Manga

Manga

It was easy to follow them through the Kyoto metro. The Father was especially nervous and over concerned about his directions and the safety of his Son. Clearly this American had very little experience traveling in Nippon. And he had no understanding of the true writing. He was continually scanning the area, but he was only focusing on the station signs and the arrival board. He was not seeing. The Son was mainly just following and trusting the Father. Though there was something about him. I would have to be careful of that one. He may have unsuspected depth. A Ninja is aware of these things, of course. Even unto death.

They left the Metro at the Eighth stop, Kawaramachi-Oike. I glided along a few groups behind them. My instructions were to kill them when they were alone. To leave the bodies in as bloody a mess as I could. For the enlightenment of the others.

Suddenly the Father stopped. He turned and looked around. His look was one of confusion. I had to keep walking, just another japanese to this Gaijin. But he looked right at me. He caught my eye. The Son also looked up and engaged. Both of them smiled slightly and bowed. We were surrounded by many people. This was not the place. Their behavior was just random. Their good manners surprising, perhaps also random. I returned their bow, with less respect, a little perturbed that they would not understand the slight, and walked on past them.

At the top of the stairs, I entered the sunlight and immediately began “the walking change”. If someone had been closely observing me over the next 5 minutes, they would have seen what I was doing, but to any casual by-passer, I was just a man that was: putting on his hat, taking off his glasses, removing his dark jacket, folding his jacket, unfolding his light jacket, putting on his jacket, many random small changes. But by the time I picked up the father and son again, 100 meters down the road, I was unrecognizable to either of the simpletons.

A block past the station they turned into the “Kyoto International Manga Museum”. How very interesting. It must be the Son that is the student of the one true art. Yes, I see it on his face. The Father is slightly bored and skeptical of the entire venture, but the Son is having difficulty containing his enthusiasm. Excellent. Their guards will be down. The Manga Museum is notorious for its crowds of true students. But they are always heavily engaged in a study of an important Manga Tome. It will be easy to make my kill and leave the bodies gushing blood onto the very floor of righteousness. What Irony! What bitter glory!

There is a special exhibit going on today. They pay the extra price (tourists) and proceed immediately to the 3^rd floor. I follow them in. This special exhibit does not have the crowd of readers perched on every available sitting space. This is where I will make it happen. I will create a glorious exhibit of my own.

I notice a few of the color prints on the wall. This exhibit is one of the more pure forms of Manga art. It shows young girls, just at the age of flowering, their expectations high and their intentions pure. Together with their Kantana, the Samurai killing sword, or bow or other weapon of death. Their true purity and deadly ability blend to create the art.

The Father has suddenly become much more animated. He is starting to enjoy the true artwork. How very interesting. He and the Son stand before one particular painting. They are obviously discussing the merits of the piece. I move closer to listen to their final words.”

“Sakura means 'Cherry Blossom', Dad.” Says the Son. “She is sitting on a bench observing the cherry blossoms. That is meaning of the title 'Observing the Cherry Blossoms'”.

“Yes,” says the Father. “But don't you see, she is looking back at us, the viewers. She is smiling in welcome to us. She is both the viewer of the cherry blossoms and the Cherry Blossom being viewed. It is a double entendre.” The Father reaches into his pocket and pulls out a notebook. He starts to make some markings.

This Father is a wise one. He understands the True Art well. Too bad he must die. Now.

“Oh,” Says the Son, “And by the way, Dad, That Ninja is still following us”.

“Yes,” says the Father, turning to look at me, “This seems like a good spot.”

Nani ?? This can not be. I reach for my short sword, but the father swings the notebook, it is on some string. It wraps around my arm? Silk Cord? Ah, it bites in. it is a blade disguised as a book. I leap to kick the Father in the throat, but the Son has moved. He grabs my right arm in a classic Ninja-go-dori and throws me off balance.

“Do you like the art exhibit?” asks the Son, his face only inches from mine. I shake my head to activate the poison spine on my temple, I will kill this one first, but before I can strike the Father has spun his silk thread around my neck. I cannot move. I cannot breath. The Son has drawn my short sword from its hidden scabbard. “You are number 3, by the way,” He says. Darkness comes.

The Father and Son exit the Manga Exhibit, but I see no sign of elder brother. Strange, I could have sworn he would make his kill when there were inside the Museum. And now he does not follow them. Perhaps he got too close and decided that they had recognized him. The two of them are laughing and swinging a newly bought package, with no cares in the world. Well, no matter. If elder brother has disengaged, then he means for me to take up the task. I will take care of these two insects and be back at the Dojo for dinner. The Son suddenly stops and looks in my direction. Almost as if he had noticed me. What an amusing thought.