Not For Glory by Joel Rosenberg Page A

takes out the Torah and holds it over his head as he turns his back to the Ark. He turns his back to the Ark not out of disrespect, but so that the rest of his congregation can see the words, share the writing.
    What Pinhas was doing was like that. We'd all heard before what he had to say, although he always phrased it differently, but there's something special, something almost loving, in the repetition.
    "What we do here isn't just to teach ourselves to kill better. We're preserving ways that were almost lost, that would have been lost, if the madmen of the Bushido Brotherhood hadn't kept them alive, and brought them to Metzada to be preserved and protected until they can be returned to Nippon. Right now, I don't know if the Nipponese want the Arts back, and I'm not going to ask. It's not time for that, not yet.
    "In the meantime, the Arts can serve us." He shrugged. "If not, we'd probably have to let them die off." He looked at me, but he was talking to the others. "Two of us are now leaving Metzada—yet again."
    He rose, walked to a cabinet at the front of the room, and opened it. It was unlocked.
    From it, he took a rolled cloth and returned to the circle of men, seating himself across from me. He unrolled the black cloth and spread out the instruments inside. "Tetsuo, if you want to, you may take any of this with you, with the understanding that it can be used as necessary, but not exposed to the sight of the gaijin."
    It's one thing to be good at hand-to-hand; that's permissible, even expected, from a soldier. But the rest of the Art is hidden; it's always been that way.
    "You can take these with you, but on your own responsibility," Pinhas said. "The decision is yours."
    Old Yehuda Agron looked over at me, his eyes missing nothing. "Tetsuo, you are . . . ?"
    I shrugged. "I am worried, Adoni, worried."
    His eyes twinkled; his fingers, seemingly of their own will, twisted themselves in his long beard. "Ah. You feel that these are not quite the right weapons? Maybe you would rather have a better mind than a few shuriken?"
    I forced a smile.
    "I don't blame you," he said. "You're wiser than I was at your age. When I was in my thirties, I thought that there was no problem in the universe that couldn't be solved by slitting the right throat."
    Levine almost glared at him, but the old man wouldn't have cared, so he didn't. My boss is always studied in everything he does. It's one of the reasons I respect him.
    "You think your uncle knows you better than you know him?" the old one asked.
    "Perhaps." I rubbed my hands across my face. "Sometimes, I feel like it's going to be a duel of wits between Shimon and me, and I'm the unarmed opponent."
    "We can't give you wit, boy. And if you don't know where to point them, weapons are pointless. A good joke, eh?"
    "Not particularly," I said.
    "I'm a retired headsman, Tetsuo, not a comedian." He rose and lightly folded the cloth over the instruments, then handed the bundle to Pinhas. "Put them away, Pinhas," he said, then turned back to me. "The battle isn't over your uncle, but with him. Don't let yourself be distracted, not by anything. Do what you have to do. Whatever that is," he said. "Whatever that is."
    Pinhas looked from face to face. Even among ourselves, we compartment, segment some knowledge, and slap walls labeled "Need to Know" between our minds, between ourselves.
    "Need to know," I said.
    As though it were a great joke, old Yehuda laughed, and other faces broke into smiles.
    "Ah, ah," he said, tears streaming down his cheeks, losing themselves in his ragged beard, "you keep such secrets, Tetsuo Hanavi, such secrets. And you, Pinhas, you're such an asshole. You tell Tetsuo to kill his uncle and you expect it not to show here? You expect me not to see it?"
    Levine let himself smile. "One can always hope."
    Old Yehuda turned to me. "Are you paying attention, Tetsuki?"
    "You haven't asked me that for years."
    "True." He nodded. "I'm asking you now: are you paying attention,