CHAPTER 18

曖昧 Aimai

Ambiguity

The next morning, Jet, Hiro, and Aska left the hostel. Jet kept watch as they wove their way through Tokyo’s small alleys back to Soji’s temple, stopping frequently to check behind them, to survey their surroundings.

Hiro was jumpy, convinced that someone was following them. Jet was, too, but she kept wondering if that someone was Takumi. Like an animal sensing an earthquake, she could feel his presence not far off. She wondered if that had been what she had felt the previous night, too.

When they got to the temple, the gate was locked. Leaves had piled on the pavement. The old lady with the broom was nowhere in sight.

“Do temples usually lock their gates?” Jet asked.

“I have no idea.” Hiro took off his boot and used it to pound on the gate.

Finally, a man in black monk’s robes with a shaved head appeared at the wooden slats. He peered out.

“May I help you?” his voice boomed.

Hiro struggled to balance on one foot as he put his boot back on.

“Are you Soji-san?” he asked nervously.

“I am indeed.” The man nodded.

“I’m your nephew, Hiro Kuroi. Remember me?”

“What’s that you say? Hiro?” he said, peering around to size up the boy, then chuckled. “Of course! You’re so big now! You’ve grown up there in the mountains. Must be all that healthy food!”

Hiro pushed Jet forward. “And this is Rika. I mean Jet, my cousin.”

“You came all the way from America?” Soji bowed to her.

She nodded, surprised that he knew of her. “Yes. Nice to meet you.”

“Well, please, come in.” Soji unlocked the heavy gate and slid it open. She was relieved to see that his eyes were blue, just like Ojiisan’s. He was tall and stood straight and proud, looking formidable, even noble. She tried to decide if he resembled her mother.

“Just a minute,” Hiro said as Aska came forward and sniffed Soji’s feet. She returned to Hiro’s side, where she sat down and looked up at him with expectant eyes.

“Good girl,” he said.

Soji closed the gate behind them.

“Ojiisan sent us here from Aomori,” Jet told him. “We got to Tokyo yesterday. We came here, but we couldn’t find you.” She hesitated, unsure of how to tell him about their grandfather.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Soji said. “I went to take a look at some newly discovered ruins.”

He beckoned Jet and Hiro into the temple grounds, but then hesitated. “Where’s Masakichi?” he asked.

Hiro swallowed as if to hold back tears, and Jet made herself speak. “There was an accident on the mountain. We were ambushed, and Ojiisan…” She couldn’t get the words out.

But she didn’t have to. Soji seemed to understand.

“How horrible. Horrible for all of us,” he said, clasping his hands to his heart.

Jet was relieved that she didn’t have to finish telling him what had happened on the mountain.

“The people who attacked us might still be after us,” she said. “Ojiisan made us promise to come here and find you.”

“I’m so glad you did. We’ll go under lockdown,” he said gravely. “We’ll have the place fully protected. If anyone comes, we’ll be ready.”

“Thank you,” Jet said, relieved.

“I’ll look into the attack on the mountain and see what I can find out. We’ll need to be active,” Soji said.

“Right!” Hiro said, nodding vigorously.

“Hiro, you can stay with me. Jet, you should go out and do takuhatsu—begging for alms, like a monk. That way you can keep an eye on the streets nearby. It’s just a disguise.”

“Got it!” she agreed.

“What about Aska?” Hiro asked softly.

“Well, she can be a guard dog. She’ll let us know if any intruders come in, won’t she? She’s probably quite capable of defense, right?”

“Oh, yes,” Hiro said.

“And there are tons of noraneko—stray cats—around to keep her busy.”

“Aska’s favorite toys!” Hiro smiled through his sadness, and he let Aska play off the leash on the temple grounds.

“Can I run with her?”

“Absolutely,” Soji replied.

While Hiro and Aska were running, Soji asked Jet to walk with him on a stone path toward the library.

“I’ve been expecting you for a long time,” he told her. “We all have. So I’m going to speak to you as if I have known you for years, because that’s how it feels.”

She nodded, finding it hard to swallow.

