NOTE TO BRITISH READERS: The word "flannel" figures prominently in this story. When I use it, I do not mean A flannel (which we call a "washcloth" over here across the pond), but an actual piece of flannel fabric.

THE SAMURAI INFECTION

CHAPTER ONE

Swordsmanship must be lined with morals.
--Miyamoto Musashi

Bushido calls upon men to rise to the succor of their fellow-creatures in danger from bandits, robbers, and other evil-doers, even at the sacrifice of their lives.
--Kano Jigoro

Don't go out in this weather dressed like that, you'll catch your death of cold!
--Your mom

When a person slogs through a snowstorm wearing geta sandals and a thin silk kimono, it is not difficult to predict the likely result. As Samurai Jack trudged down the little village's main street, coughing, sneezing, wiping his streaming eyes, men veered away from him, and women, who, having taken a preliminary look at him, had been preparing to drop something as he came closer, thought better of it and held onto the comb or the compact or the coin purse.

Jack sniffled his way into the village marketplace, where he obtained a cup of chicken soup from a pushcart vendor. (He didn't buy it--the vendor made it a gift rather than accept money that Jack had handled.) Feeling thoroughly miserable, he leaned against the side of a jeweler's booth, sipping the soup. His head and his back ached.

At a familiar whirring sound he swung around, to behold a horde of beetle-drones scuffling officiously down the street. People scattered. The beetle-drones faced him in the suddenly empty plaza.

Jack set his soup down, hoping it wouldn't get spilled during the unpleasantness. The banner of "Joy's Jewelry," where only a moment before a Japanese lady and five gaijin ladies had been happily shopping, flapped in the wind, a sad, empty sound.

The drones edged closer.

"Come on." Jack sneezed. "Let's get on with it." He thumbed the tsuba of his sword, easing the first inch of bright steel out of the scabbard.

The drones fidgeted. Sometimes Jack thought they might be alive in some rudimentary sense. They did seem to have an instinct of self- preservation; every time they showed up they were a little more reluctant to attack him. But, as always, the insistent command of their ruthless master finally drove them to it.

Jack had long since given up counting how many drones he killed during these encounters, but he couldn't help noticing that today's attack force seemed much larger than usual. When he finally stood safe, surrounded by heaps of metallic carcasses, he thought he might have bested his previous kill record of five hundred sixty-eight.

The sun shone. Jack sneezed. The banner flapped. The dead drones leaked black oil that smelled like choji. All seemed quiet. Holding his sword ready in his left hand, just in case, Jack reached for his miraculously upright soup container. And as he leaned down and stretched his hand out...

...a huge shadow blotted out the sun and Aku's gnarled hand clamped cruelly on his left wrist. The drone attack had been a diversion. Sick as he was, his alertness dulled, Jack had fallen right into the trap. Dropping the soup, he quickly wrapped his right hand around his left, and swung himself up and locked his legs around Aku's arm, clinging to the demon as if he were a tree branch. Aku's triumphant expression changed to one of frustrated anger as he saw how they were stalemated. If he broke Jack's left wrist, the samurai would seize the sword in his smart right hand and use it. If he tried to peel Jack's legs off his arm with his other hand, he risked losing focus and relaxing his grip on Jack's left wrist for a fatal moment. Aku could not use eyeball rays or fiery breath without burning himself, and he was too cowardly to tolerate the pain, even if it would gain him victory. For his part, Jack had no use of his right hand; if he relaxed his grip for a fraction of a second, he would be lost.

They glared at each other around Aku's wrist. Jack sneezed.

"You cannot hold your position forever, samurai."

"Neither *sniffle* can you," Jack said reasonably, and coughed.

Aku tried to shake him off. He hung on. Aku banged his fist repeatedly on the ground. Jack was further shaken up, but he was too far up Aku's arm, and too firmly attached, to be knocked off that way. Aku tried swatting his arm against the ground. Jack was bruised, but he was at the wrong angle for Aku to crush him between the arm and the ground. Aku couldn't get the necessary leverage. Aku whacked him against the booth. Jack winced and hung on. Aku grabbed the sword blade with his other hand. By now Jack's left hand was nearly numb, but he managed to twist the sword just a little.

"Ow!" Aku popped his bleeding thumb into his mouth for a moment. Holding Jack up before his face, he said, "Look here. We could go on like this for days."

"I have no--achoo!--pressing business elsewhere," Jack replied, sniffling.

"Of course you haven't, you vagabond ronin! You have never worked a day in your life! But I have plenty of business. Some of us earn our living. Let's make a bargain, samurai. All I really want is the sword. Without the sword, you are no threat to me."

Jack coughed and sniffled.

"Give me the sword and I will let you live. You may go your way in peace. What say you, samurai?" Aku leaned in close, peering inquiringly at him.

