The Last Samurai

I called his publisher and asked whether there would be any book signings. I counted on the charm of my childish voice to elicit the information I required, and in fact after a short time I was given a list of places where books would be signed.

He was signing books the next day at the Waterstone’s in Notting Hill Gate.

I took the Circle Line and ascended to the street.

I went to the book signing, and as I expected HC left on foot. He was as tall as she had said and covered ground fast, but I had expected that too and had brought my skateboard.

The house was large and white, with white pillars. In front was a little square of grass and roses around a paved stone circle, with a birdbath in the middle of the flagstones. There was nowhere to leave my skateboard. I walked ten houses down to a For Sale sign and hid my skateboard in the long grass and then walked back.

I rang the doorbell, and a woman with shining hair and jewellery and makeup and a pink dress came to the door.

I stared at her in surprise. I hadn’t known he was married. Or it could be his sister.

I said I had come to see Hugh Carey.

She said: I’m awfully sorry, he isn’t seeing anybody.

I said I was sorry and I went away and retreated up the street. Later the woman in pink came out and went to a car and got in it and drove away. I went back to the house and rang the bell.

He came to the door and said What do you want.

His face was creased and brown and there was a badly healed scar down one cheek. His eyes blazed blue. His eyebrows were shaggy, he had a straggling moustache. His hair was bleached very light, and there were white hairs in it.

What do you want? he said again.

I have to talk to you, I said. I knew that if I walked away I would despise myself for the rest of my life.

He said he could spare a few minutes and I followed him inside. I don’t know what I expected but I was surprised by the shining wooden floors and thick rugs and stuffed sofas. An interesting form of the subjunctive is not something you can bring back as a trophy but still this was not what I had expected.

We went into a room with a black and white marble floor and a pale yellow sofa and he gestured to the sofa and said again What do you want.

I looked into that face of stone and knew I was about to die. He would see instantly through the lie and be filled with contempt. I thought of him walking across China with the boy, and walking across Kazakhstan with a tiny band of men; it was cheap and contemptible to play a trick on someone like that. I should make some excuse and leave.

Kambei tells Rikichi to call a samurai to a fight. He sits inside waiting. He tells Katsushiro to stand just inside the door with a stick. A good samurai will parry the blow.

I thought that if I were a coward I really would be my father’s son.

I said: I wanted to see you because I’m your son.

You’re my—

I was dead.

Eyes like the burnished blade of a sword blazed in his hard face. I was dead.

His mouth tightened. I was dead.

At last he spoke.

How the hell did that happen? he said irritably. She told me she had everything taken care of.

She forgot that she’d taken the pill a day late the day before, I said truthfully. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

Women! he said contemptuously. You must be older than you look, it can’t have been later than 83 which would make you—

13 and 10 months, I said. I look young for my age.

Well, and so tell me about yourself, he said heartily. Where do you go to school? What are your interests?

I don’t go to school, I said. I study at home.

I was about to explain that I already knew Greek, French, Hebrew, Arabic, Japanese, Spanish, Russian and some Latin (in no particular order), plus a smattering of 17 or 18 others, when he exploded.

Oh my GOD! he exclaimed in horror. What is the stupid woman thinking of? Do you know ANYTHING? What’s 6 × 7?

What do you mean? I asked cautiously. I hadn’t done much on philosophy of number yet.

Oh—my—God.

He began pacing up and down the room, with a heavy-footed, slightly lame step—I remembered that he had covered thousands of miles on foot. He said: We’ve got to get you into a school pronto, my young friend. He said: Don’t get any ideas. I couldn’t possibly stump up school fees. He said: I hear some of the state schools aren’t bad. He said: My God, I knew the whole times table up to 12 by the time I was 6.

I’d known the times table up to 20 by the time I was 4, but I was too disgusted to say so. I said: Oh, you mean you wanted to know the product of 6 and 7.

What did you think I meant? he asked.

I don’t know, that’s why I asked what you meant, I said.

You’ll soon get that sort of nonsense knocked out of you at school, he said.