The Last Samurai

He said: How very flattering. It’s rather early, though, don’t you think? In the days when people paid morning calls they paid them in the afternoon, you know. The custom has died out, but this civilised conception of the day is preserved in the description of a performance beginning at four o’ clock as a matinee. You wouldn’t expect a matinee to begin at ten in the morning.

No, I said.

As it happens, however, you would have been doomed to disappointment had you come at a more suitable time. I have an appointment at two—hence my unseasonably matutinal appearance. Why did you want to meet me?

I took a breath. He raises the bamboo sword. He draws it back with beautiful economy.

I’m your son, I said. I could not breathe.

He paused. He was perfectly still.

I see, he said. Do you mind if I smoke? This is rather sudden.

Sure.

He took a gold case—a gold case, not a pack—from a pocket. He opened it: the cigarettes had dark paper, and a gold band near one tip.

He took out a cigarette; closed the case; tapped the cigarette on the case; put the case back in his pocket. He took out a gold lighter. He put the cigarette in his mouth; cracked the lighter; held the flame to the tip. All this time he did not look at me. He put the lighter back in his pocket. He inhaled on the cigarette. He still hadn’t looked at me. At last he looked at me. He said:

Would it be indelicate to ask your mother’s name?

She didn’t want you to know, I said. I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind. I must have hurt her very badly.

No, she—she just realised it was over and thought there was no point. She had enough money and didn’t want to trouble you.

How extraordinary. If we’d parted on bad terms I could understand if she’d felt miffed, but you say there was nothing of that kind. And yet she chose not to tell me something rather momentous. She must have a very low opinion of me—I am glad it has not prejudiced you against me.

No, no, I said. She said she didn’t know you very well.

Then she must have assumed the worst, surely?

He was taking slow drags on the cigarette, then speaking, then smoking again.

I’m sorry to question you so closely, but you must see that this is rather wounding to say the least. I freely admit that I have none of the uxorious virtues, but that’s scarcely synonymous with an abdication of obvious responsibilities—I’d always thought the women I’d known had understood the sort of man I was. I’m not a very deep character, you know—it’s pretty easy to get my measure on short acquaintance, and if women don’t like it they don’t stick around for very long—certainly not long enough to get to a bedroom. Or is that just shorthand for a one-night stand?

Yes, I said.

I see, yes, that makes a little more sense.

He smoked again.

If you’ll forgive the question, though, am I the only candidate?

She was working in an office with mainly women, I said. Then she met you at a party.

And was swept off her feet. And this was when? How old are you?

Twelve years ago. 11.

And where? In London?

I think so.

There’s just one thing I can’t quite understand. What harm could there be in telling me the name of a woman I knew so briefly? Why should your mother care?

I’m not sure.

I see.

He stubbed out the cigarette.

It’s all nonsense, isn’t it?

I was silent.

What put you up to it, a newspaper?

No—

You want money?

No.

I felt slightly shocked. It had happened so quickly.

Have you ever seen Seven Samurai?

A long time ago. What about it?

Do you remember the scene where Kyuzo has the duel?

I’m afraid I can’t remember their names.

Kyuzo is the one who isn’t interested in killing people.

I forced myself to speak slowly.

He fights a match with another samurai with a bamboo sword. He wins, but the other man claims it was a draw. So Kyuzo says, If we’d been fighting with real swords I’d have killed you. So the other samurai says, All right, let’s fight with real swords. So Kyuzo says, It’s silly, I’ll kill you. So the other samurai draws his sword, and they fight with real swords, and he’s killed.

Yes?

So I went to see my real father three months ago, just to see him. I didn’t say who I was. I was standing in his study, and I thought, I can’t say I’m his son, because it’s true.

He had been watching me with very bright, alert eyes and an impassive face. His eyes brightened further.

You could say it to me because it wasn’t true? he said. I see!

He saw it in a single second. He laughed suddenly.

But this is marvellous!

He glanced at his watch (gold of course).

Come in and tell me more about it, he said. I must hear more. Was I your first victim?

The fourth, I said.

I caught myself about to apologise and stopped myself from saying something idiotic.

The first three were terrible, I said which was a little like an apology. Two believed me and one didn’t. They were all terrible. Then I said it wasn’t true and they didn’t understand.

You astonish me.

Then I thought of you. I hadn’t before because I don’t play bridge.

Don’t you? Pity.

I thought you’d understand. I mean, I thought if you didn’t believe it you’d still understand.