by John Allyn
“To our success,” Oishi agreed and downed his cup in one swift gulp. Although he had not mentioned it to anyone, Lord Asano’s last letter was heavy on his mind. He had read it the night before and it had inflamed him against Kira more than ever before. He wondered if Lady Asano had given it to him for that purpose. Was she, too, for swift revenge, regardless of the consequences? He knew he would never let her down, but he also knew that he would not move until the time was right, no matter what pressures were brought to bear.
Chapter Nine
The journey back to Kyoto was uneventful. Fujii and his aide followed them, but never very closely, and much of the tension which had gripped them on their ride to Edo was gone. The three travelers were deep in their own thoughts and Shindo and Koyama, as Oishi had planned, were more impressed with the implications of their commitment. They were all glad to get home.
The year was drawing to a close and the hill colors changed from the reds of fall to the whites of winter. New Year’s Day came and with it the seasonal celebrations, although Oishi did not think it fitting for his house to participate. Looking out through the gate the children could see the men in their pleated skirts and crested coats making calls at friends’ homes and the women in elaborate kimono welcoming their guests. The boys in the neighborhood flew kites with knives fastened to the pulling cords to cut their opponents’ strings in aerial battle and the girls in new sashes played with the traditional shuttlecocks.
It was the time for old retainers and servants to call and pay their respects and be treated for once like any other guest, but this year the house in Yamashina knew none of these pleasures. Oishi let it be known that his family was still in mourning for the death of Lord Asano and prohibited his children from leaving the grounds. His excuse was partially true, but he also wanted them kept close for their own safety. He would not put it past Chisaka to try to take a child as hostage to keep Oishi from causing trouble for his master.
Later in January there was an urgent message from Horibe, and Hara came in a rush from Osaka when he heard about it. Kira was now officially retired and the rumor was that he was going to be invited to live at Yonezawa, in the fief of the Lord of Uesugi. In view of the strength of Uesugi’s troops, this would put Kira in as safe a place as the Shogun’s castle and Horibe was determined that they must act before such a move could be made.
Hara, too, urged Oishi to attack or forever regret this missed opportunity. The time to act was now and they should all be readying their weapons and preparing for the march to Edo.
Oishi, however, still convinced that they must wait for action on the petition, did not agree that this was the time. Horibe had to be stalled again somehow, but he knew that if he went to Edo himself he might be pressured into unwise decisions. As a substitute, he decided to send Yoshida, the elder statesman of the group, who agreed with his views and whose voice would carry the most weight next to his own. The point of the stratagem was that Oishi was the only one who could legitimately make a final decision and, if he were not there, perhaps Horibe could again be curbed.
At Hara’s insistence, he was allowed to accompany Yoshida as his “bodyguard,” although Oishi would rather he had remained at the archery school. There was always the danger that the rubbing together of two firebrands like Horibe and Hara would strike a flame that would be inextinguishable, but Oishi kept this fear to himself.
After they had gone, Kataoka prepared to leave for Osaka to take Hara’s place, but delayed his departure when he sensed that Oishi needed his ear as a sounding board.
Oishi was not only concerned about what was going on in Edo, but for some reason the surveillance of the house seemed to be stricter than ever and shadowy figures followed everyone who left the house on no matter how trivial an errand. This activity both troubled and puzzled Oishi. Why at this late date should the spy forces be reinforced unless they were expecting an attack? And why should Oishi and his men plan to attack at this time? There was only one answer: Kira’s move to the relatively unprotected suburbs. The obvious thing for Kira’s protectors to do then was to move him without delay into a safer place, such as the castle at Yonezawa. But the fact that they only sent more spies instead of taking such an obvious move signaled something of their strategy to Oishi and he called on Kataoka to listen to his reasoning.
“Kira would be safe from any attack we might mount if he were living at Yonezawa, wouldn’t you say so?” he asked.
“Yes, I suppose so,” answered the somewhat mystified Kataoka.
“Therefore, if Chisaka was planning to move Kira there, there would be no reason for all this spying, would there?”
“No—I suppose not.”
“Then doesn’t it stand to reason,” said Oishi triumphantly, “that he’s not planning to move Kira at all!”
Kataoka looked at him blankly as Oishi went on to explain.
“It would be just like a schemer like Chisaka to do something like this. Of course he must protect Kira if he’s obviously in danger, but to take him under his master’s roof would be against his principles of caution in keeping out of harm’s way. In other words, to take Kira in would be to directly involve the Lord of Uesugi in the Asano matter and that’s just what Chisaka is trying to avoid.”
Kataoka looked dubious for a moment, then slowly smiled and nodded his head. “You just may be right,” he admitted.
“I know I am,” said Oishi enthusiastically, and he went to write out his ideas for Yoshida in Edo to give him ammunition for what he knew must be a ticklish debate. The letter was never sent, however, as a message arrived from Yoshida that changed all plans.
