Rectitude.
We’ve all seen the movies of where a warrior trains in a Lotus garden or under a waterfall or some shit like that. And it was always under the watchful gaze of a grey whiskered master with infinite knowledge of the human soul and the universe. Just so that the warrior could gain spiritual enlightenment and become a better version of himself. The warrior would always be this muscle bound ape with more abs than sense and perfect hair to match. But this ain’t the movies; it’s the dirty, hard reality of my life on the streets of Tokyo. It wasn’t the place they showed in the glossy brochures to the tourists or where the fat masses would camp out with their tacky flower shirts and expensive cameras. No, it was the blood soaked, razor blades lying in the dark gutters of our minds side of town. You had to scrap for every damn inch here or the place would eat you alive in a heartbeat. We stood looking over the city, night having already fallen and the creatures of the night lurking in the stygian shadows, looking over their shoulders at the demons chasing them. I felt the rough concrete of the apartment roof under my fingers and smelt the ammoniac reeking from the laundry hanging between the windows. Somewhere in the dark, the whining sounds of a broken air conditioner sounded out as an alley cat nimbly hopped between the creaky bars of a fire escape, flecks of rust clinging to his paws.
“This is the first principal of Bushido. Rectitude states that the warrior must know when to strike and that he or she must understand the consequences and be willing to live with them. There cannot be a hesitation or fear, not even for a split second. Total conviction or total destruction of who you are. This is the fine counter point on which Rectitude is balanced. Do you understand Helena?” Momo asked, slurping some noodles from a cheap take away carton.
“I do.” I replied, taking in the teachings of the Sumo standing beside me.
“Do you really? We shall see.” He pointed with a chopstick down to the streets below. A rat like man scurried along, knocking over trash cans and swearing to himself as he hurled an empty bottle of cheap whiskey down the street, laughing stupidly to himself as the glass smashed to pieces. “That’s one of Madam Rhi’s little helpers; the piece of shit has been pushing Ecstasy and Heroin down at the local club and now he’s heading home to sleep off the booze. This vermin has been a cancerous sore on this part of town for years but the police refuse to do anything. No, Madam Rhi has her claws too deep in the police command and judges for them to do anything.”
“Then why not go after her directly? Why are we wasting our time on this lowlife nobody?” I asked, unsure of Momo’s intentions.
“Because at this moment, that bitch will kick your ass and secondly…well look.” He motioned downwards as we watched the pathetic sight of the gangster fumbling with his keys, falling down and crawling into the refuse bag filled flat. With cold eyes, I saw him stumble into his apartment and slither leech like on top of a young girl. Even through the broken and dirt stained windows, I could see the horror on her face as he slipped his hands under her nightgown, grunting as his fingers dug into her flesh.
“His daughter. I’ve heard rumors for years that the fucker had been raping her but this is the first time I’ve seen it.” I charged forward but Momo calmly held out a hand, stopping me in my tracks. “Now comes the consequences part. Kill him and you will take a father away from his daughter. Let him live and he will destroy her eventually. You cannot hesitate in your actions and you must be able to live with the repercussions. Can you do that Helena?” He pulled a short and razor sharp Tanto from his long leather jacket and held it out to me. I knew it was a cross roads in my life, a point of decision that would pave the rest of my journey. Take a step back and live out the rest of our life in quiet but tortured circumstances or embrace the weapon and accept the impossibly difficult path of the warrior. My hand grasped the hilt of the short sword as I nodded at Momo and headed down the fire escape.
Heart pounding like mad in my chest, I reached the ground floor and headed across the street. Luckily it was relatively quiet, the only signs of life that of a bum digging through the trash and a drunken couple of teenagers walking home. A quick kick to the rotting old door made short work of the lock and soon I was inside. The lobby was a dump, bags of refuse left behind in the corner and a barely flickering light bulb in the front office desk. The caretaker was fast asleep in his chair, some Japanese soap opera throwing black and white images on his face. He never heard me come in as I headed up the steps, listening intently for anything that would give my presence away.
The building was surreal, a baby screaming his head off somewhere on the top floor and a mangy looking prostitute hanging over the rafters, pulling her stockings tight while puffing languidly on a cigarette. Room by room, I drifted by; hearing the chattering of the families inside as they settled down for evening supper. A washing woman appeared at the end of the hall, throwing dishwater over the railings but never seeing me. I faded into the shadows, the only signs of life the steely glint of my Tanto. She had a quick scream at someone on the lower levels but quickly disappeared back into her apartment, leaving me alone in the corridor again.
It took me a while but finally I found the gangsters flat, almost on the far end of the building. He had the stereo on loud, some indecipherable Japanese boy band screaming out. My luck held as I twisted the doorknob and found he had left the door open in his drunken state. Ghosting into the filth ridden and barely furnished apartment, I carefully made my way into the child’s bed room. He was still on top of her, pinning her head to the mattress as he thrust away. The tears mixed with the blood on her lip where she had bit herself, trying to wish away the pain as I loomed up behind the Yakuza. His eyes shot open in surprise as I connected with his jaw, teeth and blood splattering against the once blue wallpaper. The child screamed and crouched in the corner as I grabbed the gangster by the collar and threw him across the room, shattering a rickety old chair in the process. Shakily, he got to his feet and reached for the knife on his belt. Even in his inebriated state, he was still dangerous and lethal in any circumstances.