It caught both of them by surprise, a mighty sneeze-- AAAAAAAHCHOOOOOOOO!--that blasted unexpectedly out of Jack's mouth, spraying a barrage of infectious droplets right into the startled demon's face. "Yuck!" Aku yelled, jerking away instinctively.

Clutching his sword, Jack dropped to the ground, and began to yell out a challenge. "AAAAAAAA--" His yell broke into coughs before he got the "- ku!" out. "AAAAAAAAAA--" Cough, cough, cough. He gave up on the yell and silently assumed a daijodan position, ready to attack.

Aku was righteously indignant. "So, samurai, is this your famous honor? Biological warfare?"

Jack was stung. "I did not *cough* *cough* *wheeze* do it on purpose!"

"A likely story!" With that parting shot, the demon sprouted wings and flew away in a huff.

Sometime during the beetle battle, Jack's topknot had come undone. The wind blew his hair in his face. He looked around for the tie, but didn't see it, and was suddenly too weary to search for it. Feeling utterly wretched, he sank down on the ground.

The six ladies cautiously emerged from behind the booth.

"Sir?" the Japanese lady said. "Are you all right?"

"You don't look well at all, sir," a gaijin lady said.

Jack forced a polite smile but couldn't summon the energy to respond.

"Do you speak English?" another gaijin lady asked.

"Or Japanese?" the Japanese lady added. "I can interpret for you if you do. I know some English."

"I'm afraid he's hurt," a third gaijin lady said.

At that he looked up. "Thank you, I am not hurt. I am fine."

The ladies all started talking at once. "Oh, my!" "Listen to him!" "You poor thing! You sound terrible!" "You've got to get in out of the cold!" They fluttered around him. "You're feverish!" "Here. Put my coat over your shoulders." "You shouldn't be dressed like that when it's this cold!" "Don't you have any boots?" "Where do you live? We'll take you home."

"Thank you, but I have no home." Jack got up. During his struggle with Aku his belt had become loosened and slid down over his hips. Now it fell off. His kimono flapped open in a sudden chilly breeze.

The ladies stared wide-eyed. Four of them swallowed hard.

Jack re-wrapped the kimono as tight as he could. Returning the coat, he bowed. "Thank you. It was good meeting you."

"Oh, no!" one lady cried as he started away. They pounced on him and hustled him away from the marketplace. "You're too sick to go off on your own." "You're not going anywhere but to bed!" "We'll take you straight to Ronelle's house. It's the closest."

"That's right," said the one who must be Ronelle. "You're going home with me and you'll stay in bed in my guest room until you're better."

"But--"

"This is Tomoko," Ronelle interrupted. Tomoko bowed. "And Samantha, and Kiki, and Amy, and Linda. What's your name?"

He coughed and sniffled. "I am called Jack."

The ladies stopped right in the middle of the street and began jumping up and down excitedly. "SQUEEEEE!" "Oooh! I knew it!" "It had to be you!" "I have a collection of your WANTED posters!" "SQUEEEE!" "I've always wanted to meet you!"

Jack sneezed. The ladies hustled him off to Ronelle's house, where they insisted on helping him undress, looking curiously at his old- fashioned underwear as they did so. They fluffed up pillows behind him and tucked a heavy patchwork quilt around his body and up under his chin. Amy sponged his hot face with a nice cool damp cloth. He tried to offer the requisite courtesies about being such a bother, but since every time he opened his mouth someone would pour in honeyed tea or more chicken soup, he decided he might as well hold his peace.

Samantha left the room, returning with a small blue jar and a big square of red flannel. "Here you go, Jack. This will make you feel better."

"I'll get it." Ronelle grabbed at the jar.

"Oh, don't go to all that trouble. I'll do it." Amy grabbed at the jar.

"I'll do it." Linda grabbed at the jar.

"He won't be so embarrassed if someone Japanese does it." Tomoko grabbed at the jar.

"I'll do it!" "No, let me!" "I'll do it!" "I can do it!"

As the ladies scrabbled for the jar, it flew out of Samantha's hand. Jack shot his hand from beneath the quilt and caught it. "How do I use this medicine?"

The ladies looked disappointed, but they explained. Following their instructions, Jack applied a thick coat of the aromatic rub to his chest, covering it with the piece of flannel, which stuck tight to the greasy ointment. The ladies seemed to feel that the flannel was a very important part of the treatment, and took great pains to get it placed exactly right. This required much patting, touching, stroking, and rubbing of his chest, but finally they had the flannel adjusted to their satisfaction, and then they fluffed his pillows and tucked him back in.

Jack coughed. "Thank you, ladies. I am sure--aahchoo!--that the gods will bless you for your kindness to a poverty-stricken ronin."

"SQUEEEEEEEE!" the ladies replied logically, and then cooed to each other, "Isn't he sweet?" "He's so wonderful." "What a man." "Awwwwww."

Jack covered a yawn. Then, enveloped in a comforting cloud of menthol and eucalyptus fumes, he rolled over and went to sleep.