In Darkness, Death

by Dorothy Hoobler

  Seikei struggled to his feet, put the crutch under his arm, and gamely went on. The thought that some relief was close by encouraged him. As they reached the crest of the second hill, he saw the village below. It wasn’t large—perhaps twenty houses in all.

  The doctor here isn’t likely to be a skilled man, Seikei thought. But at least I can go into a heated house and rest.

  When they reached the doctor’s house, they had to knock twice before anyone opened the door. Then the doctor himself stood there—a middle-aged man who looked sleepy. He gave Seikei and Tatsuno a long look, one that indicated strangers seldom came to his door. “I am Genko, a physician,” he said finally. “Have you hurt your leg?” he asked Seikei. “Come inside and let’s have a look at it.”

  They learned that he had in fact been sleeping when they arrived. “One of the villagers’ wives had twins last night. Bad luck for her.”

  That was bad luck, Seikei thought. The judge had told him not to believe in superstitions, but everyone knew that twins were likely to bring trouble on a family.

  “Anyway, she didn’t die,” the doctor said. “I don’t know if that’s good fortune for her-or bad. How’d you hurt yourself?” he asked Seikei.

  “I fell and twisted my ankle.”

  “Best thing would be to rest until it gets better.”

  “We can’t do that,” said Tatsuno. “We have to get to Etchu Province.”

  “Here’s good news for you then,” said Dr. Genko. “You’re in Etchu Province. What is your business here?”

  Tatsuno was a little surprised. “We’re ... on our way to visit the shrine,” he said. Seikei noticed the slight hesitation, and hoped the doctor wouldn’t.

  “Shrine?” Dr. Genko seemed puzzled. “We have many shrines, of course, but none that are famous.”

  “Well,” said Tatsuno, motioning toward Seikei, “his father made a vow to go to the shrine in Kanazawa. But now he is ill and dying.” He turned away from the dark look Seikei was giving him, and continued, “So we are fulfilling the pledge on his behalf.”

  “Ah, Kanazawa,” said the doctor, nodding. “That’s where Lord Inaba’s castle is. You must mean the shrine there that honors Hachiman.”

  “Yes, that’s it,” said Tatsuno.

  The doctor looked at Tatsuno. “Well, it’s quite a distance from here,” he said. He turned toward Seikei. “I don’t think you’ll make it on that ankle. Let’s have a look at it.” He motioned for Seikei to sit down on a long table.

  As Seikei climbed up, the doctor took a wire frame from his pocket. Inside the frame were two shiny transparent disks. At first Seikei thought they were jewels, but a closer look showed that they were flat and thin. Seikei was further surprised when the doctor attached the frame to his face, adjusting it so that the jewel-like objects were in front of his eyes.

  The effect was startling. The doctor’s eyes appeared to be larger than before. “Is that magic?” Seikei asked.

  Dr. Genko smiled and gently took hold of Seikei’s foot. “Once,” he explained, “when I was on a journey to Nagasaki, I was asked to treat a captain of one of the foreign ships that the shogun allows to trade there. The captain came from a distant place called Netherland, as I recall. A doctor had sailed with him, but died on the voyage.”

  He sniffed. “Some doctor. As it happened, I was able to cure the captain. He wanted to reward me, but I had no use for his money, of course. So I saw him using this device on his face, and asked what its purpose was. It makes objects appear much larger, and so I thought it would be useful to me in my work. He generously gave it to me. Apparently such devices are common in his country. Now, hold still. Let me know when you feel pain.”

  Seikei gritted his teeth as the doctor turned his foot, first to one side, then the other. He was determined to withstand the pain without complaining.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” Dr. Genko asked.

  Seikei shook his head no, not trusting himself to speak without showing the pain.

  “It’s very swollen,” said Dr. Genko. “Have you taken any herbs to dull the pain?”

  Seikei shook his head again.

  “How about if I do this?” asked the doctor with a sudden movement.

  Seikei let out a yell. He couldn’t help himself.

  “Ah. I thought that would hurt,” said Dr. Genko. “Stay there for now. I’ll fix something to make it feel better.”

