stop for dinner.”
I agree. My stomach is growling louder than Yoshi’s Tiger, and says it’s long past dinnertime. If things were different, it would be fun to sit in the gloom with my friends. But our rice cakes are soggy and the dried fish is waterlogged. It’s so cold. I just want to escape from the tunnel.
We eat quickly, without talking, until Yoshi moves us on.
“Time to go,” he says, handing the candle to Kyoko to relight.
The slow tramp begins again.
Squish. Squelch.
Sandals slap and slosh. One saturated footstep after another.
“Did you hear that?” Taji whispers.
We shake our heads, but we know something is happening. Taji always hears things first. Nezume’s nose twitches. He can feel it.
Now I can hear and feel it, too. A low rumble and the ground trembles. There’s more mud coming.
“I know a different way out.” Nezume points to a hole in the wall ahead. “See? We can take the higher path. It’s longer, but it’s above the mud flow. I’ve never been that way, but I’m sure it leads outside. I can smell it.”
We trust Nezume’s rat-like nose as much as Taji’s bat ears. Yoshi waves us forward. One by one, we climb onto his shoulders, to be hoisted into the gap. Nezume scrambles through first. Struggling together, we drag our leader up last.
The new tunnel is warmer, with the promise of an end in sight. The passage immediately widens into a small cave. I can hop and twirl and swing my arms without bruising my knuckles. My friends copy my dance until, like a tangle of kite strings, we collapse in a heap together.
But we’re not the only ones there. A skeleton sits cross-legged in the middle of the cave.
Sensei says a samurai should be able to look death in the eye. I fix my stare on empty eye sockets and bow low. We all do. At first, no one says anything. It’s easy to respect the dead, but it’s hard to include them in conversation.
“Gaiya,” I finally mumble, bringing the ghost story to life.
Now we know what happened to him. In traditional times, when a samurai wanted to atone for dishonor, he committed
seppuku,
taking his sword and slicing open his belly. Only Gaiya’s bones remain, but his sword protrudes from where his stomach once was.
Kyoko eyes the skeleton with dismay. “I thought Sensei said Gaiya found peace.”
“He did,” Nezume says. “He found a way to restore his honor.” Nezume understands best of all. With Mikko needing help, Rat Boy’s honor is also returned. The heavier Mikko leans, the higher Nezume’s spirit soars.
“But Gaiya was a good sensei. Ki-Yaga said so. How could such a wise man fall from grace?” Taji wonders.
Yoshi sits down. He’s ready to share his burden. “I want to tell you why I won’t fight,” he says. “Sometimes dishonor falls like lightning. It strikes whoever stands in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
We form a tight circle around Yoshi. We’re lucky. We’re all in the right place, whatever the time, as long as we’re with one another. If Gaiya had walked with friends, I’m sure he would have made it through the mountain, too.
“I told Niya this story when we went down to the village together,” Yoshi starts softly. “Now I’m ready to tell it again.”
I listen as he repeats the tale of the boy who rolled down the cliff side. The one who, unlike me, he couldn’t bring back. Gaiya isn’t the only one to find peace in the mountain. Nezume walks with a light heart, and now Yoshi has left his troubles here in the tunnel.
Kyoko hugs him tight. The rest of us don’t need to. She hugs hard enough for all of us, and Yoshi knows how we feel.
“We need to get going. The light won’t last much longer.” Mikko points at the candle, now nothing but a dirty puddle of wax.
“We’re almost at the end,” Nezume says.
Before I have a chance to breathe a sigh of relief, the candle splutters and fades. The last glow of light is just enough to illuminate the grin on Taji’s face. I don’t know what
I agree. My stomach is growling louder than Yoshi’s Tiger, and says it’s long past dinnertime. If things were different, it would be fun to sit in the gloom with my friends. But our rice cakes are soggy and the dried fish is waterlogged. It’s so cold. I just want to escape from the tunnel.
We eat quickly, without talking, until Yoshi moves us on.
“Time to go,” he says, handing the candle to Kyoko to relight.
The slow tramp begins again.
Squish. Squelch.
Sandals slap and slosh. One saturated footstep after another.
“Did you hear that?” Taji whispers.
We shake our heads, but we know something is happening. Taji always hears things first. Nezume’s nose twitches. He can feel it.
Now I can hear and feel it, too. A low rumble and the ground trembles. There’s more mud coming.
“I know a different way out.” Nezume points to a hole in the wall ahead. “See? We can take the higher path. It’s longer, but it’s above the mud flow. I’ve never been that way, but I’m sure it leads outside. I can smell it.”
We trust Nezume’s rat-like nose as much as Taji’s bat ears. Yoshi waves us forward. One by one, we climb onto his shoulders, to be hoisted into the gap. Nezume scrambles through first. Struggling together, we drag our leader up last.
The new tunnel is warmer, with the promise of an end in sight. The passage immediately widens into a small cave. I can hop and twirl and swing my arms without bruising my knuckles. My friends copy my dance until, like a tangle of kite strings, we collapse in a heap together.
But we’re not the only ones there. A skeleton sits cross-legged in the middle of the cave.
Sensei says a samurai should be able to look death in the eye. I fix my stare on empty eye sockets and bow low. We all do. At first, no one says anything. It’s easy to respect the dead, but it’s hard to include them in conversation.
“Gaiya,” I finally mumble, bringing the ghost story to life.
Now we know what happened to him. In traditional times, when a samurai wanted to atone for dishonor, he committed
seppuku,
taking his sword and slicing open his belly. Only Gaiya’s bones remain, but his sword protrudes from where his stomach once was.
Kyoko eyes the skeleton with dismay. “I thought Sensei said Gaiya found peace.”
“He did,” Nezume says. “He found a way to restore his honor.” Nezume understands best of all. With Mikko needing help, Rat Boy’s honor is also returned. The heavier Mikko leans, the higher Nezume’s spirit soars.
“But Gaiya was a good sensei. Ki-Yaga said so. How could such a wise man fall from grace?” Taji wonders.
Yoshi sits down. He’s ready to share his burden. “I want to tell you why I won’t fight,” he says. “Sometimes dishonor falls like lightning. It strikes whoever stands in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
We form a tight circle around Yoshi. We’re lucky. We’re all in the right place, whatever the time, as long as we’re with one another. If Gaiya had walked with friends, I’m sure he would have made it through the mountain, too.
“I told Niya this story when we went down to the village together,” Yoshi starts softly. “Now I’m ready to tell it again.”
I listen as he repeats the tale of the boy who rolled down the cliff side. The one who, unlike me, he couldn’t bring back. Gaiya isn’t the only one to find peace in the mountain. Nezume walks with a light heart, and now Yoshi has left his troubles here in the tunnel.
Kyoko hugs him tight. The rest of us don’t need to. She hugs hard enough for all of us, and Yoshi knows how we feel.
“We need to get going. The light won’t last much longer.” Mikko points at the candle, now nothing but a dirty puddle of wax.
“We’re almost at the end,” Nezume says.
Before I have a chance to breathe a sigh of relief, the candle splutters and fades. The last glow of light is just enough to illuminate the grin on Taji’s face. I don’t know what
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