“Bad spirit?” Ken’ishi looked at his friend. Sometimes Akao’s words were so terse that understanding him was difficult, and Akao rarely bothered to elaborate.
Akao moved stepped toward Kazuko, sniffing her legs. “Afraid.”
“You are so frightening,” Ken’ishi said with a wry smile.
The dog sniffed in derision. “Fierce! Rabbits fear!”
Ken’ishi smiled.
“Good smell, this one. Good spirit.” He raised his nose higher. “Fertile. Receptive.”
Akao eased closer to her and rubbed the top of his head against her robes.
Ken’ishi said, “You are shameless.”
The dog stopped his nuzzling and looked at Ken’ishi. “Man breeds anytime. Dogs do not. Who is shameless?” Then he returned to his demand for attention.
Ken’ishi laughed. Sometimes he forgot how clever Akao was. He watched Kazuko as the dog nuzzled her leg. “He wants you to touch him,” he told her.
“Really?”
He enjoyed the mix of wonder and trepidation on her face. Then she reached down and stroked the dog’s ear. Akao nuzzled her harder.
“He’s so soft!” She grinned.
“He calls himself Akao.”
“You did not name him yourself?”
“No, he told me his name when we met.”
She looked at Ken’ishi quizzically. “What do you mean? You’re playing with me.”
Ken’ishi said nothing.
Akao looked up at her and wagged his tail. He barked once, tongue lolling from his smile.
“Let’s go,” Ken’ishi said. Hatsumi grew heavier by the moment.
Ten
The drake and his wife
Paddling among green tufts of grass
Are playing house
—Issa
Late in the afternoon, they rounded a bend in the path, and the outlying houses of a village came into view. Ken’ishi stopped. The villagers would be looking for him.
Kazuko noticed his hesitation. “What is it?”
He said nothing. He might be recognized. Would Kazuko’s status protect him? If she heard what he had done, would she be willing to protect him? Should he lie and say that it was not him?
Then he realized that his decision had already been made. He would protect Kazuko and Hatsumi with his life, a decision made the moment he decided to throw himself into battle on their behalf. He was their bodyguard and would remain so until they were safe at home. The actions of any villagers were irrelevant. He would deny nothing.
The village was larger than Uchida, and the appearance of Lord Nishimuta no Jiro’s daughter raised a great commotion, with commoners coming out to prostrate themselves around them. His fears seemed to be unwarranted, because they paid only cursory attention to him.
Kazuko was gracious and courteous to the villagers. The village had no healer, but the priest had some skill. He could perform the rites of purification they required after their exposure to the blood of the oni and the bandits. The village headman offered them his entire house for their stay. He said his house and its rooms were the finest in the village, and he could not bear to have them stay anywhere else. The priest, however, said that they must stay with him to conduct the healing and purification rites. This seemed to annoy the headman. The jealousy in the headman’s manner was obvious as the priest led them all back to his house.
The village constable was absent, having gone to Dazaifu on some business. The headman also offered them four other villagers to carry the stretcher the rest of the way to the lord’s manor, but apologized that there was no carriage to save Kazuko the toil of the walk. She thanked the headman for his offer of stretcher-bearers, and Ken’ishi was grateful when she accepted. His back and shoulders ached from dragging the stretcher for so long.
With the villagers carrying Hatsumi’s stretcher, they went to the priest’s house near the local shrine. In their polluted state, they were careful to walk around the torii arch, not through it, to avoid offending the kami.
The priest’s house was modest but well kept, with an outbuilding where he performed rites and ceremonies. Both buildings were nestled within a humble garden. The dwarfed bushes were manicured and arranged, and every stone on the footpath seemed to have its own place. The priest was a middle-aged man with a round, jovial face and kind, gentle eyes. Akao allowed him to pet his head. He called into the house to his wife, ordering her to heat water for tea, and to prepare a special bath. Meanwhile, he showed them into the special building. Akao lay down outside the door and rested his head on his front paws. Placards filled with writing covered the walls of the structure, and the air inside was thick with incense and smoke. Ken’ishi asked the priest what was written on the placards.
