But Sano detected a fissure in Oishi’s conviction. “I don’t believe you. If you were being so straightforward and honorable, you would have all committed seppuku to atone for breaking the shogun’s law. Why did you ‘await orders’ instead?”
“It seemed like the right thing to do,” Oishi said stubbornly.
Increasingly mystified, Sano said, “What kind of orders were you expecting?”
Silence descended, like a fog that was invisible but nonetheless hid the truth about the case, a truth that Sano suspected was stranger than he could imagine.
“We had no expectations. But maybe we did right to wait,” Oishi said with a glimmer of amusement. “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
Sano felt irate because Oishi was playing with him and he had no idea what the game was. Vexed by his own conflicted feelings toward the man, he stood. “Very well. Don’t answer my questions if you don’t want to. I can ask your comrades.”
“Go ahead.” Oishi stood, too; he’d regained the composure he’d lost while talking about Okaru. “They’ll corroborate my story. The vendetta is exactly what you see.”
12
“ARE YOU READY to go?” Masahiro asked Reiko as she sat at her dressing table.
“Not quite.” Reiko anchored her hair in place with combs. “We have to get some food to take to Okaru.”
Chiyo came into the room with a stack of lacquer lunch boxes that gave off the delicious aroma of miso, fried dumplings, and grilled fish. “Here it is.”
“Good,” Masahiro said. “Can we go now?”
He jittered with impatience to see Okaru again. She’d been on his mind since yesterday, and he’d been so excited about this second visit that he’d hardly slept last night.
At last he and Reiko and Chiyo emerged into the cold, clear day. The women climbed into the palanquin with the lunch boxes. Masahiro mounted his horse. The guards assembled. The bearers shouldered the palanquin’s poles. Masahiro rode ahead of the procession, so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the city sights he usually enjoyed.
He’d never been interested in girls. They giggled too much. They talked about boring things like clothes, and they had silly quarrels. He was too busy with important things to pay attention to them. But Okaru was different. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She’d stirred up unfamiliar, exciting feelings in him. When he’d told his mother why he wanted to help Okaru, he hadn’t been completely honest. Yes, Okaru was poor and helpless and he felt sorry for her; and yes, he did want to pass on the kindness that had been shown to him; but there was more to it than that. He didn’t know exactly what.
When he and his companions neared the inn, a crowd was gathered outside. People pressed up against the gate, peering over one another’s shoulders. As Masahiro dismounted, and the women climbed out of the palanquin, he heard the crowd shouting, “Let us in! We want to see the rōnin’s mistress!”
“Do they mean Okaru?” Masahiro asked.
“It would seem so,” Reiko said. “But how did they find out that she’s here?”
A panel in the gate opened to reveal the innkeeper’s face. “This is private property,” he shouted. The crowd booed. “Go away!”
Reiko called to him, “We’re friends of Okaru. We visited her yesterday. Don’t you remember?” She stood on tiptoe and waved over the crowd. “She’ll want to see us.”
“Yes, I remember,” the innkeeper said, “but I can’t open the gate for you, because everyone else will get in, too.”
Masahiro began pushing people away from the gate. Reiko’s guards held the crowd back while the innkeeper let Masahiro, Reiko, and Chiyo carry the lunch boxes to the guest quarters. Reiko knocked on Okaru’s door.
“Who is it?” Okaru called.
The sound of her voice sent a shiver of anticipation through Masahiro. After Reiko identified herself, Okaru flung open the door and exclaimed, “Oh, Lady Reiko! Thank the gods you’ve come back!” She wore a deep pink kimono; her hair was studded with gold butterfly combs. She looked even more beautiful than she had yesterday. She smiled at Masahiro and said, “Hello.”
Too shy and confused to answer, Masahiro could only stare.
“Okaru!” loud voices called. “Okaru!”
Faces cropped up above the fence as men from the crowd pulled themselves onto it. The men pointed and shouted, “There she is!”
Okaru cringed like a fawn cornered by a hunter. Reiko hurried Okaru, Chiyo, and Masahiro into the room and shut the door. Okaru sank to her knees and said, “Those people have been bothering me all morning. I’ve been so scared.”