  It had felt better before the doctor took hold of it, Seikei thought. He looked around, wondering if he could persuade Tatsuno to leave now. But Tatsuno was looking at a beautiful lacquered box that rested on a shelf against the wall. It occurred to Seikei that Tatsuno might slip it into his sleeve when no one was looking.

  But Dr. Genko noticed him too. “That box holds my dragon bones,” he said. “Some people think you’ll die within a year if you touch them.”

  Tatsuno took a step backward. “Why do you keep them here, then?” he asked.

  “Others believe that they make an excellent medicine. I use them when all else has failed.”

  “And do they work?” Tatsuno said, eyeing the box again.

  “As well as my other cures,” said Dr. Genko. “Some people live and some die.” He looked at Seikei. “I think you will live.”

  Dr. Genko took a porcelain flask from another shelf, removed the lid, and sprinkled some silvery powder into his hand. Folding back Seikei’s kimono, the doctor placed a pinch of the powder at three different places along his leg.

  “You don’t mind a little pain, eh?” the doctor said to Seikei. His eyes, behind the clear jewels, made him look like an owl about to pounce on a mouse.

  “No, I don’t mind,” Seikei said in a voice that wasn’t as steady as before.

  The doctor took three burning incense sticks from a bowl of sand. He handed one to Seikei and kept the other two. “When I give you the signal,” he said, “touch the burning end of the stick to the powder above your knee, there.” He pointed.

  Seikei tensed, wondering what would happen. The doctor held the other two sticks above the small piles of powder lower down on Seikei’s leg. “Now,” he said.

  As soon as the burning sticks touched the powder, showers of sparks and flame shot into the air. Seikei gasped, because all this was happening on his leg.

  Then the sparks died down, leaving only three small clouds of pleasant-smelling smoke. Seikei was even more surprised. “That didn’t hurt!” he said.

  The doctor nodded. “Many people imagine it will, and because of their fear, it does.”

  Seikei noticed the echo of what Judge Ooka had said about fear of torture. He almost told the doctor about it, but remembered that he and Tatsuno were supposed to be disguised as pilgrims.

  “And how does your ankle feel now?” the doctor asked him.

  Seikei wiggled his foot. “The pain is gone,” he said, astonished.

  “Yes, but it will return,” said the doctor. “The powder stops pain for a while, but does not cure. Only rest will heal your ankle.” He took a white linen cloth from a chest and tied it tightly around Seikei’s ankle. “Use that when you must walk,” he said, “but stay off your feet as much as possible.”

  “We have to go to Kanazawa,” Tatsuno objected.

  “You should not be in such a hurry,” the doctor said. “Kanazawa is a bit unsettled now, because Lord Inaba has died. His son Yutaro has arrived to claim the allegiance of his father’s samurai.”

  “He’s here already?” said Seikei.

  “So I am told,” the doctor said. “I have not yet seen him. If he chooses to inspect his domain, he would not come to such an insignificant, out-of-the-way village as this.”

  He paused, then added, “There is a family here that will welcome you. The husband and wife are very devout, and they would believe they are gaining merit by sheltering two religious pilgrims such as yourselves.”

  “I guess we can spare a day or two,” said Tatsuno.

  “I will take you to their house,” said Dr. Genko. “Just on
e thing,” he added.

  “What?”

  “I would not mention to them that you are going to the shrine of Hachiman at Kanazawa.”

  “Why not?”

  “There is no shrine of Hachiman at Kanazawa.”

  10

  PRAYERS FOR MOMO

  In a gray and sunless twilight, Dr. Genko walked down the street with Seikei and Tatsuno. Even the dimming light could not hide the fact that the house they stopped at was badly in need of repair. Bare patches could be seen in its high thatched roof. The paper in a front window had been torn and pasted together instead of replaced. A board on the front steps was broken, and the doctor told them to be careful because another, on the porch itself, was loose.

