The Bandit...

The Bandit, The Samurai, The Tea Master and Aesthetics

He was just an old man.

The kind of old man most people left alone to wander down the curving hillside path, singing gently to himself, quite unaware of anything outside his thoughts. Over one shoulder he carried his antique silk traveling pouch with a tea pot and four-cup set carefully stowed away. On his feet were slippers made of straw. Upon his head, a hat made from bamboo with a wide brim of straight bamboo. At his belt, no sword, only a dagger for daily tasks or grooming. Behind the dagger, a silk purse heavy with gold.

Today's tune was about a legendary ghost who haunted a family well. And just as the poor old man was getting to the chorus, where one would count ghostly dishes with ichi and then ni, followed by san and shi, a bandit jumped from the foliage at the side of the path and started the poor singing fellow.

"Shi!" the bandit cried out. He had a sword drawn.

"AHH!" the old man shrieked. "I'm not to that part of the song, yet!"

"No, SHI!" he insisted again. He thrust the sword at the traveler. "As in DEATH, old man!"

"It is a most unfortunate number!" the old man replied, terrified as he skittered back and fell over. With a graceful care that only someone old and wise could have, he held his silk bag with one hand and let the seat of his pants take the brunt of the fall. Inside the bag, his tea pot and cups were safe against his belly.

"Don't try and run. I'm going to kill you," the bandit said.

"Ronin, what did I do to offend you?"

The man stopped like he wasn't sure. With his hand to his scruff of a beard, and scratching he replied, "You're on a road I call my own!" Then, he seemed pleased with himself.

The old man got up carefully and dusted himself off. "I can't die in such a manner. My family is very ancient, my ancestors very proud. If you were to kill me in combat, I would never be permitted to join them in the afterlife. I might live as a ghost, unhappy for eternity."

The bandit grunted, pacing before the old man, who continued. "You must give me time."

"Time for what?" The bandit was inches from the old man's face, threatening with his sword overhead.

The old man cowered. "Time to learn to die like a warrior! Please don't kill me as I am!"

The bandit put his sword down and laughed and the old man could tell he finally realized he wasn't kidding.

"What exactly do you do?"

"I am tea master," the old man replied, bowing. "My name is Kishi."

The bandit erupted into a laugh again. "TEA MASTER!" He howled. "Very frightening!"

The old man looked at his hands in shame. "It is a very honorable position. But it does not save you when confronted with death."

"If I let you go, you won't come here again!" the bandit replied. "You'll run away and find another route over the mountain."

"There is no other route," tea master Kishi replied. "And in the village where I just left there is an army encamped with a great warrior. I can ask this warrior how to die like soldier."

"And then you'll come here," the bandit insisted. "Tomorrow."

"Yes, I give you my word. Just don't let me die like a coward." The bandit scratched at his beard stubble.

"You're just an old man. Even if you tried to run, I could catch up with you and kill you. And if you try and bring others to aid you, I'm strong enough to fend any of them off. Very well." He snickered. "Go and get your training."

The tea master backed away until he was out of sight of the bandit. Then he turned and hurried back to the village he'd just traveled through. He remembered the garrison was stationed on the east of the river running through town, so he quickly crossed a bridge and headed up to the army's bamboo screen. The screen ran all the way around their compound, and he couldn't make anyone out save the guards on watch-roosts. He approached one of the men on duty at the gate.

"Please, sir." Kishi bowed before the soldier.

"What do you want?"

"I have come to speak with your commander."

"Why?"

"There's a bandit on the road, sir," he started.

"We won't help you, go away."

"No," Kishi looked up at him. "I did not want your help against him. I want to do this on my own. But I need training."

Another guard, curious about this conversation, had come up from behind and laughed at Kishi now. "You're just an old man!"

They both laughed. Kishi's eyes lowered with sadness.

"Yes," he replied. "Just an old tea master. And I would like to face my death with some dignity."

"I see nothing wrong with that." It was a new voice. A woman's voice. Kishi looked up in surprise.

"Commander!" "We had no idea you were making rounds!" the other soldier exclaimed.

"Of course you didn't." She stared at him. "If you did you would have been on your best behavior."

"You are the commander of this army?" Kishi sank to his knees in a bow. His head touched the ground before her.

"Yes. My name is Shiori. What is yours?"

