The Tokaido Road (1991)(528p)

by Lucia St. Clair Robson

  “ ‘Coming to an end,’ ” Hanshiro whispered. ” ‘And leaving the moon as a keepsake.’ ”

  “Tonight.” Cat looked up at him and smiled sadly. If fate willed it, that night they would enter the Western Capital. Perhaps then they would find Oishi Kuranosuke. They would end their quest and begin their vengeance.

  CHAPTER 67

  HEAVEN’S NET IS WIDE

  Even before Cat and Hanshiro, Kasane and Traveler, reached Kusatsu they knew KyMto wasn’t far beyond. Buildings had shallower eaves and less steeply pitched roofs. Porters and kago bearers were more polite and better dressed. People spoke in the more cultured accents of the west, and westbound travelers had a gay air of anticipation about them.

  Kasane had left her rented finery behind. She was again dressed as a samurai’s box bearer. Her lover walked with her behind Cat and Hanshiro and helped her with the load.

  Dressing in men’s clothing was all the rage with the women of Edo, and Traveler thought Kasane’s costume stylish and brash and irresistibly appealing. She wore her stiff new cedar-colored robe tucked up in back, showing tight trousers underneath. Her narrow sash was tied low on her hips, and the thick tassel of her hair stood out jauntily from the crown of her head.

  Traveler himself still wore the clothes he had bought as a disguise. He had sewed Kasane’s letters into the lining of the jacket so that they might warm his body as well as his spirit.

  As Kasane invented her work of fiction, she had to speak loudly enough for Cat to hear, so she would know the details should they come up later. But whenever other travelers passed she fell silent, as though her story were a shameful family secret. Her tale had entertained Cat and Hanshiro and fascinated Traveler all the way from Minakuchi to Kusatsu.

  Kasane had no intention of trusting her lover with a true account of her mistress’s quest. Lovers were the pleasantest of indulgences, but they could hardly expect the loyalty one owed one’s lord or lady. Besides, the real story of how she and Lady Asano came to be companions included Kasane’s being kidnapped and pandered as a harlot. It involved forgery, theft, murder, and the fact that Kasane was betrothed to a man from Traveler’s own village.

  Cat was amused and impressed with Kasane’s creativity. Her tale went back several generations and meandered down numerous side paths. She suspected that Kasane had recycled the histories of the more prominent families of her village. She also had thrown in elements from the kabuki plays of Shichisaburo’s troupe.

  Traveler listened with a dazed expression. The occasional twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth had nothing to do with the story he was hearing. He was a sensible lad, but the calm waters of his intellect had been considerably muddied by the erotic adventures of the previous night. Kasane could have told him anything, and he would have believed it.

  Kasane had finally arrived at the more immediate past. “As you know, for one general to succeed, the bones often thousand men must lie bleaching under heaven. And so the wars and intrigues of long ago reduced our family to poverty.” Kasane’s sigh was so poignant, Cat was impressed. Besides combat and acting, poetry and love, what other talents did she harbor?

  “Our father was a poor but honest rMnin who fished to eke out the meager harvest from his stony fields.” Kasane thought of her parents, caught in the net of poverty. She thought of them working in their rock-strewn field by day, then fishing all night. The tear that slid over her lower eyelid and down her cheek was not feigned. “His boyhood friend, who was also a samurai and the son of the magistrate, developed a passion for our mother.”

  At a gesture from Hanshiro, Kasane stopped to buy some of Kusatsu’s famous rice cakes. She shared them with her companions, then went on with her story.

  “One evening, while Father was away, his friend drank too much. He tried to seduce Mother as she walked home from the well. She struggled and protested, but besotted with wine and passion, he forced himself on her.”

  “The beast!” Since Traveler still only knew Kasane by her alias, Hachibei, he kept his own name to himself and listened. He didn’t mention that the bride his parents had chosen for him was from his beloved’s own village. The coincidence was unsettling, and Traveler didn’t know how to proceed.

  “She hid her shame from us, but when Father came home he found her torn and muddy clothes. Sobbing, she confessed. Father went looking for his friend. They quarreled, and the man Father loved as a brother killed him, then fled. Mother shaved her head; but before she withdrew into a life of contemplation, younger brother and I made her a most solemn vow. We are pledged to find the villain and take revenge.”

