A SPECIAL NOTE to all the readers who took the time to leave reviews for my other three stories: Thank you, your words both kind and critical are appreciated. I don't mean to ignore you, but I'm still new to the review system at this site. It's not like the open forum I'm used to where you can carry on dialogues. If anyone cares to enlighten me about the review process and replying to reviews, please feel free.
I don't usually use Japanese terms in my writing but in this story I did make an exception. Mukashi mukashi, or the more formal Ima wa mukashi, are the traditional opening words for fairy tales, meaning about the same thing as our familiar "Once upon a time..." "Beppu," by the way, besides being a funny-sounding name, means "under separate cover," or in other words, not one of the group. And at bottom, being on the outs--with friends and would-be friends--and the crummy feeling that accompanies that state of being is what this story is all about.
Beppu the Entertainer
by
Silvrethorn
They were three of the most ill-assorted travelers he'd ever seen on the Okayama Road, but that was exactly why the man in the patched kimono chose them. A poor man traveling alone needed the safety of numbers, and if the three had so little in common, surely they wouldn't mind a fourth joining them for awhile. But which one of the party to approach? Not the tall samurai leading the group; he was a proud-looking fellow with a well-bred air about him, not the kind to welcome advances from men in patches. The girl in pink seemed friendly, but approaching women on the highway usually stirred up trouble. That left the young man bringing up the rear, a slouching ruffian with prison tattoos and a surly expression. Not the most promising, but certainly the most accessible. The man in patches picked up his pace and fell in behind the rear guard.
"They say the Okayama Road is crawling with bandits this time of year," he said gravely. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Beppu the Entertainer!" Beppu swept off his hat and bowed. The ruffian turned his head and looked the entertainer up and down, but made no reply and kept walking. Beppu clapped his hat back on and trotted after him.
"It's true!" he cried, pulling up beside the ruffian and returning to the subject of bandits. "Why, I myself had the narrowest of escapes not five miles from here. Dozens of the brutes! Had their leader not been partial to comic songs I shudder to think..."
"Yeah, bandits are always thick around military remount stations," the ruffian interrupted, pointing to a fortification just ahead. "Tell me another one."
This was "get lost" by any other name, but Beppu didn't make his living by taking no for an answer. Instead, he took the ruffian at his word.
"Perhaps you'd like to hear about the time I was taken prisoner by the demon king of Mount Kijo?" He gave a little skip to keep up, setting the ratty pheasant feather in his wicker hat bobbing and the large object lying against his chest swinging.
"What's that thing around your neck?" asked the ruffian, slowing a little. Aha, so he had the man's attention, at least. Beppu lifted the object in question--two round blocks of wood with a piece of leather squashed between them--and displayed it proudly.
"My trademark! It's a musical instrument from Europe. There's not another one of these to be found in all Japan!"
"That thing plays music?" The ruffian came to an abrupt halt. He obviously suspected another tall tale, but he was too curious now to dismiss Beppu. "You're kiddin' me."
"Not at all! It..." Beppu prepared to demonstrate, but a new voice cut him short.
"Mugen! What are you doing?" The girl in pink had noticed the vacancy behind her and stopped. The samurai also halted, but didn't turn around. "Who is that?" the girl asked, spotting Beppu. "And what is that?" she asked, pointing at the concertina.
"Beppu the Entertainer, at your service, Miss." Beppu swept his hat off and bowed again. "This is called a concertina," he flourished the instrument, "and this is how it works!" He slipped his hands under the leather straps on each wooden block and pulled. The crumpled leather between the blocks expanded with a strange groan, then gave a loud squawk as Beppu pressed the blocks back together. The girl's mouth fell open. Mugen winced. The samurai kept his back turned, but his shoulders stiffened with irritation, a fact that did not escape Mugen's notice.
"Can you really play songs on that thing?" asked the girl. She seemed as much horrified as entertained.
