“No.”
“But your custom condones murder. I thought you were Christian.”
“I am, Anjin-san.”
“What about the Commandments?”
“I cannot explain, truly. But I am Christian and samurai and Japanese, and these are not hostile to one another. To me, they’re not. Please be patient with me and with us. Please.”
“You’d put your own children to death if Toranaga ordered it?”
“Yes. I only have one son but yes, I believe I would. Certainly it would be my duty to do so. That’s the law—if my husband agreed.”
“I hope God can forgive you. All of you.”
“God understands, Anjin-san. Oh, He will understand. Perhaps He will open your mind so you can understand. I’m sorry, I cannot explain very well, neh? I apologize for my lack.” She watched him in the silence, unsettled by him. “I don’t understand you either, Anjin-san. You baffle me. Your customs baffle me. Perhaps if we’re both patient we can both learn. The Lady Fujiko, for instance. As consort she will look after your house and your servants. And your needs—any of your needs. You must have someone to do that. She will see to the running of your house, everything. You do not need to pillow her, if that concerns you—if you do not find her pleasing. You do not even need to be polite to her, though she merits politeness. She will serve you, as you wish, in any way you wish.”
“I can treat her any way I want?”
“Yes.”
“I can pillow her or not pillow her?”
“Of course. She will find someone that pleases you, to satisfy your body needs, if you wish, or she will not interfere.”
“I can treat her like a servant? A slave?”
“Yes. But she merits better.”
“Can I throw her out? Order her out?”
“If she offends you, yes.”
“What would happen to her?”
“Normally she would go back to her parents’ house in disgrace, who may or may not accept her back. Someone like Lady Fujiko would prefer to kill herself before enduring that shame. But she … you should know true samurai are not permitted to kill themselves without their lord’s permission. Some do, of course, but they’ve failed in their duty and aren’t worthy to be considered samurai. I would not kill myself, whatever the shame, not without Lord Toranaga’s permission or my husband’s permission. Lord Toranaga has forbidden her to end her life. If you send her away, she’ll become an outcast.”
“Why? Why won’t her family accept her back?”
Mariko sighed. “So sorry, Anjin-san, but if you send her away, her disgrace will be such that no one will accept her.”
“Because she’s contaminated? From being near a barbarian?”
“Oh no, Anjin-san, only because she had failed in her duty to you,” Mariko said at once. “She is your consort now—Lord Toranaga ordered it and she agreed. You’re master of a house now.”
“Am I?”
“Oh, yes, believe me, Anjin-san, you have privileges. And as a hatamoto you’re blessed. And well off. Lord Toranaga’s given you a salary of twenty koku a month. For that amount of money a samurai would normally have to provide his lord with himself and two other samurai, armed, fed, and mounted for the whole year, and of course pay for their families as well. But you don’t have to do that. I beg you, consider Fujiko as a person, Anjin-san. I beg you to be filled with Christian charity. She’s a good woman. Forgive her her ugliness. She’ll be a worthy consort.”
“She hasn’t a home?”
“Yes. This is her home.” Mariko took hold of herself. “I beg you to accept her formally. She can help you greatly, teach you if you wish to learn. If you prefer, think of her as nothing—as this wooden post or the shoji screen, or as a rock in your garden—anything you wish, but allow her to stay. If you won’t have her as consort, be merciful. Accept her and then, as head of the house, according to our law, kill her.”
“That’s the only answer you have, isn’t it? Kill!”
“No, Anjin-san. But life and death are the same thing. Who knows, perhaps you’ll do Fujiko a greater service by taking her life. It’s your right now before all the law. Your right. If you prefer to make her outcast, that too is your right.”
“So I’m trapped again,” Blackthorne said. “Either way she’s killed. If I don’t learn your language then a whole village is butchered. If I don’t do whatever you want, some innocent is always killed. There’s no way out.”
“There’s a very easy solution, Anjin-san. Die. You do not have to endure the unendurable.”
“Suicide’s crazy—and a mortal sin. I thought you were Christian.”
