by Hearn, Lian
When the rain finally eased in the afternoon of the second day, the silence woke them as if from an intoxicated dream, calling them back to their separate lives, to a parting filled with anguish and joy. Sachie and Bunta returned before nightfall, full of apologies for the delay, but they fell silent when they saw Shigeru was there still. The young man went immediately outside to care for the horses. Sachie came inside and prepared food for them. They had hardly thought to eat and now were famished. She had bought eggs and winter greens, and made a broth with soybean paste and curd. Later, she cooked rice, saying she would prepare rice cakes for the journey back. She retired to sleep in the room Shigeru had previously occupied, giving no hint of her feelings in either expression or demeanor, yet clearly she was aware of what had happened between them—the very air seemed silky and heavy with their passion.
“She will never say anything to anyone,” Lady Maruyama assured Shigeru.
“And the groom?” He did not really care: he was just grateful to spend another night with her, not to lie shivering fervently paces away as he had before. He reached out and slipped his hands under the smooth mass of hair and cupped her head in his palms.
“He is a discreet and silent young man. Sachie will swear him to secrecy. I am in my own domain; I may do as I please! No one will question me or betray me.”
“Yet Iida may have spies everywhere. Even Arai’s lover works for the Tribe, and therefore possibly for Iida. How can we ever know whom to trust?”
“I am aware of all this, yet right now I feel no one can harm us,” she whispered.
When he poured himself into her, he felt the same. Yet he knew that this newborn passion could mean only greater danger for them both.
40
Shigeru made the return journey in a state of exhaus-tion yet buoyed up by emotions of hope and happiness that a week before would have seemed forever beyond his grasp. He knew in the uncertainty and violence of their world that they might never set eyes on each other again, yet what existed between them was eternal. It could never be taken from him. He felt again her head in his hands, the silky touch of her hair, and heard her voice—Take. Drink—and saw her face light up with laughter.
The weather continued to be changeable, with sudden drenching showers and gusts of wind tearing the leaves from the branches and massing them in drifts at the foot of the trees. As the leaves fell, the forest opened up, the bare branches glistening in the soft autumn light. Several times he saw deer on the track ahead, their black scuts quivering as they plunged away from him, and at night the lonely cry of geese flying overhead echoed through the damp air. But for him the autumn wind did not sing of love grown cold but of a love new and robust, one that would never be extinguished while he lived. He did not know when they would meet again, but now they were allies, more than allies: they were bound together. He waited for her to send another message to him.
SHE WROTE ONCE before winter, the letter arriving in the same way, concealed in more of Eijiro’s writings. The letter was unsigned: one might have thought it a copy of a tale, for it read like a fragment of a ghost story, set in an isolated temple in the rain: a warrior bewitched by love, a spirit woman who seduced him. It was written with lightness and humor: he could almost hear his spirit woman laugh.
Then the year turned; the snows came and the city of Hagi was shut off from the rest of the Three Countries.
During the long winter months, when snow was piled high in the garden and icicles hung from the eaves like rows of white radishes, the unyielding harvest of winter, Shigeru often took out the letter and read it, recalling the isolated temple, the rain, her voice, her hair.
Sometimes he could not believe what had happened, that they had dared to take what they both so deeply desired, and he was amazed by her courage and grateful to her beyond words. Her risk was greater than his, for he had nothing that tied him to this world beyond her and his intentions of revenge, whereas she had a daughter and a domain to lose.
At other times their love for each other seemed so natural and preordained that he could see no danger in it. He felt they were invulnerable, protected by fate itself.
So when Naomi wrote in the spring, her letter concealed inside a package from Eijiro’s widow containing samples of sesame seed for the first experimental plantings, telling him that she would be at a place called Katte Jinja on the northern coast of Maruyama at the full moon of the fourth month, Shigeru did not hesitate to make arrangements to go traveling again.
Over the last year he had become almost as interested in fishing as in farming, for it was from the sea that Hagi gained most of its food and its wealth. The families of fishermen had their own hierarchies, loyalties, and codes, and, Shigeru knew, these often brought them into conflict with his uncles in the castle, who saw their rich, bountiful catches as a source of no less bountiful tax. Shigeru was particularly well acquainted with Terada Fumimasa, a thickset, immensely strong, and endlessly shrewd man who ran his own fleet, and the port in general, with affable but unchallenged tyranny. He had, it was rumored, fathered half the young fishermen in Hagi but had one legitimate son, Fumio, a boy the same age as Miyoshi Gemba, who at eight years old already accompanied his father on all his voyages.
