Black Lotus

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “So you have finally developed the right formula?” Anraku asked.

  “Yes, I believe that one of these potions will achieve the effects you desire.” Dr. Miwa pointed to three ceramic bottles on the workbench. Sweat broke out on him, and his breath whistled through his teeth. He saw revulsion on Kumashiro’s and Junketsu-in’s faces, and he despised his uncontrollable nervous tics. His hands fumbled, assembling three cups. “I shall test the potions now.”

  “The formula must work,” Anraku said, his voice hard with determination. “My vision has shown me that three signs will herald the day of our destiny. Two of the signs have already come to pass. The first was the sacrifice of burnt human offerings—the fire and deaths at the cottage. The second sign was the onset of persecution against the Black Lotus faith today. The third sign will be the siege of the temple.” Anraku extended his arms, welcoming the event. His single eye shone. “Our time draws near.”

  The novices chanted louder. Junketsu-in gazed at Anraku with reverent bliss. Kumashiro stood silent and stern, his hand on his sword. Dr. Miwa tried to open his senses to the divine truths that Anraku perceived. He heard pulsing bellows, the ringing axes from tunnels under excavation; he smelled rancid steam from adjoining rooms of his chamber. But supernatural awareness evaded him. He must rely on Anraku for knowledge.

  “We must be ready for battle.” Anraku leveled a fierce stare upon Dr. Miwa. “Your success is crucial to our fate.”

  Dr. Miwa quaked under the pressure to perform well. Most Black Lotus members believed that Anraku foretold the future, and that what he prophesied would happen as a natural result of cosmic forces in action. But his highest officials knew he didn’t trust in the cosmos to do what it should. He depended on the efforts of mortals to ensure the desired outcome of enlightenment, power, and glory for himself and the sect.

  “I promise I won’t fail you,” Dr. Miwa mumbled.

  With shaking hands he poured a few drops of dark, murky liquid from the first bottle into a cup. He filled the cup with water, stirred the mixture, then carried it to the novice monks. Still chanting, they lifted eager faces to him. Dr. Miwa held the cup to the mouth of a novice, a skinny boy of fourteen whose wide eyes burned with faith. The boy gulped the draft.

  “Praise the glory of the Black Lotus,” he said, grimacing at the bitter taste. He and his comrades had been trained to do whatever Anraku expected, at whatever cost to themselves.

  Anraku, Junketsu-in, Kumashiro, and Miwa waited silently for the potion to take effect. Dr. Miwa clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms. In his mind echoed a desperate prayer: Please let it work this time! He could not survive another failure in a life notable for failure.

  The circumstances of his origin had set the stage for later difficulties. He’d been born the youngest and weakest of four sons, to a grocer in the city of Kamakura. The family business wasn’t rich enough to support all the offspring, so Miwa had been apprenticed at age ten to a local physician who treated patients around the city, ran a small pharmacy, and already had other apprentices. Miwa, a sad, homesick outcast from his family, soon found himself an outcast in his new situation.

  His two fellow apprentices were older boys, and not pleased to share the training, meager food, and humble shelter that the physician provided. Saburo and Yoshi immediately ganged up against Miwa. They mocked his homeliness and beat him. They gave him the worst tasks, like cooking the foul-smelling bear bile. Miwa, too weak to fight back, concentrated on learning the diagnosis and treatment of diseases, the medicinal herbs and potions. He showed off his knowledge during the lessons, hoping to impress his master and put his tormenters in a bad light. However, his efforts backfired.

  The physician was a childless widower who aspired to wealth and prestige but achieved neither. He favored Saburo and Yoshi as if they were his sons, and rebuked Miwa constantly.

  “Stop acting as if you’re better than everyone else,” he said. “It’s disgusting, and you look a mess. Clean yourself up.”

  Miwa tried, but he had a remarkable affinity for grime. It stained his clothes, blackened his fingernails, and erupted in pimples on his face. Resentment toward his master and the apprentices festered in him. He swore that one day he would be a great doctor, yet his problems worsened. Medical study required treating the sick under a physician’s supervision, but patients disliked him, and his master curtailed Miwa’s practical training for fear of losing business. Miwa finished his apprenticeship at age twenty, with much theoretical knowledge and a chest of medicines, but little experience. When he set up his practice, only the poorest, sickest people hired him, for a pittance; he sought wealthy patrons, but found none. Lacking money and personal charm, he couldn’t attract a wife or even a mistress; his sexual life consisted of encounters with prostitutes who serviced him in exchange for medical treatment. His belief in his brilliance sustained him through lean years. Eventually, he decided to move to Edo, in the hope that his career would flourish in a bigger city.