"Over a hundred!" Beppu replied happily. "How about 'Kikyo's Lament'?" Beppu launched into a braying rendition of the popular song. The samurai started walking again with a jerk, as if someone had jabbed him in the back. Mugen grinned and went after him, and Beppu followed, pumping away on his screeching instrument, fingers searching their way none too accurately over the little buttons that controlled the tune. The girl brought up the rear, looking somewhat dazed. Beppu, fearing from his companions' reactions that he wasn't being entertaining enough, broke into a comical dance, accompanied by a lively, squawky tune. The samurai picked up speed and began to pull away. Mugen eyed the samurai's receding figure and smiled.
"You're a funny guy, huh?" he shouted over the din of the concertina. Beppu instantly stopped playing and mopped his forehead with his sleeve.
"Renowned in all the greatest cities of Japan!" he said, smashing his concertina together and latching it shut. "No party, wedding, or bar mitzva is complete without Beppu the Entertainer." He glanced back triumphantly at the girl, who continued to eye him with wary fascination. Apparently she couldn't make up her mind whether the entertainer was touched in the head or just being dramatic. "Your friend with the two swords..." Beppu nodded toward the samurai. "Perhaps he prefers ballads?"
"Ah, don't bother," said Mugen. "He's broker'n we are. He just looks expensive." Mugen paused. "You got money?" he asked.
"Well, I was... I mean, it was..." Beppu's shoulders suddenly drooped. "No," he said.
"Got robbed, huh?" asked Mugen. Beppu nodded before he could catch himself. "Ah, screw it," said Mugen. "Know any good stories?"
"I know dozens of stories about Iron Hirotomi." Beppu said, brightening, with a roll of his eyes in the girl's direction. Mugen snorted appreciatively.
"Hey, Fuu! Go walk with Jin," he said gruffly.
"I'd rather walk with you," said Fuu. "Jin never says anything. Besides, he's walking too fast, and I want to hear about Iron Hirotomi, too."
"No you don't," said Mugen. He glared at the samurai's distant figure for a moment, then added, venomously, "Let's ditch him."
Fuu looked down the road, puzzled. "Ditch him! Why?" She frowned. "What's with you two, anyway? You haven't said a word to each other for two days. What did you do to Jin?"
"I didn't do nothin' to him. It ain't my fault he's got a sick sense of humor," Mugen grumbled. Fuu stared down the road again, still frowning. It was news to her that the solemn samurai had a sense of humor at all, sick or otherwise, and in her experience Jin wasn't an instigator. She tried to think back to the day the two had fallen out, but her reverie was interrupted by a loud blat from the concertina.
"Ohhhh, Nami of Nagasaki, what a lovely maid she waaaas...!" Beppu danced in circles, and Fuu smiled. She'd sung that old counting song as a child, and she joined in with the entertainer, her questions about her companions' strange behavior forgotten, listing all the creatures of Nami's strange menagerie as they continued west, into the setting sun.
xxx
"But it's only as far as Okayama!"
"We do not need another member in our party. Especially not that one."
The samurai's reaction to Beppu's joining them, to no one's surprise but Fuu's, was decidedly frosty. From where Mugen and Beppu sat, with their backs against a log and their feet to the fire, the argument between Fuu and Jin was mostly inaudible, but their attitudes were perfectly clear. After a minute or two of watching, Beppu peeled off his frayed socks, put his hands inside, worked his thumbs into the pockets for the great toes, and nudged Mugen. When Mugen looked around Beppu raised the socks, one in front of each of the antagonists. When Fuu spoke, Beppu worked the toe of the left-hand sock like a puppet mouth; Jin was represented by the right-hand sock, and each speaker was accompanied by wickedly appropriate facial expressions. Mugen gave a loud sputter of mirth.
"I don't think it's a good idea."
"But we can't just let him travel alone! It isn't safe! He says there are bandits!"