  ‘ ‘Is that so?” Traveler was intrigued and perplexed. The marriage broker had said nothing of rape and murder in his fiancée’s village. Maybe she had feared it would interfere with negotiations and she wouldn’t be able to collect her fee.

  “I must warn you.” Kasane lowered her voice. “The murderer’s father is influential. He has hired men to stop us, which is why we travel in disguise. Our situation is as uncertain as a candle’s light before the wind. Hanshiro-san took pity on us and agreed to help. But he is trained in the warrior’s arts. You would be held blameless if you decided to continue your pious journey to the shrine of the Sun Goddess.”

  “The flow of water and the destiny of human beings are uncertain,” Traveler said. “No matter if it rains fire or spears, I’m coming with you.”

  Kasane bowed, making of it a remarkably subtle gesture of gratitude, pleasure, and promise. Somewhere along the road, she had mastered more wiles than the ones Cat had taught her. Her grace entranced Traveler. The secret he harbored stirred restlessly in him, like a meal of bad fish. As he walked he tried to think of words to explain his situation to her.

  After Kusatsu the TMkaidM climbed into the mountains again. Even though it was midday and the sun was shining, the four passed into the stillness of trees, into the sharply fragrant twilight trapped beneath the dense canopy of cryptomeria and pine.

  Kasane slowed her pace so she and Traveler could walk farther behind and not be overheard. Their voices formed a murmuring background for Cat’s and Hanshiro’s silence.

  Oishi had tried to teach Cat to live with all her strength of will in the present moment. So she tried not to think of the past, not even of the night she had just spent with Hanshiro. She tried not to worry about the future and what she would accomplish in KyMto.

  Kasane’s anguished wail startled her from the ringing stillness of no-thought. She turned and saw abject despair in Kasane’s eyes. Traveler looked thoroughly miserable.

  “What is it, elder sister?”

  “The diviner was right,” Kasane said. “He’s promised to another.”

  Hanshiro decided this was a good time to stop for tea and a very small helping of truth. He steered them all to a bench outside an open-air tea stall. Arms akimbo, he stood facing Kasane and her lover, who sat on the edge of the bench, their legs dangling.

  “Remember that ‘sleeve touches sleeve because it is predestined,’ ” Hanshiro said. “The two of you are together because you’re fated to be.” He rubbed his chin as he considered the improbabilities of their situation. He didn’t believe in coincidence. He turned to Traveler. ‘ ‘What’s your name, and to whom are you promised?”

  “Shintaro.” Shintaro was embarrassed to discover that he couldn’t remember his future wife’s name. “I’m supposed to wed the daughter of Saburo of Pine village before the spring planting.”

  Kasane turned so pale, Cat feared she would faint. She put a hand on Kasane’s arm to steady her.

  “I’m the daughter of Saburo,” Kasane said. “My name is Kasane. I’m betrothed to Shintaro of Shadow Pond.”

  Shintaro’s mouth dropped open, and his face turned bright red. “I’m such a fool.” He bowed into his fists and knocked his forehead against them. “My callous disregard for your tragic situation is unforgivable. You and your brother must think me a heartless wretch.”

  “There’s no reason for you t
o be anxious about it.” Cat answered for Kasane, who sat speechless as joy and alarm scuffled in her eyes. “You didn’t know our story.”

  A waitress arrived with tea, and everyone drank in silence. Hanshiro and Cat were trying to calculate just how much this new turn of events would complicate their quest. Kasane was reviewing the complexity of lies she had just told to see if Shintaro’s revelation would affect it. Shintaro simply was stunned by the idea that he was in love with the woman he was to marry.

  Cat drank her tea quickly and stood. In spite of all the admonishments of her mother, her father, her nurse, and Oishi, impatience was still her biggest fault.

  “Shall we go?” She shouldered her sheathed naginata and waited while Kasane paid the bill. Then she set a fast pace into Otsu, the last post station before KyMto.

