As for me, I was still worried; though I was, it seemed, just about the only one concerned. Even Kanemore viewed their presence with some detachment now, and told me as much when we met at our appointed time near the beginning of the fifth month on a warm afternoon.
“I have to admit,” he said, “that our fears do not seem justified.”
“Prince, it is far too early to close that particular scroll. I simply do not trust Enryaku-ji while Lord Sentaro is its master.”
He sighed. “You well know I bow to no man in my hatred of Lord Sentaro. The Priest Dai-wu is another matter. I do not know how it happened. I only know when I look into the man’s eyes I do not see Lord Sentaro. Not even a trace.”
“That only means he’s showing a blank face. He’s a skilled enough manipulator for that.”
“Not blank, my friend. Open and friendly and guileless.”
I frowned. “Are you certain it is the same man?”
“His head is shaved, of course, but it is Lord Sentaro, or at least the man who once was Lord Sentaro. There’s no doubt in my mind. Astonishment? I freely confess it. But no doubt.”
I scratched my head. “I must yield to you on this, since I have no argument to make save my own past experience, which to a great degree you have shared.”
“Just so. Then there is the matter of the attacks, which have apparently ceased. Nothing has happened since that poor man’s wife you told me about . . . or at least nothing we can attribute to this ‘dark cloud.’ So perhaps Dai-wu was correct about the source.”
I smiled. “I concede the possibility.”
Kanemore sighed. “Lord Yamada, I honestly don’t see what course we can take now. To all appearances, Dai-wu has been vindicated.”
I bowed. “While naturally it is in my interest to continue pursuing the matter, at the moment I confess myself at a loss myself as to how to proceed. I serve at your pleasure, Prince Kanemore. What will you have me do?”
“You must consider yourself at leisure, at least for now. I think we have done all we can do, unless you know something I do not.”
I thought, perhaps, I did. But it was nothing I could either point to or explain to anyone’s satisfaction, including my own. “No, Prince Kanemore. I do have one favor to ask, if I may.”
He smiled. “What is it?”
“If you are part of any more delegations to Enryaku-ji, I would like to be included, if possible.”
“Since I would feel better if your sharp eyes could confirm what I think I saw, that can be arranged. Is there anything else?”
“Just be on your guard, prince. For all our sakes.”
He grunted. “Always.”
There was nothing more to be said, and we parted. I still did not believe the danger was past, but had to concede that Kanemore was right about the attacks. There had been none, and my observations of the spiritual activity radiating outwards from the Demon Gate likewise showed nothing unusual, not since the day of the last attack and not for the last several nights.
Could the presence of the mendicants actually have been the key?
Some were pious men who chose not to associate themselves with any specific temple for sincere and personal beliefs. Others did not do so because no self-respecting temple would have them. Kenji was something of a special case; he had taken his training, albeit reluctantly, at the temple on Mount Oe to the northwest and remained on good terms with its chief priest. He had a place to go, if it came to that. I just happened to know he had not left the city, nor did I expect him to do so.
Still, as Kenji more or less predicted, it was the most unsavory, least disciplined mendicants who had been most likely to be snared by the monks of Enryaku-ji and removed from the city. Had the spirits of the city been enraged, and had this been enough to soothe their outrage? How I could I be sure?
And then, not for the first time and I was certain not for the last, I realized I was being an ass. I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand.
Baka!
If the mendicants and other lowlifes had indeed raised the ire of the resident spirit of the city, then why under the Heavens was the matter being addressed in the Temples of the Buddha? The proper avenue of inquiry was the Way of the Gods and their shrines. This went back to the spirit of the city, the spirits that resided in all things and was an older matter, a context if not in the ascendant, still well-entrenched and unlikely to fade from our world anytime soon. It went without saying such a thing would not occur to Kenji. He was Buddhist to the core of his reprobate soul. But this fact should very well have occurred to me.