Silence. Beppu waited, then turned around to see what was happening. The samurai stood with his eyes downcast and his arms folded, ignoring Fuu as she tried to reason with him. This, apparently, was his way of winning an argument: by unilaterally ending it. Beppu turned around and looked at Mugen, then turned the mouth of the right-hand sock downward and made an exaggerated frowning face behind it. Mugen fell back against the log, clutching his stomach and howling. Behind them, the samurai's head came up. It took Jin ages to realize when he was being teased, but he certainly knew when he was being mocked. Beppu saw him looking and whisked the sock puppets out of sight, but it was too late. Jin turned on his heel and vanished down the path to the riverbank, stiff-backed with disapproval.
"Huh. I don't think you've made a friend out of old Jin," said Mugen, watching him go. Beppu shrugged and opened his mouth to say something, but Fuu marched over and interrupted him.
"Honestly! Why is everybody being so immature!" She pulled her kimono tight around her chest and plopped down by the fire. "I wish you'd make up with Jin," she added, looking at Mugen. "He's gloomy enough when he's in a good mood. With you aggravating him..." Mugen crossed his bony ankles and looked rebellious. Jin reappeared in the gap in the bushes and crossed to the fire, folded himself up neatly across from Mugen and Beppu and placed his swords beside him.
"Hey, Beppu, let's have some music," Mugen said, keeping one malevolent eye on Jin. Jin said nothing, but a brief flash of firelight on the lenses of his spectacles told Mugen he had his companion's attention. Beppu fished around in his clothes and pulled out a flute.
"Behold!" he cried with a flourish. He climbed up on top of the log, stuck the flute in his mouth, and carefully raised himself into a handstand, flute clenched tightly between his teeth. After a moment to steady himself he strolled on his hands down the length of the log, squeaking and squawking on the flute as he went, and stopped at the end to check his audience's reaction. Mugen and Fuu looked entertained. Jin looked mildly pained. Beppu turned, canted his legs forward and ran after them, accompanied by a long squeal from the flute, and when he reached the other end of the log he shifted all his weight to one hand and waved with the other.
"Not bad. What else can you do?" asked Mugen, with a quick glance at Jin to make sure he was suffering. Jin pretended indifferent serenity, but the hands resting in his lap were clenched into fists. Mugen smirked, and Beppu removed the flute from his mouth with his free hand and smiled. Truth be told, audiences didn't often find Beppu the Entertainer that entertaining. This bunch, the sourpuss samurai aside, were a dream come true.
"What can't I do!" he cried happily, and sticking the flute back in his mouth he began to dance on his hands, squeaking excitedly on his flute as he cavorted. Fuu covered her face and peeked through her fingers, waiting for Beppu to slip and crash face-first into the top of the log. Jin's grim expression deepened. Mugen grinned. Beppu vaulted clumsily off the log and bowed, convinced he'd just given the finest performance of his career.
"Perhaps we've had enough entertainment for one evening," said the samurai, when no more noise was forthcoming.
"Aw, c'mon. The evening's young," said Mugen. "You know any stories she can hear?" he asked, jerking his head at Fuu.
"Of course! I have stories suitable for all occasions!" Beppu plopped down and rolled his eyes upward. "How about...'Habu and the Haunted Lantern'! Mukashi mukashi..." Fuu pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees, like any child being told a story. Mugen stretched out against the log and put his hands behind his head, watching Jin narrowly. Jin just sat, but eventually Beppu's monotonous, sing-song voice began to work its spell. Fuu toppled over on her side, and the samurai nodded; he caught himself a few times, but the nods became more frequent, and finally Jin's chin sank against his chest and stayed there. When Beppu's story wound to its conclusion the entertainer expected his rough-looking friend to say goodnight and join them, but instead Mugen sat up.
"Hey, lemme hear that concertina thing again," he said. He cut his eyes at the sleeping samurai as he said this, and Beppu quickly understood. Like most social parasites, Beppu shrank from offending people of rank, but given the choice...well, Jin was no friend of his, and as long as Mugen kept the upper hand, at least Beppu had the shelter of his sword. And of course there was the intrinsic appeal of a really evil practical joke... Beppu pulled out the concertina, held it against his stomach to muffle it, and drew it open. Mugen grinned in anticipation. Beppu took a grip on the instrument, mentally counted to three, and gave it a mighty squeeze.