  Otsu was a cheerful, bustling place. Its shops and inns clung so closely to the shore of Lake Biwa that the masts of the fishing smacks, the pleasure boats, and the ferries beached there seemed to sprout from thatched roofs. Caricatures of imps in priests’ robes grinned down from the shops’ curtains and banners.

  The demon priest carried an umbrella on his back, a wooden staff in his right hand, and a temple subscription list in his left. A bowl-shaped bell dangled on his chest. The paintings were bold and primitive and droll, and Otsu was famous for them.

  Kasane and Shintaro stopped to buy food for the night while Hanshiro and Cat climbed the long flight of stone steps to Midera temple. Over the centuries the steps had settled until they tilted at different angles. The feet of countless worshipers had worn down broad concavities in them. Dark green moss grew where feet didn’t disturb it. The trees along the route had sent roots into the cracks and corners of the steps. The roots had grown gnarled and twisted until they seemed fused with the stone.

  On a hill high above Lake Biwa, Cat and Hanshiro left their own calligraphy brushes in the earthenware container full of those left by worshipers. Now that the brushes had shared the secrets of their hearts, they could hardly be used for anything else. The priests would burn them along with the others, out of respect for the services they had performed.

  The wind billowed Cat’s and Hanshiro’s jackets and hakama as they stood on a promontory overlooking the calm blue waters far below. The boats bobbing there looked like toys in a tub.

  “Hard to imagine a storm.” Cat thought of the legend of the woman who had fallen in love with a monk. He had told her that if she rowed in a washtub across Lake Biwa seven nights in a row, he would give in to her desires.

  Hanshiro knew what Cat was thinking. The woman in the old tale had almost succeeded. But on the seventh night a violent storm had risen suddenly and drowned her. People living around the lake claimed that on the anniversary of her death a storm always raged there. Hanshiro knew Cat feared she too might die before she achieved her goal.

  “Heaven’s net is wide and coarse,” he said gently. “But it catches everything eventually. Kira will be punished.”

  “I fear,” Cat said, “that I’m trying to catch the moon in the water.”

  CHAPTER 68

  RULED BY EVIL STARS

  Cat and Hanshiro, Kasane and Shintaro, crossed the high pass beyond Otsu. On the far side they began to see the tiled roofs of villas and temples above the treetops on the steep slopes. Soon they could see glimpses of the city, nestled in the bowl formed by the surrounding mountains. But not until they stepped onto the long arc of the Sanjo bridge did the full magnificence of the nine-hundred-year-old Capital of Peace and Tranquillity reveal itself.

  The bridge was thronged with pedestrians. A procession of sumptuously dressed attendants walked beside their mistress’s lacquered palanquin. The women carried yellow paper umbrellas to match the billowing gauze curtains of the palanquin. A group of nuns with white scarves covering their shaved heads sang as they walked along. A samurai cantered by, bells ringing from the bright trappings of his horse. The porters and merchants and kago bearers bowed low as he passed.

  Ducks and geese swarmed among the barges and pleasure boats on the Kamo River. Downriver, lengths of newly dyed scarlet silk rode the current as its clear waters rinsed them. Between the river bank and Mount Hiei, with its sprawling temple complex, lay a flat expanse of tiled roofs.

  On the other side of the bridge the TMkaidM merged with Sanjo, Third Avenue, the broad tree-lined thoroughfare that divided the rectangular city from east to west. To the north of it lay the vast, walled compound of the Imperial Palace.

  “The houses are thick as frogs’ eggs!” Kasane exclaimed.

  “Hanshiro-san, do you know the way to the Shimabara?” From what Cat had heard, she assumed the best place to seek Oishi would be in the pleasure district.

  “Perhaps I can find it.” Hanshiro affected an air of innocence, and Cat gave him a wry, sidelong glance.

  While Kasane and Shintaro went to arrange for the night’s lodging, Hanshiro and Cat found a secondhand clothing store on Hemp Alley, just outside the eastern gate of the Shimabara. They rented robes of a plain, dark nubbly blue silk with the matching reinforced collar bands worn by folk from the outlying provinces. The skirts were too tight and the sleeves too short to be fashionable. They added heavy cotton leggings and cloaks of a striped pongee so stout it was called “three linings” because that was how many it could wear out.

