Ametropia

AMETROPIA: A myopic condition preventing the eye from focusing; short-sightedness.

Gentaro, a Nisei (Japanese American) artist is found dead in a 16th century castle located in the village of Joshu in southern Japan. It’s a murder of international consequence.

A year later Hiroki The Black Dragon Ishikawa, orphan child of Hiroshima, must solve this ritualistic murder at the request of the American President and the Emperor. Sens, an indigent Ainu with special powers, assists

Social confrontations, a paranoid mayor, and a Yakuza chieftain are but three of the obstacles that will stand in his way …

ALSO BY DOV SILVERMAN

Amphitrite

Gold to India

Legends of Safed

Revenge of the Good Shepherds

The 5th Marines

The Kabbalist

Top Shelf

The John Mung Saga

The Fall of the Shogun

The Black Dragon

The Shishi

Tairo

To the Gates of hell

LITERARY ACHIEVMENTS

1) Historical Society Literary Prize at Stony Brook University, 1970.

2) Winner of Japanese Suntory Award for Mystery Fiction: REVENGE OF THE GOOD SHEPHERDS. 2/88.

3) Award of a month's stay as Writer-in-Residence at ACTS, Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri, USA, 1991.

4) Winner of Immigrant Literary Award in Israel, 1998.

5) Cultural award by Ra'anana Municipality 2012

Ametropia

By Dov Silverman

ISBN-13: 978-1495404993

ISBN-10: 1495404994

License notes: This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Published by Dov Silverman. Copyright 2013. All rights reserved.

Cover design: Katrina Joyner, http://ebookcovers4u.wordpress.com

Font Chow Fun courtesy of dafont.com

AMETROPIA

by Dov Silverman

AN OLD SONG

by Yehoash (1872 –1927)

In the blossom-land of Japan

Somewhere thus an old song ran:

Said a warrior to a smith,

"Hammer me a sword forthwith.

Make the blade light as wind

and water laid.

Make it long

As wheat at harvest song.

Supple, swift, as a snake.

Without a rift.

Full of lightning, thousand-eyed!

Smooth as silken cloth and thin

As the web that spiders spin.

And merciless as pain, and cold."

On the hilt what shall be told?

On the sword’s hilt, my good man,

Said the warrior of Japan,

"Trace for me a running lake,

A flock of sheep,

A cottage with a cherry tree,

And one who sings her child to sleep."

CHAPTER 1

Monastery Mountain

5 AM. March 4th:

On the island of Hokkaido, above the converging Yoichi River and the Sea of Japan, Monastery Mountain weathered a storm that held threats from beyond the grave. The typhoon howled throughout the night, muting prayers within the ancient monastery walls. The fierce storm uprooted trees and sent the tide surge five miles upriver. Sheets of ragged lightning and thick, luminescent bolts ripped the black sky from Heaven to Earth. Rain fell as if from the Seventh Cataract of the Nile, loosening boulders and sending mudslides crashing over the cliffs.

With the onset of dawn, the storm diminished. A Buddhist fighting priest moved barefoot toward the sheer cliffs of Monastery Mountain, his quick, rolling gait gave a jerky side to side motion of his broad, square body. Clad in red leather battle skirt, steel linked vest, winged helmet and two Samurai swords, he marched, unaffected by the dying gasps of the waning storm. His lacquered, armadillo shoulder guards broadened the appearance of the five foot five inch warrior priest.

Gunmetal eyes under thick brows took in everything above, below and beyond. What he did not see, his nose and ears discovered. Hiroki Ishikawa, the Black Dragon, prided himself on knowing when the first and last raindrops fell. He lamented the clouds scurrying over the mountaintop. Outside of its hard working people whose lives were dedicated to the Emperor, water was Japan’s only natural resource.

Hiroki walked through the mist on the wet, black basalt rock and stepped to the cliff’s edge. He whistled into the cold air, shattering the pre-dawn silence. Seagulls screeched and took flight, wheeling in the grey sky over the turbulent waters far below.

The Black Dragon waited for the rising sun to silhouette the birds above. He began his daily ritual. With wrinkled brow, he concentrated intensely on one bird in the flock. His focus slowed the bird’s glide pattern until it separated from the others and hovered alone on the sea breeze. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Black Dragon’s mental coercion coaxed the bird toward him. It drifted down to eye level, an arm’s length in front of the warrior priest.