The priest answered, “Some of them are prayers to the gods to give strength and peace to those within these walls. Some of them are wards to keep out evil.” Ken’ishi noted that the priest had a strange gait, with slow, almost languid movements. “Sit,” he said, “please sit.”
The villagers set down Hatsumi’s stretcher. She moaned pitifully.
“Before we can begin the rites,” the priest said, “you must be cleansed physically. After that, I will see that your spirits are cleansed. My wife will tell us when the special bath is ready.”
At that moment, a woman opened the door and stepped inside, bowing, and carrying a tray laden with a steaming pot and three teacups. She looked at Hatsumi’s bloodied clothes and battered body with a look of profound pity, but she said nothing. Setting the tray down beside her husband, she departed.
On one wall was a cabinet with numerous small drawers. The priest opened several of the drawers and picked out pinches of the contents, dropping them in a small stone bowl.
The priest said, “I am honored to have the daughter of Lord Nishimuta as a guest. I regret that the circumstances of your visit are not more favorable.”
Kazuko bowed. “We are pleased that you are able to help us, gentle priest. You do us a great service. We fear for the sanctity of our spirits.”
The priest said, “It must have been a terrible experience. Please tell me what happened.” As he spoke, he took a wooden pestle and ground the contents in the bottom of the bowl. From where Ken’ishi sat, he could smell the strange pungency of the priest’s concoction.
Kazuko told him the story, and he listened intently. After he finished grinding the ingredients in his bowl, he divided the fine powder into the teacups, then filled them with steaming hot water.
When Kazuko finished her story, the priest nodded sagely and rubbed his hand over his bald head. “Demons are terrible things. They bring great evil to the world. You say his name was Hakamadare? I have heard old stories of the great bandit chieftain named Hakamadare, and I have heard stories of this oni bandit chieftain. In recent months, he has become infamous in these parts. But I had no idea they were the same person. They say Hakamadare died over a hundred years ago.”
The priest handed each of them a cup of the greenish brown tea. Ken’ishi took a tentative sip. The tea was bitter and earthy tasting. He must have grimaced, because the priest said, “You must drink it all. It is an important part of your purification. It will help bring the yin and yang back into harmony.”
Kazuko said, “We obey your wishes, gentle priest.”
“How did Hakamadare become an oni?” Ken’ishi asked.
The priest rubbed his cheek. “They say that some people, evil people, turn into demons when they die. Sometimes the depth of their evil is such that they become demons even while still living.”
“So all demons were once people?”
“No, sometimes demons simply are. Sometimes they simply exist like the wind and the earth. Perhaps some are simply evil spirits made flesh. It’s hard to say for sure. You say you killed it, eh?”
Ken’ishi nodded. “Yes.”
“Remarkable. I would have thought that only the gods could kill an oni. Remarkable, indeed.”
“It was a vile creature,” Ken�
��ishi said. “It’s dead now.”
“Not entirely. Some of its evil remains. It remains in you.” He pointed at Ken’ishi, then at Kazuko. “And you, my dear.” Then he gestured toward Hatsumi. “And especially her. All of you must be cleansed.”
Kazuko sobbed and covered her face with her hands.
The priest continued, “All is not lost, however. Even demons can be redeemed, so there is no reason I cannot help all of you.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Truly?”
The priest nodded. “There is a story about an ascetic monk, walking along a mountain trail. He met a terrible oni. It was taller than a house with flaming red hair and dark purple skin, and it had a long skinny neck, bulbous belly, and skinny legs. When the oni saw the monk, it began to weep. The monk asked the oni what was wrong, and the oni sobbed even louder.