“I’ve said I am. But for you, Anjin-san, for you there are many ways of dying honorably without suicide. You sneered at my husband for not wanting to die fighting, neh? That’s not our custom, but apparently it’s yours. So why don’t you do that? You have a pistol. Kill Lord Yabu. You believe he’s a monster, neh? Even attempt to kill him and today you’ll be in heaven or hell.”
He looked at her, hating her serene features, seeing her loveliness through his hate. “It’s weak to die like that for no reason. Stupid’s a better word.”
“You say you’re Christian. So you believe in the Jesus child—in God—and in heaven. Death shouldn’t frighten you. As to ‘no reason,’ it is up to you to judge the value or nonvalue. You may have reason enough to die.”
“I’m in your power. You know it. So do I.”
Mariko leaned over and touched him compassionately. “Anjin-san, forget the village. A thousand million things can happen before those six months occur. A tidal wave or earthquake, or you get your ship and sail away, or Yabu dies, or we all die, or who knows? Leave the problems of God to God and karma to karma. Today you’re here and nothing you can do will change that. Today you’re alive and here and honored, and blessed with good fortune. Look at this sunset, it’s beautiful, neh? This sunset exists. Tomorrow does not exist. There is only now. Please look. It is so beautiful and it will never happen ever again, never, not this sunset, never in all infinity. Lose yourself in it, make yourself one with nature and do not worry about karma, yours, mine, or that of the village.”
He found himself beguiled by her serenity, and by her words. He looked westward. Great splashes of purple-red and black were spreading across the sky.
He watched the sun until it vanished.
“I wish you were to be consort,” he said.
“I belong to Lord Buntaro and until he is dead I cannot think or say what might be thought or said.”
Karma, thought Blackthorne.
Do I accept karma? Mine? Hers? Theirs?
The night’s beautiful.
And so is she and she belongs to another.
Yes, she’s beautiful. And very wise: Leave the problems of God to God and karma to karma. You did come here uninvited. You are here. You are in their power.
But what’s the answer?
The answer will come, he told himself. Because there’s a God in heaven, a God somewhere.
He heard the tread of feet. Some flares were approaching up the hill. Twenty samurai, Omi at their head.
“I’m sorry, Anjin-san, but Omi-san orders you to give him your pistols.”
“Tell him to go to hell!”
“I can’t, Anjin-san. I dare not.”
Blackthorne kept one hand loosely on the pistol hilt, his eyes on Omi. He had deliberately remained seated on the veranda steps. Ten samurai were within the garden behind Omi, the rest near the waiting palanquin. As soon as Omi had entered uninvited, Fujiko had come from the interior of the house and now stood on the veranda, white-faced, behind Blackthorne. “Lord Toranaga never objected and for days I’ve been armed around him and Yabu-san.”
Mariko said nervously, “Yes, Anjin-san, but please understand, what Omi-san says is true. It’s our custom that you cannot go into a daimyo’s presence with arms. There’s nothing to be af—nothing to concern you. Yabu-san’s your friend. You’re his guest here.”
“Tell Omi-san I won’t give him my guns.” Then, when she remained silent, Blackthorne’s temper snapped and he shook his head. “Iyé, Omi-san! Wakarimasu ka? Iyé!”
Omi’s face tightened. He snarled an order. Two samurai moved forward. Blackthorne whipped out the guns. The samurai stopped. Both guns were pointed directly into Omi’s face.
“Iyé!” Blackthorne said. And then, to Mariko, “Tell him to call them off or I’ll pull the triggers.”
She did so. No one moved. Blackthorne got slowly to his feet, the pistols never wavering from their target. Omi was absolutely still, fearless, his eyes following Blackthorne’s catlike movements.
“Please, Anjin-san. This is very dangerous. You must see Lord Yabu. You may not go with pistols. You’re hatamoto, you’re protected and you’re also Lord Yabu’s guest.”
“Tell Omi-san if he or any of his men come within ten feet of me I’ll blow his head off.”
“Omi-san says politely, ‘For the last time you are ordered to give me the guns. Now.’”
“Iyé.”
“Why not leave them here, Anjin-san? There’s nothing to fear. No one will touch—”
“You think I’m a fool?”
“Then give them to Fujiko-san!”
“What can she do? He’ll take them from her—anyone’ll take them—then I’m defenseless.”