"My name is Kishi." He didn't move.

"You may stand, Kishi, and follow me."

He did as he was told and soon found himself inside a steep tent with pillows on the floor and low tables with nothing sitting on them. Shiori sat down and gestured for him to do the same. Kishi sat on a pillow across from her. She had the most beautiful face, softened but with a chin that pointed like a delicate almond. Her eyes were dark and wide, like a child's eyes, and she had beautiful teeth. Teeth were something he saw a lot of, in a tea ceremony, during receptions, at meals. Teeth were a good sign of a person's character, he thought. This woman had strong, white teeth. She removed her Samurai helmet and her kerchief from around her hair. The only furniture between them was the low table.

"You are a tea master?" she asked.

"I am."

"Tell me then, why you need my help."

"I wish to die like a soldier," he replied.

She tilted her head. "Most men come to me asking to live like a soldier, not to die like one."

"I know very little of war. Forgive my ignorance, and if I say foolish things, I am a foolish man who never learned to defend himself or his belongings." He bowed.

"The foolish are those who ask to live like a warrior," she said. The tea master opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it once more. But no words came out. Her sentence puzzled him.

"Make us tea."

"Now?" he asked.

"Right now."

"But what about my death?"

"It can wait."

The tea master trembled, but tried to find his center. I must not worry, even though she is surely a great lord of battle. She may even be a warrior goddess sent to test my skill. But that only means I must do my utmost to please her. The tea master, Kishi, closed his eyes and concentrated. When he could breathe without shaking, he looked at her.

"I will perform the tea ceremony for you."

"I would enjoy that," she replied with a smile.

"And so would I," he agreed. "For without you reminding me of that, I would have died without the joy of experiencing it one last time."

Michifusa was the best tavernkeeper in the small village of San and a good friend of Shiori's. He'd seen all types of men come and go from his establishment. Bandits, soldiers, noblemen, honest men, silly men, poets. Well, poets were really silly men, but of a different sort. He'd never met a woman general before Shiori, though. He knew of women Samurai. There were one or two legendary heroines out there in his time. But he'd never actually met one. And he confessed that Shiori had a way about her that made you forget you were dealing with a woman. He couldn't quite put his finger on how. It was the deep voice, and the way of command, he figured. Hard not to impose authority and respect growing up the daughter of the Shogun. And he found himself admiring tactics that he'd never seen any other general employ. He'd had his share of armies through town. Generals were mostly haughty-taughty and above the rest of the entire army. They walked around like peacocks, and gave orders to their immediate subordinates. They didn't even buy their own drinks from the peasants, they had their men do it for them.

But not Shiori. The first thing that Genereal Shiori did was sit at the bar and order a bottle of sake. She didn't tell some first lieutenant to go over and order it for her. She called to Michifusa, asked his name, and then bought the sake with her own damn coins. And you know, he respected that. After that, whatever Shiori wanted, Shiori got. As long as he was around, he made her and her troops feel at home. There were no brawls or fights when Shiori's troops were in town. Only lots of laughs. Well, to be fair, there was the occasional brawl, but Shiori would instantly appear and put a stop to it. But they happened so rarely, they might not even have happened at all.

So, Michifusa wasn't surprised to see Shiori come in late one night. She looked exhausted. And that it was raining didn't help at all, for she was soaking wet. Her armor glistened with rain and her shoes sopped as she removed them before she walked in and claimed a seat by the fire.

"Dry off!" he called happily.

"Warm me up with some sake, Michifusa!"

"I have a bottle saved just for you." Michifusa ran over and delivered a bottle of sake to Shiori. Before he could get another word in, there was another visitor at the door. A soaking sorry-looking man looked hungrily around the room.

Michifusa rose and addressed him. "Can I help you?"

"I want to warm up while the rain keeps coming. Afterward I'll leave." The man hustled to the fireplace and Michifusa was about to protest when he felt Shiori's gentle gloved hand on his arm. Michifusa returned to the bar, his gaze watchful on the stranger. But he said nothing, for Shiori must either know the man, or have plans for him. At least he knew the General that well. She held out her bottle of sake.

"You need this more than I," she said.

The man snatched it from her hands and took a huge guzzle. With a refreshed inhale, he wiped his mouth off. "Ah, yeah. That helps. I'll pay you for this tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" she asked, innocently.