  If it hadn’t been for the candlelight that shone dimly through the window, Seikei might have thought the house deserted. But after a long wait, a man answered Dr. Genko’s knock. He looked in need of repair himself. His cheek bore an ugly sore that looked as if it hadn’t healed in a long time. His hands seemed twisted from years of hard work.

  “Joji,” Dr. Genko said, “these are travelers on their way to Kanazawa. They need a place to stay while the boy’s ankle heals.”

  The man slid the door open wider. “You are welcome here,” he said.

  Inside, Seikei was surprised to find that there were no tatami mats covering the floor. Most of the house consisted of a single large room. In the center was a pit in which a small fire burned, giving barely enough heat to be felt at the doorway.

  Sitting on a rice-paper mat by the fireplace was a woman who stared into the flickering flames as if trying to read a message in them. As soon as Seikei entered the room, he felt her eyes turn toward him, shining out of the darkness. They followed him carefully as he approached the fire. Then, apparently disappointed in what she saw, the woman again lowered her eyes to the smoky pit.

  Her husband said, “I am Joji, and this is Sada.” Seikei and Tatsuno introduced themselves, using only their first names, as people in the countryside did.

  Seikei realized that most of the light in the room did not come from the fireplace. Around the walls were many small shrines with statues of Buddhas and Buddhist saints. In front of each, a candle was burning.

  Two small pots hung from hooks on a metal bar over the fireplace. “We were about to eat,” Joji explained. “You are welcome to share all that we have.”

  Seikei was ashamed to take their food when he saw how little there was. One pot contained some roots and rice boiled in so much water that it had turned to mush; the other held boiling water for tea. Seikei claimed not to be hungry, but Joji gave him a little of the rice mixture in a bowl anyway. Seikei gratefully accepted a cup of the tea, but when he tasted it, his mouth puckered. He realized it had been made from ground acorns with a few tea leaves added.

  Joji made a few polite attempts at conversation during the meal, but Sada remained silent. From time to time, her eyes lifted and flashed at Seikei for a second, making him uncomfortable.

  Tatsuno must have felt the same way, for when he finished eating, he volunteered to go outside and bring in more firewood. “We have none,” Joji told him. “When it is daylight, I will go look for some.”

  “But you can’t let the fire go out,” Tatsuno said. “It will be a lot of work to start it again tomorrow.”

  “We cover the coals with ashes,” Joji said. “Usually they burn so slowly that the fire lasts through the night. Come join us in prayer now. That’s more important.”

  Seikei could see Tatsuno didn’t agree, but since they were posing as religious pilgrims, he could hardly refuse.

  The four of them knelt before each of the room’s Buddhist shrines in turn, while Joji led them in prayer. Seikei had attended Buddhist temples with his father the merchant, who believed that it did no harm to appeal to all religions. So Seikei knew enough to chant, “All praise to the Amida Buddha,” along with Joji and Sada. Even Tatsuno knew that much. Amida was a person who, long ago, achieved enlightenment and now resided in the Pure Land. But before he left, he had promised to return to help anyone who called his name.

  As Seikei listened to Joji and Sada express their wishes, he realized they were not asking Amida’s help for themselves—even though it looked like they could use it. Instead they were praying for someone named Momo. Sada’s cheeks were covered with tears when they finished. She turned away from the two guests and lay down on a mat against the wall.

  Joji prepared for sleep as well. After tamping down the fire, he told Seikei and Tatsuno they could sleep close to the hearth, where the stone would stay warm throughout the night. Seikei noticed that the man made sure to lock the door to the porch-a silly precaution, Seikei thought, because both the door and windows were so flimsy that an intruder could easily break in. Anyway, what was there to steal?

  Joji opened a privacy screen in front of the section of the floor where he and his wife would sleep, and then retired. In a short time, Seikei could hear Tatsuno snoring on the other side of the hearth. The lighted candles flickered in their puddles of molten wax, casting odd shadows around the room.

  For a while Seikei himself slept. When he awoke, some of the candles had guttered out. He realized that his ankle hurt again; the pain had awakened him. It was not yet morning. The others’ heavy breathing told him they were still asleep. He shifted his foot, hoping to ease the pain. But it only got worse, throbbing now as if it were the only thing alive in the room.

