by John Allyn
As Shindo had feared, the theater was sold out by the time they got there. As they arrived at the theater
they could see would-be customers being turned away. Oishi, however, in a tipsy and not very happy frame of mind, decided that they were going to get in anyway and called for the manager. When that apprehensive gentleman appeared Oishi threatened to throw him into the adjoining Kamo River if he did not make a place for them immediately. The manager mopped his bald head and promised to see what he could do and after a short wait they were escorted inside by an usher.
As they went down the narrow aisle in the semi-darkened theater, Oishi could see that the mat-covered floor was divided by low railings into boxes which were jammed with customers of all ages and social standings. In order to seat Oishi, the manager had to evict four merchants from a choice box in the center of the hall who were now eyeing the newcomers with ill-concealed annoyance as they retrieved their lunch boxes and started up the aisle. Oishi noisily directed his companions to their places and peered around the theater, pointing to the side boxes in the balconies and wondering aloud if they were better seats. He could see that the merchant and geisha class were well represented and there were even a few samurai, or ronin, including one huge fellow with some cohorts in the adjoining box. In spite of the fact that the play was in progress Oishi now turned to opening the sake they had brought with them and caused additional confusion as he called for the manager to bring hot water to heat it in. No one, of course, was bold enough to remonstrate with him, although the big samurai in the next box was plainly annoyed. He was far from sober himself, but he was trying to follow the play and he grumbled at Oishi's lack of manners.
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Oishi disregarded him completely and only when he finally got his warm sake did he give his attention to what was happening on the stage. When he was able to focus, he saw that the setting represented an ordinary peasant's cottage and that the performers, all men, were dressed in ordinary peasants' clothes. This he found most dull; after all, the fields were full of peasants and you did not have to come to the theater to look at them. What he found strange was that they were not talking like any peasants he had ever heard, but were delivering their lines in a highly stylized manner that seemed to him anything but lifelike. The noble sentiments they expressed seemed out of place for such rude characters and he found it hard to believe that the audience would actually accept such stuff. As he listened more closely he was amazed to find that the characters were discussing such things as Confucian ethics and the choice between duty to one's superior or humanity toward those one loved. To Oishi it was absurd that they should appreciate such weighty matters and he dug Kataoka in the ribs and made a slighting remark about the exalted peasants they were having the pleasure of meeting.
Kataoka laughed loudly and the others with Oishi joined in. The samurai in the next box glowered more deeply and muttered to his companions. He was beginning to get a little tired of these interruptions.
Now the heroine of the play appeared. She was a "lady" of noble birth and Oishi was immediately incensed that the players would have the temerity to portray someone of higher rank than themselves. Furthermore, it appeared that she had been badly treated by her husband and taken a lover among the
merchant class. She had fled her home and was waiting to meet him at the peasant's hut, but Oishi never let the meeting take place.
Angrily he rose and shouted that the actor was a fake, that he had no concept of how to play a noble woman who would never behave in such a disgusting manner in" the first place, and demanded that the show be stopped. There was a shocked silence for a moment, on stage and off, and then the samurai in the next box jumped up, exasperated beyond all endurance.
"Shut up, you ignorant son of a beast!" he shouted at Oishi. "You show less good manners than the townspeople—and this is not the first time you've made a fool of yourself in Kyoto from what I hear!"
Oishi was startled for a moment, then with a curse he quickly grabbed for his sword. It seemed to be stuck in its scabbard, and the other samurai stopped his glowering to laugh loudly and derisively.
"The sword once worn is now for kitchen use, eh?" He laughed again and turned to his companions. "Look, he calls himself a samurai, better than those on the stage or in the audience, and he carries a rusty sword!" He laughed again and this time Oishi made a vicious cut at his legs with the sword still in its scabbard. The big man tried to leap out of the way and fell over one of the low partitions between the boxes. He landed on top of another paying customer, an old woman who cursed at him like a laborer, and he got up to face the laughter of Oishi's drunken companions. The hands of the big man's own followers went to their swords but he motioned them back. He stared for a moment at the ludicrous spectacle of Oishi, sword at the ready but still in its scabbard,
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and then threw back his head and laughed. He grabbed his own sword and raised it high, and it was seen that it, too, was safely sheathed in its scabbard. With a mock cry of attack he lunged fiercely at Oishi and missed him to crash into another partition. The spectators around them quickly gave way as they saw that it was turning into a full-scale battle and both Oishi's men and those of his opponent formed semicircles behind their leaders to keep anyone from interfering.
The circling and slashing of the swordsmanship contest continued, never so strangely out of place as on the floor of a darkened theater with the partitions between the boxes serving as obstacles. Both men were apparently in poor physical condition, besides being drunk, and the townspeople found it a noisy, odious performance. Many of them began to leave the theater, in d eep resentment that men of this station should come into a theater and break up the show. As busy as he was, Oishi sensed this and felt greatly embarrassed, even though his predicament was all of his own making.
