Heaven's Net Is Wide

by Hearn, Lian

  “You are asking me to spy on Lord Shigeru?”

  “Spy is rather a blunt word,” he returned. “I am merely asking you to keep me informed.”

  Akane was thinking rapidly. It was so much less than she had feared. She would never betray Shigeru’s secrets, but she could easily make something up, enough to satisfy Masahiro.

  “And in return you will spare the boys’ lives and allow the family to remain in the house?”

  “It would be very merciful of me, wouldn’t it? Maybe I also will gain a reputation for compassion and share in Shigeru’s popularity.”

  “Lord Masahiro is indeed compassionate,” she replied. “I will make sure it is widely known.”

  She felt Hayato’s hand on the nape of her neck, a slight pressure, almost a caress. Then he was gone.

  Farewell, she said in her heart. Be at peace now. She prayed he would find peace, and an auspicious rebirth, and would not come back to haunt her.

  After Masahiro’s departure, Akane tried to tell herself she was not displeased with the outcome of the encounter. Haruna would be overjoyed and would almost certainly shower her with gifts; she had fulfilled her obligations to the dead, and she was sure that the agreement would not force her to betray Shigeru. She did not have any great opinion of Masahiro, and she felt quite confident of her ability to give him snippets of unimportant information. But as the days passed and she had time to reflect, she became less and less happy about what she had done, almost as if she knew unconsciously that she had taken the first step on a path that would deliver her into the power of a corrupt and cruel man.

  Her greatest concern was that reports of Hayato’s death and her intercession on the family’s behalf would reach Shigeru in some distorted form and anger him. His absence and Masahiro’s visit had combined to produce a sense of insecurity in her. Her role as the mistress to the heir to the clan gave her great pleasure; she could not bear the thought of losing it. And apart from that ignominy, she suffered from an unfamiliar anxiety—that Shigeru would think less of her, that she would disappoint him, that he would turn away from her.

  He will only love a woman who wins his respect, she realized clearly. He will not overlook or forgive any failing of character, any disloyalty. The idea that Masahiro might somehow inform him of their agreement unsettled her. Nothing could calm her unease. She wrote several letters and burned them, finding their tone falsely innocent, thinking her suggestions and suppressions, her embroidery of the truth, were blatant and would be easily discerned by him.

  Her house, its exquisite objects, the garden, the pine trees, the sea, had all lost their power to charm her. Her appetite waned; she began to sleep badly and was short-tempered with the maids. The sight of the moon on the water, the dew on the first buds of the chrysanthemums and on the webs of the gold-orb spiders, moved her first to tears and then to despair. She longed for Shigeru to return from the East, yet dreaded his arrival; longed for winter, which would keep him in Hagi; dreaded what his uncle might tell him through spite or intrigue and what she in turn would have to report to Masahiro.

  21

  The first typhoon of late summer swept up the coast from the southwest, but though it brought heavy rain, its main force had abated by the time it reached Hagi; the eastern parts of the Middle Country were hardly touched, and Shigeru did not hasten his return home. It was true that he missed Akane from time to time, but he had no desire to go back to the intrigue in the castle or to the uncomfortable situation with his wife. The life of a warrior on the borders had a simplicity about it that was straightforward and refreshing. He was treated by everyone with undivided respect and gratitude, which he found flattering and which gave him ever-increasing confidence in himself and in his role as the leader of the clan. No one argued with him; everyone deferred to his opinions.

  It was almost as if they were still boys, playing at stone fights, but with real soldiers and real lives at their command now. They kept a constant watch on the entire border from coast to coast, sleeping outside for nights on end beneath the soft summer sky with its huge blurred stars. Every couple of weeks or so they returned to Chigawa, where they took advantage of the hot springs and the plentiful food of late summer.

  On one of these occasions, late in the eighth month, on an early evening just before sunset, Takeshi and Kahei came into the lodging house, hair still wet from the bath, laughing loudly. They also had become more relaxed during the last few weeks, released from the stern discipline of study and training that had filled their lives in Hagi. Both were on the cusp of manhood, their bodies filling out, limbs lengthening, voices breaking. In a year or two, Shigeru thought, listening to them now, they should be sent to Terayama to learn as he had done the self-discipline that would bind together all they had been taught so far. He had watched his brother closely in the past weeks, trying to check Takeshi’s recklessness and impetuosity, noting how the men adored and encouraged him, admiring his fearlessness. In Shigeru’s opinion, Kahei had a more dependable character: his courage was not tinged with rashness; he was willing to seek advice and follow it. Yet Takeshi shone with something additional—the inborn Otori ability to inspire devotion. Shigeru wondered again how best to give his brother the responsibilities he needed. Takeshi showed no interest in crops and agriculture, the running of estates, or the development of industry; his passion was all for the art of war. If his rashness could be tempered, he might make a great general; at the moment, he was more interested in individual heroic exploits than in the careful planning of strategy and tactics. He was even less interested in the diplomatic negotiations that ensured peace. He and Kiyoshige frequently deplored the absence of war and longed for the opportunity to teach the Tohan a lesson like the battle at the shrine, which Kiyoshige described in bloodthirsty detail on more than one occasion.

