The Tale of the Laughing Bushi
Or, the Story of the Samurai Who Would Not Kill
Know you the tale of the laughing bushi?
It is said that he never died.
Many times was he challenged to defend honor and life,
Though rarely did he draw his sword.
“What do you know of the way of the bushi?”
Young men would bark,
Yet still he would not draw.
“A witless fool, through and through,”
Older men would grumble,
Yet still he would not draw.
He would only smile, and through his smile rang bells.
When faced with open red-faced rage,
He struck back with a chortle.
When faced with secret stone-faced anger,
He struck back with a titter.
From month to year to decade,
His laugh drew on and on,
And so comfortable did his sword become in his sheath,
That on the day war called his name,
He found it rusted when drawn.
But still, he did not marvel,
Still he did not weep,
He simply gave a smile and laugh and took it to be cleaned.
“Why keep such an old, worn sword?”
The blacksmith had asked him, pointing to his wares.
“Surely something newer would be better for making war.”
At this, the bushi chuckled.
“What need have I of such gleaming swords when I’ve no intent to kill?”
“A bushi that does not kill?”
The blacksmith exclaimed, incredulous.
“Next you’ll tell me that rats have wings!”
At this, the bushi howled!
What an amusing thought!
And so the blacksmith did as asked,
He cleaned the blade until it gleamed like new.
And the bushi went off to war,
Though rarely did he draw his sword.
He hawed as foes came left.
He cackled as foes came right!
Each one strode right past him,
Unconcerned with this madman who wouldn’t even draw his sword,
For what threat could he be?
Step by step he crossed the battlefield,
Until he stood before their Daimyo.
At last, the laughter faded.
At last, he drew his sword.
Brightly gleaming, steel flashed in the midday sun.
The Daimyo, and the bushi.
They stood as still as the stiffest tree,
Expressions as empty as the most stone faced of men,
Until the Daimyo bowed his head and the bushi smiled again.
His sword lay upon the Daimyo’s shoulder,
It’s blade unmarred by blood.
As he pulled it away, he giggled.
As he sheathed it, he guffawed.
The Daimyo had been beaten without the cost of his life.
Truly, this was an accomplishment deserving of hearty laughter!
Now you know the laughing bushi,
Why it’s said he never died.
Never had he claimed a man’s life,
And so none sought to claim his.
Recently, I’ve been reading through Inazo Nitobe’s Bushido: The Soul of Japan. It’s a fascinating book, and I highly recommend it to anyone interested in learning a bit more about Japanese ideals of honor and conduct.
As I’m sure you’ve figured out, reading this partly inspired me to spin the odd little yarn above. Another part of it is simply because I’ve had the image of a laughing samurai who doesn’t kill running through my mind for a couple days now, and this seemed like as good a way to get it out as anything else. If that seems odd and random, that’s because it is. About as odd and random as a laughing samurai would surely have seemed to the people of feudal Japan.
Regardless of the oddness, I hope you enjoyed this story or poem or whatever else you want to quantify it as.
Of course, thought of Kenshin
Read like a fable, very good, if not a tad unexciting for a samurai story.