The story of Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto 

< Excerpt from my novel FATE >

By DAF

 

  His reclusiveness was a self-imposed safeguard against his emotions. By distancing himself from others, he believed he could maintain some semblance of control over his inner turmoil in avoiding the resurrection of the pain of a lost love that came when the interference of an outsider's opinions or judgments threatened his own judgment .. but it also left him feeling lonely and trapped in a cycle of his own discontent. Known for his formidable reputation and as a man who had earned the respect of other skippers in the whaling village and beyond was by all accounts a loner. Minamoto would never entertain the idea of remarrying for the sake of female companionship .. that was an indulgence he would not allow himself emotionally. His solitary nature was not born of some contempt towards women in general, but from a past that carried a deep emotional heartache. It was the only way he could protect himself from the unpredictable turns of the taunting emotions of a love that had once swept his heart away. He was tormented daily by the memory of that love that had once been a godsend to a man who had suffered the loss of his family now reduced as ghosts to his memory to a rare case of smallpox.

The story goes that he held a deep and sincere affection, a love that emanated from the depths of his being for a young woman of humble intellect whom he encountered among the colorful lanterns at a Kanto festival where she engaged in fortune-telling. Though he knew their worlds were vastly different and their age difference was noticeable that they could be mistaken for father and daughter, he found himself hypnotized by her presence. Her smile which could melt ice and light up his very being gave him an overwhelming longing to protect her. The way she moved had a weightlessness to it, she seemed detached from the complexities of the world around her, it was both captivating and disarming. It would sometimes remind Minamoto of his mother and the beauty of her simplicity towards life, untainted by the harsh realities of her daily life. He devoted himself fully to that relationship by using his parents and their bond of love and resilience as his benchmark.

       However, this love of his had its dark side lurking just beneath the surface of its warmth and tenderness. It was a love deeply felt but was also tinged with uncertainty, the complexities of human nature, and the unpredictable ways of emotions in having their say which often seemed to assert their influence without any given warning or justifiable reason. The fickle nature of her emotions played a cruel game with Minamoto, flipping from elation to despair within minutes grappling with the cold reality of distance brought on by a misunderstanding. He imagined a future founded on trust and mutual understanding. He promised her his love that would endure through the challenges of what life threw at them. However, this was merely a naive commitment that offered no assurance against the unpredictable nature of love that can be blind to the realities of life. He was to learn that love does not come with guarantees of living happily ever after. He will come to know the loss he felt was not just the absence of her, but the confrontation with the unpredictable nature of devotion itself. It is a reminder that even the most profound connections between a man and a woman could be as fragile and fleeting as a prayer to an unseen god. Minamoto was fated to exist as a lonely and damaged soul. 

    Minamoto's Afflicted Wife...

By all accounts, they were a happy couple and very much in love .. or so it seemed to all. After several months of courtship and three months of marriage, she walked away when Minamoto was in the southern Indian Ocean hunting for pygmy blue whales but the anguish of her loneliness extinguished the love she once shared. Minamoto recognized her flighty nature and the daydreams that consumed her as a part of her nature as she wandered through her spoken thoughts, often oblivious to his presence alongside her. Her eyes were often transfixed in her more subdued moments, indicating she was not entirely present. She seemed to drift between reality and fantasy in seizures, sometimes speaking in phrases only she seemed to understand. She was blissfully oblivious to the day-to-day reality when locked in her make-believe world somewhat reminiscent of a butterfly dancing from flower to flower. Minamoto tried to understand her behavior, passing it off as her creative nature expressing itself .. yet he failed to recognize that she was becoming increasingly immersed in her own fantasies as time moved on.

       Minamoto the concerned husband would watch her with a worried concern for her mental well-being. When the time was right he would sit her down and try to gently talk to her, telling her about their plans for the future in the hope it might ground her, but she would just simply sit there and smile at Minamoto, her eyes looking out to some other place as if she were seeing something that he could not. He wanted to believe that this phase in their relationship would eventually pass as he sat and watched her tell her elaborate tales where she was the heroine of her sagas of adventure and romance and the mundane realities of the world were taken care of by Minamoto. He admired her ability to tell her stories and see beauty in the simplest things around her. But she was slipping away from him, cocooned in her own world where Minamoto at the best of times, felt he was being sucked into her delusions. He would watch that soft smile that captivated him when he first saw it play on her lips, and then grapple with the fear that maybe one day she would awaken from her delusional world only to find herself in reality and unable to cope. However, he could not help but wonder if this creative side of his wife was essentially the true part of who she was. 

       When Minamoto was not at sea he would play along with his wife's fantasies, becoming a part of her story while gently trying to guide her back to the present. He gradually began to understand that her storytelling connected her to the expectancy that helped to guide her through an automotive existence that's taken for granted as simply living. Eventually, there came a day when Minamoto was at sea for two weeks when she stepped into one of her imagined stories, convinced it was unfolding in real-time, and was never seen again. She eventually hung herself in the belief that her parents were calling out to her, telling her, that where they were there was not a dragon in sight that was going to come down from the eighth heaven and sweep her up .. not a wolf or bandit in sight that was going to come and steal her away from them .. they had an abundance of food and were free from the burdens of labor from dawn till the sun fell out of the sky.

       However, she confirmed her respect for Minamoto by leaving a short but heartfelt letter, saying that the love they shared had become stifling in her isolation, an unbearable loneliness that could never compensate for his absence. In that letter, she conveyed some of the sentiments that had been accumulating in her fragile mind, describing a love that felt so intense that it became so painful for her to live with it, and she was afraid all the time that something would happen to Minamoto while at sea. She conveyed that his absence had always instilled a deep void in her senses, and the weight of her loneliness extinguished the security she felt when with him when he was with her .. evoking the memories of her parent's unexpected deaths. This tragic event left her abandoned on their humble hillside farm when she was just six years old. A week later, she was found by their nearest neighbor, an Itako widow who lived a grueling two-day walk from the hillside farm. This neighbor after hearing the yelps of a pack of wild Tanuki dogs that had picked up the scent of the decaying bodies in the air made her way to the mud farmhouse, finding the terrified child near to starvation and engaging in incoherent discussions with her deceased parents. The sight that greeted her was haunting but not unreal to the Itako widow.

       The farmhouse stood eerily still on the hillside, shrouded in a thick swirling mist that hung to the ground like some living entity .. its door open. The widow could sense Yurei dancing gracefully with defiance within the mist, flickering in and out of existence as if the very core of their domain was trying to break through to the Now. As she stepped forward she called out the family name, but only the whispering wind answered. The ground beneath her feet felt saturated and slimy as if she were walking between two realms .. but she knew that texture of the liminal zone between life and death .. where she had often come before to seek guidance from the spirits. The fenced-in compound was lifeless. The two hunting dogs lay near the doorway of the farmhouse with their stomachs ripped open, hen feathers were scattered about but no hens were to be seen, the handiwork of Tanuki dogs, and yet, there was something different about the place. It was tinged with an unsettling undercurrent of evil lurking beyond that open door.

        It was not until the widow had ventured into the mud farmhouse, calling out shamanic prayers into the dark interior to ward off the evil spirits. She could hear a child mumbling in the surroundings of the farmhouse that was thick with the stench of human decay, the sound of buzzing flies, and the cries of vengeful Yurei fighting over the souls of the deceased parents. The child was hunched over in the corner near her dead parents, oblivious to the horrors surrounding her. She continued to murmur. The widow knew she would have to act quickly to save the youngster from the same fate who now seemed lost in her terrifying world. It was a reminder, not that the Itako widow needed to be reminded that every energy, no matter how fleeting, left an imprint on the universe, a resonance that echoed through time and space, indicating that it too once occupied the same realm as her reality.  

       The murmuring child was frail and emaciated. Her skin was almost translucent. Her hair was matted, and her small dark eyes, like two black spots held a remote gaze. That same gaze would later reappear throughout her short life when her mind would slip back into a mud farmhouse on some remote hillside where her memories tangled with grief and despair, and the spirits of her dead parents would ask her to tell them stories. It was a heartfelt confession of her suppressed early childhood and the fate of her parents, having been raised by the Itako widow .. all this that was written in her letter was unknown to Minamoto. This was a heartfelt appeal for compassion from a troubled mind that would eventually succumb to despair and end her life.

    Minamoto's Shattered Heart...

The memories of his wife and their time together would haunt Minamoto daily. Reminding him of the joy that had once filled their lives, and the heartache that now followed sent Minamoto on the hazardous path of self-condemnation, where he found himself struggling with his inner demons. After losing his wife, he withdrew into a solitude that quickly turned into a deep loneliness, weighed down by sorrow, regret, and a nagging sense of self-blame for not being able to help her more. His emotional state eventually shifted, mixed with a deep-seated fear for his mental well-being. He found himself grappling with the unsettling realization that opening his heart to others could lead to the possibility of experiencing another devastating heartbreak, a pain he had already endured and was desperate enough to avoid any recurrence. Minamoto's feelings of resentment came from his belief in a personal love that ultimately resulted in the betrayal of what he considered his fundamental right as a human being. Still, he just could not reason that his strength, physical and mental, and her emotional weakness complemented each other. He had always had this romanticized idea about relationships, believing that love could overcome any challenge and mend even the most painful experiences. But when he found himself in that exact scenario, he lost sight of it all. This sense of idealism turned out to be a double-edged sword for Minamoto.

       In his suffering, he started to view 'love' as a weapon that was used against him. This inner turmoil grew stronger as he struggled to reconcile his ideals with the stark reality of his relationship with his wife. He could not comprehend, or maybe just was not willing to .. but does anybody? When two pieces in a jigsaw are connected they are mutually dependent on each other to complete the bigger picture. Similarly, when a man and a woman come together in love, they become interdependent in strengthening their relationship. This interdependence not only fosters a deeper understanding and appreciation of one another but also develops a mutual reliance that fortifies the relationship as one, it was how Minamoto came to understand his commitment to his wife.

       Minamoto continued to wander in the murk of his deception of what 'love' really meant to him. The tormenting hope that danced as the last flickers of love would swirl in his heart, caught between what was real and what was just an illusion. The handful of friends he thought he could rely on started to feel more like rivals, but that was just in Minamoto's head. Trust became that rare sentiment now for Minamoto, so much so, that in peaceful times, he could recognize that he was questioning both the perceptions of others, the suicide of his wife, and his own sense of self-identity and the will to live. This internal dispute with himself often left him feeling adrift in guilt leading him by the nose to choose between living or dying .. but he wanted both.