The results were spectacular. Fuu sat up with a shriek, but the samurai shot to his feet, sword drawn, with a speed Beppu wouldn't have thought humanly possible. In fact, if the samurai hadn't set his foot on the pile of firewood beside him and lost his balance, Beppu would have been downright awestruck. The stumble, however, ruined the effect; Jin reeled backwards and sat down in the leaves with a heavy thump, leaving his sword stuck point-first into the ground where he'd tried to catch himself with it, and Mugen burst out laughing. Beppu laughed with him, but not as loudly. Jin brushed the leaves off his clothes, gathered up his sword and the shreds of his dignity and sat back down by the fire, determined to act as if nothing had happened. Still snickering, Mugen leaned in close to Beppu and elbowed him in the arm.
"Bet he won't sleep again for a week," he muttered. Beppu gave him a weak smile and glanced at Jin, who stared back at them balefully over the tops of his glasses. Beside Beppu, Mugen gave a loud yawn and stretched himself out in the shelter of the log; a minute later he was snoring. Fuu also settled herself, and Beppu did likewise, but instead of sleeping he replayed Jin's reaction in his mind. He'd seen his share of sword-play--most of it drunken, to be sure--in the brothels and bachelor pads he usually performed in, but Jin's draw was by far the fastest he'd ever witnessed. He had talent, that one, and Beppu's instinct for self-preservation made him regret that, by playing him such a dirty trick, he'd forfeited any chance of friendship with the samurai. Then again, life was nothing but a long series of dirty tricks, with the dirtiest waiting at the end, and if Jin couldn't take a joke--well, screw him. Beppu stretched his legs out and made himself comfortable. The last thing he saw as he dozed off was Jin, still wide awake, staring into the fire.
xxx
"Ooooh, it's hot. My hair's a mess, and I'm so hungry." Nobody replied to Fuu's remark, and she looked around, disappointed. Beside her, Mugen and Beppu plodded along, too weighed down by the heat to speak. Jin was too far away to hear her; he was trailing the group today, his dark figure barely more than a speck on the road behind them. "You two are awfully quiet," she added. "I think I'll wait for Jin." She swerved off and sat herself down on a rock by the roadside. Mugen and Beppu continued on without a backward glance, but the moment Fuu was out of earshot Mugen turned to Beppu.
"So, tell me about Iron Hirotomi," he said, leering expectantly.
Jin took ages to reach Fuu's resting place, and when he arrived he didn't look well. He had taken his hat off and was fanning himself with it; his long hair was stuck to his face and neck with sweat and the sunlight showed up the insomniac shadows under his eyes.
"Why aren't you walking with Mugen and Beppu?" he asked as she fell into step with him.
"They're being idiots," she replied. She'd seen them start talking the moment they thought she was out of earshot. "That was a really stupid trick they played last night."
"Mmm," said Jin. Fuu shot him an annoyed glance. She'd hoped for commiseration, or at least something more than his all-purpose, noncommittal answer noise.
"Why is Mugen being so hateful?" she asked. "Did something happen between you two?"
Jin put his hat back on. "You should ask Mugen that question," he said.
"I did. He wouldn't tell me anything."
"Mmm." They walked in silence for a while, Fuu frowning at the distant figures of Mugen and Beppu, obviously deep in conversation, and Jin, for all she could tell, sleepwalking.
"Do you know anything about Iron Hirotomi?" Fuu asked suddenly.
"No," Jin replied, much too quickly. When the chips were down, Jin could put on a performance worthy of the Kabuki stage, but he was the worst casual liar Fuu had ever met. The truth began to dawn on her.
"They're dirty stories, aren't they?" she hissed. Jin didn't reply. "Perverts," she muttered, glancing ahead. What she saw made her gasp, and she grabbed Jin's sleeve and pulled him to a stop.