The man kept drinking. "Important day for me." Then he chuckled miserably to himself. "Gonna get a lot of coins!"

"Soldier's pay?"

"HA! What a lousy way to make a living!" Michifusa almost refuted him, but a silencing look from Shiori made him shut his mouth and sullenly clean a rice bowl with a scrub brush. "I'm scaring the wits out of an old man who's loaded!" The bandit chuckled again.

By the looks of his stagger, he must not have had much to eat recently. The half-empty contents of the sake bottle were affecting him as if he were a cat full of warm milk. "You know, I'm feeling warm now. This is some good sake." He stared at the bottle in a haze.

"It's the best in the tavern," Shiori replied. She was smiling a smile of mischief. Michifusa had no idea what she was actually doing toying with a bandit. The man was obviously trouble. Not that Shiori was in any danger, she was Samurai, but still, Michifusa cleaned his rice bowl and wondered. "Tell me about this old man," she coaxed.

"Oh, it's very funny." He took another drink of sake. "I met him on the road, and he has a purse the size of a pig's head. And it's just heavy and full of coins. He's walking along and I accost him. Like this!"

The bandit demonstrated his prowess inches from her face and then he almost fell into the fire. Shiori didn't endeavor to catch him, but the look on her face was dark and pleased. "I thought I'd scare him into giving me every last coin so he could live." The bandit shook his head. He looked at Shiori. "But you know, boy. He was actually honorable! I mean - who knew?!"

"So he attacked you?"

"Oh no, he wasn't that honorable. The old man didn't know how to fight. Said he wanted to come here and learn from a wise master." The bandit broke out laughing. "I have no idea where he is now, but tomorrow I meet him on the road and scare him so bad he hands over all his money."

"What an amazing plan," Shiori replied.

"I know. I'm brilliant." The bandit drained the last of the bottle. "And this is empty."

He looked around for another stool and found one across the room. Stumbling over to it, it took a few times to actually grab the stool and then haul it over beside the fire. When he sat down, he nearly missed the chair, but righted himself. "Oh, yeah. That was good sake."

The bandit saluted the Tavern Keeper, and Michifusa just snorted.

"And I'm absolutely beat. Need to rest up for tomorrow's torture." He leaned against the hearth stones, one eye closed, and one eye looking at Shiori. She was staring at him in utter amusement. "You're awfully beautiful for a boy," he confessed.

This was the last straw for Michifusa, who roared with laughter from behind the bar. Shiori stood, bid them both farewell, and told Michifusa not to harm the man one bit. "Let him sleep here, and let him leave in the morning." She winked at Michifusa.

"You're merciful," he replied, chuckling.

"Oh no, I'm not." Shiori grinned and headed out.

The sun broke the morning clouds and shone down on the sleeping face of the old tea master. He had huddled in one corner of General Shiori's tent, sleeping under a spare blanket with his tea-satchel rolled into a pillow. He was curled up like a sleeping child, save for his wrinkled face. When he sat up, yawning, he saw Shiori sitting over rice and vegetables. There was another place setting for him.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, General." The morning sunlight didn't seem to warm his bleak expression any.

"I have breakfast for you." She gestured to the empty seat. He shuffled over and sat on the pillow.

"Too kind of you. You don't have to feed a man destined to die, you know."

"I know." They smiled at one another.

After a moment of silence, as both ate rice, he spoke. "Last night's tea ceremony was the best one I'd ever performed. I didn't make a single mistake. If you hadn't given me that opportunity, I might have gone to my grave without peace."

"It was a beautiful ceremony. But how is it that a man of your age and wisdom has never performed a perfect tea ceremony until last night?"

"I suppose, like the sword, the tea ceremony looks easy to those who watch its performance. But there is always something that can go wrong. Doing a perfect ceremony is much like reaching nirvana, my General.

"Speaking of this, you will teach me how to die honorably, before I leave?" he asked again. She had refused him last night. "Just show me one thing, so that I might die like a true warrior and not a coward."

"I will show you one thing."

After breakfast she took him to a little hill inside the compound. She gave him a sword from the collection of spares and put her hands over his old wrinkled ones, standing behind him.

"You hold it like this," she said gently.

"This?" He shifted his hands.

"This," she replied and shifted them back.

