If he let go, he was dead.
He and Yanagisawa lay on their sides, across the shogun, face-to-face. Sano pushed. Yanagisawa pushed. They gasped and grunted, breathing each other’s breath. Yanagisawa’s bared-teeth grimace was a mirror of Sano’s own. Their bodies were as inseparably close as if they were lovers. Yanagisawa thrust. The tip grazed Sano’s stomach, cut through his robes, and pricked his skin. His muscles contracted as he thrust at Yanagisawa. He saw, at the edge of his vision, that Yoshisato had Masahiro pinned facedown, his knee on Masahiro’s back. Masahiro screamed as he struggled. Terrified that his son would be killed, desperate to be free to rescue him, Sano heaved with all his might. He and Yanagisawa roared as the blade sank into flesh. They both stiffened. Yanagisawa’s face reflected Sano’s surprise. They lay together, unmoving, muscles locked.
Yoshisato and Reiko came running. They looked terrified—they knew someone had been cut but not who. Sano wasn’t sure himself. He hurt all over, and the boundary between him and Yanagisawa seemed to have dissolved. Yoshisato and Reiko pulled them apart. Sano couldn’t catch his breath. There was blood all over him and Yanagisawa. Reiko and Yoshisato were crying. As Sano lurched to his feet, Masahiro and Akiko rushed over. They and Reiko supported Sano. Akiko hugged his waist. She wept with joy because Sano was unhurt except for his cut hand and other minor injuries; the blood on his stomach wasn’t his.
Yanagisawa remained lying on the bed, across the dead shogun. The broken, jagged end of the blade stuck out of his belly. Blood spread around it like the petals of a scarlet flower unfurling. The tip had been driven up under his rib cage. His face was white, ghastly, the mask of death upon it.
Numb with disbelief, Sano squinted, as if in the light of a new day.
* * *
AS HE LOOKED up at Sano standing over him, Yanagisawa was at first too indignant to feel any pain. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end!
He tried to sit up, to see how badly he was hurt. The blade shifted. The pain skewered through him. His whole body, the whole world, was made of the agonizing, indescribable, unbearable pain in his midsection. Yanagisawa’s mouth opened in a scream, but all that came out was a gurgle. Something was wrong with his lungs. As he gasped for breath, his thudding heart pumped blood from his cut viscera, through his abdomen, and out around the hole from which the blade protruded. His bowels released a warm gush; sweat poured from his skin. Freezing cold, he shivered violently. Yanagisawa knew enough about battle injuries to realize that this one was mortal.
He was dying.
He’d recovered from disasters in the past, but there was no recovering from this one. He’d always had a plan for triumphing over them, but all the plans in the world wouldn’t save him now. Death was the one enemy he couldn’t defeat.
Sano had delivered him into the hands of that ultimate enemy.
Helpless, trembling with anger, Yanagisawa beheld Sano, his hatred undiminished by the fact that he had only moments left to live. Sano had shattered his dream of ruling Japan and destroyed him. He whispered, “This isn’t over.” Every word wrung more pain from his innards. “We’ll meet again someday.” Blood frothed from his nose and mouth. “Next time I’ll win.”
Sano’s image blurred. Darkness encroached on Yanagisawa’s vision. His ears filled with a roaring sound like the ocean as the tide of his life force receded. Through it he heard Yoshisato call, “Father!”
Yoshisato knelt beside him, took firm hold of his hand, and kept him from floating out with the tide. The darkness brightened. Yoshisato’s tearful face hovered over him. Disbelief startled Yanagisawa. His tough, obstinate son who hated him was crying!
“Father, you’re going to be all right,” Yoshisato said, clutching Yanagisawa’s blood-smeared hand to his heart. “Just stay with me! Please!”
Yanagisawa dimly realized that Yoshisato had blurted the truth about their relationship. But it didn’t matter to Yanagisawa that the secret was out and he could no longer claim that Yoshisato was the shogun’s son and eligible to inherit the regime. Dying changed a man’s priorities, Yanagisawa discovered. Yoshisato cared about him enough to beg him to live! He wanted to tell Yoshisato how happy he was despite the horrible pain. He wanted to say that this joy was worth dying for and how sad he was that it required his death to bring them together. But he hadn’t enough breath. Fighting the pain, he lifted his other hand, stroked Yoshisato’s cheek, and whispered, “My son.”