“The oni answered him, ‘I was a man once. Long, long ago. Three hundred years ago, I think. I had a terrible grudge against someone. These days, I do not even remember anymore who it was that I hated. I woke up one morning, and I was like this. I was so consumed with hate that I murdered him and his sons, then his grandsons, then his great-grandsons, then his great-great-grandsons. There is no one left for me to kill anymore. If I knew where they had been reborn, I would kill them all over again. My rage and hatred still consume me, but my enemy’s descendants are all gone! I have nothing left to vent my rage against! If only I had never felt this way! Oh, horrible! I might have been reborn someday, but hate has left me only this suffering. If you have a grudge against someone, it is like a grudge against yourself. I only wish I had known!’
“Then it fled up into the mountains. The monk felt so sorry for it, he prayed to the gods that the creature would suffer less. Even evil can feel regret and deserve compassion. Some say the oni eventually was allowed to die and be reborn into a normal life.”
The priest smiled. “So, all is not lost for you.”
A bell rang outside the building.
The priest smiled wider. “Your bath is ready. Let us waste no more time.”
* * *
The priest’s wife ushered Kazuko, being of highest station, to the bath at the rear of house first. Night had since fallen. Inside the closed room, lit by the soft glow of a lantern, she shed her soiled clothing and breathed deeply of the warm, steamy air. It was redolent with the smells of the healing, cleansing herbs that had been placed in the water. The priest’s wife took all of her clothing and left her with a clean saffron robe to wear. Her clothing would be cleaned and purified, and she could have it back in the morning.
As she knelt naked on the slatted wooden floor, she washed her long, dark hair, scrubbed herself clean of road dust, and even found a few spots of blood that she had not noticed before. Her head ached from the bump on her forehead. The priest’s bitter tea settled in her stomach and seemed to churn there like a growing whirlpool and put down the hunger that had gnawed at her all day long.
Properly washed, she lowered herself into the large, wooden bathtub. It was large enough for her to stretch her legs. The deliciously warm water came up to her neck, its heat seeping into her, and the strange scent of the herbs filling her nostrils. The headache diminished, and serenity suffused her limbs. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, feeling as if she could simply float away.
As she basked in the steaming bath, thoughts of Ken’ishi drifted into her awareness like boats on a slow-moving river. The raw ferocity in his eyes did something to her, made her heart beat faster, but at the same time, he had been so kind to her. And to Hatsumi as well. His exterior was rough, but he had a good spirit. Strange how a man’s hara, his center, could be both kind and fierce at the same time.
Then other images crept into her memory, like foxes in the darkness, and those images erupted into blood and death. She pushed them aside again. She could not count how many times her mind had revisited the horrible morning. Pushing them aside was easier now that she was clean and relaxed. Other thoughts came unbidden into her mind. What Ken’ishi had said about flying too high, how the noble class could not see the plight of the poor, carried the ring of truth. Until her experiences on this journey, she had never seen how peasants lived, and it was jarring. So many things she took for granted, like food and clothes and servants to obey her wishes. She had never gone hungry, not once, until today, and it disturbed her in ways she did not understand. She tried to imagine what Ken’ishi’s life had been like, when hunger was the rule, rather than the exception, when privation was a daily burden.
“My lady?” came a cautious voice. The priest’s wife.
“Yes?” Kazuko answered abruptly, tumbling out of her reverie.
“I just wanted to make certain you were well.”
“Yes, thank you!”
“Very well, my lady.”
Kazuko realized that she had lost track of how long she had been there and suddenly felt selfish that she had taken so long. Hatsumi must be cleansed too. And Ken’ishi.
She was out of the bath quickly and went outside to help the priest’s wife with Hatsumi. Hatsumi allowed them to take her into the bathroom and to scrub and bathe her. Kazuko noted with great relief the bleeding had stopped. She had heard tales of women dying after childbirth with bleeding from the womb that could not be stopped, and she hated to think of what the oni had done to her. The priest’s wife had to help Kazuko place Hatsumi in the bath; Hatsumi could not climb in by herself. Nevertheless, Kazuko noted with satisfaction that she appeared to relish the scented bath.