“Fuck you.” He spat bright red blood on the floor and ran at me. I caught the knife mere inches away from my belly, struggling furiously with the Yakuza to turn the blade around. A head butt sent both us of clattering to the ground, my head aching from the impact as the knife careened away into a dark corner. There was no time to react as the gangster came at me again, climbing to his feet and grabbing the broken bottle by his feet. Swinging wildly, by some miracle he missed my head and I was able to duck and dive away, grabbing his head in passing and slamming it through the window pain. The yakuza howled banshee like, clawing to get the shards of glass out of his face. Breathing heavily, his eyes darted to the chest of drawers standing only a few meters away from his and instantly I knew what he had in mind. Diving for the chest, he plucked out a pistol duck taped to the side of it and opened fire on me, knowing I would never reach him in time. The bullets tattooed a line across the room as I dove to the side passage, feeling the burn of a flesh wound across my leg. Luckily, he had only grazed the side of my leg and I was still able to stand.
Peering around the corner, another round flashed tracer like past my face, ricocheting off some pots in the kitchen. The old me would have come charging at him at the first sign of him being out of bullets but this time I held back and waited in the shadows for the Yakuza to make the next move. If he made it to the door or reached his cell phone lying on the kitchen counter, I would have a world of pain on me before long. There was no way I could take on a whole pack of the gangsters by myself, not yet anyway. The silence was deafening in the apartment, the stereo shot to shit by a stray bullet as the Yakuza came looking for me. Inching his way forward in the dimly lit room, I saw the barrel of his pistol appear before me. His breathing labored and panicked; drops of piss mixing with the droplets of blood running down his face. He was not used to this type of fight; usually his victims were strung out junkies who could easily be threatened with a knife to give up their money. This was a different type of enemy; this was something different all together. Spinning around and firing into the darkness, emptying the clip; he stood peering into nothingness as I appeared behind him.
“Boo.” I whispered and slammed the Tanto through his jaw as he turned around. Blood cascaded from the gangster while I dragged him into the light. Pulling the short sword from his flesh, I stood above him, ready to deliver the killing blow.
But something made me stop. The little girl was standing in the doorway, shivering from the cold as she looked on in her dirty and torn nightdress. It would have been so easy to kill him right there and then but what would happen to her? No matter how much a monster he was, I could still not orphan the child and leave her behind. Nor did this animal deserve mercy, not for all the lives he had ruined, not for everything he had done to the innocent child. The counter point had been reached and my decision would affect a life more than my own.
So I took his eyes.
Running the razor sharp edge over his face, I blinded the Yakuza as he convulsed in agony before the gauntlet flashed and I picked him up and threw him out of the window. His body tumbled from the second story floor and hit the concrete with a satisfying thud, rag dolling as he finally came to rest. I knew it would not be enough to kill him but it would hurt like hell. Looking over my shoulder at the girl, I said nothing but wiped my blade and left the apartment. Already people were gathering to see what happened but I ignored them, pushing through till I reached the exit again. Momo was waiting for me in the street as the rain softly came down.
“Once you crack the mirror, the truth of the person inside is revealed.” He motioned behind him as I turned around. The little girl was standing over the crumpled up form of her father but she was not scared anymore. She looked coldly down at the man that had raped and tormented her, her whole life as he pathetically reached out to her, clutching her dress in his bloody hands.
“Help me.” The once brash and cocky gangster wailed.
He started crying hysterically as she firmly stepped down in his fingers, crushing the bones inside.
“I am not afraid anymore.” She said through gritted teeth. The power had shifted and the girl knew it, nodding at me before heading back into the building, leaving the marionette like figure of her father behind on the pavement. The strings had been cut and she had found self respect and a power she had never known inside her. Later on life, I heard she had become a child advocate and an inspirational voice to abused and downtrodden women all over Japan, setting up various charities and support groups throughout the land. She would never be afraid again in her life.
Slowly, I started to understand what Rectitude, one of the core principal of Bushido meant as Momo and I sat by a roadside dinner, slurping hot noodles away. A warrior had to be fearless and steadfast in her convictions and she must be prepared to carry the weight of the consequences that came with it. But there was also a time when one had to judge your actions and see that there was always a different path to reach your eventual goals. Blood was not always the answer and sometimes a hand held back could accomplish more, so much more. I couldn’t see it on the Sumo’s face but I knew he approved. He saw the warrior in me emerge but also the mercy I had shown to my adversaries.
But I had a long way to go. The path of my journey carried on as the sun rose over the darkened city of Tokyo. For one night and for one little girl between the grit and filth of her existence, the shadows had faded away and she knew an angel was watching over her.
A blonde girl with the spirit of the wolf slowly coming alive in her again. She had the heart of a Samurai beating steady inside.
The heart of a warrior.