He would sometimes engage with women simply because he was a man. Each encounter, whose name he preferred not to know was played out as the ghost concept of his deceased wife. Names carried attachment. The attachment carried commitment. The commitment carried emotion. The anonymity of his encounters in human reassurance provided a strange comfort without any expectations, but remorse and excessive guilt were sure to follow in a pay-and-go circumstances leaving behind only the lingering sensation of skin-to-skin, a temporary balm for the aching heart of his once 'true love'. Each encounter was a reminder of that struggle, a dance between passion and separation, intimacy and isolation, a longing for connection but was afraid to embrace. He may be characterized by those who did not know Minamoto's background as possessing a superficial or insincere demeanor, engaging in transient experiences that conceal his genuine emotions. He could be present at the moment or choose to remain detached, a voyeur in his own life, where the spirit is the spirit and everything else is just, well .. just spirit. Minamoto was a sensitive man regarding matters of love.

After a significant time of self-imposed penance, Minamoto came to accept his fate as it was and decided life was worth living for a man who came to know himself. He returned to the sea, embarking on longer whaling expeditions that kept him away from land and temptation in recalling what his deceased wife used to tell him .. that he was every bit as good as the next person, all he had to do was prove it .. to himself.

In A World Of Hard Men...

He was the only living Japanese in the whaling village having lived alone for several years in a modest cottage situated on Crabbe's Walk Lane .. a narrow pathway that curled its way like a snake through the village, lined with weathered fishermen's cottages, each with its own story to tell. Captain Minamoto's cottage was a reflection of his personality, with a small garden at its rear where he cultivated herbs and vegetables and kept two Pekin ducks for their eggs. Inside, the cream walls were adorned with artifacts from Japan, remnants of a life he left behind, and the family heirloom that his grandfather passed on to him, a Daisho set. Despite his solitary existence, Minamoto was not entirely disconnected from the villagers of his adopted country. You might spot him now and then at the waterfront, engaging in polite conversations that occasionally would be probed, revealing glimpses of his past and the culture he hailed from on the other side of the world. Whispers would circulate among the gossiping women of the village about his past and the noticeable limp he struggled with when the weather was cold. Rumors claimed he had once been a renowned captain in a grand Japanese whaling fleet, while others speculated that he had fled from a life of conflict and turmoil, which was closer to the truth. But, whatever the truth may have been to them, Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto remained an enigma, a lone wolf, even to Long Jonn Slone McRoen, his only close friend in the village who played John the Baptist to Minamoto's Jesus. Minamoto, a man whose formidable reputation was matched only by his self-imposed solitude could tell you that...

''Trouble never misses when the promise of tomorrow is worth more than yesterday and today is all you have to go on.''

Some of the wits in the whaling village, engaging local logic and a mockery irony, called Minamoto 'The Cap', out of respect, as opposed to 'The Jap', which could be said out of disrespect. Minamoto was a stocky man with an aggravating limp that showed up when the weather was cold. Characterized by broad shoulders that showed years spent in the physical labor of whaling, but standing naked, that stockiness would be seen as hard-earned muscle. In that moment of nakedness, stripped of any pretense, his middle-aged body told its stories akin to his Asian tattoos in a silent admission of the battles he fought with whales and with some hard men from his whaling days. The lacerations, some faded, had left their phantom images, and others, still vivid, as if they were etched into his skin yesterday .. were all reminders of conflicts with hard men fought on the world's oceans.

Recalling his times with stories of when the adrenaline coursed through his veins as he grappled with wet salted ropes, the seawater stinging his eyes, and the roar of the waves drowning out all other sounds. It was not just the whales that left their imprint on him, shaping him into the man he was. The death of his beloved wife played a significant role in that transformation as well along with the memories of foolish men and their reckless decisions from his whaling past lingered on in his mind. These were the men who underestimated Minamoto when their joking went too far. For some, their foolishness had cost them dearly in Minamoto's self-defense, and in some cases, it had cost him as well. The scars he bears on his body are now long-healed imperfections of nature, grafting skin over skin, a living epitome of the spirit and determination, symbols of a life lived, both literal and metaphorical, with all its triumphs and tribulations. But his piercing dark eyes and stoic behavior spoke of a hurt man, hinting at a life that few would fathom if they only knew the truth.

A Shogun Displaced...

If Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto was to be described in one word, Shogun would come to mind. He always wore his hair tied up in a topknot, like an apple perched on the top of his head that drew the attention of children wherever he went .. just like that iconic apple that symbolized both a challenge and a test. Minamoto's topknot became a source of playful mockery among the village children, making him easy prey for their jokes .. this playfulness he did not mind, after all, children are children, no matter their background, or color. He would simply smile at them while twisting and turning, throwing out his arms and lifting his heels off the ground. His lively antics brought them enjoyment and allowed the child within him out to play. He would then start to mimic the expressions of a Japanese kabuki mask, his feet stamping rhythmically as if he were engaging in playful pursuit of the children. It was the same game he used to play for his wife during those times when she would drift off into her world of fantasies. For Minamoto, this was the only way he could show her just how much he cared about her emotional well-being without having to put it into words and upset her even more. He thought it gave her the support she needed to build a stronger and more trusting connection between them and help her make sense of the different ways she viewed her world and the memories she kept to herself about that old mud farmhouse on some remote hillside, long before her time with Minamoto.

The sound of Minamoto's heavy boots echoed on the waterfront in the village, adding to his shenanigans. The sight of Minamoto, embodying the spirit of the kabuki made everyone laugh, clap, and cheer, including the women who would gossip about him when they were not gossiping about anything else. Minamoto brought a moment of happiness to an otherwise mundane day in a whaling village. And when he tired of his playful antics he would walk away in the solemn pride that anchored him to his past and his deceased wife in that far-off mystifying land. But the inhabitants of a whaling village, who coexisted with their own Jinx and a God that is all-hearing, also understood that the Devil hears too .. and perhaps even more so than God Himself.

Minamoto took to heart the valuable lessons his grandfather shared with him, placing a strong emphasis on discipline in appreciating his heritage. He carried with him the inspiring stories of bravery and honor that shaped the spirit of his ancestors. That distant land in the Pacific Ocean, with its misty mountains and serene landscapes, beckoned to him like a siren, however, he chose to resist the temptation to return, being apprehensive about reopening past wounds. The thought of stepping foot on his birthright soil filled Minamoto with a sense of dread. He was aware of the emotional scares that he carried from his short-lived marriage and his afflicted-by-grief wife that lay buried within him but close enough to ridicule and torment him.

The irate ghost of his deceased wife walked with Minamoto, whispering reminders of the heartache and loss that he worked so hard to conceal from himself and those who tried to get close to him. In a recurring dream that he often broods about, he sees himself wandering through the misty valleys of Japan, the air thick with the scent of damp earth tinged in spilled blood with wildflowers growing from its sacrifice as an offering to the land where Death never comes without a reason .. it will always find a reason. Every step he takes resonates with the legacy of his ancestors. Minamoto can sense their presence, encouraging him to return to his ancestral valley to confront his anguish. Still, Minamoto convinces himself that it is only a dream, a fabrication of the 'what-if' and the irate ghost of his deceased wife luring him back.

Man Adrift...

While Minamoto may have lacked the warmth of a family or the companionship of a woman .. he did have one friend in the Irishman Long Jonn Slone McRoen. After Long Jonn's two harrowing days of drifting in an unfamiliar sea on a British powder keg, he was rescued by Captain Minamoto when he and his two-masted whaler, The Kabuki, had been diverted from its intended route due to a sudden storm that came out of nowhere. With the howling wind and the non-stop rain lashing against the deck of The Kabuki, Captain Minamoto spotted Long Jonn slumped over the powder keg, appearing utterly lifeless in the late afternoon. From the helm of The Kabuki, where Captain Minamoto had been for the past six hours, he thought the fading light might be playing tricks on his eyes.
       The Irishman, Long Jonn, known for his Republican ideals, debating skills, boisterous laughter, and unwavering spirit now lay motionless as if the very life in him had been siphoned out by the merciless storm raging around him. As the rain poured down, mixing with the salt of the sea and the wind howling like banshees on the prowl, Captain Minamoto barked out...
 ''Man adrift.''
Captain Minamoto knew that time was of the essence in situations like this. He needed to take swift action to recover the body that was gradually drifting away from The Kabuki, or, he could choose to disregard it, assuming that it was already dead. But the act of merely 'assuming' could weigh heavily on his conscience, leaving him with an unsettling guilt to add to his already accumulated burden. Captain Minamoto barked out again...
 ''Man adrift.''

       A whaleboat was lowered into the choppy waters, and four men with all their might rowed toward Long Jonn and his powder keg. The men, with muscles straining against the relentless waves, synchronized their strokes, it was something that came automatically to them when they were in a whaleboat. Their weather-beaten faces were etched with determination to reach Long Jonn. Each stroke had a sense of urgency when a man's life was at risk in heightening the stakes of their desperate race against the elements. As the waves crashed against the hull of the whaleboat, four men drenched and rowing with all their strength was a stark contrast to the stillness of Long Jonn. Daylight was fading. For Long Jonn, bobbing in waters that were now turning treacherous, hope was in a whaleboat. His silhouette faded into an already darkening horizon where four drenched men in a whaleboat were becoming mere shadows as Captain Minamoto's keen eyes scanned the horizon through the encroaching darkness from the helm of The Kabuki.
       Finally, in reaching Long Jonn, the whaleboat pulled alongside the powder keg and two men reached out, their big hands trembling pulled Long Jonn into the boat, and urgently tugged at him for any signs of life .. otherwise, they would have no choice but to heave him overboard to his watery grave in an anonymous sea to Long Jonn. Four men and seven eyes scanned Long Jonn's still body for any sign of life. Each second in choppy waters and pelting rain stretched into longer minutes that were spent anxiously searching for the rise and fall in his chest or the flicker of some sign of consciousness in his eyes. I have heard it said somewhere that the heart seems to have its reasons when even reason cannot understand. Well, that could be applied in the case of Long Jonn in a whaleboat with four strangers who rescued him from a watery grave because of Captain Minamoto's unwanted accumulating guilt that could have tormented him if he had left Long Jonn and his powder keg to drift aimlessly in an anonymous sea.
       Tugging harder at Long Jonn for one last time, Long Jonn came to life to the delight and surprise of the four seamen. With smiles all around, no time was wasted rowing back to The Kabuki. Captain Minamoto was leaning over the rail when the whaleboat was lifted from the treacherous waters, which seemed eager to hold onto its grip of the boat. Helping a very shaken Long Jonn on board The Kabuki, Captain Minamoto said...
 ''The very fundamental realities of life .. birth, copulation, and death .. looks like you have survived all three .. assuming you have copulated.''