  They debated which paper handkerchiefs to buy before settling on an inexpensive but respectable brand. They wanted to look as though they had just arrived from Tosa, but if they seemed too poor and countrified, they would be denied entrance to the better establishments in the pleasure district.

  Gaining entrance to the brothels of the Shimabara was a complicated process. As in Edo’s Yoshiwara, the custom was to stop at an introduction tea house. Clients changed there from travel clothes to their town outfits and waited for an escort to the assignation house. The procedure was a time-consuming one. It also limited Hanshiro’s and Cat’s choices since each of the hundreds of introduction houses tended to be associated with one or two specific houses of assignation.

  Hanshiro knew that if he went to the tea house he usually frequented on his trips here, the proprietor would know his story was fabricated. He and Cat decided to play dumb instead. They changed into their rented clothes at a tea shop and followed the custom of renting broad sedge hats and a lantern, all with the name of the shop written on them in bold, black characters. Then, like a pair of bumpkins ignorant of big-city ways, they set out on their own.

  Twilight had fallen by the time they joined the throngs in the Shimabara. Servants were lighting the strings of lanterns strung from the first- and second-story eaves of the establishments on Trysting House Way. The lower-class courtesans sat behind the wooden latticework facades of their brothels. They smoked their tiny brass pipes and preened and flirted with passing men or played fling tunes on their samisens.

  Cat couldn’t help staring at the parade of courtesans and their entourages of maids and servants and lantern bearers. She had always heard that the people of the Western Capital would spend their last coppers on clothes rather than food. Now she believed it. The Shimabara’s higher-class courtesans and their young maids wore silks and satins and brocades more opulent than any she had seen. As they minced through the crowded streets on their way to the evening’s assignations, their tall lacquered geta made a cheerful clatter.

  The magnificent plumage of caged birds, Cat thought.

  The days when she had been one of them seemed like a former life, remembered as though in a dream. She thought of the time when the lot of a courtesan had seemed the best she could hope for. Now she was so happy to be free of that servitude, she didn’t even mind the derisive sidelong looks the women gave her or the little maids’ snickers as they passed. Cat’s rustic clothes were being noticed.

  Hanshiro was amused by the fact that the lower the brothel they stopped at, the higher Cat lifted her nose. At the House of the Wave, Lady Asano’s nose was quite high, but at least the smiling, gap-toothe
d auntie in charge admitted knowing the former chief councilor of the AkM-Asano family. Hanshiro was sure everyone in the Shimabara knew the houses Oishi frequented, but no one had been willing to say so. Even if they believed Hanshiro’s story that he had been sent by his lord in Tosa to hire Oishi, they refused to become involved. Oishi’s reputation was bad, even for the pleasure district.

  It was barely the mouth of the evening, but a raucous party was already under way in a back room of the House of the Wave. Since the guest of honor was advanced in years, the courtesans and jesters were performing an indelicate burlesque of the ceremony for the dead. Their chanting was punctuated by laughter, the hollow tap of hand drums, and the clink of sake jars.

  When they finished the rite they decided to bestow on their victim his kaimyo, his death name. Their suggestions were full of puns and double meanings.

  “Honorable Noodle,” someone shouted.

  “Old Draggin’.”

  “Badger Dumplings.”

  “We should call you Lord Asane, Lord Morning Sleeper,” a woman said. Taken literally, the word meant “late rising.”

  Everyone laughed and shouted, “That’s it! That’s it!”

  When Cat heard “ Asane” she almost reached for the dagger in her jacket. Hanshiro glanced at her in warning, but she already had realized the partygoers weren’t talking about her. She returned her attention to the Badger, the geisha Hanshiro was questioning.

  “In the pleasure districts of KyMto, Fushimi, and Osaka, Oishi Kuranosuke is known as the Master Floater of the Floating World.” The Badger wore a dark brown hakama over a robe of heron’s egg-green crepe.

  He had a habit of patting out rhythms on his paunch, like his mythical namesake. His narrow eyes formed slits in the cushions of flesh around them. Over his pipe he assessed them professionally. He was calculating how much thanks money they would leave for him.