The first part of Yoshida’s letter was analytical; it described the factions represented in Edo with such acumen that Oishi was glad he had sent the old man in his place. One faction, represented primarily by Yoshida himself, supported Oishi’s view that they should wait for a decision on the restoration of the house before taking any other action. Horibe’s faction, of course, was for immediate action regardless of the consequences. A third group consisted of those apparently willing to wait with Oishi, but in Yoshida’s eyes these men had no real stomach for revenge, whether Daigaku became heir or not. This group would stand by Oishi now, but should the petition be denied Yoshida felt they would fall away like the leaves from a tree in a frost. Oishi had to admit to himself that there probably were such men, and Yoshida was in a better position to smell them out than he was.
The second part of the letter was more upsetting, especially in view of the increased spy activity around the house. Because of the deadlock the latest series of meetings in Edo had produced, and because Oishi could not or would not come to Edo himself to resolve them, Horibe’s group proposed to come to Yamashina instead. Oishi was angry about the implied snub to his chosen spokesman, Yoshida, but there was nothing to be done as the men were already on their way. As a final gesture of disrespect, Yoshida reported that Horibe had announced that he could not leave the responsibility of watching Kira to anyone else, and was sending Hara to speak for him.
Oishi was furious at this disregard of his own authority but there was nothing he could do. He could not repudiate Horibe’s standing as a member of the band because of his following of young, eager fighters who might make the difference between eventual success and failure. So, although he shook his head privately, he behaved before the others as though Horibe had acted in the best interests of all.
The group arrived in February and at the first meeting at the house of Yamashina, Hara, with the bit in his teeth, wasted no time in asking why equipment was not being procured for the attack. Oishi calmly replied that he would do nothing until there was some final word about Daigaku and admitted that he had never had any serious intention of launching a March attack—he had only gone along with the others in order to stall Horibe and the other fanatics. Hara flushed to hear himself described in such terms but he pressed a fresh argument that Horibe had formulated. Suppose Daigaku was named heir and the house of Asano restored, c
ould they then raid and kill without again bringing ruin on the very name they had waited to restore? Would there then be no revenge?
Oishi sighed and thought carefully about his answer before he spoke.
“In my mind,” he finally said, “the restoration of the house and the revenge are two separate things. You are right, Hara, that if the house is restored it would be an ungrateful act for the men of Ako to go ahead and attack one of the Shogun’s officials, or ex-officials, in force.”
Hara’s eyebrows raised at this unexpected frankness but he kept silent to hear what Oishi’s solution was.
“Therefore I have resolved that if that time ever comes, I personally will take revenge on behalf of us all.”
There was a pause while his words sunk in and then Hara raised his voice in a howl of frustration. “Don’t you see, Oishi, that if you do that, the rest of us will be branded as cowards?” There was a loud murmur of approval of Hara’s words. “Everyone knows that a samurai cannot live under the same sky as the slayer of his lord. We must all be given the chance to attack, whatever the consequences are.”
There were loud cries of agreement from all sides and only Yoshida and Onodera, another elder statesman, stood by Oishi. They tried to tell the others that sword rattling was not the only way to play the part of a loyal samurai and that Oishi’s plan had the virtue of getting them everything they said they wanted, but such rational arguments were not heeded in the charged atmosphere of this gathering.
Oishi could see that the situation was out of control and likely to remain that way unless one side or the other gave in. It was plain to see that the others would not so he resolved to defer to their wishes as gracefully as possible in the interests of unity.
“All right,” he said, raising his hand for silence, “all right. I cannot stand against so many. I agree that we will all share our fortunes together, but I still insist we must wait for the outcome of the petition. If we do not hear by March, we must wait another year. If there is no decision by then, we will assume that hope is lost forever and attack in a body. Do you understand? I promise you that at that time, or sooner, we will attack!”
The men cheered and began an excited discussion. Oishi advanced his views about Chisaka’s probable attitude toward Kira, and they agreed that his analysis made sense. This information would help placate Horibe along with the news that there would be definite action forthcoming. They all renewed their pledge to stand together as a loyal band and Yoshida was sent back to Edo with instructions to stay there with Horibe until further notice. Hara returned to Osaka while Onodera, a quick, wiry old campaigner, stayed at Yamashina with Oishi as chief of staff. The men drifted away in twos and threes to make matters more difficult for the spies waiting outside, but many of them were followed and their actions reported promptly to Chisaka, and through him to Kira. When he heard about the meeting, Kira insisted that the spy force be even further augmented and Chisaka finally agreed. But he said nothing that could be construed by Kira as an invitation to move into the castle at Yonezawa.
Chapter Ten
Spring came wetly to the Kyoto area with heavy rainfall and repeated flood conditions. Oishi was confined closely to the house at Yamashina with plenty of time to think and consequently to brood. He felt hemmed in and on the defensive because of the continued presence of Chisaka’s spies. He could well sympathize with Horibe and the others in Edo who kept close watch on Kira and were therefore tempted beyond the bounds of reason to strike out against him. Here in Yamashina, Oishi had no more formidable opponents to face than shadowy spies, but by the time the weather had cleared and the flood damage was repaired, he had decided on an unusual plan. Although not as dangerous as physical combat, it entailed risks of a different sort, which Oishi felt were worth taking. A sword is not always required in order to do battle.