Long Jonn with an involuntary smile, looked at Captain Minamoto and thought .. what a strange man.

    The Friendship...
                            They were an unlikely pair for a lifelong friendship, despite their contrasting backgrounds, but friends they became. Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto and Long Jonn Slone McRoen had one thing in common that would bind them .. they shared a commitment to cardinal virtues. Captain Minamoto was born into a family steeped in the traditions of the samurai creed and the principles of honor, discipline, and above all, loyalty. All of this was infused into Minamoto from an early age by his grandfather whose own life was characterized by an adherence to the bushido code, which emphasized the importance of integrity and respect. It was Minamoto's upbringing and principles that helped him through the difficult times with his wife and her suicide and in rescuing Long Jonn from the possible death of drowning.
       On the other hand, Long Jonn Slone McRoen came from a privileged background of wealth, loving parents, and five sisters. Educated at Trinty College Dublin where he acquired his degrees in geology and anthropology, subjects that were a lifetime passion for Long Jonn. Along with the scourge of the Irish being colonized and the added affliction of the struggle for Ireland's liberty, something Long Jonn felt deeply for throughout his life. Minamoto and Long Jonn came to appreciate each other's perspectives on life, fostering a mutual admiration that transcended their cultural divides showing that true friendship can flourish even in the most unlikely of circumstances. They discovered for themselves, through their long hours of debating on whatever came to mind, that their differences were not all that different, but strengths that enriched their friendship. Each discussion peeled back layers of cultural misunderstanding, revealing shared values and aspirations that resonated deeply within both of them. They found that their differing opinions often enriched their conversations, encouraging them to think critically and question their own sentiments from each other's point of view. It became evident that they shared a profound connection as if they could have been siblings born of the same parents.

       However, their debates covered everything, from politics and religion, to Eastern and Western philosophies into personal stories from their life and cultural views of a Japanese and an Irishman away from their beloved countries living in a foreign country that reminds them of their race and place. This not only helped them understand and appreciate their different backgrounds but also sparked some lively debates in Irish sarcasm and Japanese humor .. but that was their friendship.

    A Loneliness That Resembles Happiness...
                                                                     Long Jonn in defying death had a change of mind about continuing his journey to Africa and the jungles of Borneo. After a week of recuperating with good food and the company of Captain Minamoto from his ordeal of being press-ganged in Dublin's docks, his experience with Captain Hansom Hanson in trying to save the Englishman's life when he jumped overboard from The Fox, and his two days of drifting in an anonymous sea, Long Jonn decided to stay with The Kabuki and Captain Minamoto for six months and learn something about whaling .. but those six months turned into six years.
       This decision for Long Jonn was not made lightly, but it was helped one day when he was standing at the rail of The Kabuki, looking towards the direction where Ireland was after Minamoto had pointed it out to him. The two men stood for some time in silence, each lost in their thoughts when Minamoto turned to Long Jonn and said... 

 ''Don't mind me saying Jonn, but you won't get by weeping before a god trying to buy time.''
Long Jonn kept his tearful gaze in the direction of Ireland. Then a smile came across his face that enhanced his broken nose, a badge of honor and a lasting reminder of the friendly sparring matches with his father in their home, The Haven. It was their bonding ritual,  a playful way for a father and son to connect in the garden of the Big House in his hometown of Stradhaven, nestled in the midlands of Ireland. The garden, with its sprawling green lawns where the family wolfhound Finn MacCool would prance around in what he considered to be his domain. Vibrant flower and herb beds cultivated by his five sisters served as a backdrop for countless afternoons filled with laughter, the distant chirping of birds, and the bleating of sheep in competition with Long Jonn's mother's harpsichord that added a happy flourish to the afternoons drifting over the serious discussions under the oak tree that was there long before the Big House. Discussions on Ireland's liberation with Robert Emmett, the Irish Republican, surrounded by freshly cut grass, pipe smoke, a whiff of male testosterone, and that female fragrance in the air that added a heightened sense of the human nature coming to the surface to act as a referee .. happy days.
       As he recollected to Captain Minamoto, Long Jonn's thoughts and words were on Ireland, her freedom, and his five sisters. His smile turned to centralize his thoughts, and Long Jonn turned to Minamoto, who was leaning in close enough to kiss him. He said...
 ''You know, and your grandfather would understand .. that freedom can be as oppressive as captivity itself .. I have thought about that a lot lately.''
As Long Jonn reminisced, his thoughts deepened in appreciation for the memories he held onto where love and honor intertwined with his Irishness, leaving an unforgettable mark in shaping not only his physical strength but also his character. However, his mind was made up to immerse himself in a world of hard men that was both fascinating and foreign to him after what he had endured in the past three weeks. He believed that it might even offer some stability in him after the upheaval of his original plans and being pressed-ganged into the madness of a British naval war for a loneliness that resembles happiness.

    Mary...
            In his six years with The Kabuki and Captain Minamoto, Long Jonn found himself intrigued with the life of whaling, the camaraderie among the crew, and the thrill of adventure straight out of a Boy's Own Paper that each voyage brought. Over that time, Long Jonn transformed from a somewhat reluctant participant in his fate to a skilled harpooner, forging bonds with his fellow whalers and respect in embracing the harsh realities of a life at sea while the memories of his past slowly faded into the background, replaced by the rhythm of the ocean and the call of the chase.
       It was Captain Minamoto who offered to share his cottage with Long Jonn till he got a place of his own in the whaling village with its known jinx in The One-Legged Whaler bar .. but that never came about. The two men developed a mutual respect that led them to realize the value of their friendship, making the idea of living alone seem unnecessary to both. As they spent more time engaging in deep conversations and sharing personal experiences, they began to understand the impact their companionship had on their lives and to reevaluate their outlook on what is regarded as solitude. The idea of living alone, once a viable option for both men, began to seem unnecessary .. but there might be something in fate's way in intervening and its silent twist in admiration.
       The Kabuki was anchored in the bay for minor repairs giving the crew time with their families to be husbands and fathers and to catch up with the latest happenings in village gossip. After two to three weeks of this, some of the older crew members would be approaching Captain Minamoto in The One-Legged Whaler bar as to when they would be going back to sea. Though married and spending months in the company of men they depended on while at sea, two to three weeks with the woman they married and the sometimes stifling atmosphere of home life could evoke feelings of discomfort or restlessness that could be just too long for some of them. Anyway, one day Long Jonn strode into The One-Legged Whaler after checking on some of the repairs to The Kabuki in reporting to Minamoto about their progress and that she would be seaworthy in three days. Long Jonn was happy to be going back to sea and hunting for the pygmy whales that The Kabuki was known for. Captain Minamoto was enjoying his usual salted duck egg, fried squid, and goat cheese when Long Jonn, sitting himself down at the table, blurted out while looking around him as to who was in the bar and wanting to poke some fun at Minamoto, said...
 ''You have no woman Cap?''

Minamoto gave Long Jonn a closed-eye look, knowing that Long Jonn wanted to have some fun at his expense, and said in a low voice leaning in toward Long Jonn...
 ''I have Mary.''
Nobody ever saw a 'Mary' with Minamoto, let alone any woman from the village for that matter. But he knew that 'Mary' was Long Jonn's alter-ego when he would talk about going back to Ireland in his lonelier times and marrying the first 'Mary' he saw. Long Jonn leaned back in his chair. He had always prided himself on his Irish wit, but he knew at that moment Minamoto had cleverly outwitted him in his playful jest, revealing not only Minamoto's sharp intellect but also his keen understanding of Long Jonn's own tendencies and vulnerabilities. Beneath the surface of their playful moments lay a deep respect for each other's capabilities when it came to innuendo jokes.
      Long Jonn, with a finger raised in a mischievous warning towards Minamoto who was now grinning, pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. As he gazed at Minamoto, whose grin had grown even wider, he made his way swiftly to the bar, calling out to Fiaith for a glass of her finest porter, and one for the Cap. In turning back to Minamoto, who continued to smile at him, Long Jonn contemplated the possibility that perhaps Minamoto had a 'Mary' in his life too.

    The Letter...
                     During his time away from Ireland, Long Jonn maintained a correspondence with his five sisters in Stradhaven by exchanging letters that became a cherished lifeline between them keeping the family bond between brother and sisters strong, reminding him of his roots and the love that awaited him upon his return. Each Letter was filled with updates about his life in the whaling village, his adventures on The Kabuki with Captain Minamoto, and the challenges they faced in hunting pygmy whales, as well as heartfelt inquiries about their well-being and his nephews and nieces. He was regularly informed about the local happenings, including news of recent deaths, marriages, and the prevailing political climate in the country. Additionally, ther e were updates regarding the Big House and the family-owned limestone quarry, both of which awaited his eventual return. Letters would always end hinting at when he was returning to Ireland. The exchange of letters became a cherished ritual in supporting the siblings separation.

       Among the stories that were shared with Long Jonn was that of a friend from his Trinity College days, who used to visit the Big House with known political figures when their parents held 'open house'. This intimate college companion of Long Jonn's, who would frequently accompany him to The Hell Fire Club in the Dublin mountains, and the mastermind behind a drunken mischievous prank when they were on their way up to Monto, Dublin's red light district. He proposed the brazen idea of untying a blind horse when they passed it tethered outside one of Monto's brothels in leading the horse down the street and depositing it in a haberdasher's shop, where it proceeded to relieve itself, much to the humiliation of the haberdasher and his distressed wife. In having their prank they paid immediate fines to the constable's pockets, who were all too eager to collect with an unheeded warning that allowed the pranksters to learn from their actions without facing severe repercussions from a judge.
       This intimate college companion of Long Jonn's who had significant trouble in paying off 'gambling depths' collaborated with the British authorities in exchange for their assistance in alleviating his financial burdens. He provided valuable intelligence regarding Republican activities, including raids on police stations and the transportation of firearms, shedding light on contacts of some British army men who Republican groups exploited to arm themselves with British guns. The identification of key Republican members was crippling to the organization, this enabled the authorities to monitor and potentially disrupt Republican operations which had a ripple effect throughout the island. The Republicans had their informants too within the British network, who passed on the information when the alleged traitor was being moved to Kilmainham Gaol. In a well-planned operation, the Republicans executed a daring raid the night before the transfer, successfully abducting the turncoat with the loss of one British life to two Irish. It was reported in the Dublin newspapers that the 'Judas' took his own life by hanging. But Long Jonn knew how these situations turned out and would always state that .. patriots turning traitors could be more useful than patriots dying for a cause. Captain Minamoto had the same sentiments.
       Then one day, a letter arrived for Long Jonn at the cottage he shared with Minamoto in the whaling village when he and Captain Minamoto were two days out at sea embarking on a two-month hunt for pygmy whales. It would be three months before Long Jonn read that letter his eldest sister had written from The Haven the previous year. For reasons that remained unclear to Long Jonn .. it seemed to be a twist of fate according to Minamoto's reckoning that the letter was misplaced, possibly due to some human error or a slip-up in the usual procedures during that period of transporting letters by sea. It was subsequently discovered on Nantucket Island, off Cape Cod, and eventually reintroduced into the 'postal system' of ship captains who took it upon themselves to transport letters to their intended destinations. When Long Jonn and Captain Minamoto finally returned to the whaling village after spending three grueling months in the Indian Ocean without catching their usual quota of pygmy whales they found that 'lost letter' waiting for Long Jonn from Ireland. Minamoto predicted that it would be a long time before pygmy whale stocks would be back to normal when he turned the key in the cottage door. That 'lost letter' had been lying on the flagstone floor of their cottage for three months. After reading the letter, Long Jonn felt a wave of regret wash over him. He wished he had never received it, as it brought the heartbreaking news of a death within his family .. the untimely death of his youngest sister's husband, the death of a close friend, Limey Stone.