"Look!" she said, pointing. Jin glanced up, then raised his head and brought the lenses of his glasses into play. A group of men passing Mugen and Beppu in the opposite direction had stopped, and as Jin and Fuu watched they fanned out and made a semicircle around the two. Beppu retreated behind Mugen; Mugen stood and talked to the men for a minute or two, and then the sun flashed on steel as Mugen stepped forward and drew his sword. Fuu put her hands to her throat, then reached out, grabbed the front of Jin's clothes and tugged.
"Jin, do something!" she said.
xxx
"Oh, no!" said Beppu. "It's them again!"
"Huh? Them who?" Mugen raised his head and scanned the road, but all he saw was five men in shabby clothes walking toward them. Beppu, however, dodged around behind Mugen, wide-eyed with fear.
"Bandits!" Beppu whispered. Mugen eyed the approaching strangers, reading the tale of their worn clothes and their air of skulking bravado.
"Bandits, nothing," he sneered. "They're just lousy punk robbers." He twisted around to look at Beppu, who cowered behind him. "Don't tell me you let that bunch of pansies roll you," Mugen said scornfully. Beppu had no time to reply. One of the robbers spotted him and pointed, and the group came to an abrupt halt and fanned out around Mugen.
"Hey look, it's that pipsqueak musician!" said the man in the best clothes, presumably the gang's leader. "And he's got a scary bodyguard," the leader added, looking Mugen's scrawny figure up and down. His henchmen guffawed, but nobody moved against Mugen. Unlike Beppu, the stranger showed no signs of fear, and the robbers weren't quite sure what to make of him. "Remember us?" asked the leader, eyeing Beppu menacingly. "We're the Tollmen, and this road is ours. You got your toll money?"
"Damn right I'm scary, and screw your toll," said Mugen, drawing himself up. There was more scattered laughter among the robbers, but they sounded uneasy now. Mugen threw an automatic glance around to locate his backup, then remembered the samurai was sulking. He could see Jin's figure far down the road; Fuu was pulling on his clothes, and even at this distance Mugen could see that Jin was standing with his arms folded, watching. Beppu, as if reading Mugen's thoughts, pulled at the back of Mugen's shirt.
"Why isn't the samurai here?" he asked in a panicky whisper.
"Ah, screw him," Mugen replied loudly. "I don't need his help with these losers." Beppu looked doubtful. He had no use for the samurai as a companion, but having seen his skill with a sword, he'd much rather have Jin by his side right now than a scroungy commoner of unknown ability. The mention of a samurai sent a wave of apprehension through the knot of robbers; they looked around and spotted Jin's remote figure, but when the samurai kept his distance they turned bold again.
"So, you two got your toll money, or do we gotta kick your sorry asses?" asked the leader, swaggering forward a step or two, one hand on his sword hilt, the other palm-up. Mugen drew his sword and also stepped forward. The robber quickly dropped his hand and took a half-step back, eyes flashing.
"You want what I got? C'mon and take it," said Mugen, crouching. Two of the robbers drew their blades and stepped up behind their leader, but the remaining two hung back. The leader glanced at them, then let out a yell, drew his sword, and lunged.
xxx
"Do something!" Far down the road, Fuu saw two of the men confronting Mugen draw swords and step forward, backing up a third. She dragged frantically at Jin, but he refused to move.
"Mugen doesn't need my help," he said calmly, bracing himself against Fuu's pulling.
"Go...help him...anyway!" Fuu planted her hands on the samurai's back and pushed; he leaned back against the pressure and remained firmly in place.
"He has Beppu. He doesn't need me," said Jin.
"Beppu can't fight! He isn't even armed!" She stopped shoving Jin and looked down the road.
"You don't call that concertina a weapon?" Jin asked bitterly. Fuu opened her mouth to answer, but the words evaporated as, down the road, Mugen and his opponents clashed.
xxx
The leader of the robbers was no trained swordsman, but he'd always chosen his battles carefully--until now. The strangely-dressed loudmouth with the odd-looking sword just didn't seem like a dangerous opponent, and it wasn't until he felt the edge of the stranger's blade biting through his belly that the leader realized his mistake. He collapsed face-down with a loud gasp as Mugen stepped through his stroke and took aim at the next man. The second robber ducked, taking a gash across his back, and ran. The other three also made motions to flee, but Mugen blocked their path, waving his bloody sword, and they backed up and huddled together.
