by Nogami Yaeko
Riki left the room. Wanting Rikyū to try to eat something for dinner, she told Miwa to make one of his favorite foods, boiled aster. But even as the words left her mouth, Rikyū clapped his hands loudly from inside the room to summon her back.
She hurried back inside and saw that he was sitting up on the futon. His calligraphy box from the small desk nearby was open, and in front of him was a freshly written letter addressed to Hosokawa Tadaoki, using a personal name that only Tadaoki’s close friends called him.
But it was more than that. “There’s a tea bowl named Hiki-kinosaya on the middle shelf in the utensil closet,” he told her. “Bring it here.”
Rikyū kept his closet of tea utensils meticulously organized. He could find what he was looking for even in the dark, as could Riki. She went to the closet, took out three nested boxes, and returned to her husband’s side. Rikyū untied the boxes and took out the bowl. He looked at the inside, the sides, the foot, and then the whole bowl over again. It was a cylindrical celadon bowl that had come from Korea, where it had been used for drinking herbal medicine. The shape resembled the handle on the case of a tea grinder. On the top and bottom of the bowl in the front were two lines; in the back was the inlaid pattern of a round, white crest. The design resembled the riding pants worn by a Noh comic actor, and so this style of bowl was called Kyōgenbakama. The design was eccentric and interesting.
Rikyū looked at it for a moment and then put it back in the box. “Take this bowl to Tadaoki along with the letter,” he told his wife.
Tadaoki had never asked for the bowl, but Rikyū knew that he liked it, although he had never planned on giving it to him. He didn’t know what had made him decide, as he was writing the letter, that the bowl would be Tadaoki’s. He didn’t look too closely at the feeling that had moved him, but it lurked like a fog in the dark valley of his heart: “If I should be exiled suddenly …”
Suddenly weighed down by fear, he told his wife to leave, and he lay down again, burying his face in the futon.
The day after next, the twenty-fourth, Ieyasu came for tea. The weather was as clear as Rikyū could have wished. Ieyasu was punctual as always, arriving in a kago a little after ten in the morning. He brought only a few attendants with him, along with his main retainer, Honda Tadakatsu.
Rikyū, wearing his most formal jacket over his kimono, greeted Ieyasu reverently. No one would have known, looking at him, that he had been in bed until the previous evening. His big, black eyes were calm, and his charming smile betrayed no hint of the incident at Daitokuji Temple.
In the four-and-a-half-mat tearoom, everything was arranged as he’d planned it two days ago. The kettle, a present from Hideyoshi, was full of boiling water, and the yellow-blossomed plum branch in the alcove was the perfect complement to Kokei’s calligraphy. Nothing in the arrangement showed any special consideration for Ieyasu’s rank except for the small, wool European cushion in the guest’s spot. Hideyoshi was one of the few people who could sit on a cushion in the tearoom, and while Hideyoshi’s was big and brocade, this particular cushion demonstrated that Rikyū gave Ieyasu equal esteem.
Ieyasu didn’t comment on it, or even appear to notice. Since he had turned fifty, he had gained weight, and he arranged his portly body on the cushion with leisurely poise. He was wearing a gray kimono stamped with his family crest, and formal riding pants to match. His twilled jacket was brown, very different from Hideyoshi’s showy attire.
The trays of food were carried in by specially trained young servant boys whose hair had been cut with bangs, but Rikyū served Ieyasu himself. He ate with relish. The mouth that sipped the miso soup was small, like a woman’s, sandwiched between two chubby cheeks. As he sampled the skewer of soft abalone, he told Rikyū that in his home city of Edo, the food was not up to the standard of Kyōto.
“If you are building a grandiose castle, merchants from all over Japan will compete to sell you supplies,” Rikyū replied. “There are rumors that soon Edo will be greater than Kyōto and Ōsaka.”
“Oh, no. I think it’s going to be countryside for quite a while.”
Rikyū was used to Ieyasu’s style. Even though he knew that Ieyasu didn’t know much about the aesthetics of classical Japanese poetry, he turned the discussion from the fields of Musashino to Mount Tsukuba and the Sumida River in the Kantō region, both of which had been made famous by the old poets. Rikyū was thinking about the letter he’d received from Furuta Oribe while at the mountain house in Odawara. He envied Oribe for being able to enjoy that well-known scenery every day.