       When Long Jonn left Ireland he was leaving the quarry in the capable hands of Billy 'Limey' Stone and his eldest sister on the agreement that after his travels to Africa and the jungles of Borneo, he would return to Ireland and take over the role as 'Bossman' in the Slone Stone Quarry as was his birthright and his father's wish as stated in his last will. Billy 'Limey' Stone married the younger sister of Long Jonn after a long courtship when she became pregnant with their first child when nature's urge became too strong for them to deprive each other of the lure of physical love. The compelling nature of their physical attraction to each other played a crucial role in their relationship. Over the years, the couple added to their family three sons and two daughters. Their marriage was characterized by deep affection and commitment, not unlike Long Jonn's parents, until the tragic end of Billy 'Limey' Stone's life.
       This occurred during a routine test of a new drill extension aimed at improving efficiency and safety in quarry operations at the Slone Stone Quarry, when the drill shaft unexpectedly snapped, resulting in the death of Limey Stone. His fellow quarrymen consoled themselves in the belief that Limey Stone met his end like Saint Sebastian, with an arrow pierced through his chest. A justifiable notion from men who feared nature and God in that order, and helped along with black porter and grief that soon morphed into a widespread rumor. This comparison to the martyr ensured that Limey Stone's name and memory would live on among quarrymen, providing a sense of a befitting end to Limey’s tragic fate, a man who loved the stone, and transforming his death from a mere accident into a story of valor and sacrifice. His death not only served to honor Limey’s memory but also fostered a sense of comradery among quarrymen who were well aware of the harsh realities of their profession. The rumor in time spread beyond the quarry, where it was met with a mix of reverence and skepticism, further solidifying Billy 'Limey' Stone's legacy as a martyr in the eyes of those who sought solace in the idea that even in death he had not succumbed to the suffering of life's other 'intentional inflictions' of death, but had instead become a symbol of strength and resilience to his young sons .. it was what his wife told herself and others who sympathized with her on the loss of a good man.
       Long Jonn found himself with no other option when fate intervened again in his life plan but to return to Ireland and assume his father's dying wish as 'Bossman' of the Slone Stone Quarry.
          

    The Deliberation...
                              Over the next few days, Minamoto and Long Jonn discussed the implications of the 'lost letter', the sad news of the death of Limey Stone, and the significance of its timing. As they explored the repercussions of the letter, both men understood that the timing of its loss was baffling, showing how fate can intervene and reveal itself at the most unexpected moments. The situation appeared so coincidental that it bordered on the absurd when considering the declining population of pygmy whales due to over fishing and the considerable pain Minamoto had been experiencing in his leg recently. The plight of the pygmy whales and Minamoto's affliction was difficult to dismiss as mere coincidence .. as Long Jonn pointed out. Minamoto's leg pain, a chronic issue exacerbated by years of physical labor and neglect in the hope it would just go away, had begun to limit his mobility and dampen his spirits, so much so that he was losing his confidence, and at the best of times, his will to live. Minamoto could not shake the feeling that his leg pain was somehow connected with the fate of the pygmy whales and the timing of Long Jonn's 'lost letter'. They were now the victims of circumstances beyond their control, as other people's fate intervened in altering their fate. Long Jonn's hope of traveling to Africa and Borneo gradually diminished, overshadowed by the relentless tide of circumstances that seemed to work against his plans, each more daunting than the last. His once vivid dreams of exploring the Serengeti or trekking through the jungles of Borneo became mere echoes of what could have been, overshadowed by the reality that he enjoyed his time whaling on The Kabuki, but that pulled him further away from his aspirations for his expeditions. However, the challenge now lay in the fact that both men had ample time to contemplate the 'lost letter' and its potential outcome.  
       In Ireland, he would narrate stories to his parents in the drawing room of The Haven while his mother played her cherished harpsichord providing a melodious and dramatic backdrop to Long Jonn's captivating tales, with his sisters listening intently and getting just as excited as he was about traveling in the vast savannas of Africa, and taking notes on the diverse traditions of the indigenous tribes before they would be lost to mankind .. and he strongly believed, to slavery. He would talk, as if he had been there before, and maybe he was in some past life, about the lush rain-forests of Borneo and about how easy it was to get lost, because in every direction, every tree was the same, no landmarks and no scenery.

      Long Jonn had intended to contact after a professor from his days at Trinity College Dublin informed him about Alfred Russel Wallace, the respected naturalist who was in Sarawak documenting his findings and gathering biological specimens. Wallace was last reported to be residing at Rajah Brooke's cottage, situated on a hill named Bukit Peninjau. His Trinity professor, known for his Republicanism, also divulged to Long Jonn in knowing that it would get his interest...
 ''You know Jonn, this Englishman Brooke, ascended to the position of rajah of Sarawak under extraordinary circumstances .. if you ask me .. white man big gun.''
With this information, Long Jonn intended to make contact with the local communities in Sarawak by meeting the diverse indigenous groups, Iban, Bidayuh, Kayan, and the hunter-gatherer Penans who live a nomadic lifestyle relying on the rainforest for their food. He had heard that each of these groups possesses a unique cultural heritage, language, and set of traditions. Long Jonn wanted to hear, first-hand, about the indigenous struggles and aspirations in the face of colonization. The once-bright visions of Long Jonn Slone McRoen were gradually overshadowed by receiving the 'lost letter', leading him to confront the painful realization that the journey he had longed for and planned in Ireland might remain forever out of his reach. He would never in his lifetime embark on that journey.
       Minamoto and Long Jonn knew that the contents of this 'lost letter' would alter the course of their lives and, particularly, their close friendship. This sparked off deeper debates about fate, and not for the first time. They discussed how life tends to take unexpected turns, throwing challenges and surprises in the way in being non-judgmental, prompting them to stay open-minded to the countless possibilities that existed beyond their current views of fate, which were only human opinions based on their human sentiments. The two men understood that these turns of fate were strong reminders of life's unpredictability. With this in mind, Long Jonn encouraged Minamoto to join him on his journey back to Ireland in saying, but he was not sure as to why he was saying it .. it just happened to come out...

 ''Minamoto, we can do all our so-called galavanting when we are young, but when we get older, maybe we start having regrets and repent for our sins, expecting a god to forgive us, but more so ourselves. A change of heart in midlife is something like that .. I think.''
Minamoto, smiling, quickly replied...
 ''Aha, from speaking comes the repentance, but nothing good ever lasts .. but to know you have had enough is being wise .. I would think nothing is more revealing about a person's character than their habits and amusements...''
       Long Jonn and Minamoto continued to deliberate well into the evening. Contemplating fate's various 'what-ifs' while enjoying pints of black porter and indulging themselves in salted duck eggs that Minamoto brought with him to The One-Legged Whaler bar, along with Fiadh's freshly baked soda bread, with a chunk of blue cheese that Minamoto would buy from the French whalers when they came to the whaling village to replenish and make repairs to their schooners.

    Come Again...

                        On a rainy autumn evening, while seated in The One-Legged Whaler bar, Minamoto gazed through the small four-pane window at The Kabuki, where she was securely anchored in the bay. He watched the vessel gently rocking on the water's surface, remembering her good times and times when she had come alarmingly close to being lost at sea in treacherous storms that had caught him off guard on days when the sky darkened, the wind howling like a frenzied beast let loose, threatening to swallow The Kabuki and her crew where each suspected outcome was fraught with personal anxiety. It had been three weeks since Long Jonn received the 'Lost letter' from his eldest sister in Ireland. Minamoto was in one of his abstract moods when he faced Long Jonn, who was reading an out-of-date colonial single-sheet newspaper he acquired from one of the whaling skippers when he returned to the village from Atlantic waters, and remarked...
 ''You know me for trusting my intuition Jonn. I know I could be happy in solitude and have been before. Solitude Jonn, well, it's an experience that few really understand, but that same solitude could soon wear off, depending on your state of mind at the time and creep into dark loneliness, as you very well know. It is certainly an undesirable mental state to find oneself in, even for an old man like me, whose memory is still very active in kicking his ketsu when it gets the chance.''
Minamoto paused, nostalgically looking at The Kabuki in the yellowish moonlight as he watched her bob in the water, and continued...

 ''We may plan well to do what we want to do in this life, but a well-planned life is not a life lived Jonn. I have always believed that events will conspire to ensure that well-thought-out plans do not always be possible to fall into place, and what's more, worrying about it is the thief of time when fate is turning the helm. I have often taught about the complex connection between fear and hope that frequently shapes key moments in our lives, which resonates with all races in the shared human experience of lamenting, much like the haunting wail of your Irish banshee Jonn. Now, I have said what's on my mind. The Kabuki Jonn, isn't she delightful at this time in this soft moonlight?''

       No answer was also an answer. Long Jonn was concerned that his thoughts could become disordered if he uttered the wrong words, which might go unnoticed or unacknowledged by Minamoto .. but neither dared to break the silence. It was as if the world around them in The One-Legged Whaler bar had faded away. The longer they remained silent, the more their thoughts spiraled into a labyrinth of self-doubt, like prods in their back. The silence lingered, intensifying their unexpressed concerns and wavering emotions regarding the 'lost letter', yet the gravity of the letter's implications rendered them in uncertainty and the 'what-if' scenario. It had the potential to alter the course of their lives, and this realization loomed over them like a dark cloud. As they sat across from each other, unspoken thoughts were left unspoken as they weighed the gambles of confronting the facts against the solace of remaining in ignorance, or the letter remaining forever 'lost'. They found themselves at a crossroads, faced with difficult decisions that needed to be taken care of, and soon. The few men that were in The One-legged Whaler were relaxing in their own solitude, but they were not lonely men, some had left a wife and overactive kids to come to the bar for some peace and quiet of their own. Then Long Jonn remarked in a hushed voice, leaning in towards Minamoto...