During the first week in April he stayed late in Kyoto for several nights without explanation, but on the occasion of Kataoka’s next visit in May his motives began to become apparent.
“I’m glad to see you,” he greeted his old friend, with an expression more intense than usual.
“No word from Edo about the petition yet?” the monkey-faced man asked as they entered the house.
“No,” Oishi growled, “and it doesn’t look like there’s going to be. Horibe and the others were right—the councilors are only stalling.”
“You don’t know that . . .” Kataoka began, but Oishi interrupted him.
“Don’t try to salve my vanity. I admit I was wrong. I was so hopeful of saving something of what was dear to us that I blinded myself to the real truth.”
“There may still be a chance. Araki said . . .” But again Kataoka was cut short.
“Araki doesn’t make the decisions. He’s been polite, possibly helpful, but we can’t depend on his optimism. No, from now on we must assume that all is lost and plan accordingly.”
“You mean attack now?” asked Kataoka incredulously.
Oishi hesitated, then spoke in a low voice, “When in haste it is sometimes best to take a roundabout way. There are certain preliminaries I had postponed till now but I see they can no longer wait. Get your house in order, my friend, as quickly as possible, and I shall do likewise.”
They went to bed, Kataoka still puzzled about Oishi’s meaning, but the next day revealed that he was indeed in earnest about settling his affairs.
In the morning Oishi rose early, as usual, to eat the morning meal with his wife and children. When it was finished and he had watched the little ones go off to play, he asked his wife to come out of the kitchen where she was helping the cook prepare the day’s menu, and led her into a sitting room in another part of the house. It was late spring and he threw open the paper shoji to the garden, now beginning to warm in the sun. He motioned for her to sit down and she knelt obediently before him, curious and not a little apprehensive about what her husband was going to say.
“The weather has become much warmer,” he said, aware of her uneasiness.
“Yes,” she murmured, keeping her eyes lowered, “the buzzing of the cicadas increases with the approach of summer.”
Without responding he looked at her for a moment in silent admiration. In all the years he had known her she had always behaved in exactly the correct manner for one of her station, and he knew he could depend on her to do so in the future. It was fortunate that at a time like this he could rely on her help, no matter what he asked. What he had to say now would put her training as the wife of a samurai to its severest test, yet he had faith in her ability to meet it.
“I am sorry if my coming in late has troubled you,” he said, postponing the main issue but feeling that this was also something that had to be said.
“Not at all,” she lied, with a quick little look up at his face. “The children and I sleep undisturbed by anything.”
He knew this was a reference to the fact that he had not been to her bed for many weeks, and cleared his throat in embarrassment.
“I—what I have to ask is not easy, considering that I have no fault to find with you. . . .”
“Anything you desire,” she murmured.
“I have written out this letter,” he said, producing it from his long sleeve and handing it to her. “It is a letter of divorce.”
She took it in silence although her face went pale and Oishi realized that her heart must have turned to stone at his words. Without any expression she read it through, then laid it beside her on the straw-matted floor. She turned her head away and Oishi moved to the open shoji to look out into the garden and avoid seeing her tears.
“You must have known it would come to this,” he said gently.
“I told myself that it would not,” she said, controlling her voice so that not the breath of a sob would be heard. “I told myself that the petition would be granted and that we would all go home to Ako someday.”
“I told myself that, too, but now the time for fairytales is over. I must do things in which I have no right to i
nvolve you and the children. That is why we must separate.”
For a moment she was at a loss for words. “Involve me? Why should I not be involved in what you do?”
“Because it would not please me to have you do so,” he answered and she obediently bowed her head. She had not meant to argue or oppose him.
“I want you to take the children and return to your parents’ home. Whatever I do in the future will therefore not reflect on you, nor will you be held in any way responsible for my deeds. That is the way it must be if I am to feel free to act as I think I must.”
“The children,” she said. “Do you mean all the children?”
“Chikara is sixteen,” he replied. “I think we must let him make up his own mind whether he will go or stay.”
She bowed her head in final acquiescence but could not prevent a sob from escaping her.
“I must lose you both?” she suddenly cried out. For a moment there was no sound but the humming of the insects in the garden, and then she deliberately dried her eyes and composed herself.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I know it is something you must do and I will pray for your success as I always have. But . . . when must this . . . divorce . . . happen?” she asked in a tired, faraway voice.
“Soon—as soon as possible. . . .Please, send in Chikara so that I can put the matter to him.”
Their conversation was over and she obediently bowed her head to the floor, then stood and went out, her white-stockinged feet rustling over the tatami in a cadence that was distinctively her own and that Oishi knew he would miss more than anything in the days ahead.
Chikara was troubled by his mother’s manner when she summoned him, and went to see his father in some trepidation. He kneeled and bowed respectfully and then waited for whatever rebuke he must hear. The fact that his father’s opening words were delivered in a calm, contemplative manner did not lessen his anxiety.