Yoshisato cried, “No!” His eyes darkened with horror. It wasn’t that Yoshisato didn’t want to be claimed as his son, Yanagisawa knew. Yoshisato realized that Yanagisawa didn’t care if their fraud was exposed, because Yanagisawa knew he was dying.
“Don’t die, Father!” Yoshisato pleaded.
Yanagisawa wanted to weep, too, because he and Yoshisato had found their way to each other but soon they would be separated forever. He wanted to rail against the unfairness of fate; he wanted to curse Sano. But his fading spirit cleaved to the samurai code of honor he’d ignored all his life. A samurai had only one death and he shouldn’t waste it on unseemly displays of emotion. And Yanagisawa had a better use for his limited time on earth.
He gathered his scarce breath around the vicious pain that sent spasms through his body. “I wish I hadn’t waited until you were seventeen before I got to know you,” he said in a whisper so faint that Yoshisato leaned close to hear. “I wish we’d always been together.” Yanagisawa didn’t apologize for everything he’d put Yoshisato through; he knew that given another chance he would do it again, he would use Yoshisato or anybody else to further his ambition of ruling Japan. Dying didn’t change a man that much. Instead of wasting his last breath on lies, he said, “You’ve made me proud. You’re the best son I could ever have wanted.”
His voice was gone. His lips formed the words he’d never spoken to anyone except in jest or as a means of manipulation. I love you.
The roar in his ears drowned out the sound of Yoshisato’s voice begging him to hang on. The darkness pulsed with his weakening heartbeat, obliterated the world. The tide was unexpectedly warm and comforting. The last thing Yanagisawa felt was Yoshisato’s hand holding his.
41
A NOISE LIKE fireworks roused Taeko from a drugged sleep. Her body was stiff from lying in bed too long, her head ached, and the pillow under it was wet. Her eyes were sore, swollen, and crusted, and her mouth tasted sour. She smelled gunpowder and heard shouting and booms outside as she remembered her quarrel with Masahiro.
It was over between them. He was with his wife.
Taeko began to cry again. More firecrackers exploded. She didn’t know what was going on, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was Masahiro. He’d betrayed her, and she’d said terrible things to him, and he’d left her even though he knew about the baby. She hated him! And yet she still loved him so much.
She wished Kikuko would die. Maybe then Masahiro would come back to Taeko. Kikuko was young and healthy, but she might catch a disease or have an accident. But that seemed impossible. So did having the baby. Taeko remembered a pregnant servant girl who’d jumped off the Ryōgoku Bridge and drowned. The idea appealed to Taeko. If she were dead, she wouldn’t feel this pain anymore, and when Masahiro saw her drowned body, he would be sorry about how he’d treated her. He would realize how much he loved her and he would hurt the way she was hurting now.
But even as she imagined walking to the bridge and climbing over the rail, she knew she couldn’t do it. She could kill herself but not the baby she loved so much. Taeko curled up and wept in helpless despair. What was she going to do?
* * *
“MAMA, I’M SCARED,” Kikuko said.
She and Lady Yanagisawa sat in their chamber in the Mori estate, listening to the gunfire outside. “Don’t worry, darling.” Lady Yanagisawa stroked Kikuko’s long hair. “Everything will be all right.”
She kept her voice calm; she mustn’t let Kikuko know how afraid she was. Half her fear was for herself and Kikuko. Any moment th
e enemy could break into the estate. Half was for Yanagisawa. He could be killed during his attack on Edo Castle. Her lips moved in silent prayer. Please let him be safe! And under that prayer, like the second voice in a duet, came the usual one: Please make him love me!
A cannon boomed. The black smear of blood from the hemorrhage in her eye jittered across her vision as Lady Yanagisawa started. Kikuko wailed. Lady Yanagisawa said, “It’s just noise. It can’t hurt you.”
But her husband’s chief retainer had warned her, The enemy soldiers could rape and torture you and your daughter. You should be prepared. Lady Yanagisawa glanced at the long, flat black lacquer box on the floor beside her. It contained a knife. Should the enemy come, she must kill Kikuko and herself, to spare them the pain and indignity, to preserve their honor.
“I’ll tell you your favorite story,” Lady Yanagisawa said. “In a land far away, there was a magic garden. The sky was always blue. The sun shone every day. The trees never lost their leaves because it was always summer.”