"What was it this asshole said about this bein' a toll road?" he asked, kicking dirt over the leader's body. "You wanna leave, pony up." He held out his hand. The robbers dumbly pulled out their money bags and handed them over, and Mugen stepped back and let them go. They promptly scattered. Mugen felt around in their late leader's clothes and extracted his purse as well, then stood up and jingled his loot.
"Huh. Sounds like crime does pay, after all," he said, but when he looked around for Beppu's approval he found the entertainer lying on the roadside in a dead faint, and Mugen's witticism went entirely wasted.
xxx
"I don't care about that. Just eat!" Fuu, as she had been doing for the last half-hour, put food in front of Jin. Jin, as he had done for the last half-hour, pushed it away.
"Stolen money brings no good," he said softly. "I want no part of it."
"You didn't earn any of it anyway," Mugen fumed, hooking the bowl of soup in front of Jin over to his own side of the table. "Lotta help you were." Beppu stopped stuffing himself for a moment and studied Jin; his words and his attitude struck the entertainer as pure melodrama, but his friends seemed to take him seriously. However, they obviously didn't share his scruples. Mugen and Fuu were both eating as fast as they could work their chopsticks, and when the waitress came with more food Fuu set yet another bowl before the samurai. Jin pushed it aside and leaned his forehead wearily on his hand. Almost immediately he began to slump; his arm dropped sideways, his forehead hit the table with a soft bump, and a moment later he was asleep, cheek on the tabletop and his glasses askew. The long hank of hair that hung down his back slipped off his shoulder and landed on the fish plate. Fuu casually flicked it off with her chopsticks and dug into the fish.
"You two leave him alone," she hissed, waving a hunk of fish at her fellow diners across the table. Mugen shoveled noodles into his mouth and scowled at his sleeping companion. Everything about Jin irritated Mugen right now: his pale skin, those lanky sidelocks, the vaguely fishy smell of him, the prayer beads around his wrist, his damned superior attitude, his sitting there looking like hell and not eating...no, wait, that sounded like he actually gave a damn whether Jin starved himself to death or not.
"Hey!" Mugen reached across Beppu and hit Jin's arm. Jin murmured something but didn't raise his head. Mugen hit him again, and Jin sat up.
"Here. Take the freakin' money. Give it to the poor or whatever the hell it takes to shut you up about it." Mugen tossed the money onto the table in front of Jin, who blinked at it for a moment, then picked it up and tucked it away inside his clothes.
"Yes, it's better this way," he mumbled, and an instant later he was asleep again.
xxx
"Lucky us. Another night in the woods," Beppu sang, accompanying himself on the concertina and looking innocently skyward. "We had money for a room at an inn, but did we keep it? Oh, no, alas! No beds for us, but stars and grass!"
"Well, hey, we're eatin' tonight anyway," said Mugen through a mouthful of dumpling. Jin might have given their stolen money away to a monastery, but the samurai was no fool; the monastery he chose had a reputation for both its cooking and its generosity, and his gift had netted them a groaning basket of edible gratitude. Jin had taken himself and his share of the food away somewhere, leaving Mugen and Fuu to be entertained by Beppu. Fuu, quite frankly, was a bit tired of the entertainer, and judging from the scowl on Mugen's face his patience with their new companion was wearing thin as well. Beppu, oblivious to their discontent, played on, and Fuu abruptly stood up and went looking for Jin.
She found the samurai squatting on the bank of a nearby stream; his sandals were perched on a rock beside him, and he was busy scrubbing his socks in the clear water.
"You're getting a hole in the toe again," she said, squatting down beside him. "You should just get new ones."
"Mmm." Jin wrung the socks out and examined the soles.
