The Ghost in the Tokaido Inn by Tom Hoobler Page A

These
greedy pigs would let their mothers go hungry if it means a full
belly for them.”
    Seikei bowed. “I am grateful,” he
said. “But I must find Tomomi.”
    “Eat first,” said Kazuo. ‘Tomomi
went to the shrine to make an offering. But you’ll never find him
in the crowd. What’s the rush anyway? He’ll come back. We have to
get on the road again. In two days, we’ll be in Edo.”
    Seikei wanted to pursue Tomomi,
but his growling stomach got the better of him. He took the bowl of
rice and began to eat. Then he thought of something. “Why would
Tomomi make an offering at the shrine?”
    Kazuo shrugged. “The same reason
as anybody, I guess. He wants Amaterasu’s blessing.”
    “But he is a Kirishitan. You
saw—”
    “I know,” said Kazuo. “He wears
those crossed sticks with the man nailed onto them. That’s supposed
to be the Kirishitan god. I ask you, why would anyone worship a god
who let himself be nailed to a cross? You know what I
think?”
    “What?” Seikei said between
mouthfuls of rice.
    “Tomomi probably wears that just
because he wants to be different. The other actors are uneasy with
him, even though they know he’s the best actor and he writes most
of our plays. He’s very strange, always putting on airs. He goes
off by himself to meet people in the middle of the night. But
before he fought you, I never heard him say he was the son of a
daimyo.”
    “Why would the son of a daimyo—”
Seikei started to say, but then caught himself.
    Kazuo nodded. “Don’t worry. I know
what you’re thinking. What’s he doing with a bunch of kabuki
actors? Everybody looks down on actors, don’t they?”
    Seikei shook his head. “I am the
son of a merchant, and everybody regards us with
contempt.”
    “A merchant?” Kazuo looked at
Seikei with interest. “In that case, why were you carrying a sword
like a samurai?”
    Seikei took a deep breath. He was
afraid of seeming foolish, but Kazuo was so frank and open that
Seikei felt he would not laugh. “My greatest dream is to be a
samurai,” Seikei said.
    Kazuo opened his eyes wide. “Ah!
That can never be. You must know that. Everyone is born into his
proper place. Think of what might happen if people tried to become
something they were not meant to be. There would be fighting and
disorder, and everyone would suffer.”
    “That is what my
father says,” Seikei said glumly.
    “If I had a father who was a
merchant,” said Kazuo, “I would try to please him by becoming the
best merchant I could be.”
    Seikei remembered the judge
pointing out the twisted tree on the road. The tree that grew where
it could not become a proper tree. Was it meant to be a lesson for
Seikei?
    Seikei put down his empty bowl. “I
must try to find Tomomi,” he said.
    “He’ll return soon enough,” said
Kazuo. “Why go looking for trouble, when trouble will come to
you?”
    “Because I must recover my sword,”
replied Seikei.
    No one stopped him as he left the
hall. Outside, he found himself in the midst of a great throng of
people. He saw pilgrims of every age and station in life. Some were
clearly afflicted by illness, coming here to seek a cure. Mothers
carried babies on their backs to present before the goddess. Old
men and women were helped along by their children and
grandchildren. Wealthy or poor, noble or common—it seemed as if
everyone in Japan had come to beg the goddess Amaterasu for her
blessing.
    Kazuo was right.
Seikei could not hope to find Tomomi in this mass of people. Yet he
let himself be carried along as the crowed surged toward the wooden
building where the spirit of Amaterasu dwelled. He could hear the
sound of hundreds of hands clapping together. As the pilgrims
passed through the torii , the
great gate at the entrance to the temple area, they clapped to
attract the goddess’s attention.
    Under the torii,
Seikei clapped his hands like everyone else. Amaterasu , he prayed, help me to save my honor. Let me recover my
sword.
    He