Mariko’s voice sharpened. “Why don’t you listen, Anjin-san? Fujiko-san is your consort. If you order it she’ll protect the guns with her life. That’s her duty. I’ll never tell you again, but Toda-noh-Usagi Fujiko is samurai.”
Blackthorne was concentrating on Omi, hardly listening to her. “Tell Omi-san I don’t like orders. I’m Lord Toranaga’s guest. I’m Lord Yabu’s guest. You ‘ask’ guests to do things. You don’t order them, and you don’t march into a man’s house uninvited.”
Mariko translated this. Omi listened expressionlessly, then replied shortly, watching the unwavering barrels.
“He says, ‘I, Kasigi Omi, I would ask for your pistols, and ask you to come with me because Kasigi Yabu-sama orders you into his presence. But Kasigi Yabu-sama orders me to order you to give me your weapons. So sorry, Anjin-san, for the last time I order you to give them to me.’”
Blackthorne’s chest was constricted. He knew he was going to be attacked and he was furious at his own stupidity. But there comes a time when you can’t take any more and you pull a gun or a knife and then blood is spilled through stupid pride. Most times stupid. If I’m to die Omi will die first, by God!
He felt very strong though somewhat light-headed. Then what Mariko said began to ring in his ears: ‘Fujiko’s samurai, she is your consort!’ And his brain began to function. “Just a moment! Mariko-san, please say this to Fujiko-san. Exactly: ‘I’m going to give you my pistols. You are to guard them. No one except me is to touch them.’”
Mariko did as he asked, and behind him, he heard Fujiko say, “Hai.”
“Wakarimasu ka, Fujiko-san?” he asked her.
“Wakarimasu, Anjin-san,” she replied in a thin, nervous voice.
“Mariko-san, please tell Omi-san I’ll go with him now. I’m sorry there’s been a misunderstanding. Yes, I’m sorry there was a misunderstanding.”
Blackthorne backed away, then turned. Fujiko accepted the guns, perspiration beading her forehead. He faced Omi and prayed he was right. “Shall we go now?”
Omi spoke to Fujiko and held out his hand. She shook her head. He gave a short order. The two samurai started toward her. Immediately she shoved one pistol into the sash of her obi, held the other with both hands at arm’s length and leveled it at Omi. The trigger came back slightly and the striking lever moved. “Ugoku na!” she said. “Dozo!”
The samurai obeyed. They stopped.
Omi spoke rapidly and angrily and she listened and when she replied her voice was soft and polite but the pistol never moved from his face, the lever half-cocked now, and she ended, “Iyé, gomen nasai, Omi-san!” No, I’m sorry, Omi-san.
Blackthorne waited.
A samurai moved a fraction. The lever came back dangerously, almost to the top of its arc. But her arm remained steady.
“Ugoku na!” she ordered.
No one doubted that she would pull the trigger. Not even Blackthorne. Omi said something curtly to her and to his men. They came back. She lowered the pistol but it was still ready.
“What did he say?” Blackthorne asked.
“Only that he would report this incident to Yabu-san.”
“Good. Tell him I will do the same.” Blackthorne turned to her. “Domo, Fujiko-san.” Then, remembering the way Toranaga and Yabu talked to women, he grunted imperiously at Mariko. “Come on, Mariko-san … ikamasho!” He started for the gate.
“Anjin-san!” Fujiko called out.
“Hai?” Blackthorne stopped. Fujiko was bowing to him and spoke quickly to Mariko.
Mariko’s eyes widened, then she nodded and replied, and spoke to Omi, who also nodded, clearly enraged but restraining himself.
“What’s going on?”
“Please be patient, Anjin-san.”
Fujiko called out, and there was an answer from within the house. A maid came onto the veranda. In her hands were two swords. Samurai swords.
Fujiko took them reverently, offered them to Blackthorne with a bow, speaking softly.
Mariko said, “Your consort rightly points out that a hatamoto is, of course, obliged to wear the two swords of the samurai. More than that, it’s his duty to do so. She believes it would not be correct for you to go to Lord Yabu without swords—that it would be impolite. By our law it’s duty to carry swords. She asks if you would consider using these, unworthy though they are, until you buy your own.”
