DIPLOMACY
They packed him in with rice bags filled with stones
so he could not move, kneeling in the garden
on the white sand crossed by stepping-stones.
His arms bound. The master came, observed,
found everything satisfactory.
Then the condemned man cried out:
"The fault for which I die, I did not wittingly commit.
It was only my stupidity. But to kill a man
for being stupid is wrong—and that wrong will be repaid.
So surely as you kill me, I shall be avenged."
The samurai knew what every samurai knows:
a man killed in strong resentment becomes a ghost
who can destroy his killer.
He replied gently, almost caressingly:
"We shall allow you to frighten us as much as you please—
after you are dead. But will you try to give us some sign?
Directly before you is a stepping-stone.
After your head is cut off, try to bite it."
"I will bite it!" the man screamed. "I will bite it! I will—"
Flash. Swish. A crunching thud.
The body bowed over the rice sacks,
two blood-jets pumping from the shorn neck.
The head rolled toward the stone,
bounded suddenly, caught the edge between its teeth,
clung for a moment, and dropped.
For months the retainers lived in terror,
hearing ghosts in every wind through bamboo.
Finally they begged the master for a service
to appease the vengeful spirit.
"Quite unnecessary," said the samurai.
"Only his very last intention could have been dangerous.
When I challenged him to bite the stone,
I diverted his mind from revenge.
He died with the purpose of biting—and that he accomplished.
All the rest he must have forgotten."
And indeed the dead man gave no more trouble.
Nothing at all happened.