by John Boyne
“When you find this man,” he said, “do you mean to help him or harm him?”
I hesitated. I took the man’s warning on board, certain that I could not afford to lose this opportunity. “I mean to harm him,” I said, and he smiled.
“Good,” he said. “Then yes, I can help you.”
“I was told that he was here,” I said, relieved that my honesty might pay dividends. “In Bead Hill. But I’ve looked everywhere and asked everyone and—”
“He’s not here,” he said, shaking his head. “You may have been told that he was living in one of the Iroquois settlements, and that’s true enough, but it’s not this one.”
“Which one, then?” I asked.
“Teiaiagon,” he said. “Not far from here, only a few miles. The next one westward, in fact. He’s a fur trader there. Has been for a few years now. Made his fair share of money, too, and the fair share of others’ alongside it. But he’s brutal with it and isn’t a man known for charity. They say he keeps his wife under lock and key and never lets her out in daylight on account of him not wanting any man to lay eyes on what belongs to him.”
“You’re sure it’s him?” I asked. “You’re certain that he lives there?”
“No question about it, friend,” he said. “I’ve bought and sold off him for a while now. I was always honest in my dealings with him, but he wasn’t honest with me. Gave me this for my troubles when he thought I was overcharging him on hides.” He touched the scar on his face. “Or rather, he got one of his men to do it for him.”
I turned to Jonah in delight. Finally, this was the news I had been waiting for. I reached into my pocket and took out some banknotes but the man pressed his hand against mine, closing my fist over the money.
“I don’t need nothing,” he said. “Just you get yourself along to Teiaiagon tomorrow and sort out this business once and for all. If I ride through there in a few days’ time and hear that he’s dead, then that’ll be reward enough for me.”
* * *
• • •
We rested well, breakfasted heartily and then waited until the late morning to leave Bead Hill, making our way toward Teiaiagon without engaging in much conversation. I was preoccupied with what might lie ahead of me and Jonah respected my silence. How could Henry hate me so much, I wondered? All this loss, all this bloodshed. Suddenly, our whole lives as children and young men seemed so futile and fraudulent.
When we arrived in the town, we rested our horses at a local stable for the night and, pulling our hats down low over our heads, walked in the direction of the local inn. Not wanting to give him any advantage over me, I was wary of Henry seeing me before I caught sight of him. We sat at a table near the door with a view over the street but hidden away from the glances of passersby. We talked, drank, ate a little and, as the sun began to set, I heard the distinctive sound of sticks approaching the tavern from outside. I felt a combination of excitement and biliousness, my heart pounding faster inside my chest, but remained where I was, waiting as the tapping grew louder, and then, walking toward the door, I saw him.
I glanced at Jonah, who looked back at me, and I nodded slowly. He strained his neck to get a better view and I prayed that my cousin would not enter the inn but continue along. Despite the length of my odyssey, I was not quite prepared for what I was going to say or do. I felt a sense of relief when, rather than entering the tavern, he continued on his way, and watched as he reached the end of the road before turning to his right and ascending a staircase to a small house, opening the door and walking inside.
Once we were sure that he wasn’t going to reappear, Jonah and I made our way out on to the street and followed in the same direction. Standing outside, I looked up toward the first floor and, in the window, I watched as some candles were lit and the familiar shadow of a woman stood by the glass. I let out a cry of delight under my breath but, before I could rush up the staircase and race inside to reclaim my wife, my brother touched me on the arm and pointed to the corner of the garden, beneath a willow tree, where a tombstone stood. I crouched down to read the words inscribed upon the monument and, without warning, the ground began to feel unsteady beneath my feet, for there, carved into the rock, was my wife’s name.
I let out a cry and turned toward the window again. If that was not Sara up there with Henry, then who was it? Only when she turned and I saw her profile did I understand why I had made such a simple error.
Of course, it wasn’t Sara at all. It was her daughter, Beatrice.
JAPAN
A.D. 1743
HAVING FINALLY TRACKED Hachirou down, I wanted nothing more than to march into his home and terminate that longstanding relationship between his shoulders and his head. However, my honored brother Junpei, calmer and wiser than I at this moment of pain, persuaded me that I should first afford my mind and body the opportunity of rest before approaching this terrible business in a more rational frame of mind the following day. We repaired to our lodgings, a small travelers’ rest house where an elderly lady by the name of Mitsuki lay some tatami mats on the floor of one of the guest rooms for us.
Mitsuki’s granddaughter, a rather shy young girl named Nanako, knocked on our door shortly afterward, her head held low so as not to catch my eye, carrying a tray with two bowls of hot water to wash our hands and faces, along with some miso soup to fill our stomachs, and while Junpei fell asleep almost immediately after eating, I lay awake for many hours, drinking a flagon of beer, worried that somehow my prey would sense my presence in the town and flee in the middle of the night.
I was troubled by my stepdaughter’s presence in his house, wondering why she had allowed herself to remain his prisoner, particularly since he had, I assumed, murdered her mother, for whom my heart grieved. A third wife lost to me.