Hiroki Ishikawa gazed into the gull’s dark eyes, entered its mind and looked out at himself. A fine fat fellow is me. He chuckled.

The rumbling laughter from the large armor-encased belly broke the bond between man and gull. The bird flapped away to rejoin the flock.

I would have enjoyed flying with you, Hiroki said. But, as usual, my humor gets in the way. He shrugged. No loss. Helicopters will assess the storm’s damage.

Hiroki Ishikawa inhaled a great gulp of cold morning air, inflating his ample stomach and expanding his massive chest. He closed his lips and tightened his abdominal muscles, forcing air up into his lungs. Oxygen raced through his bloodstream, hitting his brain in an explosion of brilliant light. He teetered on the edge of the slick basalt cliff.

The first rays of the rising sun awakened the mystical third eye at the center of the Black Dragon’s forehead. Turning his third eye inward, he viewed his thoughts, still longing to fly with the birds. He watched the images of his dull, regimented, repetitive, monastic life pass by. There had been many teachers, more instructors, but no friends. Even Sens, his guardian servant, tested and reported on him to the Abbot. There were several women but no special woman to love. To serve the Emperor was his raison d’être.

The old Emperor, Hirohito, had allowed the Black Dragon ten days a year to wander the country as he wished. The new Emperor never called on him, nor contacted the monastery about him.

Melancholy and sadness came to visit in the form of dull, slow colors imploding his mind’s eye. Hiroki Ishikawa recognized them as old partygoers to frolic with his loneliness. Too often now he sought them out, polished and caressed them, those sad but dependable companions of his lofty, intellectual isolation.

Deep in his maudlin thoughts, the Black Dragon’s toes hung over the brink of the cliff’s edge. But no matter the distance of his thoughts, the Abbot and his priests had ingrained caution since childhood. Whether awake, asleep or entranced, a part of Hiroki Ishikawa’s mind always remained on guard. Though he swayed above the abyss, a smile creased his thin, sensitive lips. He tucked his sorrowful friends back into their proper places. It was time for fun. He would get that Ainu this time. It must be important for Sens to disturb him here. He vowed to make Sens pay while he played with the Black Dragon.

A barefoot man of indeterminate age, with the height and body of a ten year old, clothed in hooded robe cut short above bare, spindly legs, stole down the worn lava flow behind the Black Dragon. Sens used the sparse outcropping of scrub pine and cryptomeria for cover. He edged closer and closer to the warrior priest. So fluid and deft were the little man’s movements, the morning dew did not fall from the pines he touched. Nor did the gulls standing guard on nearby rocks take flight. The little Ainu, a human attuned to nature, reached out ever so slowly to touch the Black Dragon.

Hrrrmmmppphhh! Hiroki grunted before he was touched. Sens, you antediluvian cheese-hound, your thrashing about this mountain has disturbed my Wa! It is impossible to obtain inner peace with you creating such a racket!

The little man straightened into an angry, stiff-legged stance. His cheeks puffed, lower lip pouted and his large blue eyes glared at the Black Dragon’s back.

Without turning, Hiroki sensed his guardian servant’s annoyance and it added to his pleasure. It wasn’t often he caught out this master of camouflage and disguise.

Sens pulled back his lips in what could have been mistaken for a smile. A series of sharp clicks issued from between his clenched teeth.

Mind your manners, Hiroki jibed in a smooth series of his own clicks. It is not permitted for a servant to speak in that tone of voice. I am using danger to test my Chi. The Black Dragon must always control the cosmic force within. He turned and faced Sens.

Reluctantly, the little man shifted his irate stance and, to Hiroki’s surprise, the Ainu bowed. At the last moment, as if by magic, an envelope appeared on the back of his elegant, outstretched little hands.

Hiroki Ishikawa bowed low to the Imperial seal on the envelope. He accepted it in both hands and touched it to his forehead with reverence. His fingers trembled while parting the seal. Was he finally to be summoned from this boring place? He unfolded the rice paper.

We’re leaving, my little cockroach! Hiroki beamed his most radiant smile. The Emperor orders us to Joshu Village on the main island of Honshu. The armor-clad, Buddhist fighting priest hopped from one foot to the other on the edge of the cliff. He giggled and the gulls took flight.

You act like a five year old, Sens clicked. What shall I pack?