Hatsumi sighed, submerged up to her neck. Kazuko sat on the floor in her soft saffron robe that smelled faintly of herbs and incense. Hatsumi’s eyes were nearly swollen shut, and her face was a mass of purple bruises. She almost looked like an oni herself now. Then Kazuko noticed that her hands, resting folded in her lap, were shaking. She gripped them tighter.
Before long, they took Hatsumi out of the bath, and Ken’ishi took his turn. The priest and his wife helped Hatsumi back to the outbuilding where he would perform the proper rites, and Kazuko followed them. She noticed a few well-chewed chicken bones lying next to Akao, who dozed fitfully. They waited in silence for Ken’ishi to finish, and the priest puttered around his room gathering sticks of incense, and chanting under his breath.
Hatsumi faded in and out of consciousness. She seemed aware but remained silent. The priest made a different batch of tea for Hatsumi, but it made her cough and retch.
Finally, Ken’ishi rejoined them from the bath, and Kazuko thought he seemed more handsome than ever, vigorous and vibrant. He wore a saffron robe much like hers, and his hair was clean and combed. He smelled as fresh and clean as a spring breeze, and the smell of the herbal bath clung to him pleasantly. He caught her looking at him, their eyes met, and her heart skipped a beat.
For the next several hours, the priest prayed and chanted over them and burned incense. He had Kazuko place fresh bandages, dipped in a mysterious poultice, over Hatsumi’s groin. They sat quietly while he performed the rituals of purification.
* * *
Ken’ishi’s mind wandered. Again and again, he found himself looking at Kazuko. The soft glow of the fire pit sparkled in her dark eyes. A few strands of coal-black hair fell across the glow on her flawless cheeks. She smelled like a field of wildflowers after a spring rain. He found himself imagining the touch of her small hands, the touch of her petal-soft lips. Her gaze caught his, and he was certain that she could read his thoughts, then she looked away, surprised at first, with a delicate flush in her cheeks. Then she kept glancing at him to see if he was still watching. When she found that he was, the flush deepened.
The priest remained oblivious to these silent exchanges, lost in his meditative chants and prayers. When he pronounced the rituals complete, it was nearly midnight. Ken’ishi’s shoulders ached, and his body was weary, his eyelids heavy. The priest ushered all of them into the house and gave them a packet of herbal tea, instructing them to give doses of it to Hatsumi to strengthen h
er and ward off any vestiges of the oni’s evil. Their clothes all hung drying on racks inside the house, near the fire.
They made ready for bed in the main room of the house. The priest’s wife arranged futons for the women in near the fire brazier and one for Ken’ishi in a small, cold adjoining room. Ken’ishi noticed Hatsumi squinting toward him, trying to study him with her limited eyesight.
He listened to the frogs chirping in the darkness outside. The chill night air prompted the priest’s wife to close the doors and windows before she went to join her husband in their room. The walls of the house only slightly muffled the music of the frogs, and the night breeze whispered in the rafters above.
Ken’ishi reached into his pack and withdrew his bamboo flute. Kazuko gave him a puzzled expression that gave way to surprise when he raised the flute to his lips and began to blow. The notes took form under his fingers, and the music rose into the air like the wings of a nightingale. After a few moments he stopped.
“That was lovely,” Kazuko said. “Didn’t you think so, Hatsumi?”
Hatsumi grunted.
Kazuko said, “Did you learn the flute from your teacher as well?”
Ken’ishi shook his head. “I taught myself. My teacher thought it was foolish, but I like the sounds.”
“You are a strange man.” Her face held a peculiar expression, one he could not identify.
“We all wear many faces, don’t we? Even when we are alone.”
“Do you know any songs?”
He shook his head. “I know a few, but mostly I just play, and the music comes out. It sometimes helps prepare me for sleep.”
“It sounded like . . . like birdsong.”
“I suppose it must. That’s the song I know best.”
“Why is that?”
He raised the flute to his lips again and played another long melody. He could sense the heat rising in her face, her cheeks flushing from more than the heat of the fire.
When he finished, she asked, “Who raised you?”
Heart of the Ronin Page 11