Terada had from time to time invited Shigeru to join them. Shigeru had never taken him up on it, but now a plan began to form in his mind. Terada lived near the port on the slopes of Fire Mountain. In the last year, Shigeru had often walked here, visiting the place where Akane had died, taking pleasure in the exotic gardens the old priest had created. He had made sure the gardens were not neglected after the old man’s death. It had been a way to deal with his grief and anger at Akane, as well, he thought, as preserving a memorial to her beauty and vivacity. Many young men and women came here to pray to Akane’s spirit to help them in all matters of the heart, and Shigeru half-consciously joined his prayers to theirs.
On this day in late spring, when the cherry blossom was at its peak, and the lusher scents of orange blossom also filled the air along with many perfumes of strange flowers that he could not identify, the shrine on Fire Mountain was thronged with people, all no doubt feeling like him the tug of spring in their blood, the longing for love, the desire for the beloved’s body, the craving to lie down together and make new life.
He thought Terada would be home, for he had seen his ship in the port, getting ready to set sail on the next day’s tide. Shigeru knew he had been recognized by many in the crowd: he had been aware of their respect and delight, and someone must have informed Terada, for the man himself came out to his gate and warmly invited him to step inside.
“Lord Shigeru! What an unexpected pleasure, and a great honor, if I may be so indiscreet.” He made no attempt to lower his voice, clearly believing he could do and say as he liked in his own home. No one would dare report any of his words to the Otori lords; their families would have felt Terada’s punishment before such words left the mouth.
Terada issued several barking commands. Maids brought tea, wine, and morsels of raw fish just sliced from the living creature, still quivering, melting in the mouth with the salty essence of the sea itself. They talked about the moon and tides, the weather and the season, and then Shigeru said idly, looking out over the bay toward the other volcano, “I suppose Oshima is very different from Fire Mountain.”
“Has Lord Shigeru never been there?”
Shigeru shook his head. “I have always wanted to.”
“Fire Mountain is said to be more stable. Oshima is very unpredictable. No one would dare build a house like this next to the volcano there—though I have been tempted from time to time, especially when the castle tries to extract more and more money from us.”
Terada filled Shigeru’s bowl again and then drained his own. Shigeru made no reply and did not allow his bland expression to change. They spoke of other matters, but as Shigeru was leaving, Terada said, “There is nothing to prevent us from dropping by Oshima this week. Why don’t you come with us?”
; “I would be delighted,” Shigeru said, giving his customary frank smile.
“Meet us at the harbor tomorrow night. We will be away about a week.”
Shigeru went home and made the necessary preparations for the journey, informed his mother and Ichiro, and wrote a brief letter to his uncles, which he instructed Ichiro to deliver after his departure. He said nothing about extending his journey as far as the Maruyama shoreline, but the following evening, as Terada’s ship sped across the waves, helped by the tide and the southeast wind, he asked the older man, “Do you ever put in on the coast of Maruyama?”
“Occasionally we stop at Ohama, when the wind swings to the north and we can’t get back to Hagi. Why? Did you want to go there?”
Shigeru did not reply immediately. Terada gestured to him to come a little closer.
“I have no secrets from any of my men,” he said quietly. “But you may have things you prefer the whole ship does not hear, and I respect that. If you want to go to Maruyama, I’ll make sure you get there, and I’ll ask no questions about your reasons, or allow anyone else to.”
“You say the northerly keeps you from returning to Hagi,” Shigeru said. “If you took me to Katte Jinja, might it keep me there for a few days?”
“It will if I tell it to,” Terada replied, grinning. “It suits us as well. We’ll put into Oshima and fish the sea between the island and the coast. We can come back for you whenever you desire.”
The light was fading and the full moon was rising. Shigeru gazed at the path it made across the waves toward the west and imagined walking its length to where she waited for him.
The fishing boats came to Oshima just before dawn and hove to in the lee of the cliffs, waiting for daybreak. The breeze dropped; the sea was calm, lapping gently against the basalt rocks, so quiet that they could clearly hear the awakening birds on land.
The sun rose, a bright red sphere emerging from the unruffled ocean.
“It will be fair weather for a week,” Terada said, looking up at the cloudless skies, shading his eyes with his arm.
“Good for traveling,” Shigeru agreed, trying to mask his impatience with indifferent calm.
The men put out oars and rowed the boats into the rock-rimmed harbor. From a distance it seemed to be a natural basin, but when they had anchored and leaped ashore, Shigeru realized that nature had been improved by carefully hewn stones placed to form a landing quay. The opposite side had been similarly built up into a protective wall.
Above their heads, the sides of the volcano rose steeply; the black rocks and old lava stood out between the forest that sought to cover them. Smoke and steam rose from the crater and from the numerous hot springs at the volcano’s foot, even from the surface of the sea itself, where boiling water burst through cracks in the ocean floor.
“Come, I’ll show you around,” Terada said, and leaving the men to prepare the nets and baskets, they scrambled over the rocks and followed a rough track up the side of the mountain.