“And the flowers were all the colors of the rainbow,” Kikuko said. She knew the story by heart. Her tense body relaxed.
“And all the animals could talk.”
“All the deer, and the birds, and the squirrels, and the rabbits, and the butterflies.”
“In the garden, in a little cottage, lived a father, a mother…”
“And their beautiful daughter who looked just like me.” Kikuko smiled.
“The father was very handsome. The mother was very plain, but he loved her very much. And they loved their little girl.” Lady Yanagisawa smiled, too, caught up in the fantasy she’d invented years ago. “The father played the samisen. The mother sang happy songs.”
“And the little girl played with her friends, the animals who could talk.”
“There were no other people, but they were never lonely, because they had each other.”
The sound of someone shrieking and running interrupted the story. Lady Yanagisawa and Kikuko looked up in fright. Lady Yanagisawa felt a cold sensation in her chest, like icicles dripping.
“Wait here.” She disentangled herself from Kikuko.
Kikuko clutched at her skirts as she rose. “Mama, don’t leave me alone.”
“I have to see what’s wrong. I’ll be right back.” Lady Yanagisawa ran down the corridor and stopped at the threshold of the room where Lady Someko knelt with her arms clasped around her stomach, rocking back and forth as she shrieked. Her face was ugly with pain and tear-blotched makeup.
Lady Yanagisawa disliked Lady Someko and rarely spoke to her, but she had to ask. “What’s wrong?”
Lady Someko looked up with eyes as glazed as a blind woman’s. “Yanagisawa is dead! He’s been killed in the war!”
A thump in her chest struck Lady Yanagisawa, as if her heart were wood split by an axe. Her voice burst from her in a whispered plea. “No!”
“It’s true,” Lady Someko said, hoarse and breathless. “Sano did it. Yanagisawa is gone! I’m free of him!” She laughed exultantly as she wept.
Lady Yanagisawa felt an internal shattering, as if her bones were fracturing, organs rupturing. Yanagisawa was dead. He would never love her. The destruction within her released emotions like gases from decaying meat. Anguish and fury spewed. Reiko’s husband had killed her husband. Reiko, whom she envied and hated, must have been involved somehow. Lady Yanagisawa wanted to find Reiko, claw her beautiful face, and strangle her. She wanted to lie down and mourn for Yanagisawa and never get up.
“Mama, Mama!” Kikuko called.
Blind maternal instinct propelled Lady Yanagisawa toward her child. The invisible tie that had bound her to Yanagisawa was severed. Her body was like a Bunraku puppet whose sticks were animated by a one-handed puppeteer. She fell to her knees beside Kikuko. As she sobbed, her eyes gushed tears as thick and salty as blood.
“Mama, why are you crying?” Kikuko anxiously patted her face.
Lady Yanagisawa tried to take comfort from the fact that she still had her daughter, but half a reason for existing wasn’t enough. She couldn’t bear to live without Yanagisawa. But if she didn’t go on living, Kikuko would be alone in a cruel world with nobody to love her. A thought ripened in Lady Yanagisawa’s mind, as seductively sweet as a poisonous fruit. Even as it filled her with horror, she knew what she had to do.
“Lie down,” she said, “and we’ll finish the story.” Kikuko obediently laid her head in Lady Yanagisawa’s lap. “Let’s close our eyes and go on a trip to the magic garden.”
Kikuko smiled; her long-lashed eyelids closed. She loved make-believe. “Can I play with the talking rabbits?”
Lady Yanagisawa wept as she said, “Yes.” She opened the lacquer box and removed the black-handled knife. Gunfire boomed, distant and sporadic. Lady Yanagisawa gazed through her tears at her daughter’s innocent face. Before her resolve could waver, she slashed the knife across Kikuko’s smooth white throat.
Blood spurted from the gash, drenching their robes, the floor. Kikuko jerked and stiffened. Her eyes snapped open. She stared up in pain, fright, and confusion at Lady Yanagisawa. Her lips parted. Blood oozed from them as they shaped the silent word, Mama!
Horrified by what she’d done, Lady Yanagisawa sobbed and moaned. “You’re going to the magic garden, my love.” Kikuko choked; she went limp as the life faded from her eyes. “Your father is there waiting for you. I’m coming soon. We’ll all be happy together.”