"I wish you and Mugen would make up," she said. Jin dunked his socks again and didn't reply. "Couldn't you at least tell me what happened? Was it really that bad?" Jin wrung the socks out again, then snapped them sharply. Fuu was about to give up and leave when he spoke.
"Mugen is very acrobatic," Jin said cryptically. Fuu paused and waited for more, but Jin remained silent. Fuu took a step back and Jin stood up, folding the socks carefully. "He's especially acrobatic with a spider down his pants," Jin added, not looking at her. Fuu's mouth fell open. She studied Jin's face, looking for any trace of humor there, but the samurai's countenance remained as still and grave as ever.
"You put... You...!" She turned on Jin, stunned. "Why?" She expected juvenile stunts from Mugen, but Jin? Serious, dignified Jin? She wanted an explanation, or a retraction--but Jin, his business at the creek finished, picked up his sandals and walked away, leaving Fuu gaping after him. At the top of the bank, however, he paused.
"If it makes any difference," he said, "I only had the spider because Mugen tried to put it down my back."
Fuu closed her eyes. One part of her wanted to kick Jin in the shins, then go beat Mugen over the head with a piece of firewood. The other part wanted to know exactly how acrobatic Mugen got with a spider down his pants. In the end she settled for throwing her hands up in despair.
"You two...!" She opened her eyes and pointed menacingly at Jin. "You two just...just...deserve each other!" Point made, Fuu turned and flounced away. Honestly. She'd thought she was traveling with two adults. Didn't men ever grow up?
Apparently they could go through the motions. Jin reappeared by the campfire a few minutes after Fuu and sat down beside Mugen, who scowled and edged away.
"Mugen," Jin said softly, "I apologize for putting a spider in your clothes the other day." Mugen stopped scowling, and his eyes gleamed. "It was an immature and unworthy thing to do." Mugen sat up straight and grinned. Jin took a breath, and without changing his contrite, pious expression one bit, added, "But it was worth all the trouble it caused to see you scream like a girl and dance around like an idiot."
Mugen's gloating expression curdled. For a moment exultation, shock and rage battled for dominance on his face. Rage won out, and he bounded to his feet and swept his sword out. Jin immediately responded in kind. Fuu held her peace. She'd seen this kind of confrontation between her companions before; it was frequent and annoying, but harmless. Beppu, however, watched in wide-eyed horror. He'd wondered how these two mismatched swordsmen tolerated each other without bloodshed. Now he was about to find out.
"You take that back," Mugen snarled. Jin said nothing. "That was a yell," said Mugen. Jin remained silent. "And I didn't dance. That was...was..." Mugen waved his sword vaguely, and after a moment his face began to warp into a reluctant, lopsided smile. "What the hell kind of apology was that, anyway?" he asked.
"A poor one, and for that I do apologize," said Jin. Mugen, mollified, sheathed his sword with a clack, and Jin followed his example, drawing his blade neatly between his fingers before dropping it home. This seemed to settle the matter; both Mugen and Jin sat down, and Fuu gave a sigh of relief and dug into the food basket.
"Eats?" she asked.
"I could go for more of those dumpling things," said Mugen.
"If there are any rice balls left..." said Jin.
In the darkness across the fire, Beppu cleared his throat. Now that the danger was over he was eager to make his presence known again. "Anybody up for a song?" he asked hopefully, raising his concertina. Nobody looked up, but the answer, when it came, came in a perfect three-note chorus.
"NO!"
xxx
The Okayama Road was a long, hot and thirsty stretch on any warm day. In the simmering heat of August it was a stretch of Hades, and for Beppu, with his slender influence over his chosen companions growing thinner by the minute, the journey was becoming a trial. Not only had Fuu turned distinctly chilly toward him, but the samurai wasn't bothering to avoid him today. Even Mugen seemed ambivalent, and Beppu, a veteran in such matters, felt an ouster coming on. The three travelers, despite their glaring differences, were a closer-knit group than the entertainer had imagined; apparently he'd just caught them on a bad day. However, like most of his clan, Beppu was both an opportunist and a survivor. Situations could be rectified. Weak links could be broken, and the brittle and irritable samurai was the obvious target. He and the rough-hewn Mugen might be reconciled for now, but Beppu sensed it would take very little to drive them apart again, and in their disunity lay his only advantage. With this in mind, in cold blood, Beppu the Entertainer drew his concertina and began to play.
