Myomoto’s Sword

Myomoto’s Sword

by Justin Isaac

Perhaps it was his age, as some conjecture it was, or he tripped on the leg of a table, or stool, as others might say, or still others suggest that he made the sake, noodles and soup too hot that night (which, of course, carries with it other implications beyond the mere fact that he spilled his tray). Nevertheless, the accident was so talked about in the little town for the next week that one would think something of grave consequence had occurred that night at Myomoto’s little teahouse. These talking heads and rumormongers might have had good reason to wonder at this, though, if they had only known who Myomoto was before he was the owner of the teahouse. As it was that night, and for the days following, it was a phenomena not to be repeated and was not quickly forgotten – much to the chagrin of Myomoto. Fortunately for him, no one discovered the true meaning of that night, for if they had, it would have reached much farther than the borders of the small town and surrounding villages.

If you had seen what the old man had seen that night, you would have dropped your tray too. You see, Myomoto has an impeccable memory for people’s faces. It typically does not matter if you wear a hat, don a beard, grow or cut your hair, wear make-up, or age 40 years, if Myomoto has ever met you, he will recognize you. This is another curious fact about the old man that is a legend in the town and the reason why parents are so eager to introduce their children to him. “Now, if you ever do something bad, you better hope Mr. Myomoto does not see you! He has eyes in the back of his head, and he will tell us about what you did!” Needless to say, he was and is a legend in his own right. Not only is his memory spot on, but he has the best tea, soup and noodles in the entire region and is known throughout the empire as the quintessential master of his trade.

His fame was fine for those who sought out excellent place to dine, but for Myomoto, it was more than he cared to entertain. In fact, he would have been content to exist in obscurity until his dying day. But, such was the way of the world: one that made famous those who carry within them extraordinary abilities, even with something as mundane as making tea, or noodles, or soup. However, such simple musings regarding this remarkable man have seemed to stop short of asking the question, “What did this exceedingly old individual do before he made tea and noodles and soup?” A question that I have taken up and believe to have found an answer to. Our starting point, though, must be that night in the teahouse when Myomoto dropped his tray.

I was there and I distinctly remember the event: Myomoto had just brought out a fresh tray of sake and noodles. He was winding his way masterfully through the crowded room, when suddenly he looked towards the entrance and made eyes with a man who had just walked in the door. Myomoto stared at him for a moment, unmoving, then in an instant, lost the balance of the tray and dropped the contents all over the floor and the unfortunate people at the table just beneath him. The entire room started at the loud crash and everything seemed to be completely still for a moment – people completely aware of the fact that this has never happened before. By the time Myomoto had finished profusely apologizing to everyone, then cleaning up the mess and bringing out a fresh tray, the man who he had seen was now gone and all was normal.

As far as I know, I am the only person present who noticed that Myomoto recognized the man and that is what caused him to drop his tray. I have often wondered about this person and what could have been so shocking to the old restaurant owner that he would make a mistake as shameful as that. My curiosity became piqued when a couple things happened following that event: 1). Myomoto was seen less and less in his restaurant, leaving it to his wife, son and newly arrived brother-in-law to run and manage (the official story being that Myomoto’s health was on the decline) and 2). Rumors that a famous samurai warrior was living somewhere in the surrounding forest began to circulate among the populace. But, the event that marked my earnest investigation was something that everyone in the town was witness to and, curiously enough, it was almost a year later, to the day, of Myomoto’s famous fall: the infamous duel between Shinji Hayakame and the enigmatic newcomer, Maikumo.

Shinji was well known and feared throughout the entire land. He was a Ronin Samurai, master-less, and without remorse, regret or hesitation. It was somewhere between an honor and a curse to have him visit the humble town for a duel to the death. The most mysterious thing about him, however, was that it was that he would disappear into the wild for months or years at a time and reemerge with an impossibly improved technique. He would then try out his new skills on brave samurai who were eager to prove themselves to their masters. It was said that Shinji’s technique had become so refined that he was able to control the air just in front of the blade so that the metal need not make contact with the opponent. He could kill from meters away, without ever driving steel into flesh.