  Along the way, his baggage and medicine chest were stolen. He arrived in Edo a pauper and wandered the streets seeking work with pharmacists and doctors. No one wanted him. He spent his nights sleeping under bridges and his days begging alms, growing dirtier and uglier as months passed. Then one morning he stopped at a pharmacy and overheard a conversation between a customer and the proprietor. The customer wanted rhinoceros-horn pills—a powerful, expensive aphrodisiac—but the proprietor said he had none because supplies from India were low. Desperation inspired Miwa.

  “I can provide some,” he said.

  After he and the pharmacist struck a deal, Miwa went off and gathered pebbles, then caught a stray cat and pulled out some of its fur. He mixed the fur with mud, molded it around the pebbles, and coated them with gray paint he stole from an artisan’s workshop. The pharmacist paid him a large sum for the fake rhinoceros-horn pills. Soon Miwa had a thriving business selling the aphrodisiac, and enough money to rent lodgings. He planned to quit as soon as he could finance his medical practice.

  However, his customers began complaining that the pills didn’t work. When the police came to his lodgings to arrest him, they found shaved cats in cages, a supply of paint and pebbles, and Miwa assembling more pills. The magistrate convicted Miwa of fraud and ordered him to refund his customers’ money, but he’d already spent it on medical equipment, so he was sentenced to three months in jail.

  Now, as Dr. Miwa stood in his underground chamber, the specter of past misfortunes hovered near. If he failed this time, he would suffer worse punishment than jail. He anxiously watched the novice who’d drunk the potion. The novice kept chanting, his voice still strong and his eyes bright; he showed no physical change.

  “Enough time has passed. Your formula is no good,” Priest Kumashiro said, sneering at Dr. Miwa.

  “How disappointing,” Abbess Junketsu-in murmured with a quick, nasty smile.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Cold fury lurked beneath Anraku’s quiet voice.

  “The formula works at full strength,” Dr. Miwa said defensively. His hatred of Kumashiro and Junketsu-in almost overwhelmed his fear of Anraku. They were like the two apprentices, always needling him, always savoring his defeats. Junketsu-in was mistress to Anraku, and Kumashiro held the coveted post of second-in-command; thus, they both outranked Dr. Miwa, whose medical skill was his only advantage over them. “The low concentration is the problem. But I’m sure the next formula will work.”

  An impatient gesture from Anraku signaled for him to proceed. Dr. Miwa hastily poured liquid from the second bottle, added water, and fed the potion to another novice. He must please Anraku. He must repay the debt he owed the high priest.

  After serving two months in jail, Miwa had begun dreading his release. His fraud had ruined his reputation; he couldn’t practice medicine in Edo. How would he earn a living? He mourned the waste of his brilliant talent. Then one day, while he was emptying slop buckets, a guard came to him and said, “Someone has bou
ght your freedom. You can go.”

  It was Anraku who’d repaid Miwa’s customers, Anraku who met him outside the prison gate.

  “Why did you do this?” Dr. Miwa said, distrusting the priest’s good looks, and motives.

  Anraku smiled. “You are a physician of great genius. I value your talents as the world cannot.”

  The words were a healing elixir to Miwa’s wounded pride. Grateful, yet still suspicious, he said, “How do you know about me?”

  “I see all. I know all.” Anraku spoke with convincing simplicity; his one-eyed gaze pierced Miwa’s spirit.

  “What do you want from me in return?” Miwa said, beginning to fall under the priest’s spell.

  “My temple requires a physician. I have chosen you.”

  Anraku had taken Dr. Miwa to the Black Lotus Temple, newly constructed at that time, nine years ago. He gave Dr. Miwa a hospital, nurses, and authority over the medical treatment of the temple’s growing population. The post brought Dr. Miwa the respect and recognition long denied him. He worshipped Anraku as his god. However, medical training had taught him the skill of scientific observation, and soon he understood the inner workings of the kingdom his god had created.