“Why are you alone?” Reiko asked. “Where’s your servant?”
“She went out to get us something to eat. We can’t afford the meals here.”
“We’ve brought food,” Reiko said. She and Chiyo unpacked the boxes.
“Oh, how wonderful!” Okaru fell upon the food. “You’re so kind!”
Her fingers wielded the chopsticks so quickly yet so gracefully. Her perfect little teeth shone as she took each bite of dumpling, pickle, and rice cake. Her soft lips glistened. She licked them with her delicate pink tongue. Masahiro was captivated.
“How did those people find out that you’re Oishi’s … fiancée?” Chiyo asked.
“Yesterday I told the maids who cleaned my room. They brought a friend of theirs—a man who writes news broadsheets. I talked to him. This morning they said he’s been selling my story all over town.” Chagrined, Okaru said, “I was flattered until those people came and started demanding to see me, as if I were a freak at a peep show.”
“You would have been wiser to keep your business private,” Chiyo said.
Masahiro sensed that Chiyo didn’t like Okaru.
Okaru hung her head. “I realize that now, but they were so interested, and so kind. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
“In the future, don’t be so frank with strangers,” Reiko said.
Masahiro agreed that Okaru should have kept quiet, but his mother and Chiyo shouldn’t blame her; she was too innocent to know that not everyone could be trusted.
Okaru nodded humbly. “Thank you for your advice.” She finished eating and said, “I’m so worried about Oishi. Have you any news of him?”
“My husband has put him under house arrest,” Reiko said, and explained about the supreme court.
Breathless with relief, Okaru clasped a hand to her bosom. “At least he’s still alive.”
A pain as sharp as a stab pierced Masahiro’s heart. Somehow, it hurt to see how much she loved Oishi. Masahiro was beginning to dislike Oishi, even though yesterday he’d admired the man as an example of samurai honor. Everything had seemed so simple then. The world had turned into a strange, confusing place overnight.
“Is there a chance that Oishi will be pardoned?” Okaru said eagerly.
“Perhaps only a small one,” Reiko said. “Many important people are in favor of condemning all of the forty-seven rōnin to death. My husband is investigating the case. Everything depends on what he learns. I told him what you said Oishi told you about the vendetta. He promised to take it into account. But it would help if you could remember anything else Oishi said.”
Okaru shook her head sadly. “I’ve tried and tried, but I really don’t remember.”
The door slid open, pushed so hard that it crashed against its frame. A woman stumbled into the room. She was breathing hard; she brought with her a stale, sour smell. Tall and very thin, she wore a baggy coat and had long, gray-streaked hair twisted carelessly in a knot. Her face was square, her fine features emaciated.
“Which one of you is Okaru?” Her eyes, red and watery from the cold, blazed with anger.
Everyone stared at her in surprise. Reiko said, “Who are you?”
The woman’s gaze settled on Okaru. She advanced on the girl, who leaned back, intimidated. She ignored everyone else. Masahiro thought she seemed angry, satisfied, and sad at the same time. “My name is Ukihashi. I’m Oishi’s wife.”
As Ukihashi gazed down at Okaru, her expression turned to disgust. “Merciful gods, you’re less than half his age.” The anger in her eyes flared. “You stole my husband!”
“No,” Okaru said in a faint voice. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t pretend to be so innocent,” Ukihashi shouted. “You seduced him. But he’s as guilty as you are.” Fists clenched, she spat her words into Okaru’s face. “Because of him, I’ve come down in the world. Once I was as pretty as you are, but look at me now!” She flung out her arms. She wore ragged gloves, her fingers bare. Her face had dry, scaly patches of skin; her lips were cracked and raw. Her padded coat was faded, stained, ripped, and leaking feathers.
“I’m sorry.” Okaru looked so ashamed that Masahiro felt bad for her. “But, you see, Oishi had already divorced you by the time he met—”
Ukihashi slapped Okaru’s face. “You evil little whore!”
Okaru yelped in pain. Ukihashi grabbed the front of her robe, hauled her to her feet, and shook her, spewing curses. “Help!” Okaru cried.