Eventually I dozed off but woke only a few hours later, just as the sun began to rise, and made my way into the kitchen, where our hostess, Mitsuki, was already standing by her oven, preparing food for the day ahead. She bowed when she saw me, placing a light breakfast of grilled fish, two dashimaki eggs and a chawan of rice on the table.
“You have traveled far?” she asked, sitting down opposite me as I ate. She had a kindly face, but a patch of skin on her right temple where no hair grew and the skin was deeply scarred suggested at least one violent encounter in her past.
“Across most of Japan,” I told her. “From Sendai to Niigata, Osaka to Hiroshima, and Fukuoka to Kumamoto. I have seen our country in ways that I had never anticipated.”
“You must be a man with a great interest in the world.”
“Given the choice,” I said, smiling, “I would have remained in my home village, father to a large family, crafting chashaku and chasen, my chosen profession. But circumstances stood in the way of my plans.”
“This happens,” she said, nodding her head. “I myself had ideas for how I wanted to live my life but perhaps I was born in the wrong time or the wrong country. But if you have traveled so far unwillingly, then I must assume that you are searching for something?”
“For someone. But I have found him here in Kyoto.”
She poured some tea and watched as I drank it. “Today will be a day of violence, I think,” she said quietly. “I can tell from the expression upon your face.”
“What expression is that?”
“You appear determined. And a little regretful. But, above all, frightened.”
“Frightened?” I repeated, frowning. “I don’t think so.”
“You are frightened that you have turned into a man that you never expected to be. Tell me your name, honored guest.”
I told her and she smiled. “That is not the name of a man who enjoys the spilling of blood. And today, there will be bloodshed, yes?”
“There will.”
“May I ask whose?”
I looked away, uncertain whether it was safe to confide my pl
ans in her. But she was very old and did not seem likely to threaten them.
“A man named Hachirou,” I said.
“The fabric seller?” she replied. “He who carries himself upon sticks?”
“The very one. You know him, then?”
“He is well known by all here. A man without honor.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How long has he lived here?” I asked.
“Not long,” she replied. “A few years at most. He came with money and bought the largest machiya that he could find. Three floors, as if anyone needs so much space. Soon, he bought other buildings around the city and began to rent them out to people who could scarcely afford his exorbitant rates. When they default, he makes them pay penalties. He is feared, of course, but also despised. He has hurt you in some way?”
“He has,” I admitted.
“Then perhaps his moment has come. We must all bid farewell to this life at some point.”
A vein in her temple, close to the area of bare skin, pulsed a little as she said this and, seeing the direction of my eyes, she placed her hand against the scar, covering herself for a moment.
“My husband did this to me,” she said. “A cruel man. The type who is excited by violence against women.”
“Does he yet live?”
“It is said that he left Kyoto with a young girl, his lover, many years ago under cover of darkness,” she replied. “But in truth, he is buried beneath this very house. I took a knife to his throat one night while he was sleeping. Perhaps, after I am gone, they will find him there. It will be too late to punish me, though.”
I stared at her in surprise until, smiling, she placed a hand upon my shoulder for a moment and stood up to return to her cooking. I took her hand in mine before she could move on. “Tell me, Respected Elder,” I said. “Did you ever know a woman named Sanyu?”
She nodded and sat down again. I could see tears forming in her eyes, but she wiped them away. “A beautiful creature,” she said.
“Can you tell me anything about her? About what happened to her, I mean?”
Mitsuki sighed. “She arrived with him,” she told me. “With Hachirou. And with a girl. Her daughter, I think.”
“Bashira.”
“A strange girl. A troubled girl.”
“Her life has been difficult,” I said. “Scars lie deep within her soul.”
“Sanyu hurt her in some way when she was a child?”
“No, her tormentor was her father.”
“And yet her anger, as far as I could see, was aimed toward her mother. She screamed at her in the street, behaving with no respect. She brought shame upon them both with her rage.”
“Sanyu was permitted outside the house?” I asked in surprise, for I had heard that she had been locked indoors, out of sight of other men.
“Sometimes. Although on those rare occasions, Hachirou would accompany her wherever she went. He tied her arm to his with some sisal rope to prevent her from running away. When asked why he treated her in such a degrading fashion, he said that she had tried to kill him once, to stab him in the back with a kaiken, and so he kept her on a leash as punishment, as one might keep a temperamental dog. The men, of course, thought the situation amusing and none would ever have intervened. As for the women, well, there was nothing that we could do about it if we wanted to keep our heads. The world is not ruled by mothers, more’s the pity.”
“And when did she die?” I asked, the word catching in my throat as I uttered it.
“Perhaps a year ago,” she replied. “In the most mysterious of circumstances. I saw her myself earlier that same morning at the marketplace, where she had gone to purchase fish. She appeared healthy. But the next day she was carried from Hachirou’s home and buried in a plot of land next to it. It is assumed that he murdered her, perhaps she tried to kill him again, but of course he was never held to account for it.”
