Walking underneath a canopy of willow trees, Connor approached the main entrance square. To his right was the bridge, far larger than it'd appeared from so much further away. It led inside a high-walled complex and behind the wall, ahead to his left, he saw the top of the castle building itself, though only barely. It was a white tiered pagoda with antique textures and glimmeringly ornate details which captured the wandering eye at almost every corner. Each level was separated by a layer of green which changed progressively from rusted bronze to jade.
Navigating around the couples who'd stopped to take pictures on the great walkway, Connor walked the last hundred yards and reached the large Japanese tori gate that acted as an entrance. There ahead of him, like a golden fleece no further from Greece than his home in the States, stood Maruko. She was in a long, thin skirt, the cloth of which fluttered in the gentle fall breeze though still it clung to her hips and backside. On her feet she wore simple sandals with brown leather insoles and barely a heel. The sandal's white straps matched the petals of the lilies printed on her skirt. Over a dark brown spaghetti strap top, she wore a white wool sweater. This sweater was unzipped and hung open, showing her shoulders and neck, though still giving her a modest air. The outfit in its entirety was nicely put together to celebrate the sunny day, all the while preserving the elegance of these truly Japanese surroundings. She wore her hair clipped off to one side in a waterfall and stylish sunglasses with large-lenses that gave her a slightly Hepburnesque appearance.
What she didn't wear, at least outwardly, was the fear she would later admit to herself that she'd felt in this moment. Coming to the castle to meet Connor had dared this, all it was and might become, to prove itself authentic. His arrival had met and satisfied this challenge completely.
Maruko swallowed before greeting him honestly, "I hoped you'd come. I mean, err" she stopped herself short before innocently regrouping, "how was the journey here?"
"Worth it," Connor replied though a remarkably calm smile. If he'd ever felt attracted in this way to anyone before that moment, he was oblivious to the memory. Even the anxiety he should have felt to be with someone whom he truly felt no entitlement to was absent. There was something equally stimulating and calming about Maruko, she was both sides of something he'd never known to desire until that moment inside the gate.
"Want to head inside and see the castle?" she asked.
"Well of course, that is why I came all this way, right?"
Maruko giggled and, without a touch, led Connor one step behind her.
They walked ahead, past gardens and up a stairway where Connor paid a nominal admission fee for both of them. Now entering the castle proper, they wound up a slightly steep staircase which led in a tight hook to a pagoda and an old iron cannon which was set upon a large stone block. Connor still couldn't truly take in the grandeur of the main building, but that was actually a good thing. He'd always been attracted to those pictures which were not easily taken. Those things which forced one to experience them with a craned neck if they wanted to see them at all seemed more vital to absorb in person.
As they entered through a large doorway, Connor spotted a floor map. The half a dozen floors displayed the history of the castle and held artifacts from different periods. On the second floor was a special showing entitled, "Yokimura Sanada and the two wars of Osaka."
"You need to see this," Maruko looked up at Connor from underneath the sunglasses before finally removing them with a toss of her head for impact in an adorable, yet sincere way, "It's really important."
Connor once again was drawn immediately to the way that the light danced in Maruko's eyes whenever she was excited. It was enchanting and impossible not to become swept up in. Much like the way that one imitates an accent without any thought or intention, his course was legitimately altered and, furthermore, no longer his, whenever he stood in her wake. Her mere presence was force enough to pull Connor along to somewhere entirely new and unexpected.
They wasted no time in moving to the second floor to view the main attraction. There were many framed 8x10 photos of old drawings showing tiny scenes from an epic battle. The pictures began with the head of the clan and the samurai he'd commissioned. Apparently, there were two wars, one in the winter and another in a warmer season. The pictures were rather episodic. One showed a horse pierced by arrows. Another depicted an archer aiming to the heavens. There was a flag bearer, well far more than one actually. This made perfect sense to Connor, for in all of his work he'd learned that in most wars, those officially declared and those fought through pressure and poverty, it almost always came down to that one thing: flag bearing. The desire for those who carried themselves into battle to plant their flag in as many new territories as was possible had long motivated many individuals and nations in all varieties of conflict.
In the next image, a band of samurai crouched behind a hill, perhaps waiting to attack. Their armor appeared to be a combination of large rectangular platters made of bamboo and painted in quilt-like sections. They each wore a chest plate and helmet. From each came a fan of smaller, though no more slight, tiles painted in the same style. Each man wore silk or satin pants to allow for movement beneath their armor, which also included shin guards that matched the chest plates. Connor was struck by how exposed, armor or no, these men appeared. They looked 100% the role of fierce warriors, but they were clearly so much less protected than any other knight or soldier that he'd seen depicted in the West.
Though each frame contained only a photo, the ornate patterns in each drawing really came through.
Connor reached to his left and placed his hand at the base of Maruko's back without a thought that this was their first real contact. "Thank you for sharing this with me, it is really fantastic. I can't even imagine what these men faced as they went into..."
Maruko smiled, which froze Connor mid-sentence. "These are the previews, follow me." She reached her right arm into a lock around his and, with eyes once again ablaze, gave a tug, "Come and see THIS!"
Ahead was a tall doorway, through which many people stood in dimmed lights. As Connor approached, he could see a large glass wall. Behind the wall was an independently standing oriental screen which was made up of six connected panels and depicted an entire battle. Connor quickly realized that the 8x10s outside had been taken from this screen.
