.”
He took a step back and stared down at my pass. His free hand touched the opposite elbow. “Wow, Rosa. You’ve, uh, filled out.”
“Yes,” I said. I was skinny back then but now I had curves. He was stocky before, and still was. Surprising, that, considering the rationing. I didn’t comment, though, about his weight or what had happened back in high school. We wanted to get through the gate after all.
He turned back to Sensei, as if I wasn’t there. “Weapons? Just the pig stickers, right?”
We held open our packs so he could see. Guns and ammo were reserved for the defense of the community. You could travel outside but ammo and guns stayed in unless it was the guards going out to watch the fields during planting, weeding, or harvest. There are other reasons, too.
“Just the swords,” said Sensei.
Danny undid the massive padlock holding down the hinged bar, then said, “Don’t open it until I’ve checked from above, right?”
Sensei nodded, his face impassive. “Understood.”
Of course Sensei understood. He’d been outside more than anyone else in town.
Danny went back up the ladder and unslung the rifle. “There’s some in the cornfield over there.” He pointed to the left of the gate. “Maybe six or so standing up, but there could be more lying down. The corn is getting pretty high.” He pointed to the right. “The soybeans are only knee-high and there’s one wandering around in there. The road—” He lifted his rifle and fired one shot. “There, the road is clear until it dips down toward the river.”
Sensei glared at Danny.
Lou frowned. “What’d he do that for? He’s going to draw them to the gate.”
Sensei sighed. “It’s not as if we’re trying to avoid them, Lou.” He gestured, and I went to the bar and lifted it. Richard drew his sword and held it hasso, pointed straight up near his right shoulder. I heard Sensei sigh slightly but he didn’t say anything. Sensei gestured again and I pushed. The left-hand door opened outward on well-oiled hinges until it was ninety degrees open. Richard sprang out, looking around wildly. Lou rolled her eyes, and I nodded.
The asphalt was cracked and weed-lined, but the field crews had cleared any sizable brush away twenty feet on either side. A hundred feet in front of the gate, a body sprawled across the faded median stripes—Danny’s target. Richard took several steps forward and stopped in the middle of the road, sword still raised on high.
I looked behind the door, before moving forward, but it was clear.
Sensei said, “Richard, put away your sword.”
Richard looked back at Sensei, his eyes wide.
Sensei said, “What do we study?”
“Batto-ho, Sensei. The art of drawing and cutting.”
“Yes. So, save your strength. Trust your training. We are out in the open. You will have lots of time to draw.”
“Yes, Sensei.” Richard did noto, the sheathing of the sword, in the Shindo Munen Ryu style, first lowering the tip forward, reversing the grip, and swinging the blade up so the mune, the back of the blade, rested on his shoulder, then bringing the saya, the wooden scabbard, forward until it touched the mune. He brought the tskua, the handle, forward until the sword’s tip crossed the opening of the saya, and then reversed, sliding it home. Done smoothly and quickly it is beautiful to see.