 ''True and a valid reckoning .. loneliness is no place for anybody to be in because you know, you might just start thinking about suicide, and as to what's that like. Maybe cowardice, or an act of courage, or perhaps .. maybe a quiet exit, but certainly a cry for help it is. But leaving behind a stigma that lingers long after, maybe from one generation into the next to jinx a family, or maybe .. one or two friends who were not there when they were most needed. Hah .. sometimes, we can even trick ourselves into thinking we’re punishing ourselves by wearing self-martyrdom like some kind of badge of pridefulness.''

Long Jonn leaned in closer to Minamoto, moving the three salted duck eggs to one side...

 ''Well, Minamoto, I know too that it’s crazy how the mind can twist things around like that when you're caught off guard in exposing how loneliness and guilt can distort perceptions of self-worthlessness that may prompt feelings of gutlessness that could be perceived as an act of bravery by a few lonely suicidal souls .. cac .. I could keep going on about this. But as you well know Minamoto, everybody has their day in living or dying, it's just that .. well, some days insist on dragging on indefinitely compared to others when in that state of loneliness. It’s a struggle, I know, when our longing to live often comes into conflict with the certainty of the unknown in death, but no matter how it's done, we all get there, eventually.''

Minamoto slumped back into his chair, took a long look around the dimly lit bar, lifted his half pint of black porter, and spoke to it...
  ''Well Jonn .. learning to keep those kinds of thoughts as far away as possible from those thoughts that are yet undecided is no easy job .. no easy job. But do not be fooled by false hopes in leading you .. you are better than that. My grandfather believed that a person's life consists of three days .. the day you are born, the day you become a shogun, and the day you die. He saw the world as black and white .. I miss him. I have said this before .. you won't get by on tears in thinking about death or suicide in using your free will in quitting life.''

Minamoto finished his half pint of black porter and called for two more by lifting his glass above his head when he caught Emmet's eye when he turned from gazing at the harpoon tied high on the wall above the bar that killed many a whale and rejected by the son-of-Moby, but it's most destructive killing, its most tragic consequence .. his youngest son. Minamoto continued on his philosophical rant in knowing he had the attention of Long Jonn and watched him move the salted duck eggs back towards him...

 ''Still Jonn, my own thoughts on it have always been that salvation is the process that begins the day we are born and is shaped by our choices, experiences, and relationships and continues indefinitely into eternity .. meaning that our spiritual evolution continues beyond a physical death as part of the cycle of samsara, the cycle of birth, existence, and death where mortals can be reborn based on their karma. Is it not what you Christians call reincarnation? But my grandfather always held the conviction that vengeful ghosts remain in the earthly world until their issues are resolved.''

        They were not merely confronting the issue of the 'lost letter', they were also facing their own insecurities in a relationship that had become a source of dependency for the two men, maybe it was karma .. but also the daunting task of finding a way to bridge the gap between their anxieties and the reality that awaited them in taking that turn at the crossroads of fate. This metaphorical space is where choices would shape their futures, compelling them to confront their worries and beliefs head-on. This interplay between emotions often defines critical junctures in life that both men had experienced independently, but now they stood together. Long Jonn gazed thoughtfully at Minamoto, reflecting on his words, which he knew to be genuine. For reasons that Long Jonn found perplexing and humorous, Minamoto was speaking commonsense like a wise man who found the perfect words to explain himself. But there was an undeniable sincerity in those words, especially when they originated from a trustworthy companion and friend. Minamoto, his gaze fixed on the salted duck eggs in front of him, declared, in a throw-away comment...

 ''We go to Ireland.''

Long Jonn, completely taken by surprise, remarked in an off-the-cuff manner of Irish wit... 

 ''In the words of the Virgin Mary herself .. come again.''

 ''We go to Ireland.''

    The Beckoning... 
                            In this moment of reckoning, Minamoto's reconciling their concerns with the realities they faced emerged as an essential step mentally in preparation for their journey to Ireland. This reconciliation fostered a greater self-awareness of what had to be done. Although Minamoto had contemplated the idea of traveling to Ireland should the opportunity arise, he was quite reluctant to appear overly eager in front of Long Jonn about it, despite having already made up his mind to embark on such a journey long before Long Jonn received the 'lost letter' from his sister. As Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto now advanced in age, being seventeen years older than Long Jonn, he found himself looking for a significant change after a lifetime spent at sea hunting pygmy whales. He  wanted a change, not just a change, but a complete turnaround in culture. This fixation for a change in midlife stemmed from a deep-seated realization that the status quo was no longer sustainable for him, mentally and physically. He felt trapped in a cycle of tedium that dulled his aspirations and what he expected life to be in midlife. Now he deemed he had a second chance at life, albeit on the other side of the world.

       The idea of sailing the vast ocean to a small island in the Atlantic had become intertwined with his dreams from Long Jonn's storytelling in representing something deeper than just a physical voyage, it defined a voyage of the soul .. that he was born in the East and might ultimately die in the West appealed to him as the circle of a life's journey. The East represented his family gene, rich in history, with a cultural heritage and the influences of his grandfather. The West will be the circle of his life, a place where he can reflect on the lessons learned and wisdom gained. The East and the West became a poignant reminder of the cycles that govern not only his life but also the lives of all beings, reinforcing the idea that every ending is merely a precursor to a new beginning. It was easy for his Eastern philosophical mind to accept a spiritual awaken. However, over the years of their friendship, Minamoto had absorbed the Irish mentality in 'beating around the bush' and enough stories from Long Jonn's vivid descriptions that painted a picture of rolling green hills in Stradhaven, ancient stone castles, and the haunting melodies of traditional Irish music that resonated with the very essence of life itself .. or so Long Jonn told Minamoto. The stories of Irish people's resilience and ability to find joy amidst adversity captivated Minamoto, which was something akin to his own culture, and ignited a longing to experience this Irish culture firsthand. Though it was a psychological feeling, he felt a nagging affinity of moral obligation to the country, almost as if he were an Irishman in exile, however, he understood the importance of maintaining composure .. after all, he was Japanese. Minamoto knew deep down in his heart that if Long Jonn was to return to Ireland to visit his sisters in the midlands, he would not return to the whaling village.

       Long Jonn's reasoning was not just about leaving Minamoto behind in the whaling village, it was an invitation to embrace the unknown and experience life in Ireland in its reality, and not just from his stories. The whaling village had become a haunting reminder to Long Jonn in later years of the choices he had made many years ago when he encountered Minamoto, the man who had rescued him from a watery grave in that unknown sea, altering Long Jonn's plans that had been irrevocably changed by decisions made back then .. but that was fate. Minamoto, having witnessed the transformation in his companion over the years and understood that returning to Ireland would not only reopen memories but would also compel Long Jonn to confront the political stance in the country. Minamoto respected his friend's loyalty to his country and his obligations to his family, and his father's wish for Long Jonn to operate the limestone quarry and keep it in the family name. The bond they shared was rooted in mutual understanding and respect .. but that was fate too.

    Donny and Snide...                  
                                The small whitewashed cottage, situated on Crabbe's Walk Lane, was acquired by Captain Minamoto, who purchased it from the previous owner's widow. She had arranged to live with her only son following the tragic drowning of her husband near Mermaid Island. The weight of her grief became too heavy to bear when she was alone. The cottage, along with The Kabuki, was leased to the flamboyant Englishman Jake Snide and his young Irish wife Annie Donny, as they were the only people keen to take on both leases at the time. The couple was attracted to the whaling village for its strategic location and the possibility of serving as a hideaway during the harsh winter months. This decision was not made lightly, the couple had spent considerable time searching for a place that would serve as a base for their piracy activities disguised as whaling. The village's tight-knit community was especially appealing to Annie, who was a country girl at heart and longed for some sense of belonging in a new land. It was on Annie's sentiments that Jake Snide decided that they would lease the cottage, but it was The Kabuki and her papers he wanted as his flagship. This event took place a week prior as Long John and Minamoto were making preparations to depart for Ireland, hoping to escape the impending winter storms in the Atlantic Ocean in sailing with a captain friend who was hunting humpback whales migrating to the North Sea. Minamoto believed that when time was running out for them, no one would be interested in leasing the cottage and The Kabuki, but once again, fate intervened in the form of Jake Snide and his wife.
       Jake Snide was an exceedingly proud and flashy individual with his money, bordering on arrogance disguised in charm .. as if he believed his worth validated his grandiose self-image and conduct. Minamoto found it hard to believe that Snide was going to hunt for whales, as he implied to Minamoto, who was wondering where his crew was. Minamoto's reflections on having second thoughts about Jake Snide in a conversation with Long Jonn in The One-Legged Whaler bar highlighted this aspect of Snide's character. It also generated added skepticism within Minamoto when he noted the way Jake Snide carried himself with an air of superiority while conducting the arrangement of the lease for The Kabuki. Snide's confidence seemed to gloat when examining The Kabuki anchored in the bay with the remark he shared with his redheaded wife while laughing about The Kabuki, the two-masted brigantine, having the perfect name, was nothing but a good omen .. which became unsettling to Minamoto after the deal was done. But, Jake Snide had paid one year's lease money in coin in advance, knowing it would soften the way in the deal for fewer questions to be asked. He wanted The Kabuki. Both Long Jonn and Minamoto, being men with a strong sense of sentimentality, found the arrangement to be fair for a young couple whom they assumed to be starting out in life .. and with money up front, that put their apprehensions about Donny and Snide to rest.
        Annie Donny, characterized by her vibrant red hair flowing down her back, was the 'wife' of Jack Snide, who never left his side. In a society that frequently relegates women to the background, her personality, reflecting her husband's flamboyant nature that boldly challenged the constraints of a society that relegated women to submissive roles that focused on motherhood that showed some kind of piousness for womanhood. This emotional interplay between her character and her husband's flamboyant spirit not only highlights the strength of their love and partnership, but also allowed Annie Donny to create a psychological fortress, shielding herself from the painful memories of her childhood, which were fraught with emotional and physical abuse by her stepfather before her encounter with Jake Snide. Annie Donny's rejection of societal norms served as a protective barrier against the painful memories of her childhood, a past that had grown too agonizing for her to confront in memory or talk about her stepfather. This defiance of her womanhood was not merely an act of denial, it was a deeply ingrained thought-out survival mechanism, that allowed her to move in a world that felt hostile and unforgiving to her, where God Himself stood by and watched.

