Chasing the Secret Read Online Free Page A

litter, and at a word from Tatsuya, who was at the front, we turned and faced the doorway. I noticed a small group of mourners had gathered there, ready to fall in behind us as we proceeded along the pathway to the temple.
    Suddenly I heard an imperious command, and Uncle Hidehira came sweeping in, flanked by a dozen or so of his heavily armed samurai guards. “I will lead the procession,” he said abruptly, one hand on the scabbard of his curving sword.
    I glanced at Mr. Choji. His face turned a dull, angry red and there was a moment of tense silence. Then he handed the lantern to Uncle Hidehira and bowed low.
    With a satisfied smile, Uncle Hidehira turned to lead the procession out of the hall. As soon as he was out of earshot, I heard Ko, the kitchen boy, speak quietly to Mr. Choji. “It would honor Master Goku if you took my place and helped carry the casket.”
    â€œIt is I who am honored, my son,” Mr. Choji said humbly as Ko gave up his place.
    With Uncle Hidehira at the front, we moved slowly out of the main hall and into the morning sunshine. We followed a white pebble pathway and proceeded through the rock gardens, passing lily ponds that reflected the clear blue sky. As we walked, I couldn’t help but remember the first time I had seen Master Goku. He had been standing in the gateway of the dojo, staring sternly at my cousin Ken-ichi, who had challenged me to a duel.
    Goku had given us so much. The casket shifted slightly as someone stumbled, and I saw it was Hana. Perhaps she too was thinking about Goku, of his kindness and all the things he had taught us.
    At last, the temple came into sight with its tall pagoda building near the front of the sacred ground, in a circle of golden gravel. We were headed for the main building with three ornate curving rooftops stacked one above the other. Monks in saffron-yellow robes stood on either side of the steps leading up to the entrance, where a round copper gong hunggracefully from an ash-wood hanger.
    The monks bowed their smoothly shaven heads as Uncle and his guards passed between them and began to climb the steps.
    Once my eyes had adjusted to the dimly lit interior of the temple, I saw an old priest waiting for us by a bronze statue of the Buddha. He had a shakujo ritual staff in his hand, the iron rings jingling at the top. Behind him stood an impressive altar, lacquered with green and gold, and touched here and there with glossy black paint.
    As we moved forward, the priest rang the altar bell and began to chant, the nasal sounds of his words running into one another.
    We carefully placed the casket in front of the altar. Mr. Choji nodded his approval and stepped forward to make a final adjustment to its position.
    The students filed silently into the temple behind us and kneeled in neat rows. Watched by Uncle Hidehira’s samurai guards, the mourners from the nearby villages filled the spaces at the sides of the temple, heads bowed. I could hear a woman quietly weeping near the back. Other mourners had arranged their hair in the traditional samurai style and I guessed they had once been students of Master Goku.
    The monks walked slowly up the center of the temple to continue the ceremony. At the end of thelong prayer, the old priest finished chanting and fell silent. There was a moment of peaceful contemplation. I knew that next a relative of the dead should rise and thank the guests for coming. But of course Master Goku had no relatives.
    I glanced at Mr. Choji, wondering whether he would speak, but in my heart I knew it would be Uncle. And sure enough, Hidehira left his position at the head of Goku’s casket and moved forward. My stomach seemed to fall away and I felt a hot rush of hatred for him.
    â€œFriends,” he began in a deep, self-important voice. “As well as being Jito of the southern part of this province, I was Goku’s most trusted friend.”
    That’s not true, I wanted to shout, indignation rushing