In early fall, many years ago, I was hosted by a young samurai in the province of Echigo when a sudden storm invaded from the western sea. That night, the young lord and I were joined by his father, an unshakable but wrinkled man, drinking sake and sharing stories while the storm raged beyond the thick walls. Hail struck the roof like arrows as the thunder clattered and roared like a marching army, but neither could compete with the inconsolable cries of my host’s son. The grandfather beckoned he join us and regaled us all this story:
When I was young, barely taller than you, I was conscripted into the army to defend our homeland from a massive, formidable force, rumored to be brewing just beyond the forest. When I arrived to the castle, I counted with my eyes merely hundreds of men with few trickling in throughout the day. At nightfall, we were addressed en masse by our leader, General Shirogane Hojo, who said these words:
‘Behold eight hundred of the bravest men in all Japan! I could wish for no one better to join me in battle. Beyond these walls, the wind carries word the enemy counts over three thousand. They seek to overwhelm us, drive fear into our hearts, but they are gravely mistaken. These lands are our home, toiled by our hands. These are our walls, built upon our backs. We may be fewer but we are greater in strength and courage. We will repel their forces with ease, as the waves break upon the shore. Rest now, my men, for the storm will soon make landfall.’
But rest did not come easy. Rain pelted my tent and a cold haze blanketed the earth. Shortly after the calm of sleep had finally found me, the keep erupted into commotion, commands urging us to armor and arms. The storm was upon us. In formation, we readied ourselves in position at the main gate. The general, at its helm, boomed over the thunder:
‘The enemy march for us, intending to catch us asleep. Let us show them the face of true courage! Let us deny the storm!’
We broke into our positions, mostly graced with cover from the hail of arrows that flew overhead. Each one must have missed, for a volley of greater size flew back in kind. As the army besieged our walls, I fought side by side with my brothers in arms to deny any entry into the grounds. Our guard was impenetrable, or so it seemed to me at the time.
A horn warned of a breach, and the main gate fell. The enemy flooded through and we abandoned the walls to confront them. They were tired but determined and pushed us few back to the steps of the castle. Fear gripped my heart and made my blood run cold; I knew then I was fated for death. But if my sacrifice could protect my kinsmen, so be it. I charged with a thunderous cry, repelling many in terror alone, but there were too many. My fellow men fell one by one and I was left alone, surrounded, resigned to my fate. As their swords neared my heart, I closed my eyes and composed a final poem.
But death did not come. A crash of lightning drew me from the blurry darkness and a strong hand lifted me to my feet. I looked and saw the face of General Hojo, filthy with blood and mud, but his eyes flashing bright. Not a hint of fear or doubt, only the same unwavering resolve as before.
‘Get my back!’ he shouted, pressing his against mine. He was heavier than I expected, allowing me to lean against him in order to lift the weight of my naginata. My legs, soaked with rain and sweat, ached to collapse but I commanded them to remain firm. Time stretched on for eternity as we fought, the only sensation keeping me tethered to consciousness was the warmth of my general’s back. Suddenly, a cry rang out:
‘The general is dead!’
Fear gripped me once more as I spun around to face General Hojo. His heavy body slid off my back and slumped to the steps. My lungs burned as I began to cry but instead I heard laughter. The General sat up and grinned at me through his exhaustion. I was stunned and slowly realized the enemy was withdrawing in droves. The rain lightened and the stars shone brightly. We had successfully repelled the siege and waited out the storm.
In the days of recovery that followed, the general visited my bedside and, without my helm, was surprised to see how young I was. He proclaimed:
‘I would have bet my horse and lost for you to be anything other than a full man with a thick beard. And yet, you are no child. A child could not stand atop those stairs and fight so bravely while shouldering the weight of his general’s failures. You fought with the courage of a hundred men and I owe victory to you.’
And to my great honor, he bowed to me. It was shortly thereafter he granted me land, title, and this very manor to keep me close by should he need to call upon me again. I learned how rare true courage can be and how valuable it truly is: A man is not brave because of how little he fears, but how much he can still achieve while afraid.
The grandfather’s story concluded, the boy excused himself to bed as the winds continued to howl. The boy’s father followed suit, bidding us both good night. With not a moan from anywhere else in the house, I quietly asked the old warrior what the poem was that he composed upon the steps of the castle. He smiled at me and recited it.
Let me be reborn
That which warns of coming storms,
That roaring thunder.
Douglas Rysdyk 