I considered. Gion Festival was not due to begin for another month, so the shrine would not yet be caught up in preparation; it might be possible to gain an audience with the priest of the shrine for a suitable offering . . . which now became a separate problem. For the moment, Prince Kanemore’s patronage had ended. Even as a friend he would not risk insulting me by extending patronage when there was no work for me to do. While for my pride’s sake I was grateful, the lack of means nevertheless posed a dilemma. I had seen the last of my rice safely turned over to the Widow Tamahara and thus secured room and board through the seventh month. At the time it seemed prudent. Yet now I was without a suitable offering, and I did not think the gods would look favorably upon my questions if I appeared in their sanctuary empty-handed. I was certain the priests would not.
What did I possess? My sword? It was truly a fine blade, a gift from a grateful father for extricating his wayward oldest son from a mess of the boy’s own making. It would make a very suitable offering to the shrine, but under the circumstances I could not seriously consider parting with it. What did that leave? Clothes? Even my best were a little threadbare. There had to be something else and, after a while, the answer came to me, reluctantly but inevitably.
I stood on a storage chest and lifted a board in the ceiling, taking down the cask, its cord ties and seals still in place. My last extravagance from Princess Teiko’s gold; a cask of exquisite bejean saké. I don’t know why I hadn’t drunk it already. For some time the anticipation itself was enough. After that I was usually already too drunk to get the sodding thing out of the ceiling. Now . . . well, even the best saké would not keep forever, and by the time I was ready for it the saké might be too far past ready for me. Better the gods had it than to let it go to waste. I took the cask under my arm and set out for the Gion Shrine.
Some hours later as I walked home on Shijo-dori it occurred to me that my saké was gone and I had nothing tangible to show for it; not even a decent bout of intoxication. Oh, the priests had been entertaining enough, waving their staffs with the white shide zigzags, purifying and invoking on my behalf and all that, but so far as I could see, nothing had actually happened. The priest had simply told me to ask my question in my dreams and the kami would answer, but he also said it was very important that I phrase the question correctly. This would be something of a challenge, since I wasn’t completely sure what I should ask, and assuming I did, one rarely had control of one’s own dreams long enough for anything as lucid as a question and an answer.
Still, I couldn’t drink the saké myself anyway and couldn’t bear to sell it, so I was really no worse off. As for the gods, well, we would see. If the dream failed me, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d played all I had on a toss that did not win. Besides, my relationship with the gods of this world had not always been properly observed. While I firmly believed that the gods were content to be most concerned with those most concerned about them, a little show of respect now and then would do no harm.
It was late afternoon when I returned to the Widow Tamahara’s compound from the shrine. Nidai-kun was waiting for me on the veranda outside my rooms. He had undergone even more of a transformation since our last meeting nearly a month before. For one, his clothes, face, and hands were clean. For another he was clearly better fed and turning into quite a handsome youth. His eyes had lost none of their mischief, but now you could begin to see less of the child and
more of the man he might one day become.
“Being in service agrees with you, Nidai-kun,” I said.
He bowed formally. “Thank you, Lord Yamada. If it pleases you, Lady Snow requests you join her for dinner tomorrow night.”
So she has returned. I wonder what she has to say now?
“When did your mistress return to the city?”
“Only yesterday. As she wishes to renew your acquaintance, she said it would be her pleasure to cook for you. Will you come?”
“I suppose you’ve been instructed to tell me nothing of your journey or its purpose?”
He bowed again, but I caught the grin before his face was hidden. “Lady Snow sends her apologies but is of the opinion that, should you learn too much from this humble servant, there would be precious little incentive to visit her in her loneliness.”
While I had little doubt Lady Snow was only lonely when she chose to be, I didn’t see any point in involving myself with her further.
“It is a kind offer, but what if I am not inclined to accept?”
Nidai reached within the sash of his robe and produced a scroll. “In that case, Lady Snow instructed me to give you this.”
I unrolled the small scroll and read what was written there; a poem, of course.
As mulberry bark
produces paper stark white,
so might a person
of dark and unworthy nature
uncover understanding.