“Not yet, anyway,” I said. “Believe me, that will change today.”
She rose again as Junpei entered the room, bowing toward him before returning to the kitchen to prepare a second plate. “When you kill him,” she said as she departed, “make sure that he suffers. And if you need a place to bury his body, let me know. I have some experience in these matters.”
* * *
• • •
Breaking into Hachirou’s home proved easier than expected. The door was unlocked and, unlike most of the wealthy merchants who lived in the city, he stationed no guards outside. Stepping inside, I was impressed by the elegance of the house. Its long rooms were separated by translucent paper shōji while the water features connecting the living area to the opulent gardens beyond were very beautiful. It was obvious that my cousin had thrived in the years since fleeing our village. Stepping outside and walking beneath the cherry trees, I examined the statues that had been erected, marveling at the hands that had crafted such beautiful art. Pressing my fingers against each one, I felt as if I had known this stone before, as if it were familiar to me. Lost in my reverie, I barely noticed when Junpei appeared by my side.
“It is what you imagined it to be?” he asked.
“I never gave much thought to his circumstances,” I replied. “My mind was always so focused on my search that I never really considered what he might have done in the intervening years. But he has done well for himself, that much is clear.”
“Well, I hope he enjoyed it, because he won’t be able to take any of it with him where he’s going.”
I nodded and turned to look at him, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. “I must thank you, Honored Older Brother,” I said, “for your willingness to join me in this quest. And for your many kindnesses whenever our paths have crossed.”
“Of course,” he said. “I hope it makes up for how cruel I was to you when we were children. And the disservice I did to your respected mother.”
“It does,” I said. “I forgive you for all of that and, were she here now, my mother would forgive you, too. The past is behind us and I am grateful for all that you have done since. But now, however, I must ask one last favor of you.”
“Name it.”
“I must ask you to leave.”
“To leave?”
“Yes,” I replied, looking him directly in the eye. “What happens next must be down to me and me alone. No one else can be involved. I will wait for Hachirou and, I hope, save Bashira, as Sanyu would have wanted me to do, but I must do all of this without assistance. Now that it is here, I need to confront it alone.”
He considered this for a few moments before nodding his head. He knew that what I said was true and honorable. I had brought my long sword with the curved blade—my katana—and he removed his own tantō sword from his belt so that I now carried the traditional samurai weaponry of daishō, one large and one small sword, about my person. He embraced me and departed without another word while I remained in the garden, testing both swords by moving them cleanly through the air as I grew accustomed to their weight in my hands. So lost was I in my practice that I did not hear the sound of sticks coming through the house or the approach of the man I had come to kill. Only when he spoke my name did I turn around in surprise, both swords still held aloft in a threatening fashion.
“Hachirou,” I said.
* * *
• • •
He had changed, of course, but then so had I. Where once he had been strikingly handsome, now his face was lined and dark bags hung low beneath his eyes. His hair, once dark, had thinned and what remained was scattered with flecks of gray. The hands that held the grips of his sticks seemed to tremble slightly, the blue veins visible in a way that my own were not.
“I knew you would come eventually,” he said, stepping out into the garden, sitting down on a bench and laying his sticks on the grass next to him. The sound he made as he sat seemed like that of a much older man and, for a
moment, I wondered what trials he had endured over the years. “It was inevitable. Every morning, I’ve woken wondering whether this would be the day that you would appear.”
“And did you dread it?” I asked, laying my swords down, too, as I took a seat on a second bench, which was positioned at a right angle to his. Despite how many years it had taken me to find him, I did not want to end his life just yet. I wanted to speak to him first, to understand his actions, if possible. He considered my question for a long time before answering.
“I dreaded it happening too suddenly,” he replied at last. “I didn’t want to wake some night to find you leaning over me with your katana in your hand, the blade tearing at my throat before I could even speak a word. I hoped that when you came, you would come like this. Alone. In the light of day. And that we could talk first as cousins, as we once did.”
“Do you intend to beg for your life?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, a half-smile on his face. “No, I won’t waste my time or yours doing something so futile. But perhaps you will let me explain. And then you will do whatever it is you came here to do.” He let out another sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “Or you will leave and we will never see each other again. I don’t know which.”
“You betrayed me,” I said, feeling that old, familiar rage in my blood. “We knew each other our entire lives and you betrayed me. We treated you as part of our family. What did I ever do to deserve what you did to me? What did Katsumi do? Or Eito? He was just a child! How can you justify what you did to him?”
“You may not believe me when I tell you this, Cousin,” he said, looking down at the grass and speaking quietly. “But I never meant for them to die. I was so full of bitterness toward you that I almost lost my mind. I blamed you for what I had lost. He was killed, did you know that? When he returned to his village, somehow word of our affections traveled with him and his people sliced his throat open the moment his feet touched the dirt outside his minka. Had you only allowed him to remain as your apprentice, everything would have been different.”