Lady Yanagisawa raised the red, dripping knife and slashed her own throat.
* * *
ALONE IN HER bed, Taeko came to a reckoning with reality. The baby would be born in a few months, and she had to plan for its future even though she didn’t want to face her own. The knowledge strengthened a will she hadn’t known she possessed. She sat up and dried her tears on the sleeve of her robe, surprised to learn that this was what it meant to be grown up—putting her child’s needs first.
Taeko dragged herself out of bed, shivering in the cold, and trudged down the corridor. The fireworks sounded far away. Somewhere in the house a woman was shrieking. Taeko wasn’t curious enough to find out who or why. She had to apologize to Masahiro and ask him to take her back. She would be his concubine so that she and the baby would have a place to live and he would support them. She would put aside her pride for the baby’s sake … and because she was still in love with Masahiro and wanted to be with him no matter what the conditions were.
What if Masahiro and Kikuko were making love? She would wait patiently until they were finished, and she would pretend not to care. She would throw herself on his mercy.
She reached the section of the guest quarters where the Yanagisawa family lived. Through an open door she saw the shrieking woman. It was Lady Someko, kneeling and rocking back and forth. Midori and Magistrate Ueda stood outside a nearby room. Midori was leaning over, her hand to her head, as if fainting, while Magistrate Ueda supported her. They saw Taeko.
Midori cried, “Don’t look in there!” Magistrate Ueda put out his hand to stop Taeko, but she was determined to go through with her decision. She pushed past him and her mother into the room.
Masahiro wasn’t there. Kikuko lay on her back; her eyes gazed up at the ceiling; her mouth was open in an expression of frightened surprise. Her complexion was as white as ice, a shocking contrast to the bright red and pink kimono she wore and the bright red ribbon around her neck. Her head rested on a long, thick, gray and dark red pillow. Taeko frowned, puzzled by the strange sight. Then she saw the ribbon around Kikuko’s neck drip thick red droplets into a red puddle that covered the tatami. She smelled the sweet, salty, iron smell, and her stomach flipped. The puddle was blood. So was the red pattern on Kikuko’s clothes. The ribbon was a gash across Kikuko’s throat. The pillow was a woman wearing a bloodstained gray kimono—Lady Yanagisawa. Her face was white, too, her throat also cut, her eyes blank and filmy. The blood puddle framed her head. Beside her hand lay a knife covered with her blood and her daughter’s.
&nbs
p; Masahiro’s wife is dead.
Taeko couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t really wanted Masahiro’s wife to die. But she had wished it, and her wish had come horribly true. Taeko screamed and screamed and screamed.
42
EDO AT NIGHT rested in an uneasy state of cease-fire. The army, swelled by troops newly arrived from the provinces, occupied the city. The rebel daimyo and their armies had retreated into their estates. The rain had stopped, and the fog dissipated, but smoke from bonfires veiled the sky. Soldiers loaded corpses onto oxcarts that rolled through the deserted city toward the temple districts and the crematoriums.
Inside Lord Mori’s estate, a sick ward had been set up in the barracks. Physicians ministered to wounded soldiers who lay on beds in rows on the floor. Maids brought tea, gruel, and fresh bandages and removed soiled dressings and basins of blood-tinted water. The atmosphere was thick with heat from charcoal braziers and the smell of medicine.
“I have to get back to the castle.” Detective Marume, wearing a bandage wrapped around his left shoulder and back, sat up in his bed. “Sano-san is up there alone!”
“You have to rest.” Kneeling beside him, her bandaged arm in a sling, Reiko sponged his face. She’d found him lying unconscious outside the palace. “You’re badly hurt.”
“It’s just a flesh wound. Sano-san needs me.”
“He can take care of himself.” But Reiko was worried about Sano, too. Some twelve hours had passed since they’d left Sano at the castle, and they’d had no word of what was happening there.
A physician said to Marume, “Rest or you won’t heal. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He glanced at Reiko. “So have you. Go to bed or infection could set in. You could lose your arm.”
Marume reluctantly lay down. Reiko walked on shaky legs to the guest quarters. She feared that even if Sano survived, their marriage wouldn’t. She’d realized how much she loved him, but maybe it was too late.
The Iris Fan Page 33