So she anticipated me, as Teiko often did. Sometimes I think Teiko had done that just to vex me. Or perhaps I was simply a much more transparent person than I liked to believe. That aside, the poem, unless I badly misread it, said that this time Lady Snow had documentation; an interesting claim which, despite my skepticism, I knew I would have to check for myself. I had no doubt Lady Snow knew that as well.
Besides, it wasn’t as if I was going to get a better offer that day or, indeed, anytime at all.
“Tell your mistress that Lord Yamada is pleased to accept her kind invitation, and will call upon her tomorrow evening.”
Nidai bowed again, then hurried away to either deliver my reply or deal with whatever other errands Lady Snow had assigned to him that afternoon. I studied the poem Lady Snow had written a little more closely but could find nothing in it I had not already seen.
In the years since I had been at court, I’d come to appreciate the concept of just saying what you meant, or as close as understanding and literate expression allowed. Yet I knew that, in the Imperial Court especially and among the nobility in particular, saying exactly what you meant could earn you a quick pilgrimage to Suma. Worse still to say exactly what you meant in a communication that fell into the wrong hands. A person who wished to survive, never mind prosper, had to learn quickly clarity was not usually an ally. Classical allusion and obscurity became both tool and weapon, and had been so for many generations. Without context even the most lyric poem could at once be a thing of the most incredible artistry, and still be impenetrable to anyone but the intended recipient. I could appreciate the subtlety of the art and yet still wish the world was not quite as it was. As things were, the incident did remind me of something I already knew and had yet not fully considered.
Lady Snow writes poetry. That would be part of her training as an asobi.
True enough. The nature of their profession required they blend in with the aristocracy at need. Indeed, for the higher-ranking courtesans such skills were indispensable. A gentleman of high station courted the favor of someone like Lady Snow with the same feel for love as both game and contest as that same gentleman would a Lady of The Court, though in the case of high-born women the stakes in terms of marriages or alliances could be much higher. However seriously it was or was not played, it was still the same game.
That did not explain why Lady Snow felt the need to send poems to me unless, like Kanemore, she felt that using a poem was safer and there was risk involved in letting it be known what she wanted to say or show to me—another sign of the lady’s seriousness about this matter. Whether she actually believed what she was going to say to me, she acted as if she did and as if it was important to convince me as well.
So, tomorrow night and despite my better judgment, once again I would give her that chance. I thought, perhaps, I should just call myself a fool right then, and get the matter settled and out of the way.
The shadows had lengthened and were now starting to fade as the sun disappeared below the mountains. The moon was rising. I thought of how lovely it would look from the Shijo-dori bridge and thought to bestir myself, but it was difficult. My period of rest on the veranda just emphasized to me how weary I was. I thought perhaps I could forsake moon-viewing for a good night’s sleep, but compromised by watching the moon rise from right where I sat.
I must have dozed, because when I awoke I felt refreshed. The moon was high still and so near to full that the Widow Tamahara’s garden was illuminated clearly. It was a lovely sight, and again I could only think how much more lovely it would appear from the vantage of Shijo Bridge.
Now I felt up to the walk. The path was simple enough; the Widow Tamahara’s establishment flanked the street along the compound’s northern wall. I merely slipped through the gate and joined the people walking east on Shijo-dori.
Apparently I was not the only one with this idea.
The street was nearly filled with people. There were many couples and families in their best clothes, lovers masked, noble parties with escorts, courtesans and shopkeepers, all heading in the general direction of Shijo Bridge. It was a little unusual to see so many people moving freely along the streets of the city after dark; normally this was the time for demons and ghosts. Still, there was safety in numbers, and the moon cast its reflection into the Kamo River for some time during its nightly excursion across the heavens. While moon-viewing on the Shijo Bridge could never compare to a moon-viewing party at the Imperial Court, it would do well enough for those of us now outside the confines of the Imperial Compound.
