GOLDSEA | ASIAN BOOKVIEW | FICTION
Jade Palace Vendettaby Dale Furutani
William Morrow, New York, 1999, 222 pp, $23
Second in a series of Samurai Mysteries set in old Japan.
EXCERPT:
hat do you want me to cut?"
The drunken samurai got unsteadily to his feet. He swayed from side to side, as if the platform beneath him were the rolling deck of a ship instead of the floor of a roadside teahouse. Pulling his katana, his long sword, from its scabbard, he held it before him like a necromancer's divining wand, waving vague circles in the air as he waited for spiritual inspiration.
His companion sat on the tattered tatami mats of the common room's floor. He was also a samurai, dressed in a creased gray kimono and holding a square wooden sake cup in one hand. He looked about him, searching for a target for his friend's wavering sword blade. With a burst of drunken inspiration, his gaze fixed on the sake cup.
"Cut this," he said, holding up the cup.
"The cup?"
"Yes, let's see you cut this. I'll toss it in the air and you slice it in half."
"In the air?"
"Of course! It's no challenge if I put it down." He gave a grin that revealed crooked brown teeth. "Wait a minute," he said, bringing the cup to his lips so he could drain it of the last dregs. The smell of the fragrant wooden cup enhanced the taste of the cheap, milky white rice wine. "Ahh, that was good."
It was early afternoon, but the two samurai had apparently been drinking for most of the day. In loud voices, they had challenged each other to a display of swordsmanship.
"All right," the sitting samurai said to his companion. "Now, get ready." He hefted the square cup with one hand. "Ichi, ni, san," he counted; then he threw the cup up in the air. The cup tumbled in the air, with silder drops of sake flying from it like the sparks from the pinwheels nailed to bridges during summer fireworks displays.
The standing samurai took a befuddled slice, and the wooden cup, untouched, tumbled to the worn tatami mats and bounced twice before coming to a rest. The sitting samurai laughed uproariously.
"What's so funny?"
"You are."
"Well, let's see you try it," the swaying samurai said indignantly. He took exaggerated pains to insert the tip of his katana in his scabbard, his drunken state making this simple task, one of the most basic moves taught to beginning students of the sword, a sudden challenge. He finally got his blade into the scabbard and plopped back onto the mats.
His friend obligingly crawled over and picked up the cup. He stood as unsteadily on his feet as his companions had. Hefting the cup in one hand, he extracted his sword from the scabbard.
"Watch," he said, tossing his cup into the air.
Taking a wild, one-handed slice at the cup, he gave it a glancing blow that hit the cup and set it flying across the room, like a shuttlecock batted by a decorated battledore in the game of oibane.
The cup landed near a person who was sitting, sipping tea. It was a ronin, a masterless samurai, dressed in the kimono and hakama pants of a traveler. Unlike the two other samurai, he didn't have a shaved pate. Instead, his hair was drawn back and tied in a topknot. He saw the cup flying toward him and, with nonchalant agility, he reached out with his free hand and grabbed the cup before it hit him. HIs other hand, holding the hot teacup to his lips, didn't sway or spill a drop.
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