  Kiyoshige liked Takeshi, and their shared adventures while Shigeru had been at Terayama had formed a strong bond between them. Shigeru noticed how Kiyoshige encouraged the younger boy, tacitly approving his rashness because it matched his own. Shigeru deliberately kept them apart while they rode out on patrols, sending Kiyoshige with Irie and keeping Takeshi with him, but when they met in Chigawa, it amused Kiyoshige to take Takeshi around with him.

  “There was a man outside with a message for you,” Takeshi said. “Just about the ugliest man I’ve ever set eyes on.”

  “He’s been roasted like a chestnut,” Kahei added.

  “We sent him packing.” Takeshi laughed. “What impudence, expecting you to speak to him.”

  “Roasted?” Shigeru questioned.

  “His face was puckered and red, as if he’d been burned.”

  “Hideous,”Takeshi muttered. “We should have put him out of his misery. What does a man like that have to live for?”

  Shigeru had thought more than once about the man he had rescued the previous year, but the Hidden seemed to have vanished underground again, true to their name. There had been no more reports of attacks over the border, and though occasionally what he had learned about their strange beliefs floated into his mind, he dismissed it as yet another superstition. He had enough of these from his father. Now he remembered Nesutoro and the sister who had considered herself his equal because of the teachings of her god, and he wondered what the man wanted and if it was too late to speak to him.

  “Kiyoshige, go and see if this man is still there. You must remember him. Nesutoro, the one we rescued last year.”

  Kiyoshige returned to say the man had disappeared. The innkeeper did not know how to find him, and there was no sign of him in the streets around.

  “You should have treated him more gently,” Shigeru told his brother. “He is a brave man who has suffered a great deal.”

  “He’s just some peasant who got drunk and fell in the fire!”

  “No, he was tortured by the Tohan,” Shigeru replied. “He is one of the reasons we fought them last year.”

  “One of the strange sect? Why does everyone hate them so much?”

>   “Perhaps because they seem to be different.”

  “They believe everyone is born equal—in the eyes of Heaven,” Kiyoshige said. “And they claim their god will judge everyone after death. They don’t know their place, and they make everyone else feel guilty.”

  “They could be very destabilizing within society,” Irie added.

  “And my elder brother protects them,” Takeshi said. “Why?”

  “The Tohan had come into Otori territory,” Shigeru replied. It was the reason he had always given; yet he knew, if he were truthful to himself, that it was not the only one. The scene at the shrine would never be erased from his mind—the cruelty, the courage, the suffering, all part of the terrible fabric of human life. The beliefs of the Hidden seemed outlandish and unlikely, but then so did his father’s superstitions. Could anyone fathom the truth of life? Could anyone read the secret hearts of men? Just as cutting back a shrub made it grow more vigorously, so suppressing strange beliefs gave them more life. Better to allow people to believe what they wanted.

  “I had never seen children tortured in that way,” he added. “I find such cruelty offensive.”

  There was a kind of pride there too: the Tohan might act in such an inhuman way, but the Otori would not. And a defiance: if the Tohan persecuted the Hidden, the Otori would protect them.

  “Would you have spoken to him?” Takeshi looked a little discomfited. “I’m sorry I turned him away.”

  “If it is important, he will probably return,” Shigeru said.

  “I don’t think so. Not after the way we dealt with him. I should have been more gentle with him.”

  “We can reach him through his brother-in-law,” Irie said. “The headman from the village.”

  Shigeru nodded. “Next time we ride that way, we will make a point of speaking to him.”

  Shigeru put the matter out of his mind, but the next morning Kiyoshige was called to the front of the inn and returned to say that the man’s sister was waiting in the street.

  “I’ll send her away,” he suggested. “You cannot be expected to receive every peasant who thinks they have some claim on you.”

  “Did she say what she wants?”

  “Just that she comes on behalf of her brother, Nesutoro.”