My credit cards. Everything I own is out of style.

You’re not going to a fashion show!

Who is the boss?

You are, Sens said. He waited for Hiroki to puff with pride, then added, Because I say so.

You little feather merchant! I need you to use the monastery’s computer to research the murder of an American artist of Japanese descent in Joshu Village. His name is Gentaro and the murder took place last year.

Why are we investigating a year old murder?

Don’t ask. We should leave here as quickly as possible.

You have an appointment to breakfast with the Abbot.

Inform His Holiness that I’m heartbroken not to share his rice bowl. Hiroki grinned. Do you remember the pastries at the airport coffee shop? Ummm. I’ll have bacon, eggs and those sweet, soft rolls with black coffee first. He stepped to the cliff’s edge, parted his battle skirt and urinated into the abyss.

Sens issued a burst of sharp clicks.

Hiroki grinned and said, Passing water into the sea should not upset an Ainu. Your people are supposed to be one with nature. What is natural is beautiful. It had become an exceptionally fine day for the Black Dragon. The storm had cleared and, in less than five minutes, he had aggravated Sens twice. Do as I ordered, Hiroki said. And none of those vegetarian meals on the plane. I’ll have fish or meat. Better yet, make it fish and meat.

Sens’ harsh clicks scattered the gulls hovering overhead. Why do we have less than a week to solve a year old murder? he asked.

You sneaked a peek at the Emperor’s personal letter to me. I don’t know how you did it without breaking the Imperial seal. If I tell the Abbot, his monks will skin you alive then boil you in oil. Be a good little Ainu and obey the boss! Hiroki spun around prepared to gloat. He saw nothing but rocks and scrub brush. The gulls above mocked the Black Dragon with their high pitched screeching. He crinkled his brow, narrowed his eyes and concentrated, raking the mountainside in 100-foot increments. Oh what a rare beauty of a day it would be if I could uncover that Ainu’s camouflage, Hiroki mumbled. But after several minutes, he gave up. Although devoid of vegetation for twenty yards and only stunted growth beyond, Hiroki would not give Sens the satisfaction of seeing him touch each rock to find which Sens had become. He swaggered away, shouting, I know you’re still around! I’m leaving on the Emperor’s business. And you had better be ready!

CHAPTER 2

The New Ambassador

Tokyo, March 3RD, 24 hours earlier:

How am I going to survive this? John Whittefield moaned.

Sir, his cultural attaché said, you have more experience than the new Emperor at this type of ceremony. You present your credentials, the Emperor says thanks, you bow, he bows, they take pictures and we’re out of there.

The American Ambassador’s long black Cadillac followed the Japanese motorcycle escort across the Sumida River and toward the long, grey, stone walls of the Imperial Palace.

John Whittefield gazed out the rear window with a weak smile that was misconstrued as nerves. It was actually pure fear. Fear of failure on this, his first major diplomatic mission in Japan. He envisioned his own scenario, one that could end his career. Japan was the most prestigious posting in the American Diplomatic Corps. He had served with distinction in Russia, France and England, all senior diplomatic positions. Japan, the jewel in the crown of the American Diplomatic Corps, had been his goal from puberty. Today, by order of the American President, his first official act in Japan might end with his talking to reindeer in Lapland for the rest of his life. He, the fourth generation of Whittefields to serve at the Imperial Court, must not fail!

The long black vehicle with flags flying rolled past rigid guards, through large wrought iron gates onto the Imperial Palace grounds. Ancient trees, sculpted hedges and manicured lawns reflected the loving care of loyal subjects who for centuries had volunteered their services as caretakers to the Imperial family.

The Cadillac stopped at the palace steps where the Grand Chamberlain stood waiting. He bowed and opened the car door. A heavy gold chain draped over the old man’s shoulders centered a silver medallion between the lapels of his tuxedo. He leaned on his staff of office and bowed. Ambassador Whittefield, the Grand Chamberlain said in perfect English, it is my honor to greet you on behalf of His Majesty the Emperor.

Sir, John replied in perfect Japanese, most honored Chamberlain of His Majesty the Emperor, the honor is mine.

The Grand Chamberlain raised up with a genuine smile. Please follow me, he said in Japanese. He guided John and his aide through the outer portico into a great marble hall. They stopped before two massive doors protected by a pair of Imperial guards, each