He endeavored to bring the fight to a quick close but his opponent was just as handy as he, and the silly circling and slashing went on. Never in his life had Oishi felt or looked so foolish, and he cursed himself for getting involved in such a scrape. Realizing that he could not look any worse if he tried, he dehberately tripped himself and fell flat on his face before his opponent. The big man whooped in victory and tapped him not too lightly on the head with his sheathed sword in a gesture of victory. Oishi drew himself to his knees and made a mock bow of surrender, and the big man laughed and withdrew to his own box.
The skylights were opened by now and the performance was at an end. Some members of the audience were still in their places, hoping that the play would begin again, but most had left out of fear or disgust. The big samurai ordered his men to pick up their things and prepare to leave and Oishi was about to do the same when he happened to look around at the boxes on the side again and saw Okaru. She was sitting there talking with a little maiko, or apprentice geisha, and Oishi could not be sure whether she had seen his performance or not. He assumed she had, however, and turned away in regret and embarrassment. Shindo noticed this, as drunk as he was, and called it to Koyama's attention. When Koyama finally understood what Shindo was trying to tell him they exchanged a knowing glance.
Oishi abruptly left the theater, his little group following, with Shindo and Koyama bowing in recognition to Okaru who politely nodded in return. Oishi missed this interchange; he was still thinking about his own disgraceful behavior. In his mind there was only one cause for satisfaction about the whole episode; if any of Kira's spies had been watching they had certainly received proof that the object of their surveillance was a complete fool. His sword was evidently rusty, his swordsmanship was appallingly bad, and he had no more thought for his reputation than a street beggar.
In disgust with himself and to deliberately compound the injury to his reputation, Oishi insisted they stop at the first "teahouse" they came to, even though it was a low-class establishment that he would ordinarily have shunned. Dejectedly he slumped down just inside the door and demanded service of the watch-girl. Here he consumed more sake, w
hich
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was not the best, served by "geisha" who were not the best either. These girls were straight off the farms with no training in the social graces whatsoever. Their function was to serve sake and sleep with the customers when requested; their abilities to entertain in other ways were strictly limited. Oishi Hstened in boredom as they chattered among themselves in their local dialects, all of which grated unpleasantly on his ear. But he was there to drink, not to talk, and he devoted himself single-mindedly to that purpose.
Hours later Shindo and Koyama had quietly slipped away and Oishi was left lying in a stupor with his head cradled in the lap of the watch-girl, who was crooning a folk song of home in a wavering monotone. Kataoka had fallen asleep in the corner, exhausted and out of patience with his leader.
Suddenly there was a commotion at the front door and the girl paused to look up blearily. Oishi raised himself to listen, then sank back again against her as she resumed her song. The next thing Oishi knew, the door was thrown open with a bang and Hara, his eyes blazing, stood in the doorway. Oishi tried to pull himself up but his hand slipped and he went crashing back against the girl, who was stunned into silence at the sight of the wild-eyed samurai before them.
"Hara," Oishi said thickly as he got to his knees. "Welcome, old friend . . . Kataoka, look who's here—it's our old friend Hara."
Kataoka roused himself sleepily, but when he saw who it was in the doorway he sat up with a start. He was about to say something to Hara by way of explanation but the look on the other's face stopped him. He had never seen such an expression of fury on Hara's face before and for once he was at a loss for words.
"So the stories were true!" Hara hissed at them, his hands trembling at his two swords as though he would like to put them to use. "I never would have believed it of either of you so I had to come and see for myself. And you, Oishi, were so upset when I sank to becoming an archery instructor!"
Oishi rose unsteadily to his feet. "Now just a minute, old friend ..."
"Fm not your friend," Hara interrupted him icily. "You're a disgrace to the name of 'samurai.' " He shook his head. "I would never have guessed that you would wilHngly wallow in such filth as this!"
"Now wait a minute!" Kataoka said angrily, but Hara was not about to wait for anyone.
"Who pays for all this whoring, Oishi-dono!" he asked with a rising note of fury in his voice. "While some of our men are starving in the streets, by what right do you spend our funds in this way?"
"Hara, you've said enough!" Oishi shouted.
"I have said enough. I'm through talking to you and I'm through listening, too. I'm going to spread the word to all our band that Oishi has become a thief and a rake and is not to be trusted. I should cut both of you down and be done with it!"
He turned to go out the door and Kataoka flung himself desperately after him.
"Hara, don't you see . . . " he began, but Hara, in a supremely insulting gesture, placed his foot squarely in Kataoka's chest and pushed him violently backward.
"Son of a beast!" he spat through clenched teeth, and then he stepped out through the doorway.
As he closed the door, Oishi glimpsed a young man waiting behind him but the face was not familiar and he was quickly forgotten.
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Hara was gone and Oishi and Kataoka were left sadly shaking their heads.
After a moment the girl, still white and shaking, began to edge toward the inner entrance to the teahouse, but Oishi saw her out of the corner of his eye. He moved to block her path and forced a smile to his lips.
"Please," he said, "it's nothing to be alarmed about. Our friend is very old fashioned and doesn't understand why we like to have a good time once in a while."
