The streets of Edo were bustling, as had become commonplace in the years after the civil war came to a close. The Sengoku Era of Japan had swallowed the country for nearly 150 years, in which countless warlords fought for power over the country, only to be thwarted again and again by someone younger, more powerful, and more ambitious. Hundreds of years of warfare came to a decisive end, however, seemingly out of nowhere, after Ieyasu Tokugawa and his army brought the fighting to a halt, united the country under one banner, and enacted widespread peace throughout Japan for the first time in far too long. The commoners reaped a great benefit from this change; cities grew and merchants thrived, leading yesterday’s peasantry to amass great riches and enjoy far more abundant lives than they ever thought possible. Edo and its people were no different, and it quickly became the place to be for anyone looking to procure a better life for themselves.
One man who did not see things this way, Nobuo Fujiyama, was staring out of his window into the Edo streets when he heard a knock at his door.
“Good afternoon, Nobuo. May I come in?” Sadao Mishima was wearing a navy-blue yukata, a kimono-style garment made of light material, perfect for the humid May weather. Though it was lighter than a traditional kimono it was still of exquisite make; it was hand-crafted by the finest artisans in Edo with the most luxurious silk. Nobuo was wearing the same, as did most samurai in the city. They also shared the same top-knot hairstyle, though Sadao kept a beard while Nobuo preferred a clean-shaven face.
“Oh, Sadao, it’s great to see you. O-, of course, make yourself at home.”
Sadao left his straw sandals off at the genkan before entering his friend’s home. As he followed Nobuo, he marveled at the various artifacts displayed on the walls throughout: broken swords, chipped armor, and even a Portuguese musket, all remnants of the warfare that was still ongoing just a generation before.
“Are these all from your father?”
“Yes, they are,” Nobuo replied. “He was always proud of his role as a samurai, and it’s no wonder. He was there at the Battle of Sekigahara, where Ieyasu became the most powerful man in the country and ended the civil war.”
“Yes…” Sadao paused, looking wistfully at the floor.
“All the other samurai tell me that he was among the best of Ieyasu’s army, and that though he died when I was just an infant, he loved me with the same amount of passion that he brought to battle.”
“He died at the Siege of Osaka, right?”
“Yeah, back in 1615, just a few years after I was born. He was old for a samurai—most didn’t make it into their forties back then. His age was certainly a credit to his skill as a samurai, but it finally caught up to him in the end. That was the last major battle this country has seen, and will probably ever see for a long time to come.”
Sadao continued to stare at the floor. “Nobuo, do you ever wish you were born during a different time?”
Nobuo perked up upon hearing Sadao’s words, before walking over to his window and looking out into the streets of Edo. Countless people were on the move, talking and laughing as they visited shops and entered restaurants. Kids played with each other, paying no mind to the adults that walked past, innocent and unaware of the world around them. They reminded Nobuo of how he and Sadao had been as children, vibrant
“All the time,” Nobuo sighed. “I’m ashamed to admit it, because I live an easy life, one where my main purpose is to keep the peace during a time where peace is abundant, but I feel… unfulfilled. My father died young, but he died living every moment with fervor and excitement. It’s almost as if I was born to fulfill a role that no longer exists, a world that no longer needs people like me.”
Nobuo looked back at Sadao, who nodded. “I feel exactly the same. That’s actually why I wanted to visit you today, Nobuo.” Sadao walked over to the widow by Nobuo, and waited several moments before continuing to speak. Finally, staring out the window himself, Sadao spoke: “Nobuo, tonight I am planning to kill myself, and I’d like to invite you to join me.”
Nobuo’s jaw dropped as he took a step away from the window. “You… you can’t be serious Sadao. W-why?”
“Take a look around, Nobuo. Society is flourishing, more so than it has in over 150 years. And do you know what it took to get there? Getting rid of us. The samurai fought for their own obsolescence, you know that? By ushering in an era of peace, we have been left with nothing. Sure, for now we are permitted to stay around “keep the peace,” but what happens when everyone else realizes just how useless we are?” Sadao stepped toward Nobuo. “Listen, there’s no way for us to change society, but we can still take matters into our own hands in different ways. By ending our lives, we’d be going out on our own terms, and that’s the most noble thing we can do in a society that otherwise has no use for us and has left us powerless.”
Nobuo stared at the floor, unable to make eye contact with Sadao. “Listen, I know what you mean, I… but is this really the best option we have? Is there no other way we can go on?”
“I know this is a heavy thing to drop on you, but I only ask because I genuinely believe this would be our best course of action. If you don’t want to, I understand. If you do, then meet me at my house at sunset.” With this, Sadao left Nobuo’s house.
Nobuo went back to the window and observed two children playing in the street. They reminded Nobuo of Sadao and himself when they were kids, so full of energy and vigor, excited for what life had in store for them. How could it all have come to this? Nobuo didn’t admit it to Sadao, but he himself had also been contemplating the thought of suicide.* He always pushed these sorts of thoughts away, thinking himself irrational, but now that he knew he wasn’t alone, maybe his thoughts hadn’t been so irrational after all.