Maikumo was unknown, and in the whirlwind of excitement leading up to the duel, was decidedly the underdog, being bet against 15-1. I have always taken up sides for underdogs, so I was one of the few that put up my money for Maikumo to come out the victor. Perhaps foolish of me, since it is not uncommon for samurai lineage to be well-known within the population at large, being that the samurai are such a small class in population, and that lineage was very important in this part of the world, and that Maikumo had no lineage that anyone knew of, not even the elders of the town (who were invariably the historians, also).

More to the point, however, and more interestingly, was Myomoto’s role in all of this. It was not an overt role, nor one that most people in the community, save myself and some of the elders, even considered as plausible. But, adding to this mystery is another piece of evidence: that after the duel, Myomoto returned full time to his duties at the restaurant, showing no hint of having been sick, or even having waned at all in his vigor for excellence and mastery of his vocation. It was a subtle return and the only reason I cite it as curious is because I had been observing ever since the night of the dropped tray, most people, however, didn’t notice, and they could have cared less. They appreciated Myomoto’s presence, but perhaps did not understand the full implications of it and its profundity.

Thinking back to the duel, we will recall that the two opponents remained in their respective stances for what seemed like hours. This is typical of samurai one-on-one combat. The grassy glade that they chose for the duel was surrounding by a crescent shaped forest line on the one side, and on the other was the Eastern rock-wall wall of the town, where everyone was gathered to watch.

Shinji made the first move, stepping without warning towards Maikumo, ready to end the altercation with one smooth stroke. The kill stroke of his sword seemed to fall short of its target, but Maikumo still evaded. What happened next was the most amazing thing any of us has ever witnessed in a samurai duel: the large fir tree just beyond Maikumo split completely in two. Of course, everyone was astonished. Shinji, I think, was the most astonished of all and openly marveled at the fact that Maikumo expected this attack and moved out of the way.

The two warriors moved around each other, sizing the other up and as they did so, the reality sank in to each of us observing that we were witnessing skill with a blade unparalleled in the known world, both from Shinji Hayakame and Maikumo. It is not ordinary for samurais to talk to each other during a duel, but Maikumo did speak a few words to Shinji before he killed him. As I recall, his words were thus: “Shinji Hayakame, I wanted to see for myself your skill with the blade. How little you have learned. Regardless, I still must kill you. It is not for you, nor anyone on this sphere.” Upon finishing his words, and with everyone looking on with bated breath, Maikumo set himself, and while still several meters outside of a kill zone, swung his sword at Shinji Hayakame, who proceeded to simply, disappear.

I could spend another several pages describing the ensuing chaos, but suffice it to say that there has hardly been an uproar of that magnitude before or after. Everyone, from the rich to the poor, were carrying on amongst themselves – everyone, except Myomoto, who had been quietly observing the duel from the back window of this teahouse. There was no emotion on his face when Shinji disappeared, he made no sudden moves when Maikumo subtly gestured to him; in fact, what Myomoto did do, was return to his kitchen to begin preparing the pots, pans, noodles and sake, for that night – which he expected to be busier than usual.

Now is the time when the pieces must come together to make a coherent whole, but before I do that, there is one other piece of the puzzle that needs to be put into place. Namely, the piece called Yoguchi Rui Hirame.

Yoguchi Rui Hirame was, perhaps, the most famous metal worker in known history. It is said that his masterpiece, Shido, The Sword Of One Thousand Foldings, which was carried by General Jinkama during his 10-year campaign for the emperor, was so perfect that it could slice through solid stone like butter and never have to be sharpened. The sword itself, which is now on display in the Emperor’s palace, is in fact a modern marvel of the science of swordsmithing. There has been none like it before or after and even the best blacksmiths of recent memory have been unable to recreate its brilliance.

After he finished Shido, however, Yoguchi Rui Hirame, who was well into his 50’s, disappeared and was never heard from again. His trademark, however, that brilliant piece of engineering, the perfect marriage of art and science, his ultimate version of the samurai sword, continued to circulate, thus it was thought that Yoguchi decided to live out the rest of his days in isolation, but continued to make swords.