       The memories of a mother who turned a blind eye and her stepfather's heavy-handed ways dominated her childhood. The night she killed her stepfather by stabbing him in the throat when he slept beside her mother after he molested her threw a long shadow over her self-esteem and her capability to build any trusting relationships in the future, that is, until Jake Snide came into her life. Just being in his company helped Annie confront the emotional turmoil she had long kept hidden within herself, as if his very being acted as a stimulus for the unearthing of her long-buried feelings. Yet, in Jake Snide's company, those walls began to crumble, promising both pain and healing in equal measure in revealing the raw vulnerability she had tried so hard to suppress. She managed to carve out some sense of control in her life after her mother helped her escape to Dublin. It was only through her unexpected meeting with Jake Snide in a Dublin tavern on the quays that the mental walls she had built started to Jericho, allowing her to shape her identity on her own terms. It was also apparent in her gypsy-like clothing that rejected the norms of modesty that made a powerful statement about her individuality and self-worth, which attracted Jake Snide to her all the more. This sartorial taste of Annie Donny was not merely some act of rebellion, it was a deliberate assertion of her right to stand alongside her man. Moreover, she could defend herself from the advances of any man armed with a sharp tongue and outwit her antagonists with her intelligence and Irish wit, as well as handle a cutlass capable of inflicting serious harm.
       It would be five years later when Minamoto and Long Jonn would hear about the flamboyant Jake Snide and his woman, Annie Donny.

           
    The Return...
                     In the early days of what was promising to be a harsh Irish winter, indicated by a pervasive mist that clung to the ground like a death shroud and a biting frost that nipped at exposed skin, Long Jonn Slone McRoen and his Asian companion, Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto made their way from Dublin by hired coach to the village of Stradhaven and the imposing structure, the Slone McRoen family home known locally as the Big House. Arriving on a Sunday afternoon, the air was thick with the scent of newly ploughed earth in preparing the nearby fields for the spring barley planting. A flock of crows and jackdaws was eager to feed on anything left by the black-headed gulls after they had their fill. Their boisterous calls punctuated the serene landscape, a reminder of the link to the land that shaped his early childhood. It was what Long Jonn missed about the midlands. As they approached the Big House, its grand facade loomed before them, a testament to the wealth and ambition of his late father. Long Jonn observed his five sisters standing on the granite steps, frantically waving to him, and their voices, ringing out with laughter in the frosty air, were reminiscent of their childhood days when they would playfully call out to him. Each sister appeared to Long Jonn to have embodied the spirit of their youth despite the years that had passed. Minamoto was amused by the whole scene unfolding before him. It was a stark contrast to the more serious behavior that often accompanied adulthood. The sight of his sisters, so full of life and energy, stirred a deep sense of recollections within Long Jonn, reminding him of the unbreakable bond they shared, a bond that had weathered the years yet remained vibrant and strong into adulthood, much like the granite steps that had borne witness to their countless childhood adventures and the people that climb them, and the memory of Finn MacCool, his father's Irish wolfhound, who always positioned himself at the top of the steps, waiting for Long Jonn's father to return from the quarry in the evenings.
       Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto sat back in the coach out of sight, his mind far from at ease, but noticed the folly limestone tower in the distance. It's weathered stones standing high against the backdrop of a brooding sky, hiding a sun that wanted nothing more than to shine. A cold breeze filtered through the open window of the coach as it proceeded steadily along the winding gravel driveway. Minamoto was a little nervous about meeting Long Jonn's sisters. Their reputation and fierce loyalty for Jonn preceded them. The Big House stood as a silent witness to the passing of time and Jonn's deceased parents. With its ivy-clad limestone walls and towering chimneys puffing out white smoke in welcome from the log fires burning within from early morning. Long Jonn, normally a figure of sound mind and hardy determination, became emotional. Minamoto placed his hand on his shoulder. They exchanged glances that were filled with unspoken understanding. The low-hanging clouds cast a muted gray over the landscape, obscuring the sun's feeble attempts to break through.
       Long Jonn was the first to step down from the coach, wiping away tears of uninhibited joy. He wildly called out the names of his sisters, who gathered around him in a flurry of excitement, their voices overlapping as they all spoke at once, reminiscent of their childhood days caught up in a moment of pure delight, and then, Minamoto emerged from the coach. Nobody noticed at first, except for Billy 'Limey' Stone's young children, who never set eyes on or knew their uncle Jonn, except from the stories their mother would tell them. They approached Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto with caution and curiosity. He smiled. They ran away.

    One Of The Family...

                                  Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto remained standing beside the coach, observing the lively scene unfolding before him, when Long Jonn's eldest sister, a notable figure with an air of confidence and grace, broke away from her siblings and walked towards Minamoto. With a warm smile, she radiated a sense of familiarity and kindness, instantly putting Minamoto at ease. She extended her hand to grasp Minamoto's speaking in a gentle lyrical tone of Gaeilge...
''Fáilte .. Dia duit.''

  [''Welcome .. God be with you.'']

Minamoto, at that moment of a shared understanding and mutual respect, experienced a sense of belonging. In those lilting words, the cold air around him waned, leaving only the warmth of their handshake and the promise of a friendship that would bridge their diverse backgrounds. It was the same sentiment for the rest of Long Jonn's sisters, and as for Limey Stone's children, Minamoto would become 'uncle' and a bigger child to play with, someone who could engage in their imaginative games and adventures. He effortlessly adapted to their playful antics, joining in on their make-believe quests of adventure on the farm. Minamoto was to find fulfillment in the laughter and joy of being with the children, solidifying the bonds that would last for years to come as one of the family.

        Following a week of recuperation from their sea voyage, three months with no incidents, Long Jonn took up his bossmanship at the family quarry. It was something he knew he would do, and now was the right time after seeing the world from the whaler, The Kabuki. The relentless waves and the cries of seabirds had once become a backdrop to his thoughts of Ireland. Now, filled with determination and equipped with insights gained from his adventures and experiences outside of Ireland, he returned to the family quarry, where the persistent sounds of drilling and hammering filled the air. He found contentment in his life. The quarry workers, some of whom had been employed there since the days of his father, welcomed Long Jonn with an honest eagerness, acknowledging the significance of a Slone McRoen working alongside them. All the quarrymen spoke of the foreman, Billy 'Limey' Stone, as a just and honorable man, believing he did not merit the tragic fate that befell him, a drill shaft piercing his chest. Long Jonn had hoped to work with Limey in the quarry, fulfilling a promise made before his planned journeys to Africa and Borneo, but unforeseen circumstances intervened in the manner of being press-ganged on Dublin quays, altering the course of their shared aspirations and Long Jonn's intended plans. The Slone Stone Quarry prospered over the years in having a good relationship with its workers and a high regard for safety.

    Not A Shogun In Sight...

                                        Yurigata Suri Minamoto remained in Ireland for the remainder of his life, living in the Big House. He was introduced to friends of the Slone McRoen household as a family member, despite his strong Asian features. With its expansive gardens of herbs and flowers, this grand residence became a sanctuary for Minamoto. His presence within the Big House evolved into a sense of identity and belonging in finding solace in the beauty of his surroundings in a land far from his bloodline. The Haven was not merely a home to Minamoto, it was also a vibrant hub of social activity, where the family hosted gatherings that brought together a diverse array of people, from local dignitaries, politicians, and rebels to visiting musicians and artists. The five sisters welcomed visitors from all walks of life. They took great pride in upholding the 'open house' tradition established during their parent's time, viewing it as a cherished legacy filled with laughter, conversation, music, and the aroma of home-cooked food.      
       Minamoto made friends easily and engaged in the Irish culture wholeheartedly, embracing his new community's warmth and hospitality. Some would say, with good intentions, that there was Irish blood in his Asian heart .. little did they know. He participated in various social events held in the Big House, from lavish dinner parties that included political friends of Long Jonn, to lively céilí sessions where traditional music and poitín drinking thrived in equal amounts. Through these gatherings, Minamoto not only shared his own heritage in telling stories from Japan, creating a blend of cultural exchange that enriched the lives of those who would encourage, especially the children, to do his Kabuki dance. The rolling green hills of the midlands and the gentle rhythm of rural life offered Minamoto a sense of peace and a new belonging. But he was conscious that he would never set foot in Japan again during his lifetime, a realization that settled heavily upon him like a thick fog, obscuring some of the memories of his past. He missed the cherry blossoms he had taken for granted, dancing in the gentle breeze that seemed to whisper their secrets to a young boy holding tight onto his grandfather's hand standing beside the pond of Kinkaku-ji Temple. At times, his recollections filled him with a bittersweet nostalgia.

       In the whaling village, with the pungent aroma of boiling whale oil mixed with sea air, Minamoto was the only resident Japanese. Now, having relocated to a farming community in the heart of Ireland in midlife, he found himself surrounded by the earthy scents of freshly ploughed fields and the natural cycle of organic growth and decay defining the seasons. It was a stark difference from the harsh industrial atmosphere of whaling. And here, in Stradhaven, Minamoto was the only Japanese resident, and as Long Jonn's sisters would humorously joke with him, he might very well be the only Japanese on the entire green island of Ireland .. a fact that both amused and endeared him all the more to the Sloan McRoen family. Though bashful about his cookery skills when there was a proficient cook in the Big House from the time it was first built, Minamoto would share his culinary skills with her when she invited him into her kitchen, introducing flavors and dishes that were foreign to the five sisters but fully enjoyed by everyone, including the cook. The sisters found great amusement with the situation in the kitchen because the cook took immense pride in her own culinary creations, especially her renowned minted pork and cabbage with brown soda bread and salted butter made from the milk of their own milking cows, their late father's pride and joy.

       A blend of curiosity and acceptance marked Minamoto's presence in this farming village, as the village's men often gathered to hear tales of his homeland in the local tavern, where he would bring his salted duck eggs to hand out and eat with his strong porter. Minamoto would always remark, after indulging in two or three pints, that the porter in Ireland was always stronger than what could be got in the whaling village .. but... 

 ''In a land that was cursed with famine the drink is now the curse of the Irish .. it makes you shoot at your landlord and it makes you miss him too.''

The men would constantly reassure him, after four or five pints, that it was the water and barley cultivated on land soaked in Irish rebel blood that gave it its strength and the justification for more strong porter to be consumed. Minamoto developed a deeper appreciation for Ireland's political struggle for its independence, and often reflected on his heritage during the afternoons he spent in the folly tower, where he would share his spoken thoughts with his deceased Jiji...
 ''If only you could see me now Jiji, living on the other side of the world with not a shogun in sight, what would you have to say about that .. no, best I not know.''