The girl hesitated and the color gradually came back to her cheeks.
"It's too late for singing now but we really appreciate the fine time you showed us." He opened his purse and took out a few coins which he dropped from one hand into the other as he continued. "You'll forgive us, won't you? And not mention this episode to anyone?"
The girl took a deep breath when she saw the money, and when he finished and handed it to her she smiled and revealed her crooked teeth.
"Thank you, sir. Please come again."
Oishi and Kataoka bowed clumsily to her and left. Out in the air Kataoka moved apart by himself and for once had no lighthearted comment to make. Oishi realized how deeply his old friend had been humihated by the afternoon's happenings, and wondered if Hara, too, had lost all faith in his leader. Under the circumstances he could not blame either of them if they had, and when they reached Yamashina Oishi went to bed in a black and all but hopeless mood.
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9 XII ®
In the middle of the night Oishi was half-awakened by whispered voices in the corridor outside his room. He tried to make out what they were saying but the sounds blurred in his head and he rolled over to go back to sleep. Facing away from the doorway he imagined he heard someone softly open and close the shoji, but he was too miserable and drunk to care and tightly closed his eyes until he fell asleep again.
It was some time later when he happened to turn toward the door that he sensed that someone was in the room. And not only in the room but in the same bed with him! There was a dim form lying on the mattress next to him, and he raised up on his arm with an exclamation.
-His first thought was that it was his wife, returned from her parents' home without permission, and he felt a simultaneous urge to embrace her and to strike her for her disobedience. Then the figure turned more directly toward him and he saw by the moonlight that filtered milky-white through the paper windows that It was Okaru. Again his impulses were contradictory. He knew instantly that her being there was the doing
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of Shindo and Koyama, and this made him angry and resentful. But on the other hand the whole thing was funny! It was a cruel joke to try to get him involved with a "substitute wife," and he could not help chuckling in a kind of mirthless despair. At the sound the girl looked at him curiously. He could see now how pale her skin was and could distinguish a faint reddish glow through her dark perfumed hair. She was beautiful, he had to admit, and he moved closer as she watched him, motionless.
He reached out to touch her to make sure she was real and felt a surge of passion as he felt the warm skin of her cheek. His hand moved to the back of her neck and he stroked it softly under her low collar. Then his hand moved to her throat and then slowly down the front of her flimsy kimono, opening it all the way.
Abruptly he opened it wider, first one side and then the other, until she lay fully revealed in the pale light. Her skin was so smooth, so perfect, that he hesitated to touch it again. Then he placed his palm on her chest and felt her quickening heart beat.
After all, he thought, she did not have to be here if she did not want to be. She was of first-class rank and could refuse unwanted bed partners. And was it not truly a shame for a man not to eat a meal set before him?
With a sigh he rolled heavily onto her, but the night was not yet through with surprises. As her yielding body received him, he felt a sensation such as he had never known before.
Deep inside her he felt a rhythmic throbbing that caressed him unceasingly until he reached the point of ecstasy. Then it continued so that he felt exquisite pain as he was drained of every drop of passion. Was
it a trick, he wondered, as he rolled off her? Was it a technique she had learned in the geisha house, or was it some rare gift she had been born with? But he lacked the courage to ask her. Leave well enough alone, he thought, and quickly fell asleep.
In the morning when he woke and found the girl still beside him, he felt thoroughly ashamed of his behavior. He saw that she was already awake and he spoke to her in apology.
"There should be no intimacy without politeness."
She smiled at him for the first time and he was again aware of her
beauty. There was a perpetual melancholy expression in her eyes that gave even her simple smile a touch of mystery.
"It is a matter of no great importance," she said simply.
Oishi was reassured and grateful for a moment but then his mind went back to the brawl in the theater. She had been there and surely she must have a low opinion of him for his silly antics in a theater full of people. Now another thought occurred to him. Since she had seen him and must think him a fool, why had she consented to move in with him when his well-meaning relatives had sought her out? Did she need the money they were undoubtedly paying her? Not likely, for one of her class. Could it be that she was a spy herself, cleverly gotten into his house through Shindo's or Koyama's gullibility?
She must have guessed what he was thinking, but as she smiled at him again he took refuge in the banter of the teahouse.
"A woman who has a smile for everybody is cold-hearted, they say."
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"That may be," she agreed, still smiling. "But what makes you think I smile for everyone?"
"It is your business to do so," he said simply. "I don't flatter myself that I'm any different from the rest."
"All men are different and yet all are the same."
"True," he agreed. "But some men are to be avoided, not sought out. Troublemakers and the like can bring nothing but pain to those around them."
"Sleeve touches sleeve because it was predestined in the former world," she said quietly.
"And what is joined must separate," he said, just as softly. Then he abruptly changed the subject, rather than risk going too far in a discussion of themselves.
"The Kabuki was not what you said it would be," he began, falling back on the subject they had discussed before.
"I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it," she answered, readily changing with him to a lighter conversational tone.