  Shigeru sat silent for a few moments. Kiyoshige was right: he should not make himself freely available to anyone and everyone. If he showed favoritism or particularity to one group, it would only cause envy and discontent among others. But the woman had intrigued him, and there had been some connection between him and the man—some recognition on both sides of their shared humanity—and shared qualities, too, of courage and patience.

  “Let her come in. I will talk to her.”

  SHE CAME IN on her knees, face to the ground. When Shigeru told her to sit, she did so reluctantly, her head kept low, eyes cast down. He studied her, noticing how she had made every effort to present herself: the faded robe was clean, her skin and hair clean too. He remembered the sharp planes of her face: they seemed more acute than ever, carved and hardened by grief. She had brought a companion with her, a girl of about fourteen or fifteen years, with the same high cheekbones and wide mouth. The girl did not venture into the room, but remained kneeling in the doorway.

  “Lord Otori,” the older woman began, haltingly, “I do not merit your kindness. Your goodness is beyond words.”

  “I trust your brother is recovered.”

  “Thanks to your mercy. He is well, in himself, but . . .”

  “Go on,” he prompted her. He listened impassively, neither flattered nor offended. Her words were formal, appropriate to her role as supplicant. He also felt his role descend on him, timeless and impersonal, nothing to do with his own seventeen-year-old self or his personality—the role of leadership he had been born into and trained for.

  “He is losing his sight. His eyes became infected after the . . . after the fire, and he is nearly blind. My husband does not want him with us: it is too much of a burden, and there is no one left from his family to look after him.”

  He was aware of her conflict—torn between her duty as a wife, her love for her brother, her role as headman’s wife, her religious beliefs, shame that her husband would consider her older brother a burden. He was not surprised that her voice broke again and tears began to flow silently.

  “I am very sorry to hear it,” Shigeru replied. For a man of Nesutoro’s age, too old to be taught the traditional skills of the blind—massage or lute-playing—blindness usually meant becoming a beggar.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I could not think of anyone to turn to but Lord Otori.”

  “What can I do for you?” He was amazed at her boldness, the same boldness with which she had spoken to him the previous year.

  Irie, who was sitting next to Shigeru, leaned forward and whispered, “I would not advise giving money or any other form of support. It would be misinterpreted by many and would set a dangerous precedent.”

  The woman waited until Irie had finished speaking and then said quietly, “I am not asking you for money. I would never do that. My brother expressly forbade it. But many of his people live peacefully in the West, among the Seishuu. My brother seeks your permission to leave the Middle Country and join them. All we are asking from Lord Otori is a letter stating this.”

  “Will he be allowed across the border? And how will he travel if he is nearly blind?”

  “There is a young woman who will go with him.” She turned and indicated the girl on the veranda. “My second daughter.” The girl raised her head for a moment; he could see she had the same strong face as her mother.

  “Your husband does not mind if she leaves?”

  “We have four daughters and three sons. We can spare one child for a man who lost all his children. I come with my husband’s permission. I would never act against his wishes, as Lord Otori already knows.”

  “Lord Otori may not recall every detail of the lives of everyone he meets,” Kiyoshige said, not knowing that Shigeru did recall everything about the night—the injured, feverish man; the woman daring to address him directly; her husband’s anger and incomprehension.

  “Have the letter written for the two of them,” he said to Irie. “They have my permission to travel to the West. I will stamp it with my seal.”

  “YOU WILL NOT become like our father?” Takeshi said later, when the brothers were alone.

  “What do you mean?” Shigeru replied.

  “Consulting priests all the time, taking advice from all sorts of undesirable people.” Takeshi caught his older brother’s look of disapproval and said rapidly, “I don’t mean any disrespect. But everyone talks about it and deplores it. Now you receive this woman and extend your protection to her brother . . . why? It seems so strange. I don’t want to hear people deploring my older brother’s behavior.”

  “What people say about it should not matter, as long as I hold the behavior to be correct.”

  “But your reputation is important,” Takeshi said. “If people admire you and love you, they are more likely to do what you want. The more popular you are, the safer you are.”

  “What are you talking about?” Shigeru smiled.

  “Don’t laugh at me. You should be on your guard. I hear things, you know. I keep my ears open, and moreover Kiyoshige and Kahei tell me a lot. You don’t go to the places Kiyoshige takes me to.”

  “You should not go to them, either!” Shigeru interjected.

  “People don’t take any notice of me after a while, especially if they are drinking. I pretend to be still a child . . .”

  “You still are a child!”

  “Not really,” Takeshi replied. “But I don’t mind acting like one. Often I pretend I’m asleep and curl up on the floor while they loosen their tongues above my head.”