Harakiri Y Seppuku |work| Now

He said nothing else. He walked back into the house and closed the sliding door. In the garden, Taro began the work of arranging his friend’s body for the funeral.

“Kazuo,” the old man said. Then, softer: “Kazuo, son of Kenji, last of the house of the northern gate.” harakiri y seppuku

The old man found Kazuo in the garden at dawn, kneeling before a single white chrysanthemum. He said nothing else

“He also runs a sword through a straw target every morning before dawn. The noodle cart pays the bills. The sword keeps him alive.” Kazuo looked back at the chrysanthemum. “He will not miss.” “Kazuo,” the old man said

“The garden. Dawn. You are my witness.” Kazuo stood. He was taller than his father had been, but he moved with the same coiled precision. “I have no retainers. I have no clan. I have no master except the one who died forty years ago. But I have a belly. And I have a name.”