there and he could always retrieve them later. Trying not to break into a full run, he hurried to his home along the cobbled path, his light cotton yukata robe flapping above his softly clacking wooden geta sandals. Around him the houses all perched high on stilts taller than a man by half again to keep them safe from the occasional flood, a feature that sometimes made him feel as if he were shorter than he really was, a child dwarfed by adult-sized buildings.
Other than their unusual foundations, the houses of Nihonmachi mostly resembled those of Japan: rice paper screened windows glowed a mild white from the lanterns and candles within, peaked roofs pitched a few feet higher than in the old country in order to wick away the heat, but still crafted in the Japanese style. Most of these were thatched with grass like a Siamese house but some sported fired clay tiles of glossy red and blue. Despite its oddities Nihonmachi felt like home to Yoriaki now after seven years, but behind that feeling of warmth and belonging there was a cold fear growing, an anxiety that would not be ignored. Something was indeed up on what would otherwise be just another night in Ayutthaya, the bustling crossroads of the East and West. Something bad.
Yoriaki slipped through the row of trees that marked their modest plot, taking a shortcut through the small garden in back where Momo grew the Japanese vegetables that she used in her cooking. Despite his hurry he stepped carefully around the heads of the long, white daikon radishes and bunches of savory shiso beefsteak leaves. Reaching the front walk he charged up the steep wooden steps to his front porch three at a time, kicking off his sandals with a clatter. He burst through the door with such a wild expression on his face that it startled his wife Momo so much she dropped the tea she was carrying in from the kitchen. The ceramic cup bounced harmlessly off the springy tatami floor, woven from durable rice stalks, but its spilled contents spread across the golden fibers with a red darkness.
“Husband! What is the matter!” Her oval face was pale and her eyes wide with shock, their liquid darkness reflecting the lantern light in two bright points, making her seem like some graceful forest creature caught out in the hunter’s path. The silver cross hanging at her neck made a third point of light, flashing as it moved with each of her rapid breaths.
“Momo! Where are my swords? Get them out, now!”
His wife paused only for a moment before she ran to the massive teak wood tonsu chest of drawers they kept their few precious belongings in.
“What is going on?” she asked again plaintively, as her deft hands searched the deep bottom drawer.
“I’m not sure. Hopefully nothing, but I have a terrible feeling. The men around town have been talking that we Japanese are no longer welcome here now that Nagamasu is gone and we are left with that devil, Prasat Thong. He has no love of us, despite his pretty words.” By the time he had finished speaking Momo had thrust a heavy bundle into his arms which he carefully unwrapped. He took his scabbarded longsword, his prized katana, and shoved it snugly into his waist sash. The smaller but equally deadly wakizashi shortsword he handed back to his wife, who gripped it gingerly by its red lacquered sheath. “Take it! I have the boat tied up at the big tree. I want you to go there now and wait for me. Get in the boat and paddle out a few yards, then anchor. If any Siamese come, row farther out. Do not come to shore unless it’s me or someone you know! Trust no Siamese, do you understand? Do you?”
Unlike him, his wife had been born here and spoke the Siamese language as fluently as if it were her own tongue. The idea of running away from a native of this land was utterly foreign to her. She stared at him for a moment as if he were a lunatic but then straightened herself up and answered, “Yes, husband, I understand! I will do as you ask.”
Seeing his beautiful and stout-hearted wife standing there holding his wakizashi filled Yoriaki with an overwhelming combination of pride and fear for her well being. He swiftly took her in his arms and kissed her. The herbs she used to wash her long sable hair filled his head with their sweet scent. She kissed him back fervently. Savoring her for as long as he dared, Yoriaki gently pushed her back.
“I must go down to the docks and see what is happening. Nagamasa’s red seal ship is there and I heard men arguing as I went by. Prasat Thong will want whatever that ship brought back from Japan whether it is his by rights or not. Blom the Dutchman thinks it will end in a fight, and judging by the curses I heard I fear he may be right. We must be ready for anything.”
“But, dearest, it is not your fight! You are no longer a soldier, you gave that up when you let Christ into your heart! That ship doesn’t matter to you!”
“My dearest, it’s not the ship that I care about, don’t you see? I fear this may be the excuse Prasat Thong needs to make a move against us, against all of Nihonmachi! I need to go over there and find out what’s going on. God willing, it’s not serious. Even so, I will not take a chance with you.” Careful to not use too much strength in his excitement, he took her by the arm and led her to the door. “Humor me, Momo, go down to the boat and wait. If I am not there with you by midnight, paddle across to the Portuguese side and wait at the Dominicans’ church. You should be safe there.”
“What about my mother and father? What about my friends? We must warn them, too!”
“Your parents’ house is on the way. I will tell them to go to their fishing boat and meet you at the tree. If things go badly we may not be able to come back here.”
Momo nodded. “I will prepare our traveling clothes and what belongings I can manage.”
“No! There is no time! I can’t tell you why but I feel the worst will happen! Nothing is more important than your precious life, my love. Please, just go now!”
Momo looked at him, true fear spreading across her gentle face. “Very well. But I will not leave without at least taking this!” Breaking loose from her husband’s nervous grip she ran across the room to grab a round clay pot sealed with wax hanging by a leather strap on the wall. “These are the seeds of all we grow here!” she told him in a tone of reluctant defiance. “If we take nothing else, at least these will give us a future!” Yoriaki nodded his agreement. His wife was as wise as she was lovely.
Stepping out onto the porch, Yoriaki slipped into the pair of deer skin boots he had worn as a guardsman. This was no night for wooden sandals. He made Momo put on her most sensible footwear and practically carried her down the steps. Their part of town was farthest from the docks and still quiet, but he could hear loud voices coming from the north. He took Momo’s shapely hands in his, folding his larger fingers over hers and the wakizashi she held.
“If anyone tries to hurt you, you will use this sword. You know how, I have taught you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” But her voice was very quiet now.
“I love you, Momo. Now, go! Pray tomorrow we both are laughing at a protective husband’s foolishness!” He gave her his usual silly grin to which she responded with a laugh despite the overriding tension of the moment. Yoriaki was about to push her in the direction of the river when, with a sigh, she turned of her own accord and broke into a run, something he rarely saw her do. He watched as her brightly floral patterned summer kimono caught the light from a nearby porch, then faded away into the shadows. It was always summer in Ayutthaya, but tonight he was chilled as if he stood high in the mountain snows. Yoriaki turned toward the docks. The voices had grown louder still.
On his way, Yoriaki swung by Momo’s parents’ house. Her father, old Mori, a kindly gentleman who had fled Japan twenty years before when the persecutions of Christians had begun in his district, was standing out on his porch looking toward the docks. His wife Kiku, younger by some ten years, stood in the doorway, an expression of fear on her softly lined face. They looked down at the panting Yoriaki in surprise.
“Father! Mother! Something is happening!” That was all he could get out before he had to pause for breath. It had been a long time since he had done much running himself.
“Yes, Yo-kun.” Momo’s father called him by the honorific a father might use for a son or younger male relative, the older man being very fond of his son-in-law. “I fear there will be a fight at the docks, they grow hotter by the minute. But why are you headed there?” His eyes dropped to Yoriaki’s waist to take in the sword sheathed there.
“I need to see what’s going on. There has been a lot of talk lately, all around the city. Today a Dutchman, a friend, warned me that something really bad might happen tonight and this last Sunday the fathers were worried about what the new king is up to. I fear he may move on us now that Nagamasa is gone! I am afraid and I have sent Momo to wait in our boat where I left it by the big tree near our house. Please, Father, take Mother to your boat and go join her!” He patiently waited for their response despite the urge to continue on his