This ancient and freestanding history book, meticulously retelling the battle of Nagashino, grabbed the attention of all who entered. Each army's lines and reserves seemed to demand that any who passed stare directly at that one small area alone. The room was hushed, and yet as each new group entered there was an audible gasp.
The more Connor studied the screen, the more it seemed to reveal itself. It was taller than two-thirds of his six feet plus and featured three distinct areas of painting. To each side were one army's reinforcements. In the center, there was a kind of beautiful chaos as this was where most of the confrontation was taking place. Each hill, each recess in the landscape, suddenly took on a new meaning as a place where one had waited, a place another had pursued and a place one or both of them had died.
"What were they fighting for?" Connor asked Maruko softly.
"The same things we always chase," she replied without looking up at him, "love, land, wealth and honor."
"Honor? Wow, they fought for honor," Connor repeated back to her before then continuing in a voice like the man who announced previews at the cinema, "another time and place, when mankind still fought for honor."
Maruko stopped and this time looked directly up into his eyes with a sense of incredulity, "We still do; fight for honor. Don't you? Live for honor; die for honor; live with honor... No matter what the details of a fight, it's a fight for honor."
Connor nodded slowly with pursed lips, as if to agree, though inside, he knew this simply was not true. Then again, maybe here, it was. He found Maruko trustworthy and of everything else that was so strange about this place, here was just one more thing: the sincerity of the Japanese tradition of fighting battles to maintain and defend honor.
His eyes caressed not only the texture of the screen, but also the details of each combatant. Those in the center clutched rifles and spears, flags and lances. However, to the sides, amidst the chaos, were groups of men standing casually. These men even held conversations in some instances. There they were, planning, strategically deciding their next, perhaps final, moves. In tales of ancient soldiers, Connor had always been stunned be the concept that so often many would stand back in wait, holding until it was their specific turn to kill or be killed. In these times he'd wondered if this might have been much more horrible than the quickness of fate which awaited them.
According to the screen, the side to the left seemed to be fairing better. Their sides appeared to become more organized as one moved to the back of their mass. The side to the right, on the other hand, seemed to be holding on for dear life. Their lines were broken and, in some instances, had even turned into a series of one-on-one battles using the traditional sword of the samurai. In the very back, to the center of the right-most panel was their castle. Around it, the ground was darker, more fertile. Perhaps this was part of the attraction of the land. Before a fortress was ever erected, food would have been the motivation for this settlement and the battles that would surely follow. Still, Connor wondered if the red tinge of the ground was also from the many, many men who'd died in this area.
All of this, fertility, the erection of boundaries and imminent attempts to break through them, reminded Connor of his work. It wasn't so different in other areas of the world. It was all too much like a game of Risk; a large, disgusting, never ending game of Risk. Some battles had simply been won long before. Still, nowhere that was ripe for strife today didn't almost mirror a place where this had all happened centuries before.
In the lower-right corner stood a small and heavily-ornamented group of samurai. Their moments numbered, they were not under siege; at least not yet.
Singling out one of these samurai, Maruko asked, "How do you think he felt?"
The question was so simple that Connor stood there not sure where to begin his answer. Finally, he tried, "Well, sad of course."
"But why?"
"Well, he's about to lose his castle."
"Castle," Maruko twisted her face and rolled her eyes, "those are just bricks and boards."
"But his people," Connor amended his initial offering.
"Yes. His people and their security; the things represented by these walls. What else?"
"Scared?" Connor wondered what she was getting at.
"Maybe, but scared to die, you mean? No," Maruko shook her head gently, "I wouldn't suppose he is that. Like a captain on a sinking ship, his concern is not that this very real part of his job cycle is occurring. Instead, the captain of these samurai is concerned only that he be the last to die. He will soon be battling, literally fighting for his life until he knows that he can allow it to end. And then?"
Connor had no answer. "And then?" he repeated back to her.
Maruko looked deeper into Connor's eyes, "And then he can have peace. When the writer has finished the poem, there is nothing left, but to set down the pen." Maruko's eyes were all of a sudden darting and alert, though regretful. "My Ojiichan used to say this. My father wasn't ever able to sit still, so when he needed to just slow down my Grandfather would say this to him. He'd tell him, 'Shhhh, it's finished. When the writer has finished the poem, there is nothing left, but to set down the pen. Perhaps you've written enough for now, yes?' Then, as I grew up and was, well ME," she giggled at herself and continued, "well, my Father finally got his turn to use this on someone else. 'It's done blossom,' he'd tell me, 'stop writing and set the pen aside.'
"He taught me that a writer holding a pen too long was just as potentially tragic as one who never picks one up. However important it is to know when to start something, it is just as important to realize when something has come full circle. Whether a task, a regret, a relationship, whatever; when it's done, we move forward and begin anew. Likewise, when the writer has finished his poem, his pen should retire."
Connor stood staring, for a moment he had to remind himself to even breathe. Who was this wise teacher in the guise of a child, he wondered to himself. Her laughter, her giggles, her darting eyes; all belied the serene genius and generations of knowledge which this girl possessed. All these and my heart, was all Connor could think. He knew that before any real amount of time, she'd possess that as well.