In the back of his mind, Rikyū wondered if Ieyasu had already heard about the incident at Daitokuji Temple. He knew that lords like Ieyasu came to Kyōto not only to pay their respects to Hideyoshi and attend parties, but to get news from far-off regions. The gossip about him had spread quickly, and Hosokawa Tadaoki already asked to come and see Rikyū. Rikyū wouldn’t be surprised if Ieyasu had heard already, too. Would he say anything?
Rikyū was prepared to tell the story of the renovation of the gate and the decision to place the statue in the corner of the Buddha hall, to explain his desire to have it there as a type of memorial after his passing. If things with Hideyoshi got worse, he would need someone to intercede on his behalf, and a powerful lord like Ieyasu would be far more help than Maeda Toshiie.
But would Ieyasu agree to help? Rikyū had known him since Nobunaga’s reign, but they weren’t particularly close. The request might be too self-serving. On the other hand, Ieyasu could easily have given some excuse not to come and have tea with Rikyū. It was true that Ieyasu believed strongly in keeping his promises, but Rikyū wanted to believe it was more than that. He needed to believe that Ieyasu was sympathetic to his cause.
So he talked about the beauty of Ieyasu’s home region, hoping that Ieyasu would invite him to come for a visit. It would be a good step in cementing a political alliance.
But Ieyasu kept lifting the specially cut, fresh, green bamboo chopsticks to his mouth, chewing steadily. Keeping his worries deep inside, Rikyū cheerfully picked up the sake bottle and filled Ieyasu’s black lacquer cup. As he drank, the complexion of Ieyasu’s temples and cheeks became more noticeably blue-green, a contrast to the red tongue that shot out as he licked his lips.
Ieyasu had a strong tolerance for alcohol and never appeared drunk in public, unlike Hideyoshi, who grew very cheerful after three or four drinks. Hideyoshi often laughed at Ieyasu’s sobriety. “He drinks the same way he does his business in a toilet. He doesn’t enjoy himself.”
But today Ieyasu was enjoying himself, and the alcohol loosened him up. Without being prompted, he turned the conversation to his daughter Toku-hime, the one who had married Hōjō Ujinao and then returned to Ieyasu during the battle of Odawara. He had arranged a remarriage for her to a young lord in Mino province.
“How is Tsurumatsu doing?” he asked Rikyū.
“He was better, but now he’s sick again, with a high fever.”
“Hideyoshi must be very worried about him.” Ieyasu understood Hideyoshi’s love for his son, and expressed sympathy for Hideyoshi, knowing how hard it was for Kampaku-sama to leave Yodo Castle. “It’s difficult for us, as human beings, to balance our official duties with the ties of obligation and love between parents and children.”
On and on they chatted, about inconsequential things. The alcohol had made Ieyasu somewhat more talkative than usual, but still, when he finally exited through the kneeling entrance, the words that Rikyū had been hoping to hear had not been spoken.
After Ieyasu had left with Honda Tadakatsu and five or six other retainers who had come for a later tea gathering, Rikyū looked exhausted, as if he had been on a long journey. He told the servants something he almost never said: “I’m a bit tired.”
But he didn’t order them to make up his bed so he could sleep. Nor did he move to put the utensils away, which he usually insisted on doing himself. It was only just past two in the afternoon, and he stood still in a patch of bright, warm sunlight
. There was a sharp ache in his stomach, closer to anger than desperation. It was not directed at Ieyasu, but at himself.
He had tried to ask Ieyasu for something he had no right to ask. He’d been so foolish.
Suddenly, an incident at Odawara flashed through his mind. It was right after the completion of Mount Ishigaki Castle. Ieyasu, who had been fighting against Hōjō, had come to the castle, and Hideyoshi had happily showed him around. Although the garden wasn’t finished, Hideyoshi had taken Ieyasu to the cleared space, up to the edge of a precipice that overlooked the valley below. From that vantage point, it was as if the plain of the Hayakawa River with the forests and fields of Odawara was being offered to Hideyoshi on the palm of someone’s hand. Even Hōjō Castle, in the center of the plain facing the blue Sagami Ocean with ranges of high mountains at its back, looked as if it was throwing itself at Hideyoshi’s feet.
Full of pride, Hideyoshi had suddenly put on a wicked grin and said to Ieyasu, “Let’s piss on that hateful man.” Without waiting, he had pulled up his formal kimono.