Masahiro rushed to Ukihashi and tried to pull her off Okaru. But Ukihashi was stronger than she looked. Hauling Okaru across the room, she towed Masahiro along.
“Stop!” Reiko ordered.
Ukihashi dragged Okaru out the door and began hitting her. “Thief! You couldn’t get a man of your own, so you took mine!”
She shoved Okaru. The girl screamed, fell off the veranda, and landed in the snow. Ukihashi wrenched free of Masahiro, pounced on Okaru, and clawed at her eyes. Okaru struggled, crying, “Leave me alone, you crazy woman!”
Men watching over the fence cheered. The inn’s other guests came out of their rooms to see what was happening. The proprietor rushed over and said, “She climbed the fence. I couldn’t stop her.” He wrung his hands as the two women fought. “Will someone please break it up?”
Masahiro waded into the snow. Ukihashi had Okaru on the ground under her knees. He pulled on Ukihashi while she mashed snow into Okaru’s face. Okaru squealed. Ukihashi turned on Masahiro and shrieked, “Stay out of this!”
She punched his face. He yelled as the blow exploded against his nose and propelled him backward. He landed on his buttocks in the snow. Hot, salty-sweet blood trickled down his throat and spilled from his nostrils. He heard his mother call her guards. They rushed in and tore Ukihashi away from Okaru. It took three men to hold Ukihashi while she struggled and screamed and the spectators cheered. Okaru sat up, coughing and spitting out snow. Reiko and Chiyo hurried to Masahiro.
“Are you hurt?” Reiko asked anxiously. “Oh, your nose is bleeding!” Chiyo offered a handkerchief. Reiko pressed it against his nose. “Tilt your head back. Come inside.”
As he obeyed, he saw Okaru turn her head in his direction. His face went hot with embarrassment. That he’d tried to protect her and had his nose bloodied by an old woman! And now he was being treated like a baby.
“Leave me alone,” he said gruffly. “I’m all right.”
Chiyo helped Okaru to her feet and into the room. Masahiro tried to shrug off his mother as she continued fussing over him. Reiko removed the handkerchief long enough to see that blood was still oozing from his nose. “Stay still. Don’t be so impatient.”
Masahiro couldn’t bear to look at Okaru. He couldn’t help looking. She smiled at him while she wiped her face and hair with a towel. Embarrassment turned to humiliation.
Lieutenant Tanuma appeared at the door. “Lady Reiko, what do you want us to do with that woman? Should we let her go?”
“No,” Reiko said. “I want to talk to her.” She turned to Masahiro. “Keep your head back and keep pressing on your nose with the handkerchief.”
“Should I come with you or stay with Masahiro?” Chiyo said.
“You can go,” Okaru said. “I’ll be here.”
When his mother and Chiyo left, Masahiro panicked. He’d fought in battles and faced death like a man, but he was terrified to be alone with Okaru. What would he say to her? Masahiro clutched the handkerchief against his nose and stared desperately at the ceiling, as if he could find the answer written there.
Okaru knelt beside him. He glanced sideways at her. She smiled again. Masahiro realized how stupid he must look. He tilted his head down and cautiously sniffed.
“Has the bleeding stopped?” Okaru asked.
“I think so.”
“That’s good.”
Shyness tied Masahiro’s tongue. This was the first conversation he’d ever had with Okaru, and he couldn’t think of how to keep it going. He took the handkerchief off his nose.
“There’s blood on your face.” Okaru went to a basin of water, dipped in a cloth, and wrung it out. “Here, let me.”
Masahiro sat rigid, afraid to move, while she dabbed his cheeks and lips. Okaru was so close to him that he could hear her soft breathing and smell her sweet, fresh scent. Afraid to stare rudely at her face, he cast his gaze downward. He saw the loose neckline of her kimono and the hollow between her breasts. A thrill swept through him. He felt a rush of pleasure, and a strange, urgent need. His heart began to pound so thunderously, he was afraid Okaru would hear it. He longed to touch her, but he was terrified of what she would think if he did.
“There.” Okaru sat back on her heels and studied him. “Your nose is swollen. Does it hurt?” She gently touched his nose.
Masahiro said, “Yes. I mean, no.” Her fingertips were as soft and cool as flower petals, but they seemed to burn his skin.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” Okaru said.