  He wished he could go to Dr. Genko for another treatment. No, Seikei told himself, there was no sense bothering him for what was only pain. Pain was something that a samurai should ignore.

  He shifted again. Even though the room was cold, he felt warm and feverish. Maybe he was too close to the hearth. Sighing, he sat up. Now he was too restless to sleep.

  An idea came to him. Before, placing his ankle in snow had numbed it. He would try it again. Getting to his feet, he hobbled to the door. At first it refused to open, and then Seikei remembered that Joji had locked it. Finding the latch in the darkness took him a little while, but he finally undid it.

  The door slid uneasily on its track. Seikei prayed that the entire door frame wouldn’t fall with a crash onto the wooden porch. As soon as it opened a little, he slipped outside.

  His otter-skin boots were still on the porch, but he didn’t need them. Several inches of snow lay on the ground right up to the edge of the porch. He sat down there and lowered his foot, cracking through the icy crust that had formed on top of the snow during the night.

  He felt relief at once and leaned back. The night was bright and clear. All around him, the snow-covered trees glowed. High above, a full moon shed its light upon the scene.

  All at once, Seikei knew that he must write a haiku to describe what he saw. Fortunately the writing kit Michiko had given him was small enough for him to take everywhere. He reached into his kimono and brought it out.

  Rubbing the ink stick onto the stone tray, Seikei had the idea of using snow to make the ink. He scraped up a little and swirled it into the tray with one of the brushes. It almost made him giddy-this was just the sort of thing Basho would do!

  But now, the hard part. He was not the poet Basho was, but he had to write something worthy of the scene. If he could not, it was better to destroy the paper and forget he had ever tried.

  Words came into his head as he unrolled a sheet of paper. Swiftly and with as little hesitation as possible, he pressed the ink-laden brush onto the empty sheet.

  I step into the moon

  The snow falls to earth

  Yet I soar through the sky

  “We keep the door locked at night.” The voice was right behind Seikei, and came so unexpectedly that he jumped. As he did, he put all his weight on his sore ankle and cried out.

  “Are you all right?” It was Sada. She had come up behind Seikei while he was concentrating on the poem.

  The poem! He had dropped the paper, and now saw it in the snow. Facedown.

  As he picked it up,
the paper shredded, leaving him with a jagged, running mess. Perhaps it was a sign, he thought. That the poem was not good enough.

  “We keep the door locked at night,” the woman said again. This annoyed Seikei more than it should have. “Why?” he asked in a not-too-polite tone. “Who around here would want to steal from you? And what would they steal?”

  She said nothing for a moment. Her head turned slightly so that the moon caught her eyes, and Seikei saw once again, uncomfortably, that she was looking at him. “Momo,” she said. “They stole Momo from us.”

  11

  LORD INABA’S ENEMIES

  Three days later, Dr. Genko inspected Seikei’s ankle and pronounced it well enough to walk on. That was good news to Tatsuno, who was bored and eager to move on.

  Seikei would have stayed longer. His presence had seemed to breathe life into Sada. The old woman had treated Seikei kindly, unwrapping the bandage to massage his ankle and even bringing handfuls of snow inside to soothe it.

  Seikei was curious about what had happened to Momo, who was Sada and Joji’s daughter. But Sada had said no more about her, and turned away Seikei’s questions. What happened to the girl remained a mystery.

  Seikei and Tatsuno prepared to leave, thanking the old couple for their hospitality. Seikei left some coins where he knew they would be found after he left. Tatsuno noticed and shook his head disapprovingly. “If you pay them, they won’t earn merit from performing an act of charity—that is, sheltering us.”

  Seikei saw the truth of this. He knew that Joji and Sada would refuse the money if he tried to give it to them openly. An idea came to him. He would give the money to Dr. Genko instead. He in turn could use it to help villagers who were in need.

  Dr. Genko accepted the money gladly. “This will mean more than you realize,” he said. “Are you sure you can afford it?”

  “Yes, take it,” Seikei replied.