from his pain. On outstretched wings, Kyoko’s Zen flute flies where only Riaze and the White Crane can follow.
I know what my friends are doing. They’re creating a distraction because the next bit is going to hurt, a lot. When I broke my arm, Sensei had to straighten it first. I can still hear myself scream. I wish I could find a way to help ease Riaze’s pain, but I can’t play the flute and my singing would ruin the song.
“If you can’t find something, look in your heart. Many things get lost in there. It can take years for a memory to find its way out,” Sensei says.
Looking inward, I see my sword. Taking Izuru from my belt, I place the hilt between Riaze’s teeth.
“Here, bite on this. It will help.”
Riaze gently bites into the leather as he slips his hand into mine. Sensei moves quickly. Suddenly, Riaze’s sharp teeth clamp down hard, crushing the crane engraved on Izuru’s handle. The White Crane cries inside my head as the teeth pierce his wing. Even with my sword in his mouth, Riaze screams. His body shakes as if an earthquake is rolling from head to toe.
“It’s over now,” I whisper, holding him still.
Sensei binds the leg firmly. Now the bone will heal properly and Riaze will walk and run through the village again. But first he must hop like me. That won’t be easy for a two-legged boy.
Pling, pling!
An idea blinks inside my brain. “Mikko, will you go and get the spare crutch from under my bed?”
Mikko nods and runs off. My extra crutch is special. Sensei helped me carve it from one of his favorite plum trees. He said he would not miss one tree when he has so many.
“I think you planted all these trees on purpose so you could spend your days sleeping and pretending to teach,” I said.
Sensei raised one eyebrow. “Do you think I walked around as a young man planting trees for when I became old?”
I’m sure he did. One day I think I would like to be Sensei, sleeping in the sun.
“Maybe you will.” The wizard’s blazing blue eyes burrow into my head.
Mikko returns with the crutch, and I hand it to Riaze.
“Thank you. Now I am like you,” he says.
“Another little frog hopper.” Laughing at myself, I try to make him smile.
But Riaze doesn’t laugh. “I am proud to be like you.” He clutches my sword against his chest.
“You were very brave,” Taji says.
Upset, the boy turns his face away. “I cried.”
I understand how he feels. “Everyone cries. I cried louder than you did.”
“You are kind. I am ashamed I made fun of you. Thank you for the crutch and the use of your sword.”
“The sword is yours to keep.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I just gave away my best friend!
“No, no. I can’t take it. I am not a samurai.”
Sensei takes Riaze’s hand. “Some samurai are born; others are made. This sword, Izuru, has your mark on it now. It distinguishes you as a samurai, because it was given from the heart of a samurai warrior. Next year, when your leg is strong, I will call for you, and your parents will decide if you can come to study with me.”
Riaze is crying again but this time he is happy. Already I miss my sword, but I know it’s time for me to say good-bye and let go of childhood weapons. Tomorrow I will have my
katana
and
wakizashi.
Handing Riaze’s mother two bags of herbs and a sac of
dokudami
wine, Sensei explains how to blend them to ease the pain. Poor Riaze. The cure is almost as bad as the broken leg. If he survives Sensei’s wine, he’s brave enough to be a samurai kid.
Riaze’s mother gives Sensei a small sack of rice. She gives me an embarrassing hug. I smile politely and grit my teeth. She is so happy, she hugs us all. Even Sensei, who grits his teeth, too.
Sensei calls the villagers to take the boy home. Riaze is asleep now, my sword and crutch beside him. Despite her exhaustion, his mother lifts the stretcher’s left corner. Love gives her great strength.
From Yoshi’s rock, we watch them carefully
I know what my friends are doing. They’re creating a distraction because the next bit is going to hurt, a lot. When I broke my arm, Sensei had to straighten it first. I can still hear myself scream. I wish I could find a way to help ease Riaze’s pain, but I can’t play the flute and my singing would ruin the song.
“If you can’t find something, look in your heart. Many things get lost in there. It can take years for a memory to find its way out,” Sensei says.
Looking inward, I see my sword. Taking Izuru from my belt, I place the hilt between Riaze’s teeth.
“Here, bite on this. It will help.”
Riaze gently bites into the leather as he slips his hand into mine. Sensei moves quickly. Suddenly, Riaze’s sharp teeth clamp down hard, crushing the crane engraved on Izuru’s handle. The White Crane cries inside my head as the teeth pierce his wing. Even with my sword in his mouth, Riaze screams. His body shakes as if an earthquake is rolling from head to toe.
“It’s over now,” I whisper, holding him still.
Sensei binds the leg firmly. Now the bone will heal properly and Riaze will walk and run through the village again. But first he must hop like me. That won’t be easy for a two-legged boy.
Pling, pling!
An idea blinks inside my brain. “Mikko, will you go and get the spare crutch from under my bed?”
Mikko nods and runs off. My extra crutch is special. Sensei helped me carve it from one of his favorite plum trees. He said he would not miss one tree when he has so many.
“I think you planted all these trees on purpose so you could spend your days sleeping and pretending to teach,” I said.
Sensei raised one eyebrow. “Do you think I walked around as a young man planting trees for when I became old?”
I’m sure he did. One day I think I would like to be Sensei, sleeping in the sun.
“Maybe you will.” The wizard’s blazing blue eyes burrow into my head.
Mikko returns with the crutch, and I hand it to Riaze.
“Thank you. Now I am like you,” he says.
“Another little frog hopper.” Laughing at myself, I try to make him smile.
But Riaze doesn’t laugh. “I am proud to be like you.” He clutches my sword against his chest.
“You were very brave,” Taji says.
Upset, the boy turns his face away. “I cried.”
I understand how he feels. “Everyone cries. I cried louder than you did.”
“You are kind. I am ashamed I made fun of you. Thank you for the crutch and the use of your sword.”
“The sword is yours to keep.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. I just gave away my best friend!
“No, no. I can’t take it. I am not a samurai.”
Sensei takes Riaze’s hand. “Some samurai are born; others are made. This sword, Izuru, has your mark on it now. It distinguishes you as a samurai, because it was given from the heart of a samurai warrior. Next year, when your leg is strong, I will call for you, and your parents will decide if you can come to study with me.”
Riaze is crying again but this time he is happy. Already I miss my sword, but I know it’s time for me to say good-bye and let go of childhood weapons. Tomorrow I will have my
katana
and
wakizashi.
Handing Riaze’s mother two bags of herbs and a sac of
dokudami
wine, Sensei explains how to blend them to ease the pain. Poor Riaze. The cure is almost as bad as the broken leg. If he survives Sensei’s wine, he’s brave enough to be a samurai kid.
Riaze’s mother gives Sensei a small sack of rice. She gives me an embarrassing hug. I smile politely and grit my teeth. She is so happy, she hugs us all. Even Sensei, who grits his teeth, too.
Sensei calls the villagers to take the boy home. Riaze is asleep now, my sword and crutch beside him. Despite her exhaustion, his mother lifts the stretcher’s left corner. Love gives her great strength.
From Yoshi’s rock, we watch them carefully
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