No-one has disturbed its slumber for years, but hands now grasp blindly about the top shelf in the garden shed rousing it.
From darkness to full sunlight in a breath. There is no gradual withdrawal from its scabbard, no sounds of admiration for the beauty of the temper-line that runs the length of its cutting edge, and a heavy hand on its handle.
The wind whips around it as it is inexpertly waved about in the air. Becoming stationary for a moment its specular gleam blinds the owner of the hands, and he looks away.
The katana is roughly shoved back into its scabbard.
Troy is wrapped in finding his grandfather’s Japanese sword as the house is being cleared out. He bundles it up in an armful of blankets and stashes it in the boot of his car before anyone sees him. He’s had his eye on the sword since he was a boy.
His wife Sam, does not share his elation.
“It’s dangerous, not only that, it’s illegal!” she snaps. The sword takes notice of her statement. It shows honour.
“No-one will know I’ve got it!”
“It’s got to go.” She turns and walks out of the room.
Her aversion to the sword takes the edge off his enthusiasm. Walking out to his workshop he leaves the sword on the bench.
Troy decides to sleep on the problem and see what solution presents itself in the morning.