“Yesterday,” he told her, “I went to Kyushu, and I think that a few of the people I saw there had something to do with the attack in Kanabe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some ancient petroglyphs were discovered there, and I went to inspect them. Do you know what a petroglyph is?”

“Like a Native American cave drawing?” Jet ventured.

“That’s right. The ones I saw in Kyushu might help uncover our ancestors’ lost history.” He turned and looked at her with a shy smile that reminded her of Ojiisan. “Unfortunately, I met some suspicious people there. They were from a computer company. This isn’t the first time I’ve run across them. In fact, I expected them.”

“Why would a computer company be interested in petroglyphs?” she asked.

He ran his hand along his shaved head, over the shadow of black stubble there.

“The company is called New Language Systems. They gather symbols from all over the world. The CEO, a man named Davison Harter, collects artifacts. He’s obsessed with dead languages. Apparently, NLS develops and breaks codes for the American government. They are putting together a huge secret code library.”

Jet stopped, looking at her uncle quizically.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Does this have to do with the Kuroi family treasure?” She inquired. Though she didn’t know much more about it than she had before, Jet now knew this much: she had a duty to find the treasure, whatever it was. And it certainly must be valuable if Ojiisan had given his life to protect it.

Soji pursed his lips. “Well, according to legend, the family passed a treasure from generation to generation. I don’t know what it is, but there are a lot of myths, and you can’t take any of them too seriously. Some say it was a sacred bone.” He hesitated, watching her reaction. “The most far-fetched theory is that it was Jesus’ nodobotoke—his Buddha bone.”

She frowned, skeptical. “Jesus’ Adam’s apple? How could that be?”

“Some historians believe the person who died at Golgotha was Jesus’ brother, not Jesus himself.”

“Jesus had a brother?” Jet asked, incredulous.

“According to the Bible, yes. These historians think the real Jesus traveled across Asia and died in Japan. It’s probably a myth, but there’s evidence that many Jewish people and groups from the Middle East came here a long time ago. Jesus was Jewish, after all.”

“Hmm…” She thought it over. “What kind of evidence?”

“Well, for instance, the imperial family crest is a chrysanthemum, and the ancient symbol on the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem is almost exactly like it. But in the fifth century, Japan had trade with Persia through the Silk Road, and the Imperial family might have adopted the symbol used by royal families in the Middle East.”

Jet mulled this over.

Soji took a large, leatherbound book from a high shelf, opened it, and passed it to her. “See this? It’s the Star of David. It’s carved on an old stone lantern at Ise shrine in Nara, which is directly connected to the Imperial family. Some of the oldest families of the Omi merchant classes used the Star of David as their family crest in Western Japan.”

“This doesn’t necessarily mean it came from Judaism,” Jet said.

“True. In Japan, the star was called Roku Bou Sei—a Taoist protective talisman brought from China. In Hindu religions and in Tantra, it’s the symbol of a unified man and woman. It represents heaven and earth, light and dark, male and female, the yin/yang circle. The Jews began using this symbol only in the seventeenth century.”

“So that doesn’t prove anything about the bone belonging to Jesus. Why would people attack the village and kill Ojiisan over a myth?” Jet asked. “I mean, they were vicious!”

Soji sighed. “I am sorry you had to go through that. It must have been horrible.”

Jet’s lip trembled.

“Anyway, to be honest, it’s mainly occultists who believe in the Jesus theory, or think that the lost Jewish tribe came to Japan,” Soji admitted, “but there are all sorts of theories linking ancient Japanese and Jewish cultures which are not yet disproven.”

“For example?” She was curious to learn more.

“Well, one myth is that the treasure of King Solomon was buried in the mountains of Shikoku, though archeologists haven’t found evidence yet. And in Shingu village in Aomori, there’s an old grave where people say Jesus is buried. The village’s ancient name was Herai, which sounds like the Japanese word for Hebrew, Hebrai.”

“It sounds too far fetched,” Jet said, recalling what little she knew about King Solomon from a Hollywood movie she’d seen about treasure hunters in the African jungles. And who could believe Hollywood?