    A Mother's Spirit...

                                One drizzly afternoon, when Minamoto was in the folly tower reading an Irish folklore book of tales about the sea from the Slone McRoen extensive library in killing time so as not to be killed by it. For Minamoto, immersing himself in books became an irresistible escape from the chaos of his recent thoughts about death. It offered him a break from the constant chatter in his mind, creating a sublime state of pure nothingness. He felt he was not alone when he began to doze off. He became aware of his drowsiness and the sound of cows in the surrounding fields calling to their herd mates and calves for reassurance, only to be roused intermittently by the sound of a woman's voice, which seemed to be calling out to him with a lilting accent. It appeared to be near and yet distant. The voice, soft and gentle, carried on the wind comforted him, it seemed to imbue the very core of the tower. Each call hinted at the promise that his grandfather awaited him just beyond the distant horizon, and the reality that time was running out, something that Minamoto was well aware of. This feeling of awakening and surrendering himself to the voice persisted for some time. In this state, the boundaries between reality and imagination started to blur. It was as if the tower itself had conjured up a spirit on a drizzly afternoon to bring him a warning. Each time he stirred, the voice would fade into the background, only to return as he drifted back into his drowsiness in reminding him that even in solitude, he was never truly alone. Minamoto knew it was a good spirit who was talking to him because he never felt intimidated or frightened, but it was not the first time this spirit had come to Minamoto in the folly tower.
       That night at dinner, when all of the family was sitting around the dining table, Long Jonn inquired about Minamoto's day. Although he had some troubling news, he received a letter from the whaling village a week ago about Jake Snide and his woman Annie Donny, to share with Minamoto. Long Jonn was perceptive enough to first check on how Minamoto was feeling because in the last two weeks or so, he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. Minamoto, observing Long Jonn, who knew that look, had his attention. He recounted his recent experiences in the folly tower to everyone gathered at the dining table, feeling that the moment was appropriate to share his story in how he had heard a soothing female voice with a lilting accent that offered him some kind of reassurance in reminding him that he was not alone, instilling in him a sense of calm within the uncertainty of what he thought was happening, he also told them he could smell a whiff of lavender in the air at times. As he spoke, everybody gave Minamoto their full attention and stopped eating and talking in mid-motion. Long Jonn and his sisters became reserved, and the once lively chatter that filled the room faded into a morgue silence. Their expressions were a mixture of concern and anticipation, and even the children sensed the shift in the atmosphere among the adults gathered at the dining table. The cook, who was just entering the dining room with a steaming bowl of parsley-buttered potatoes, halted abruptly in her steps. She stood fixed, the warm bowl cradled in her hands. Her gaze moved between the anxious expressions of the adults and the wide-eyed wonder of the children, who were acutely aware of the heavy silence in the room. The children, with their innocent curiosity, sensed the gravity of the situation, their eyes sparkling with a blend of excitement and confusion. Some of the sisters exchanged glances with the cook, their faces reflecting a mix of concern, as if they collectively knew what Minamoto was going to tell them.

       Minamoto pondered the implications of these encounters and felt uneasy about bringing it up at the dinner table, but he had gone too far now to stop his account of the day's incident. He continued to express a sense of personal apprehension regarding the frequency of these occurrences, that the voice had become a recurring presence lately during his visits to the folly tower in the afternoons. It seemed to him at times to be more like a source of reassurance, like a gentle reminder that he was connected to something greater than himself, but he was getting confused about it all, and then he apologized again for bringing it up at dinner. Nobody said anything, and then Minamoto asked, looking at Long Jonn, if they were mere figments of his imagination or if they held some deeper significance that he was unaware of. And then, Minamoto realized that the children were paying him their full attention with wide eyes and open mouths. He smiled at them. They relaxed, thinking that Uncle Minamoto was telling one of his ghost stories, and started to giggle. The cook smiled. Everybody smiled. Long Jonn's eldest sister took the lead and said...
 ''Sure now, that just sounds like what mother would do .. does it not Jonn .. does it not sound like what mother would do?'' 

       Long Jonn glanced at his sister and grinned before turning his gaze to his hands, holding them up for everybody to see and remarking that he had developed more calluses since working the limestone in the quarry, and that they reminded him of his father's hands. He recalled how their mother used to rub them at night at the fireside with a scented petroleum jelly that smelled of lavender. Everybody started to talk again, and Minamoto thought, what a strange family Jiji this lot is.

    The Death Of The Kabuki...

                                              It had been five years since Minamoto and Long Jonn departed from the whaling village for a new life in Ireland. Emmet Meagher, the proprietor of The One-Legged Whaler bar, maintained a correspondence with Long Jonn by letter, providing updates about the latest events in the whaling village, though its information would be out of date by the time Long Jonn would have received the letter. However, the most recent letter from Emmet Meagher came with troubling news about the flamboyant Jake Snide and his woman, Annie Donny.

       It had been three weeks since Long Jonn received the letter by ship. As the days passed, Jonn felt the burden of its contents pressing heavily on his conscience. He understood the profound impact it would have on Minamoto, whose health was already fragile. Minamoto was complaining of pains he was having in his chest recently, but refused to see the family doctor. Minamoto realized that the truth could not be contained indefinitely. Long Jonn conceded that he could no longer keep the letter from Minamoto, regardless of the severity of its contents. He understood that withholding the letter from Minamoto would only prolong the inevitable and decided that it was time for Minamoto to read the letter for himself. Long Jonn found Minamoto in the library selecting a book for his nighttime reading. As Long Jonn approached, he observed Minamoto's bent-over behavior, he knew he was in pain. The soft glow of the library's lights illuminated the leather spines of countless volumes, some first editions that Long Jonn's father had bought from book dealers both in Dublin and London. Long Jonn handed the letter to Minamoto. As Minamoto held the letter in his hands that was addressed to Long Jonn, he scrutinized its surface, and the poor quality of the paper, which was slightly crumpled and tinged with faint stains of blue ink. With a furrowed brow, he examined the school-boyish handwriting, uneven and slanted. He knew the letter was from Emmet Meagher. The very thought of Emmet brought a twinge of sentimentality to Minamoto for their shared past and friendship. With a mix of emotion and an uneasy curiosity about the contents of the letter, Minamoto began to read...

 Dear Friend,

                  It's with sad news that I write this here letter to you from The One-Legged Whaler. The Kabuki is no more. Scuttled I believe and what's more Jake Snide and Annie Donny were found guilty of piracy and hanged along with their crew. The pair were pirating merchant vessels up and down the coast of Jamaica. I know Snide's decision to have Annie Donny accompany him was highly unusual because as you well know women are considered bad luck aboard ship. Well that point is proven to be correct now but you know that Annie Donny was as stubborn as any four-legged creature that walked on God's earth and insisted that wherever Snide went she went. On another note you remember Captain Brody of the Marybeth, he lost his eldest son in a drowning while trying to outrun pirates in the South China Sea. I know this letter will take some time to reach you but if he wants my help tell Captain Minamoto I can lease out the cottage for him. You can let me know on that. Otherwise all's well here despite the bloody slump in whaling. You two at the time made the right move to Ireland when you did. Fiadh sends her blessings. Waiting to hear from you in your own time.

Yours truly Emmet Meagher

       Minamoto read the letter, glanced at Jonn, and read the letter once more under the soft evening light filtering through the windows in the library. The silence between them was deafening. Long Jonn prepared himself for the conversation ahead. Unvoiced questions and the weight of the situation swirled in Minamoto's mind, highlighting the significance of the letter and its news about the scuttling of The Kabuki. Minamoto's heart raced, he could feel the tightness in his chest as he grappled with the enormity of what he had just read. It was not the hanging of Snide and Donny that affected him so much, though their money was as good as any man's, but the scuttling of The Kabuki .. that was too much for Minamoto to bear. In that stillness, the silence became a witness to their unspoken thoughts. Minamoto handed the letter to Jonn without saying a word and withdrew to his bedroom. Long Jonn accepted the letter with a nod. In the solitude of his room, Minamoto's heart strings pulled tight as he contemplated the implications of the letter. Filled with the echoes of his own doubts and fears, the familiar surroundings offered him little comfort as he paced the bedroom. His relentless march back and forth was oblivious to the uncertainty that now lay ahead.

        Minamoto was absent from the family for dinner that evening, even though he had prepared the sauce for the two pheasants earlier in the day for roasting. Minamoto and the cook had become close friends through their culinary skills that the five sisters would tease them in trying to make a match. The news of the letter had circulated among everyone in the Big House before Minamoto had even read it, leading them to conclude now that it would be best to leave him alone in his bedroom to come to terms with the fate of his cherished Kabuki. Long Jonn, casually remarked during a silent pheasant dinner that he intended to check on Minamoto the next morning before leaving for the quarry, if he did not meet him at breakfast. This comment was delivered amidst the soft clinking of cutlery that reflected Jonn's concern for his companion's well-being. He also talked about the upcoming testing of new drill heads that came from Italy, which is scheduled for the afternoon. Long Jonn was looking forward to testing the drill heads that are intended for use in boring the limestone in the upper section of the quarry that had recently been cleared of its topsoil and trees. As dinner came to an end and the sisters one by one left the dining table, the flickering candlelight cast shadows that danced across the table, mirroring the unspoken worries that lingered in Jonn's mind about Minamoto. He was well aware that Minamoto, a man with a keen fascination for the latest advancements and unique designs that could be forged from metal would inevitably appear at the quarry in the afternoon, which was always a time of enjoyment for the men in the quarry. They were proud of having the only Japanese, perhaps on the entire island of Ireland, living in their village of Stradhaven.

    The Death Of Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto...

                                                                               After a breakfast of fried kippers, cook's freshly baked soda bread, and strong black tea, no sugar, Long Jonn glanced at the empty chair across from him. It was a stark reminder of his companion's distress after reading the letter from Emmet Meagher. As he climbed the polished oak stairs smelling of beeswax to Minamoto's bedroom, the morning sun streamed through the upper windows, casting a warm glow that hinted at the promise of a fine day ahead .. ideal for testing the new drill heads that had recently arrived from Italy. As Jonn ascended each polished step, a feeling of uncertainty came over him, leaving him to ponder the emotional state of Minamoto on this beautiful morning. After Minamoto had slept on the news of the letter, Long Jonn imagined his companion’s thoughts swirling like leaves caught in a gentle breeze, wondering if Minamoto had found solace in sleep or if the sad news had kept him awake, wrestling with the implications of their now shared burden. The usual morning routine felt incomplete without Minamoto's presence, it was not like him to miss breakfast. Cook reminded Long Jonn, and not for the first time that morning, to check in on Minamoto before he left for the quarry, and to tell him that she had made steamed rice and salted egg for him, the way he likes it, but Long Jonn's mind was questioning whether he had done the right thing in showing Minamoto the letter, or if the distressing news had affected Minamoto more than he had anticipated.