***
The sky was clear as Nobuo walked to Sadao’s house, which meant that he could see Mt. Fuji on the horizon. The mountain was where Nobuo got his last name—Fujiyama—and he was told conflicting stories of why his ancestors took the name of the mountain as their own. Some said that the men of the Fujiyama family were known for their resolve and their steadfast nature in battle; others said that they were lovers of nature and held a deep appreciation for the world around them. Whatever it was, Nobuo was at least grateful that he could see his namesake one last time before he ended his life.
Pondering the origin of his name made Nobuo think of his father. Shinzo Fujiyama was amongst the best of the samurai of the Tokugawa army—or so he had been told. Shinzo died before Nobuo could have formed any memories of him, during the Siege of Osaka. Nobuo pictured what the series of battles must have looked like, and received goosebumps as he imagined the fast-paced combat that would have taken place between two expert samurai determined to live another day. Nobuo couldn’t possibly imagine this sort of action taking place in the present day, even though it happened less than 20 years ago. How could 1615 feel so far away, almost as if it were another world altogether?
Nobuo approached Sadao’s front door, noticing the sign that read “Mishima Residence.” Before knocking, Nobuo took one final look at Mt. Fuji—at this point, the sun was setting just over the top of the mountain—and was held breathless at this beautiful sight. The sky over top of him was dark blue, while the sky at the bottom of the horizon was a vibrant orange; but what really stunned Nobuo was the rich purple placed in between. In all of his years living in Edo, Nobuo had never seen a sunset quite like this. Nobuo was brought back to reality when Sadao opened up the front door.
“You’re here… good.” Sadao ushered Nobuo into his home and glanced around before shutting the door.
The two men stood in the middle of the tatami room, with Nobuo positioned to the left of Sadao; each gripped their katanas with both hands and directed them at their own abdomens. Light shone through the opaque paper doors of the tatami room, and they both agreed to plunge their katanas as soon as the light of the sunset disappeared into darkness. The straw mat floors of the tatami room would soak up a great deal of the blood, and would be easily replaceable for whoever had to remove their bodies.
“Nobuo.”
“Yes, Sadao?”
“Let us hope that if there is a next life, we will be more fortunate than we have been in this one.”
Nobuo said nothing in reply. He only awaited the sunset falling behind the mountain, and the end of life. After several moments of waiting, the paper doors went dark.
Sadao immediately plunged the katana into his abdomen. Blood gushed onto his hands, which he now held tightly against his stomach. The blood must have felt warm, which would have contrasted the insidious cold that would slowly overtake Sadao’s body. Immediately upon impaling himself, Sadoa’s facial expression changed to one of excruciating pain and agony. He began to shake uncontrollably. It was apparent that his body was quickly losing strength as Sadao fell to his knees, with the force of hitting the ground causing him to vomit blood.
Sadao pulled the katana out of his body, likely hoping that removing the sword would allow for his blood to flow faster, and that he would arrive at his death sooner. In removing the sword, however, Sadao also pulled out a large portion of his guts as well. Sadao had likely never wondered what his guts had looked like; yet, here they were, exposed plainly for himself to see. They were a reddish-pink color initially, but proved to be more on the pink side as blood continued to drip off of them. Sadao’s plan did succeed, however, and very quickly he was surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Finally, as all of the strength left his body, Sadao fell over on his right side, making a little splash in his own pool of blood.
In doing so, Nobuo and Sadao were able to lock eyes one final time, Sadao’s filled with pain, and Nobuo’s with a deep sense of guilt.
“No…bu…o…”
Despite his untouched condition, Nobuo had tears streaming down his face. “I’m… I’m so sorry Sadao I just… I c-can’t do it.”
As the light began to fade from his eyes, Sadao whispered one last time, “No…bu…o…” with the last syllable coinciding with his final breath.
Nobuo turned away from the horrible mess of what was Sadao’s body, but was haunted by the look that would forever remain on Sadao’s face—a look of unbearable pain, deep sorrow and regret—and decided that this was not what he wanted for himself. He felt ashamed that he had let his friend die like this, but knew that there was ultimately nothing he could have done; Sadao had made up his mind, and felt he was ready to die. Nobuo also felt a deep a deep sense of shame for not going through with his suicide, going against a long-held tradition amongst the samurai. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t set himself up to do so in the first place, but he had made the commitment and backed out at the last second. Still, he knew as faced his blade that this was not the fate he wanted for himself, and that though he had contemplated his death, he still held a desire to live.
As Nobuo stepped outside, he turned and looked to the west, where the dazzling sunset had appeared not long before, and only saw darkness. Despite this, Nobuo knew that it was only natural for the sun to set into darkness, and took comfort in the fact that for every time the sun sets, the sun must also rise.
*Seppuku: the act of killing oneself as a means of saving face. Most people, at one point or another within their lives, will experience a deep sense of shame for a variety of reasons. Some feel shame for having done something they deem unacceptable in retrospect. Some feel shame because they believe their lives to be out of their own control, subject to outside forces that seem to have little sympathy for the plight of humankind. There are also a number of ways of dealing with shame: some will try to rectify their situation, others will abuse substances as a way to numb the pain, while others still will seek a definitive end to their suffering altogether. For samurai, this option was seen as the only way forward.
Logan Stefl graduated from St. Norbert College in 2022, majoring in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing and minoring in Communication Studies. He enjoys reading and writing, along with playing guitar and drawing. He currently resides in his hometown of Shawano, Wisconsin.