Ieyasu flinched only a second before following Hideyoshi. The two men had stood side by side at the edge of the cliff, aiming at the white castle in Odawara with two lines of stinking urine arching across the blue May sky.
Hideyoshi had to behave like a nobleman, but he was a village boy at heart, so his actions were just a mischievous relic of his youth. And perhaps he had wanted to tease Ieyasu, who was always cautious and gentlemanly.
Ieyasu had followed Hideyoshi calmly and obediently, in spite of the fact that the castle he was aiming at contained his son-in-law and his beloved daughter. Didn’t that show where his loyalties lay? He would act independently in his own interest, but if he had nothing to gain, he would remain as still as a rock.
Hosokawa Tadaoki visited Rikyū that night. Rikyū invited him into the same tearoom he had used for Ieyasu. The arrangement of utensils remained the same. Tadaoki expressed his gratitude to Rikyū regarding the tea bowl he had received.
The greetings past, he asked the question bursting in his mind. “Did Tokugawa-sama say anything in particular?” he asked, referring to Ieyasu.
“No, nothing,” Rikyū said simply, smiling sadly. He thought again that his wishful thinking had made him more of a clown than the two men who had urinated off the cliff at Mount Ishigaki Castle. Then he changed the subject as if avoiding looking at a distasteful object, and asked Tadaoki what he had heard about Daitokuji Temple.
Tadaoki explained that one of his retainers was close to Kimura Gyōbu. What he had heard from that man was so surprising that he had asked to see Rikyū as soon as possible. He told Rikyū that the wooden statue at Daitokuji Temple wasn’t the only problem: Mitsunari had connected Rikyū with the rumor that attacking China was not going to be as easy as defeating Akechi. Furthermore, they were spreading rumors of their own about how Rikyū was abusing his position as Hideyoshi’s chief tea master, making a vast amount of money from buying and selling tea utensils.
Tadaoki had trouble telling Rikyū these things, especially the last. He said he didn’t believe it for a minute. “Furuta Oribe has heard the same thing. He wanted to come and visit you tonight, too, but I decided to come and see you alone.”
“I really appreciate your concern,” Rikyū told him in a hoarse voice. He put his hands on his knees and bowed.
Tadaoki was wearing a purple kimono, a jacket woven with silver leaf, and ultramarine riding pants. The bright outfit suited his handsome, clear-cut features well, and it reflected the candlelight beautifully. To the twenty-seven-year-old Tadaoki, Rikyū was an old man. But when he was receiving lessons as a diligent student or seeing Rikyū on other occasions, Tadaoki found that Rikyū had lost none of his vigor. He could not believe they were forty years apart in age. Tonight, though, Rikyū sat in front of the kettle like a powerless old man. Even his big body looked shrunken. Tadaoki had never had a reason to pity Japan’s highest-ranking tea master before, but tonight he’d become like a son consoling and encouraging his father. He stressed that those retainers would plot no matter what. It really all depended on Kampaku-sama, so Rikyū shouldn’t worry about it too much, he reassured him. Hideyoshi had a lot of affection for him, he added.
Tadaoki really wanted to believe what he was saying instead of just speaking the words. But he knew what “they” were plotting.
“Anyhow,” he continued, “I was hoping that Tokugawa-sama would be able to help you. What about consulting Maeda Toshiie?” Hideyoshi valued Toshiie’s opinion in much the same way as Ieyasu did.
But Rikyū just shook his head and apologized for causing trouble and making others worry because of his blunder. “Things will take their natural course. Just knowing that you are so concerned about me means more than you know.”
“I’m sorry we don’t have much power. Oribe and I are not much help to you. I wish Dainagon-sama were still alive.”
Finally, the words had been said aloud. Tadaoki was one of those who believed that if Hidenaga had not died, none of this would have happened.
Rikyū did not even nod in acknowledgment. The incident at Daitokuji Temple had happened two days ago, and since then, Hidenaga’s name had always been in Rikyū’s mind and heart. He could not even utter it. He could not answer Tadaoki. The silence was his answer.