  He believed in Anraku’s supernatural vision, but he learned that the high priest had many spies conveying knowledge to him. These spies were followers and paid informers throughout Japan. They had reported on Miwa and identified him as potentially useful to the sect. Miwa discovered that he wasn’t the only person recruited this way. Anraku scouted society’s criminals and had found Kumashiro, Junketsu-in, and many of his senior priests among them. Dr. Miwa also learned how Anraku bound these wayward individuals to him.

  They, like Miwa, were in desperate straits. Anraku determined what each person desired, then provided it in exchange for loyal obedience. These recruits became dependent upon him. He was all things to all people—guide, father, lover, tyrant, son, judge, savior. Because the Black Lotus Sutra said there was an infinite number of paths to enlightenment, elite disciples such as Dr. Miwa could pursue destiny however they liked. Not until they’d severed all ties with normal society and morality did they discover the dark side of their paradise: Anraku’s intolerance toward anyone who didn’t perform the duties he expected of his disciples.

  Within two years of his arrival at the temple, Dr. Miwa was dividing his time between the hospital and the subterranean laboratory. Aboveground, he treated the sick; below, he worked on experiments for the Black Lotus’s day of destiny and tortured disobedient sect members. He found that causing pain aroused him sexually. He could never return to normal life because the temple was the only place where he could have everything he needed. But now the specter of the monk Pious Truth shadowed his memory. Dr. Miwa knew he was not exempt from similar treatment, should he displease Anraku. He watched the novices, all of them healthy and robust, and he couldn’t bear to wait and see if the second formula worked.

  “I shall test the last formula now,” he said.

  Under the daunting scrutiny of his colleagues, Dr. Miwa mixed the potion and took it to the third novice. He was fifteen years old, plump with baby fat. He drained the cup, exclaiming, “Praise the glory of the Black Lotus!”

  Suddenly his face flushed crimson. His eyes became wide and blank; he swayed. His words blurred into an incoherent babble.

  “The formula is working,” Dr. Miwa said, filled with relief and jubilation.

  The novice began shaking violently. While his comrades chanted, he retched, vomiting bile. Its sour stench tainted the air. He collapsed in a fit of convulsions.

  “I see the Buddha. I see the truth,” he murmured. Awe veiled his gaze. He gave a final shudder, then lay still. Dr. Miwa crouched, examined the novice, and looked up at Anraku. “He’s dead.”

  Anraku beamed, illuminating the room as if the sun had penetrated the earth. “Good work,” he said. Kumashiro nodded in grudging approval; jealousy narrowed Junketsu-in’s eyes. “We shall be well prepared to meet our destiny.”

  Anraku glided soundlessly from the laboratory. At Dr. Miwa’s orders, the surviving novices carried the corpse away to the crematorium. Their chanting faded down the tunnel. Kumashiro and Junketsu-in lingered.

  “Congratulations,” Kumashiro said to Dr. Miwa in a sardonic voice. “It seems you’re good for something besides gratifying yourself with other people’s pain.”

  How like Kumashiro to spoil his triumph, Miwa thought bitterly as the priest left the room. Kumashiro was like Commander Oyama. The commander had been another arrogant, forceful man who enjoyed tormenting the weak. He’d come to the temple seeking a spiritual remedy for stomach pains, and Dr. Miwa had cured him, but Oyama gave the credit to Anraku while mocking Miwa and treating him as a mere lackey. Miwa rejoiced that Oyama had been punished for his cruel ingratitude. If only Kumashiro would die, too.

  Abbess Junketsu-in said snidely, “Lucky for you that the formula worked. Anraku-san told me yesterday that after what happened in Shinagawa, he would give you one more chance, and if you failed again …”

  Arching her painted brows, she let the unspoken threat hang in the air. Dr. Miwa gazed at her in helpless fury. She always flaunted her intimacy with Anraku and aggravated Miwa’s insecurities. He despised her even more than he did Kumashiro because he wanted her so badly.

  “Shinagawa was just an experiment,” Dr. Miwa huffed. “Trial and error are necessary to scientific progress.” He busied himself arranging jars of chemicals on his workbench. “You will please leave. I have things to do.”