       Standing outside Minamoto's door, Long Jonn knocked gently .. no response. Calling out Minamoto's name, he waited patiently, nothing but silence, his words waning into the quiet hallway. Long Jonn noticed the wolfhound, Finn MacCool the second, son of Finn MacCool, lying outside his late parent's bedroom door. The hound preferred to remain in his own world, shielded from the interactions that defined the essence of family life beginning on a new day. Jonn leaned closer, pressing his ear against the cool surface of the wooden oak door, and called out Minamoto's name in a clear voice .. still silent. Finn MacCool the Second lowered his gaze, deliberately avoiding contact with Long Jonn, who could now hear the rest of the family moving about in the Big House. The sound of children and running footsteps echoed throughout the rooms, accompanied by the excited voice of his youngest sister calling her children for breakfast, or she would give it to the hounds. The two twin bachelor brothers, farmhands to the Big House since leaving school to support their mother when their father died, struck by a bolt of lightning on his way home from working in the quarry since the first stone was taken out of the ground. As he navigated the familiar path home to his wife and teenage twin sons, his pride and joy, the air crackled with electricity, an overture to the fierce storm that would soon unleash its fury and execute his fate.

       The twins were engaged in lighthearted banter about the previous night’s shenanigans in The Quarryman tavern in the village, where their father's porter mug was still in its place of honor beside their own. After the morning milking, the cows were herded into the lower pasture for grazing throughout the day, before the evening milking at five o'clock. The air was filled with the earthy scent of damp soil after the night's rain, and the sweet aroma of wildflowers drifting in the air gave out a false sense of comfort. With their keen ingrained instincts and boundless energy, the two herding dogs darted along the line of cows, their sharp barks echoing across the fields, disturbing the crows and jackdaws from their roost in the nearby trees. The cows however appeared unhurried, moving in a leisurely procession, their tails swishing contentedly as they ambled toward their grazing grounds, seemingly indifferent to the yelps of the dogs and the enticing allure of fresh grass glistening with the morning's dew. That expanse of lush grass, nurtured from the seeds sown by Jonn's father, played a pivotal role in their everyday sustenance that produced their sweet milk. The pasture also allowed them to enjoy the freedom of open space, where they could roam and socialize with one another. They seemed to possess an innate understanding of their role with humanity.

       Long Jonn opened the door gently, calling Minamoto's name again. The heavy sea green drapes that Jonn's eldest sister had chosen for Minamoto's bedroom created a sense of seclusion and tranquility that was reminiscent of the ocean's depths, and remained closed. Long Jonn's eyes were still adjusting to the dim light in the room when he noticed Minamoto sitting up in bed. His knitted Galway shawl, a gift from the five sisters knitted during their evening knitting sessions in the drawing room with their parent's oil portraits looking on in approval, was draped over Minamoto's shoulders .. his book was open, his eyes closed. Long Jonn, speaking in a cheerful tone, declared...

 ''Cap, how can you read in this light? You know it's not good for your eyes. Did you not hear me calling out to you? You know we have a big day in the quarry today in testing the drill heads from Italy .. don't you want breakfast? Cook made steamed rice and salted egg for you .. time to get up Cap, let's go, time to move.''

No response. Long Jonn turned and noticed that Minamoto had not moved from his double bed. His head was slightly leaning to one side, his chin resting on his chest. Long Jonn slowly walked towards the bed. He was shocked to see that Minamoto's skin, particularly his face, had an ashen appearance. A thin dribble of saliva trickled from the corner of Minamoto's mouth as the soft rays of the morning sun filtered through the room. It shimmered as it traced its way down his chin slowly, capturing a fleeting moment of human de-stress that often goes unnoticed. Long Jonn reached out to grasp Minamoto's right hand .. it was cold .. very cold, causing Jonn to release it in alarm, which caused it to fall onto the open book only to close, revealing the front cover of Melville's novel, Moby Dick, which had been hidden from Jonn's view until that very moment. The stark whiteness of the whale Moby Dick against the deep blue background seemed to leap out at Long Jonn from the cover, reminding him of their whaling days together on The Kabuki and the struggle against nature that Melville so masterfully portrayed in his story that Long Jonn and Minamoto would read and act out to everybody in the Big House in the evenings in the drawing room in relieving some of the adventures of their whaling days. Long Jonn, holding Minamoto's cold hand, sighed and said...

''Ohhh, Minamoto.''

    The Send-Off And The Burial...

                                                   The wake was held in the grand setting of the drawing room in the Big House. It lasted for two full days and well into the night, bringing together the entire community of Stradhaven village to honor Minamoto by sharing stories and recollections of the man who had touched their lives in various ways. Families and friends, and it was known he had no enemies came to the wake, some of the children bringing wild flowers they had collected from the hedgerows along the way for Minamoto. The drawing room was thoughtfully arranged by the five sisters and cook. With their distinct personalities, the sisters contributed their unique touch to create an inviting and harmonious atmosphere. Fresh flowers from the garden were neatly arranged by cook in a porcelain vase on the polished mahogany table, enhancing the room's charm. The cook, with an eye for aesthetics, industriously added the finishing touches throughout the day.

       The drawing room featured traditional pieces, symbolic artifacts that reflected Minamoto's heritage. His Kabuki mask and his Daisho swords, his family legacy on display for all to see, some for the first time, with the local blacksmith taking a special interest in the Daisho set. The quarrymen stood around the room in solemn silence at the shock of seeing Minamoto laid out in the intricately woven wicker coffin crafted with care by one of the quarrymen .. it was a stark contrast to the rugged conditions of the quarry and yet echoed its terrain and colors. Memories of Minamoto's laughter and friendship resonated in their minds with the help of generous glasses of poitín poured by Long Jonn, with each man in a gesture of respect tipping his Irish tweed flat cap to Jonn. The same men made a present of a cap to Minamoto at one time, who always wore it with pride. It was even remarked by some of the women in the room that quarrymen will go to sleep while still wearing their flat caps in bed. But that flat cap was a symbol of their identity, signifying a life dedicated to toil and perseverance in working the stone. The rich aroma of the poitín mingled with the pipe smoke in the air, with the murmur of invocations in the background creating a setting that felt intimate in honoring Minamoto's life and the indelible mark he left on those who knew him, ensuring that his spirit would continue to inspire and guide them in the days and years to come. The essence of his friendship would forever linger in their hearts. It was a fitting tribute to a friend whose ghost was sure to be walking among them.

       On the second day of the wake, the attendees commemorated the life of the Japanese man who had touched their hearts with Irish folk music and rich black porter brought to the Big House in oak kegs by horse and cart by the local publican of The Quarryman tavern. Ample helpings of Irish beef stew and pork, colcannon, not too creamy, and steamed rice, the way Minamoto liked it, dark brown soda bread near to black .. cook thought it was fitting for the wake. The cook, alongside the five sisters, prepared everything during the night, reminiscing about Minamoto and the good man he was. Amidst their otherwise composed behavior moments of unexpected weeping surfaced, where strength and fragility coexist in the loss of a loved one, and the role of a woman in such times becomes vulnerable. But as the years passed, the stories of Minamoto and his wake in the Big House were transformed into a cherished narrative in Stradhaven village that was passed down into the next generation, ensuring that the legacy of Minamoto, the Japanese man who lived in the midlands of Ireland would not be forgotten.

       Although Minamoto was not Christian, he was laid to rest according to Christian rites carried out by his porter drinking companion, Father Paddy O'Shaw, the local Catholic priest who leaned more to the rebel cause in Ireland, had served the community of Stradhaven since his ordination from the seminary thirty years prior. The relationship between the two men transcended all religious boundaries while they shared a fondness for eating salted duck eggs while drinking the strong black porter. Father Paddy, as he was called by the locals, took it upon himself, without consulting the Bishop of the diocese and regardless of their personal beliefs, ensured that Minamoto received a dignified farewell under the rites of the church. He told the people it was the least he could do for a dear friend in declaring that God would turn a blind eye for Minamoto and let him into Heaven by the back door.

       The Slone McRoen family was sure that Minamoto would not object because his heart was always open to accepting life and what fate had in store for him. Before Minamoto's wicker coffin was closed, Long Jonn carefully placed his Daisho swords, symbolic of honor and the warrior's spirit alongside him, a gift from his beloved Jiji when Minamoto reached manhood in remarking that he would need them in the next world when he meets up with his dear Jiji .. and maybe he would have some explaining to do about wearing his Irish tweed flat cap. On a sunny morning of the funeral, Long Jonn stood at the open grave alongside his five sisters, the cook, the farmhands, and the Big House three wolfhounds with some of the quarrymen keeping their distance from the hounds .. the sun also shone .. just for Minamoto. The symbolic meaning of the sun to Japan was not lost on Jonn when looking down at Minamoto's wicker coffin, thinking .. you can't keep a good man down. He also recalled a week before Minamoto's death what he had said to him when they were in the folly tower that his father had built for his mother so she could see the quarry and him waving to her. Looking out over the fields at the grazing cows with the quarry still in sight, Minamoto turned to Jonn, placing his hand on his shoulder, leaning in as was his habit when he wanted Jonn's attention and speaking in a soft voice, said...

  ''A closed fist cannot engage in a handshake Jonn. You remember our first encounter when my first mate rescued you from the sea, and you standing on deck of the Kabuki wet to the skin with closed fists thinking that I was a pirate .. we, and maybe I speak now more for myself have come a long way since that day Jonn.''

      Captain Yurigata Suri Minamoto found his final resting place in the Slone McRoen family plot in Stradhaven village, nestled in the midlands of Ireland, far removed from his homeland of Japan and the cherished memories of his dearest Jiji and his beloved tormented suicidal wife of her own fantasies. Minamoto's grave lies near that of Billy 'Limey' Stone, and is vigilantly watched over by the ghost of Finn MacCool the first, the Irish wolfhound that belonged to Jonn's late father. This noble creature was known for its protective instincts and loyalty to Jonn's father and the Big House. As the gentle winds rustle through the trees, the crows and jackdaws call out to each other while Finn MacCool the first, who now stands as a guardian to all who are interred in the Slone McRoen family burial ground .. his watchful spirit offers solace to the souls resting there, assuring them that they are safeguarded and can rest in peace.  

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