The Samurai's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

seemed too daunting. So instead of going through the proper channels, I gave it to an American friend to carry, a military doctor who was being repatriated after the Vietnam War.”
    â€œSo, it was important for you to have the sword here, even though you don’t worship it—at least, not that I can recall.”
    My father pressed his lips together. “Sword worship, some may say, is part of the Shinto religion. To me, it means other things. I cannot worship a gun; how can I worship a sword?”
    â€œI feel that way, too,” I said. “But why, then, does it hang on your wall?”
    My father sighed. “The temperature in the storage room is too uneven. And your mother likes the metalwork on the scabbard.”
    I suspected there was another reason, but I could tell that he wasn’t going to be helpful. I shifted gears. “Hugh liked the crane screens downstairs—the ones that are mounted on the walls in the foyer. I’ve never known who the artist was. Do you have any idea?”
    â€œNone whatsoever. I’m not a good person to talk about it, as I don’t really care for it.”
    â€œI see.” My father was so peculiar. “How did the screen comeinto family hands? Was it from the old feudal days, or was it a more recent purchase, in Kyoto or somewhere like that—”
    â€œMy great-grandfather acquired it. I’m almost sure he didn’t buy it, or if he did, he paid much less than it was worth.”
    â€œSounds as if he shops the way Mom and I do.”
    My father stiffened. “Exploitative is hardly how I’d think of you two.”
    I bit my lip. “That’s a harsh thing to say about good antiques shoppers. Whether it’s us or someone dead.”
    â€œI don’t know if this was taught in your master’s degree courses in art history, but my country appropriated quite a lot of art and gold from other Asian countries.”
    â€œDuring the occupation of Korea, you mean?” I struggled, trying to figure out my father’s trajectory. “Our screen is not Korean.”
    â€œIt’s Chinese. The Japanese military are said to have secretly entered Peking in 1900 and removed gold as well as treasured artworks from the imperial archives. The screen is so fine—much finer than a professor could afford. For that reason, I’ve always thought the screen probably was looted from China and given to my grandfather as a gift.”
    â€œBut that’s even better,” I said. “It’s such a dramatic story! A stolen treasure, maybe.”
    My father shook his head. “When a country loses its culture, it loses its soul. What kind of a place would China be today if it still had all its treasures? Would it be more humane?”
    I snorted, thinking that once again, my father’s idealism was out of control. “Do you think we should give back the screen to the Chinese government?”
    â€œNot the government. The people!”
    I pointed out that the government in China was actually called the People’s Party, and that the Chinese family who’d owned the screen had to have been obnoxiously wealthy landowners, but my argument was a rhetorical one.
    I finally understood what my father was saying—and it made me uncomfortable.

4
    Just after three, my mother interrupted me in a half-doze at my desk.
    â€œHugh’s on the line.”
    I picked up the cordless phone she’d brought, mentally preparing myself for bad news. He’d be delayed, probably; that was the life of a corporate lawyer.
    Instead, he said that he was through with his meeting and was calling to see if I was game to run an errand with him, then head out for a drink with his colleagues at the Mark Hopkins.
    â€œThis is weird,” I said. “You’ve never included me in so many things before.”
    â€œWell, after we broke up the last time, I went through the twelve-step program for bad boyfriends,