“It has to be a myth,” she confirmed.

“Well, there’s still an odd custom in Aomori,” Soji said. “After a baby is born, the parents draw a cross on its forehead to protect it from evil before they take it outside. That’s what the Jews did in ancient Egypt—they painted an X on their doors to prevent their first-born sons from getting killed.”

“Okay,” she acquiesed. “Let’s say it’s true. What does any of that have to do with the Kuroi family?”

Soji took a deep breath. “That’s just the problem. None of us knows….”

She crossed her arms, frustrated. “So what do we know?”

“We know this,” he reassured her, “in the north, many people have blue eyes like Ojiisan’s, or light brown eyes. Usually, the gene for colored eyes is weaker than for black. If either parent has black eyes, a kid’s eyes will be black. But in the north, people have blue or gray-blue, or green eyes no matter what color their parents’ eyes are.”

“What does that mean?” Jet prompted.

“Northern Japanese pass down the dominant gene for blue eyes. Some believe it came from the Middle East. If that’s true, so did our ancient ancestors.” He paused, letting this information sink in.

“You mean,” she asked, “we might be connected to Jesus? I mean, our ancestors?”

“Yes! That’s right. Or, conversely, this might have nothing to do with Jesus. And the truth is I don’t know what the treasure is.”

“Great,” she said, dejected.

“I’m sorry, Jet. I’m frustrated too. The secret wasn’t entrusted to me. It was passed from woman to woman in the Kuroi family. The men never knew.”

Her eyes widened. “Woman to woman? Is that why everyone thinks I know?”

“Yes. That’s exactly right.”

“But I don’t! My mother never told me, and she and every other woman in the Kuroi family is… is….” Again she couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“I know. And I’m sorrier than sorry,” he said.

“Hiro’s mother, too,” she added.

“Someone tried to kidnap her. They must have thought she knew. The police said she was fighting off thieves, but we know the truth.”

“It’s so awful,” Jet said.

“She wasn’t even related to us by blood. Her husband—Hiro’s father—was my brother. He died at a construction site.” Soji sighed.

“Hiro’s lost everyone,” she said softly, glancing over to where Hiro was playing with Aska. “It’s terrible.”

“It is. But he’s strong,” Soji told her. “And so are you.”

She shook her head, knowing she’d have to face men like those who’d hunted them in the forest. “What are we going to do now? We can’t just wait to be attacked again!” Jet shuddered at the thought.

“We need to be patient,” he told her. “Our enemies are obviously sophisticated and very dangerous. We’ll have to get our information straight. I’ll find out if NLS is involved.”

As they came to the library door, she hesitated. “Uncle Soji,” she said, taking a deep breath to calm herself, “I’m sorry about Ojiisan.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She nodded but didn’t believe him. A lump rose in her throat.

“No one expected this to be easy,” he said, “and even if we knew that you would return, we also realized there would be great dangers.”

She looked down. Neither spoke for a moment.

“I never imagined…” Jet trailed off.

“I know… Well you should get some rest,” he said.

“Yes, uncle.”

“Let me show you where to put your things. Rest a bit, then we’ll have a meal before going out.”

“Thank you.” She bowed.

He led her to her room—a small wooden cabin at the edge of the temple compound—and closed the door behind him, leaving her.

Wind rattled the closed windows, the air heavy as if warning of a coming storm. The old house seemed designed to let the weather in. With its sagging, waterlogged roof and broken tiles, it had a simple wabi-sabi beauty. Imperfect and temporal. Fragile and real.

Jet shivered. Though cold, she realized she didn’t really mind. The cold was energizing, bracing. She had the feeling she’d have to stay alert. The cold helped keep her on edge.

She stretched out on the futon and looked at the ornate calligraphy that hung in the room’s tokonoma altar, determined to decipher its curves. It read mu, the Zen symbol of nothingness. In it, to her surprise, she saw the line of Takumi’s eyebrows, the shape of his face. Why had he affected her so deeply? How could she be thinking of him now when their lives were in danger? Was he in danger, too?