"Pica, pica, did you see, What the woodsman did to me?" he bawled. "The Sparrow's Sorrow" was a long song with many verses, and he inflicted them all on his suffering audience, who were too heat-stunned to defend themselves against the onslaught. Mugen, however, moved up close behind Jin.
"This Beppu's a freakin' pest," he muttered, just loud enough for Jin to hear him over the entertainer's racket.
"Mmm," said Jin.
"Any ideas on how to get rid of him?" asked Mugen. The concertina music was making his head throb.
"I'm sure I'll think of something," said Jin. "Eventually," he added sadistically. Technically, this was what was called giving someone a taste of their own medicine, and by the strict tenets of both Zen Buddhism and the Bushido code it was wrong. Jin knew this, but he couldn't help savoring Mugen's discomfiture just a little while longer. Mugen dropped back, disgusted, and Beppu, scenting dissention, moved in for the kill. He began another song, this one a scurrilous satire on the morals and habits of samurai. Jin's shady hat hid his expression, but Beppu saw his shoulders tighten. With a wicked look at Mugen Beppu raised his voice and dug the goad in a little deeper, drawing himself up and mimicking Jin's long, straight-backed stride, watching Mugen for a reaction.
He never saw the fatal blow coming. One minute he was singing away, pumping his concertina for all he was worth; the next he was standing in the road in open-mouthed silence, with half the bellows of his beloved instrument hanging limply from each hand. He stared at the carnage, then raised his eyes to Jin, who was standing in the road facing him, his sword drawn and pointed at Beppu's feet.
"They say the pen is mightier than the sword," Jin said in his soft, unemotional way. "But apparently the sword is mightier than the concertina." He wiped the blade on his sleeve and sheathed it, and Fuu, who was watching in horror, saw the slightest flicker of a smile touch the corner of the samurai's mouth.
"But..." Beppu raised the two halves of his concertina and gestured with them helplessly. "But...what am I supposed to do now?" he asked. Jin narrowed his eyes.
"Learn how to tell a story without putting your audience to sleep," he said grimly. "Find some jokes that are actually amusing. Take singing lessons, and if you must play a novelty instrument, for Heaven's sake learn how to play it properly." He turned on his heel, then paused. "You might also learn the difference between satire and mockery; and while you're at it, try learning the difference between being wanted and being used. It will save you a great deal of grief." The samurai took a small step forward, then opened his stride and pulled away. Something in his posture made it clear to Beppu that this parting was final. Beppu turned and stared at Fuu, then at Mugen, silently pleading. Both of them looked away and set out after Jin.
"But..." said Beppu, gesturing one last time with his ruined concertina. Mugen and Fuu ignored him. Beppu stayed where he was and watched them go, then pulled his hands out of the concertina straps and picked at the severed bellows. After a minute he began to laugh.
"You know," he said to the empty road, "this is kinda funny. 'A waitress, a samurai and a street punk walk into a tea shop...' Heh." Beppu made a motion to toss the two halves of his concertina into the ditch beside the road, then reconsidered and stowed them in the basket on his back. "I wonder where I can get a good wooden sword?" He watched the figures of his late companions dwindling on the road ahead of him. "Or a real one," he added softly. "Now that would be funny. Heh. Heh-heh. Ha-ha-ha!" He threw back his head and laughed. Down the road three heads turned, then came together in a brief conversation, but Beppu never noticed. His mind was too full of the details of his new routine--the finding of a pink kimono, and a wig halfway as wild as Mugen's hair--to see them talking, and with his head in the clouds and his mind firmly in the gutter Beppu the Entertainer set out once again for the bright lights of Okayama.