It is curious that the very year Yoguchi gave up his fame and fortune and removed himself from the public life, that Myomoto’s teahouse was started – and that, by a man who had no known family, whose blood line was a mystery and whose tea, soup and noodles were so delicious that he immediately became an instant success, and remained so until this day. The problem, of course, is that no one in the known land has ever heard of Myomoto before. One would think that with such exquisite cuisine and drink, that he would have had a previously successful restaurant somewhere, but in all my travels investigating this mystery, no one has recognized his name.

Of course, if you are following my line of reasoning, you have now concluded that I believe Yoguchi Rui Hirame and Myomoto to be one in the same person. When Yoguchi Rui Hirame receded from the limelight of fame, he had in his employ a young man named Otiro Atimura, who was apprenticing in the technique of Yoguchi’s swordsmithing. For reasons unknown to me, Yoguchi decided to disappear into the wilderness, taking Otiro Atimura with him. Otira continued the task of replicating Yoguchi’s excellence in weapon-making, giving the perception that the man was still practicing the art, allowing Yoguchi to reemerge into society as Myomoto the restaurant owner. After the years, the exquisite swords ceased to be created, and Myomoto settled into his new life.

Let’s go back to the night in the teahouse and Myomoto’s famous accident. As I mentioned, he saw the man, dropped his tray, then proceeded to be seen less and less until the day of the duel. Who was that man? Why would he have such an effect on old Myomoto to cause him to lose his near perfect balance? Why did Myomoto disappear from the restaurant almost immediately after the night he dropped his tray? Why did he return to the restaurant, seemingly in higher spirits then when he left, almost a year to the day of the man appearing, showing no signs of having been ill or of degenerate health, as his family claimed?

The answer is found in the person of Maikumo, who I now know was the man that Myomoto recognized from across the room. It’s interesting, that for a samurai with such skill, he had never before been heard of, yet Myomoto clearly knew him and it had such an effect on him in the recollection of his memory of the man, that for an instant he forgot himself and dropped his tray and its contents. That singular instant has more mystery to it than I am privy to, but what can be deducted from these events is that Maikumo asked Myomoto to make him a sword, but not just any sword, a sword to exceed the skill of Shido – a sword that would be the summation of all Yoguchi Rui Hirame ever accomplished, the very sword that vaporized Shinji Hayakame.

The questions that are begging to be asked, though, above and beyond all the others, are “Who is Maikumo, that he can call Myomoto out of his new life and convince him to take up his art, forsaking his restaurant?” and, “What skill does he possess, that can cause even a man to disappear at the stroke of a sword?”

I am afraid that I’m not prepared to answer these. There is more mystery here than meets the eye, or doesn’t meet the eye. But, the fact remains, that Yoguchi Rui Hirame – Myomoto – the most famous and skilled swordsmith in known history, was commissioned for one last masterpiece and proceeded to oblige his patron, without hesitation.

Since the night of Myomoto’s accident, and the subsequent duel between Shinji Hayakame and Maikumo, things have returned to utter normalcy. In fact, progress here has been sped up by the unfortunate influx of the West, and I fear that we are witnessing the dying of an age in this wonderful and mysterious land. Perhaps I am part of that problem, and the samurai would look at me as the enemy of all of their traditions, everything they hold dear. But, Myomoto continues to move and weave without effort, making his famous tea, and noodles, and soup. Scurrying from table to table, bowing low, remembering orders with a memory that can hardly be matched and delighting all with the simplicity of a restaurant owner that is over and above what most of this trade can ever hope to attain.

Perhaps one day I will discover the rest of the mystery that is hidden behind the lines of wisdom and experience of that old man, and I doubt that I will ever see Maikumo again. I am not sure why, but something tells me that he is gone forever. Meanwhile, history moves forward and those moments in time that men like me seek elucidation for may forever remain within the shroud that they were intended. I sometimes wonder if at the heart of my profession is the excising of the sacred to bring into the brutal light of objective knowledge. It may be that some things are meant to never be fully understood.