He frowned, wondering if she was joking; but her expression was serious. “I didn’t rescue you,” he was forced to admit. “My mother’s guards did.”
“If not for you, that woman might have killed me before they came.” Okaru smiled. “You’re my hero.”
All Masahiro could do was look at the floor and blush so hotly that he felt as if he were on fire.
13
HIRATA FOLLOWED CHIKARA to a room in the barracks where the Hosokawa clan retainers practiced martial arts. Wooden swords and spears hung from racks. The bare wooden floor was marred by scuffs, nicks, and gouges. Polished steel mirrors were mounted on one wall. Chikara stood in the center of the room, his arms folded, a safe distance from Hirata.
“I’ve heard of you,” Chikara said, his voice unsteady but belligerent. “You’re the famous fighter. Well, you don’t scare me.”
“That’s good,” Hirata said, “because I’m not here to hurt you.”
Chikara looked askance at Hirata. He reached for the swords he usually wore at his waist, but his hand closed around empty air. He glanced at the weapons on the racks, realized that they were wooden and Hirata’s blades were steel, and discarded the idea of fighting.
“A good choice,” Hirata said. “You’re wiser than a lot of men twice your age.”
Chikara peered at Hirata, wondering if Hirata was making fun of him. Hirata solemnly returned his gaze. Chikara asked, “What do you want with me?”
“I want you to tell me about the vendetta.”
“What about it?” Chikara asked warily.
“Why did you wait so long to go after Kira?” This wasn’t a minor issue that Hirata wanted to clear up so that he could set the record straight. Twenty-two months was a long time. A lot could have happened besides the forty-seven rōnin stewing about their master’s death and fixating on revenge. Maybe something else had gone on, which could affect the supreme court’s decision—and Sano’s and Hirata’s fate.
Chikara tilted his head. “Isn’t it obvious why waiting was a good idea?”
“Suppose you tell me, and I’ll decide whether it is,” Hirata said.
Chikara hesitated for a moment that was fraught with his reluctance to obey and his fear of the consequences of disobeying. “All right.”
1701 May
AFTER THE DISSOLUTION of the Asano estate in Edo, Oishi gathered Lord Asano’s remaining men in hi
s shabby little rented house and said, “Let us make our plan to avenge our master.”
“Why do we need a plan?” Chikara had always been rash and hotheaded, unlike his prudent, calculating father. “Why can’t we just go kill Kira now?”
The other men eagerly seconded Chikara. But Oishi said, “Because Kira is expecting us. He’s surrounded by guards. We have to lull him into thinking we’re not coming.”
“And in the meantime, we do nothing?” Chikara said in dismay.
“Far from it. We have important work to do.”
Chikara felt the group’s morale rise. His father had given them a mission, a purpose that their lives had lost when they’d become rōnin. “What kind of work?”
“I’ll try to get the house of Asano reinstated,” Oishi said. “I don’t expect to succeed, but I owe it to Lord Asano. The rest of you will convince Kira that revenge is the last thing on our minds. You can pretend to accept that you’ve lost your samurai status and go to work like good little commoners. Or you can pretend to become good-for-nothing bums. Make sure that lots of people see you. We want word to get back to Kira.”
One man said, “I’ll be a bum. That’s easier than working.” Laughter arose.
“Remember that it’s just an act,” Oishi warned. “You have to stay strong and keep your wits. Kira is a careful bastard. Even after he thinks he’s safe, he’ll still keep troops around him. We’ll have to fight. You need to be ready.
“We also need someone to spy on Kira, to determine the best place and time to attack.” Oishi chose three of the cleverest men. “Learn his routine. Cultivate some informants. If he’s spying on us, we need to be aware. And we’d better split up, so he won’t guess that we’re conspiring against him.” He divided the men into three groups that would stage themselves in Osaka, Kamakura, and Miyako.
“How will we keep in contact?” one of the spies asked.
“Chikara and I will stay in Edo,” Oishi said. “Send me messages here unless I give you other instructions. Everyone let me know where you can be reached. I’ll let you know when it’s time to act.” He rose. “Are we understood?”
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