“Does no one live here?” Shigeru asked, looking around, when they paused for breath about halfway up. He raised his eyes and looked toward the coast. Hagi lay to the east, lost in the haze.
“It’s known as the entrance to hell,” Terada replied. “I like to encourage that reputation. The fewer people who come here, the better. Do you want to bathe? Take care, the water is scalding.”
They both stripped off, and Shigeru slid carefully into the pool, his skin turning red instantly. Terada could not help grunting as the water hit his powerful frame.
They sat half submerged for a few moments without speaking; then Terada said, “You weren’t wounded in the battle?”
“Just a cut in the scalp. It’s healed now, my hair covers it.”
“Unh.” Terada grunted again. “Forgive me—and shut me up if I’m speaking out of turn—but you will not always be so retiring and so patient?”
“Indeed I will,” Shigeru replied. “I have withdrawn from power and politics. I am interested only in my house and lands.”
Terada was gazing at him searchingly. “I know this is what people say, but there are still many who hope secretly . . .”
Shigeru interrupted him. “Their hope is futile, and so is our discussing it.”
“But this journey?” Terada persisted.
“It is of a religious nature,” Shigeru replied, allowing an earnest note to creep into his voice. “I have been told of strange visions and apparitions at this shrine. I will spend a few nights alone there and see if anything is revealed to me. Apart from that, I am interested in your work, your knowledge of the sea and its creatures, as well as the opinions and welfare of your men. And I like traveling.”
“You don’t have to worry about my men,” Terada replied. “They do what I tell them, and I look after them!” He chuckled and gestured to the land around the pool. “This is where I would build my house if I lived on Oshima. You can see all the way to Hagi, and no one would ever draw you out.”
“Is this your island, then?”
“If I am the only one who dares to come to Oshima, then it belongs to me,” Terada said. “It’s my bolt-hole. If your uncles get too greedy, I’ll not stay in Hagi and pay for their luxuries.” He glanced at Shigeru and muttered, “You can tell them that, I don’t care, but I’ll not tell them your secrets.”
“I will speak to them about the fairness of the taxation system,” Shigeru said. “To be frank, it has already concerned me. But your other secrets are safe with me.”
When they had dressed again and descended to the quay, the men had lit fires and prepared food. By midday they were again aboard; Terada had cushions placed on the high deck in the stern, and Shigeru reclined on these, half dozing, as the flowing tide carried the vessel toward the coast, the sail flapping in the breeze, the charms and amulets tinkling on the mast, the messenger pigeons cooing gently in their bamboo baskets.
Terada’s son came and sat beside him with one of the tortoise-shell-colored cats that sailors believe bring good luck, showed him how to tie knots for nets with a piece of resined cord, and related stories about kindly dragons and magic fish, every now and then leaping to his feet when he spied a flock of seabirds or a school of fish. He was an attractive boy, plumpish, robust, very like his father.
The sun was low in the sky by the time they came to shore. Its light turned rocks and sand golden. They had seen no boats out at sea, but here, close to the coast, several tiny craft were bobbing in the water. The fishermen seemed both hostile and afraid at the sight of Terada’s ship, and Shigeru suspected some earlier encounter might have turned violent.
“This is where Katte Jinja is,”Terada said, pointing toward the shore, where the shrine’s roof could be seen between twisted pine trunks. “You don’t have to worry about these people; they won’t hurt you.”
There was something more than the usual scorn in his voice, and Shigeru raised his eyebrows.
“They are Hidden,” Terada explained. “So they will not kill, not even to defend themselves. You will find them interesting, no doubt.”
“Indeed,” Shigeru said. “I might even question them about their beliefs.”
“They will tell you nothing,” Terada said. “They will die rather than disclose or forswear them. How long will you stay?” he questioned as his men prepared to lower Shigeru over the side into the thigh-deep water.
For the rest of my life, he wanted to reply, but instead said vaguely, “I suppose three nights of apparitions will be enough.”
“Three nights too many, if you ask me.” Terada laughed. “Expect us at this time four days hence.”
The sailors gave him a basket of rice cakes and salted fish, and Shigeru took his own bundle of clothes, holding these over his head, along with Jato, as he waded ashore.
At the top of the beach were a few hovels; women and children sat outside them, tending fires around which small fish were drying on bamboo racks. They stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads without speaking as Shigeru walked
past. He glanced at them, noting that the children, though thin, looked healthy enough, and that several of the women were young and not ill-looking. They all looked tense, ready to bolt, and he thought he could guess the reason—the presence of Terada’s predatory, unprincipled men. No doubt, missing their own women, the sailors took these, knowing their husbands would not fight to defend them. He resolved to speak to Terada about it. These were her people. It was wrong that men from his clan should prey on them.