Tadaoki almost always had tea when he came—either making a bowl for Rikyū or vice versa—but tonight Rikyū didn’t suggest it. The conversation came to a halt. Neither of them could find any words to say. In the silence, the candlelight flickered dimly. A faint fragrance wafted from the yellow branches in the vase. Even the kettle in the sunken hearth seemed to feel the deep silence between them; although white steam flowed out from its mouth, it made no sound.
Over the next few days, Rikyū had many visitors. He sent messages asking his two oldest sons to come and visit him. Dōan was disabled and was especially affected by the winter, but he arrived from Kitashirakawa the next day. Then came Shōan, who lived in Saga. Hosokawa Tadaoki came again, this time with Furuta Oribe. The monk Kokei came. And Rikyū himself went to visit Maeda Toshiie.
Riki knew there wasn’t a tea gathering, but she was not told why there was a sudden influx of visitors. “When the time comes, I will have to tell you all about it, even if I don’t want to,” Rikyū told her. “Please, don’t ask me anything about it before then.”
Riki honored Rikyū’s request. But when Shōan came, Riki’s curiosity made her wait for him to emerge from the three-and-a-quarter-mat room where he and Rikyū had been talking. She motioned with her eyes for him to join her in another small room near the storage room. But even her son would not tell her what she wanted to hear.
“The reason my father is keeping his silence is because he doesn’t want you to worry,” he told her bluntly but affectionately. “This will all be over soon. Please be calm and let us handle it. That’s the best way, since he doesn’t want the servants to start gossiping.”
Riki began to sob, but although he loved her, he wouldn’t budge. Still, she hid her worry from Miwa, out of trust and love for her husband and son.
Then, without warning, their middle daughter Katsu came from Sakai. When Riki saw her, she gasped with worry rather than welcoming her daughter with joy. Hurriedly, Riki intercepted her daughter as she walked from the inside entrance to the back of the house. She could not wait to talk to her until she got to a private room. She rearranged her daughter’s slightly untidy hair, which was touching her shoulders, and clucked about her kimono being too bright for traveling. Then she leaned forward and whispered in her daughter’s slightly reddened earlobe, “Haven’t you heard anything?”
“Heard? What?”
“Oh, never mind.”
“You’re so strange, Mother.”
Riki knew that things that had happened in Kyōto leaked out to Sakai, and sometimes the rumors would spread faster there than in Kyōto itself. Riki had wondered if perhaps Katsu might have heard something that even Riki could only imagine, which w
ould have explained her unexpected appearance now. But seeing the innocent smile on her daughter’s smooth, white cheeks—the right one had a little dimple—Riki realized that she had worried for nothing.
But Katsu didn’t let it drop. So Riki started to tell her daughter about the mysterious secret that neither her husband nor her son would reveal.
“Well, then, maybe this is something to do with the temple.”
“I think so, too.” She told Katsu that Rikyū had received a letter from Kokei and then immediately gone to see him by kago. “Then I saw him worrying so much, and asking his sons to come. I think it’s something very serious.”
“I wonder if Kokei’s situation has become worse again.” She was referring to Kokei’s exile many years ago.
“No. Rikyū was very concerned about him then, but this time is different.”
“Where is my father today?”
“He’s at the castle.”
This was not unusual: even when Hideyoshi wasn’t at Jurakudai, Rikyū still had responsibilities to attend to as a tea master. He had gone to Jurakudai after lunch. “But since Kampaku-sama is not there, there’s not so much to do, so he will be back early in the evening.”
Katsu noticed for the first time that her mother’s hair was white at the temple and around the sides of her face now, as if someone had brushed them with paint. But all she said was, “When he comes back, I’ll ask him about it.”
“Oh? What will you say?”
“Well, my father makes you very sad, and it’s not fair that he makes you wait until he’s ready to talk about it. You’re suffering, too. You always do as he says, so you endure too much. I never do that for my husband.”
It was a typical thing for Katsu to say. Riki’s beautiful middle daughter was indulged by her husband, and this trip was no exception. Her husband had some business in the city, and he had planned to come alone, but Katsu had insisted on accompanying him. They had arrived on the night boat from Ōsaka, and Katsu had left her husband to do his business while she came to visit her parents. Her servant had accompanied her, carrying some gifts and Katsu’s spare kimono. “My husband said that we could come here when the flowers are in bloom,” she said to her mother. “He wanted to leave me in Sakai, but I didn’t listen. I told him that we could come back again to see the flowers. Don’t you agree?”