Blackthorne stared at her, then at Fujiko and back to her again. “Does that mean I’m samurai? That Lord Toranaga made me samurai?”
“I don’t know, Anjin-san. But there’s never been a hatamoto who wasn’t samurai. Never.” Mariko turned and questioned Omi. Impatiently he shook his head and answered. “Omi-san doesn’t know either. Certainly it’s the special privilege of a hatamoto to wear swords at all times, even in the presence of Lord Toranaga. It is his duty because he’s a completely trustworthy bodyguard. Also only a hatamoto has the right of immediate audience with a lord.”
Blackthorne took the short sword and stuck it in his belt, then the other, the long one, the killing one, exactly as Omi was wearing his. Armed, he did feel better. “Arigato goziemashita, Fujiko-san,” he said quietly.
She lowered her eyes and replied softly. Mariko translated.
“Fujiko-san says, with permission, Lord, because you must learn our language correctly and quickly, she humbly wishes to point out that ‘domo’ is more than sufficient for a man to say. ‘Arigato,’ with or without ‘goziemashita,’ is an unnecessary politeness, an expression that only women use.”
“Hai. Domo. Wakarimasu, Fujiko-san.” Blackthorne looked at her clearly for the first time with his newfound knowledge. He saw the sweat on her forehead and the sheen on her hands. The narrow eyes and square face and ferret teeth. “Please tell my consort, in this one case I do not consider ‘arigato goziemashita’ an unnecessary politeness to her.”
Yabu glanced at the swords again. Blackthorne was sitting cross-legged on a cushion in front of him in the place of honor, Mariko to one side, Igurashi beside him. They were in the main room of the fortress.
Omi finished talking.
Yabu shrugged. “You handled it badly, nephew. Of course it’s the consort’s duty to protect the Anjin-san and his property. Of course he has the right to wear swords now. Yes, you handled it badly. I made it clear the Anjin-san’s my honored guest here. Apologize to him.”
Immediately Omi got up and knelt in front of Blackthorne and bowed. “I apologize for my error, Anjin-san.” He heard Mariko say that the barbarian accepted the apology. He bowed again and calmly went back to his place and sat down again. But he was not calm inside. He was now totally consumed b
y one idea: the killing of Yabu.
He had decided to do the unthinkable: kill his liege lord and the head of his clan.
But not because he had been made to apologize publicly to the barbarian. In this Yabu had been right. Omi knew he had been unnecessarily inept, for although Yabu had stupidly ordered him to take the pistols away at once tonight, he knew they should have been manipulated away and left in the house, to be stolen later or broken later.
And the Anjin-san had been perfectly correct to give the pistols to his consort, he told himself, just as she was equally correct to do what she did. And she would certainly have pulled the trigger, her aim true. It was no secret that Usagi Fujiko sought death, or why. Omi knew, too, that if it hadn’t been for his earlier decision this morning to kill Yabu, he would have stepped forward into death and then his men would have taken the pistols away from her. He would have died nobly as she would be ordered into death nobly and men and women would have told the tragic tale for generations. Songs and poems and even a Nōh play, all so inspiring and tragic and brave, about the three of them the faithful consort and faithful samurai who both died dutifully because of the incredible barbarian who came from the eastern sea.
No, Omi’s decision had nothing to do with this public apology, although the unfairness added to the hatred that now obsessed him. The main reason was that today Yabu had publicly insulted Omi’s mother and wife in front of peasants by keeping them waiting for hours in the sun like peasants, and had then dismissed them without acknowledgment like peasants.
“It doesn’t matter, my son,” his mother had said. “It’s his privilege.”
“He’s our liege Lord,” Midori, his wife, had said, the tears of shame running down her cheeks. “Please excuse him.”
“And he didn’t invite either of you to greet him and his officers at the fortress,” Omi had continued. “At the meal you arranged! The food and saké alone cost one koku!”
“It’s our duty, my son. It’s our duty to do whatever Lord Yabu wants.”
“And the order about Father?”
“It’s not an order yet. It’s a rumor.”
“The message from Father said he’d heard that Yabu’s going to order him to shave his head and become a priest, or slit his belly open. Yabu’s wife privately boasts it!”
James Clavell Page 58
