Free Samurai Summer by Åke Edwardson

it. I didn’t know if she could really do that. If there were laws or rules that gave them the right to do that. But I suspected that Matron and the counselors did as they pleased.
    “But… my mother isn’t home,” I said.
    “There are other camps,” said Matron. “If they’ll take you, that is.”
    She stood up.
    “So now you know.”
    “What?” I asked.
    “What happens if you don’t eat your breakfast tonight, of course.”
    She smiled a smile that made no one happy. She didn’t even look happy herself. I thought about the day-old oatmeal. Matron’s head looked like a moon, a black moon, as she looked down at me. Her teeth glinted. She moved her head back and forth as though she wanted to make sure it was firmly attached at the neck.

7
    T he troop was waiting for me outside the building. Everyone else out front was waiting for supper. I was hungry myself, but I didn’t want to think about it. A samurai had to be prepared to endure anything. I needed to have total self-control. I couldn’t show any feelings, especially where my stomach was concerned. Everything came from the stomach. A samurai’s life force was in his stomach. No one was going to come and tell me what to swallow. It was a question of honor. I could choose to leave all this with the help of the little sword and a single cut to the stomach.
    Hundreds of samurai had chosen to leave everything that way. But I wasn’t ready to do that. Things hadn’t gone that far. Not yet.
    “What did Matron say?”
    Sausage still looked like a drowned cat. His eyes were red,his face was blue, and his hair looked like it might never dry. On the march back his teeth had chattered like a rattlesnake.
    “Weine and his gang are keeping their distance,” said Janne. “They’re proving what cowards they are.”
    “We’ll deal with them later,” said Lennart and patted his sword.
    “Tell us what she said,” Sausage repeated.
    “They want to send me home,” I said.
    “They can’t do that, can they?”
    “They can do anything.”
    “Then they’ll have to send us all home,” said Janne.
    I looked at Janne. He was in no hurry to be sent off to that farm. He said “home” because he didn’t know what else to call it. There wasn’t any word that I knew of for a place that was home and yet wasn’t.
    “I’m not gonna go,” I said.
    “Hurray!” said Sausage.
    “What, so it’s been decided?” asked Micke. “They want to send you away?”
    “I’ve been given one last chance.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The oatmeal.”
    “Oh shit,” said Lennart.
    “We can pull the same trick as last time,” said Sausage, “and send the dish down to the girls.”
    “It won’t work a second time,” I said. “They’ll be watching now. And I wouldn’t want to do it anyway.”
    “What did she say—that girl—when she didn’t have to eat the liver the last time we passed it down?” asked Sausage.
    “Ann. Her name is Ann.”
    “So what did she say? To the counselor? They didn’t make her eat it.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Can’t you ask her? Maybe she’s got a secret. Maybe you could do the same thing.”
    Sausage didn’t know. None of the others in the troop knew. The price for that secret was that there would be girls in the castle. I would have to explain. I didn’t want to have to do that right now. I had other things to think about.
    “It wouldn’t hurt to ask her,” said Janne.
    “So, can we see the castle?” asked Ann. “You promised that we could see it.”
    I found her on the branch that reached out over the water. It was the first place I looked. Kerstin was sitting next to her. That was no surprise either.
    “There’s not much to see,” I answered. “It’s still only a hut right now.”
    “Don’t even try it,” said Kerstin.
    “It’ll be more fun to see it when it’s finished,” I said.
    “Then you’ll have to wait, too, to know what happened in the mess hall,” said Ann. She held up her hands and it