"Oh."

"And you swing like this." She moved the sword with his arms under hers. At the last minute she released them and he continued the swing unaided.

"And again?" she said. He moved the sword again, just as before.

"It seems heavy, until you move it."

She nodded at his observation.

"But, I have no chance." The old man sighed. "I would have to learn to fight for weeks before I might save my own life."

"Warriors die in peace," she replied.

He tilted his head as she drew her sword and took it in her hands just as she had instructed him. She closed her eyes and held the blade above her head. The light of the morning sun shone behind her hands, her blade and her hair, and set all of them blazing in a heavenly aura. She looked completely at peace. She looked like a warrior goddess. He put his own sword up into the air and closed his eyes. He was shaking.

"Think of the tea ceremony," she said, her low voice was near. He steadied himself and thought about tea, although it seemed strange to be thinking about something like tea at a time when he was so near his own death. But, as asked, he thought about all the manners of the ceremony, the reasons for performing it to others, the calm balance that came at every turn of the cup.

"Good," she said. And he opened his eyes. "Now, you are ready to die."

In the mid-morning, tea master Kishi made his way down the path of the mountain, waiting for any sign of the bandit from the day before. He had his new sword sheathed at his side and his tea supplies slung over his shoulder in their ancient bag. There was no sign of the bandit for some time, but just as he was beginning to suspect he had been deceived, he spotted the man coming up the trail.

"So, you've come to die." The bandit was grinning. He looked rather tired, however.

"Yes, I am ready now," the tea master replied.

"I have to ask, out of idle curiosity. Who the hell would teach you to defend yourself?"

"I'm not really sure. She might have been the daughter of the great Takauji or even a Warrior Goddess in the service of Hachiman. Her name was General Shiori and she has taught me all I need to know in one night."

The bandit's face gave way to a look of dread. Without further heed, the Tea Master unsheathed his sword with the grace and discipline only a tea master could bring to one movement. His arms spread out as he took the blade gently in his old fingers. He grasped the hilt like an expert, felt it slip into his palm just as he had been shown. He paid no attention to the bandit because the bandit didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the steady breathing of his chest and the moment he held in his heart. Kishi, the tea master, son of Matsu, now fifty-three years old, thought about tea. He thought about all the manners of the ceremony, the reasons for performing it to others, the calm balance that came at every turn of the cup. Kishi thought about tea, and about life, and about death. He waited for the end of his life with open arms.

And it seemed a long time in coming. But he focused again, waiting for the inevitable. Because surely he was going to die today. Wasn't he? Kishi felt himself fidget. He opened one eye and peeked out at the world he was certain he no longer lived in. In the distance, down the long trail past the mountain, all he could make out was a man.

Running away really fast.

"Wha...?" Kishi's arms went slack, the sword point fell into the soil, his jaw hung open and eyes nearly bugged out of his head. The bandit was gone. The bandit was the man running away from him in abject terror.

At first, he didn't understand. "How can this be?"

He slowly made his way back to the encampment of the great General Shiori. He muddled over the moment in his mind as he was brought before her. She was smiling at him. It was a kind of smile that only great men seem to have access to.

"But, I was certain I was going to die." He confessed this to Shiori as he handed the sword back to her.

"Sometimes certainty is all it takes," she replied and cleaned the sword with a cloth before sheathing it in its scabbard. "You lived because the same care and solemnity you place in your tea ceremony is what we place in our swords. When you moved with such grace and dignity, raising the blade over your head, you convinced that thug that you had received a lifetime of sword training overnight. No doubt you performed the move perfectly, just as you had performed your last tea ceremony perfectly, and that is what terrified that bandit and saved your life."

"You were certain this was going to happen, weren't you? So wise, so young. There must be a story in that and you will have to tell me over tea." He realized this with a shake of his old head.

"After seeing what kind of man this 'bandit' really was, I had reason to believe you would live. And if you didn't, then you certainly would have died honorably." She looked at him. "Either way, it was a good end."

He laughed. Then he bowed. "General Shiori, if you ever need my services, you may call upon me and I will perform the tea ceremony for you any time."

Tea master Kishi lived to be one hundred and eight years old and performed the tea ceremony for General Shiori on twenty-seven separate occasions during his long life. He never had cause to pick up a sword again.

THE END