  “Indeed. Your other formulas aren’t working out very well, are they? Especially the one that exploded accidentally and destroyed Anraku’s temple in Shinagawa.” Junketsu-in laughed, then sidled near Dr. Miwa. “Why do you pretend you don’t like me when we both know better?”

  He smelled her musky perfume, felt the warmth of her body. Hot, unwelcome desire suffused him. Memories of other times like this roiled in his mind. Working day after day with Nurse Chie, he’d longed for her even as he saw revulsion in her eyes. She, like Junketsu-in, had aroused him without any intention of satisfying his longings. Now Junketsu-in raised her hand to his face and brushed her sleeve against his cheek.

  “Be nice to me, and maybe I’ll put in a good word for you with Anraku-san,” she said, tittering.

  She wouldn’t touch her bare skin to him, not even to tease! The insult enraged Miwa. Chie hadn’t wanted physical contact with him, either; she’d repelled his advances. She’d also threatened him and the whole sect. She, like Oyama, had deserved to die. Dr. Miwa’s anger exploded.

  “Leave me alone!” he shouted, lashing out his arm and knocking Junketsu-in aside. His breath hissed furiously as he picked up a jar from the workbench. “Go away, or I’ll throw this acid in your face. You’ll be uglier than I, and Anraku won’t want you anymore. If you don’t stop tormenting me, I’ll tell the sosakan-sama that you hated Chie and killed her.”

  The fear in Junketsu-in’s eyes gratified him. She fled the laboratory, and Dr. Miwa clutched the edge of his workbench, breathing hard, trying to calm his temper. To succeed in his task and keep the position and respect he’d worked so hard to gain, he must control himself. He could not, and would not, fail again.

  26

  He of the true, clear gaze,

  The gaze of great and perfect understanding,

  Is a sun of wisdom dispelling all darkness.

  He shall quell the wind of misfortune,

  And everywhere bring pure light.

  —FROM THE BLACK LOTUS SUTRA

  Reiko sat in the round, sunken tub in the bathchamber, submerged up to her neck. She’d opened the window and lit lamps around the room; the hot water steamed in the cool breeze and reflected wavering flames. Sick horror still knotted her stomach, though hours had passed since she’d seen the corpses of the Fugatami; her mind continuously revisited the bloody scene. When Sano entered the chamber, she looked up at him with eyes swollen and sore from weeping.

  �
�I keep thinking about Hiroko and Minister Fugatami,” she said in a ragged voice. “This is the third bath I’ve taken since I left that house, but I still don’t feel clean.”

  “I understand,” Sano said gently. “The aura of death always lingers.”

  He stripped off his clothes. Crouching on the slatted wooden floor, he poured a bucket of water over himself, then washed his body with a bag of rice-bran soap. His vigorous scrubbing bespoke his own desire for purification.

  “This afternoon I went to tell Hiroko’s father what happened.” Sorrow welled inside Reiko as she remembered how the dignified old man had tried to hide his grief over Hiroko’s death and his anxiety about his missing grandsons. She wondered guiltily whether her contact with Minister Fugatami had somehow triggered the murders.

  “Thank you for sparing me the task,” Sano said, his expression bleak and strained as he washed his hair.

  “What happened with the shogun?” Reiko asked.

  “He refused to shut down the sect. He ordered me to stay away from the temple.”

  “Oh, no. What are you going to do?”

  “What can I do but obey orders?” Sano said unhappily. He rinsed himself, then climbed into the tub. The water shifted and rose around Reiko as he sat opposite her. “I’ll look for evidence outside the temple that will convince the shogun to change his mind. And I’ve sent a message to Chamberlain Yanagisawa, explaining the situation and asking him to come back to Edo. I think he’ll consider the Black Lotus problem serious enough to deserve his attention.”

  Reiko was both glad and alarmed that Sano had taken the major step of summoning Yanagisawa, but feared that the chamberlain might not return in time to prevent a disaster. “At least some good has come of Minister Fugatami’s death,” she said. “You finally believe he was right about the Black Lotus.” That she and Sano were at last on the same side comforted Reiko. “And Haru can be released from jail,” Reiko added, now more certain than ever that the sect was guilty, which argued in favor of the girl’s innocence. “She can’t go back to the temple, so we’ll have to find a place for her to live.”