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I had gotten no answer to my letter asking permission to view the ninja training school. When I asked about this, I was told that there had been no need for a reply. Hatsumi Sensei had •’’seen” that I would be coming regardless. They simply waited for my arrival.

“I am one of the teachers at the ninja school. Hatsumi Sensei would like to meet you and speak with you. May we visit you this evening?”

The meeting had come a little sooner than I had expected. I hurriedly changed from dusty blue jeans to a suit and tie that I had brought along specifically for the purpose of making a favorable impression on the last master of the ninja tradition. I mentally rehearsed a formal greeting that I had memorized for the occasion.

The darkness surrounding the inn soon produced the two men. The master’s assistant appeared first, dressed casually in knit trousers and a golf sweater. We exchanged brief greetings and bows, and then he reached out and shook my hand in Western fashion. He had a warm smile, but he moved with quiet precision and I saw a look of cool, intense appraisal in his eyes. Hatsumi Sensei, the master, followed him into the light with a jaunty, relaxed gait, his hands tucked in the back pockets of off-white jeans. He had short graying hair and wore a maroon polo shirt. He didn’t bow, but gave a sort of chopping salute and shook my hand, then motioned us all back into the inn. His manner was casual, almost uninterested.