Lady Snow was there. I recognized her from the twin ribbons tying back her long black hair. She was walking in the throng ahead, with the devoted Nidai officiously clearing a path for her. Then it wasn’t Lady Snow at all but Princess Teiko I saw moving through the crowd. I couldn’t see her face, but there was no doubt in my mind. I did not think it so very strange to see her there. I wanted to catch up to her, perhaps speak with her, and the impossibility of that did not occur to me at all. Just as I stepped forward, the pair of them slipped into a gap in the crowd ahead and were lost from view. It was only then I noticed something else peculiar about the crowd around me—they made no noise.
Not one sound. No voices, not even the click-clack that Lady Snow’s wooden geta should have made on the cobbled street. Had I stumbled into a throng of ghosts unawares? I didn’t think so, despite the presence of Teiko. Anyone who really believed ghosts were silent had not spent much time among ghosts. Still, the silence was strange. I meant to loosen my sword in its scabbard but discovered I was not wearing it. This was also strange. I sometimes wore the blade less often than was really prudent, but even I wouldn’t venture out on the streets of the city at night without it. Yet here I was, and here it was not.
Oh . . .
No sooner had the thought occurred to me that everyone on the road stopped instantly and their heads swiveled in unison to look at me.
“Thinks he’s figured it out,” said Nidai, suddenly appearing beside me. He looked back the way I had come. “You’ve let the pretty star elude you completely. I have to go catch her, since you can’t,” he said.
“You mean Lady Snow?”
“Snow is not a star. Try to get to the bridge, Lord Yamada. Otherwise it’s a waste of good saké.” With that he ran off back down the way we had come and left me quite alone. Literally so. The throng of people had vanished utterly. Considering the circumstances, I thought it very odd that I had not disappeared myself. I no doubt would do so and soon. There was not much time, b
ut I did not dare run, for the delicacy of the dream-world was legend. It would not take much to shatter it and leave me short of my goal. I walked as fast as I thought I could get away with.
“What is your hurry?”
Kanemore walked beside me, matching stride for stride.
“The dream will end soon,” I said and kept walking.
“Plenty of time,” Kanemore said, and in that instant we were both standing on Shijo Bridge as if we had been there all along, looking up at a beautiful full moon. I knew the moon wasn’t supposed to be quite full yet, but I ignored that fact because it wasn’t important. Too many facts tended to interfere with a dream.
I looked at Kanemore, who seemed content to gaze at the moon. His eyes were glowing faintly red, like two dying embers. “Lovely thing,” he said.
“You’re the kami, aren’t you?”
“Is that what you wanted to know?”
“No.” Careful, Yamada . . . “Kami-sama, what is the spirit that is attacking the people of Kyoto?”
“I do not know,” said the image of Kanemore. “It’s nothing of mine. It comes from outside.”
I wasn’t surprised. I had never really believed the gods of Kyoto were behind the attacks. Yet I had hoped they knew what was. “Do you know how to stop it? Will you tell me?”
The kami shrugged. “When the time is right, force it to leave.”
“How?”
“The usual way,” said the kami.
Before I could ask another question, any question, I ran out of time. The kami and Shijo Bridge were both gone. No matter how many times I opened my eyes and looked again, all I saw was the view to the Widow Tamahara’s garden, faint and ghostly in the waning moonlight, from the veranda where I had slept. I rubbed my aching neck and considered what I had learned. Which, so far as I could see, was nothing I didn’t already know except for the part about forcing it to leave, and that made no sense at all. Force it to leave? The usual way? What was the usual way, if I didn’t even know what the thing was?
I had been warned to consider my questions carefully and I thought, perhaps, I had not done so as well as I might have. Even so, I couldn’t think of any question, no matter how straightforward in human terms, that something so very far beyond my understanding as a god might give an answer equally beyond understanding. I gave up on getting any more answers that particular evening and dragged my weary carcass off to my rooms to gather what might remain of my sleep for the evening.
Yamada Monogatari: To Break the Demon Gate Page 14
