“It’s finished,” Ken’ishi said, wiping the blood from his blade and sheathing it.
Akao said, “No. Not finished.”
“What do you mean?”
But the dog said nothing else. He launched into a dead run.
Ken’ishi sighed again, picked up his things, and followed after Akao at a trot, leaving the bleeding body behind him on the road. Now, if he could escape this province alive, he might be able to forget the pain gnawing at his spirit.
Fires
Burn in my heart.
No smoke rises.
No one knows.
—The Love Poems of Marichiko
So ends the First Scroll
The Second Scroll
A New Life
One
A camellia
Dropped down into still waters
Of a deep dark well
—Buson
Kazuko climbed out of her palanquin and looked up at the imposing central keep, the toride, of Lord Tsunetomo’s castle. Somehow, it did not look as impressive now as the first time she visited it so many months ago. Now it was home. She found herself remembering the wonder of that day. But now in the winter it seemed only grim and gray and heartless, in spite of all the festive New Year decorations. Her clothes still smelled of incense from the temple. She had gone to the temple to pray for fertility, and for happiness in the coming year, and entreated all the gods and Buddhas to ease her suffering.
She walked through the front gates of the castle and began the labyrinthine climb to her chambers at the summit of the central tower. The castle and its environs buzzed with preparations for the New Year celebration. All of the land was awash in festivals. She had always looked forward to the festivals of the New Year, but now she found herself looking forward to nothing at all. She moved through her life like a mindless ghost. She sometimes felt lost in a gray netherworld of endless despair. Hatsumi often chided her for never smiling, but she never felt any smile inside herself waiting to be given life.
She felt one small measure of relief at being home again, because now she could seclude herself. She had once enjoyed the company of other people, but no longer. Now the only people she saw regularly were her husband and Hatsumi. But she also felt something was improper about this, and that only served to make her more displeased with herself. Why could she not be happy? Why must she suffer so? Every moment of life, both waking and sleeping, was like a dull ache. On the days before her marriage, she had considered killing herself, but she had not gone through with it, because she could not bear the thought of dishonoring her father.
As she moved through the house, servants cleared a path, bowing deeply. She passed by the great hall, where she spotted one of her husband’s advisors, Yasutoki. Yasutoki was in the midst of an earnest conversation with Tsunemori, her husband’s younger brother.
Tsunemori had the same well-built frame as her husband, with handsome features and sharp eyes, only with less gray in his hair and fewer lines around his eyes. Tsunemori’s face wore an expression now similar to so many other times when he was speaking to Yasutoki, a look of reflexive skepticism, as if the veracity of Yasutoki’s every word was suspect.
Yasutoki was an ambitious man, ruthless with his opponents and heartless toward servants. Hatsumi told her that all the servants hated him. She sometimes wished her husband would get rid of him, but it was not her place to speak of such things. Yasutoki often had a strange glint in his eyes when he gazed at her, like a cat watching an oblivious mouse. It made her uncomfortable. Perhaps that was why she did not trust him. Even before she married Tsunetomo, he looked at her that way, with a bemused smugness, as if he knew something.
She tried to hurry past the door of the great hall before Yasutoki noticed her, wondering what Tsunemori was discussing with him. It was an open secret in the household that Tsunemori and Yasutoki were bitter rivals. She overheard Tsunetomo and Tsunemori speaking one night over a jar of sake. She recalled the conversation clearly, because it was soon after she arrived, and she had still been unfamiliar with things in Lord Tsunetomo’s household. She should not have been eavesdropping, but she could not help it. Yasutoki had gone to Hakozaki to see to a shipment of trade goods from across the sea.
Tsunemori asked, “Why do you keep such a man in your service?”
Tsunetomo answered with his usual good humor. “You’ve been quarreling with him again, have you? It is unfortunate that you cannot get along with him.”
“But why, brother? I can hardly imagine a more unpleasant, spiteful man.”
Tsunetomo laughed. “Because he is my friend. And he is a brilliant. And he has friends at court. I rely on you, brother, for martial affairs. I rely on him for political affairs. And he has not always been so sour. His family’s lack of rank weighs upon him.”
“He is too ambitious.”
“Because of his birth, he cannot hold a high office. It has made him bitter. I do not blame him. It is just the way of things. But he serves me well.” Kazuko heard the smile in Tsunetomo’s voice. “He arranged my lovely new bride, did he not?” Her ears burned, and she tried to slip away without them hearing the swish of her robes. She would be even more embarrassed if they discovered her, and her husband might be displeased. She slipped away without being noticed, and her eavesdropping gave her much to ponder. Even within one house, politics were rampant.
She continued her way through the house, up the stairs, passing through invisible clouds of different scents. The sweaty, oily, metallic smell of a group of guards. Numerous dishes of food, each with its own aroma and special significance to bring luck and prosperity in the coming year. The smell of incense from a small house altar. She observed these things without paying them any attention. Her mind was focused on her own inner darkness. She often wished she could forget the things that made her feel this way. Hatsumi still tried to comfort her sometimes, but Hatsumi was long-since frustrated and impatient with her. Kazuko was frustrated and impatient with herself. This should be a joyous time, and all she felt like doing was sulking.
She finally reached the uppermost chambers of the castle, her chambers. When she entered, she found her husband sitting at his writing desk, brush in hand.
He turned to look at her. “Good morning, my lady.” His voice was warm and deep.
He was a man in his late forties, thirty years her senior. His eyes still burned with the energy and verve of a young man, but were tempered by the wisdom and wit of age. His hair was shot with gray, but somehow it did not make him look old. His alert, good-tempered eyes were surrounded by fine lines, but even those did not make him look old. The vitality and strength of his spirit masked the physical indications of the years and made him seem like a man half his age. Indeed, he possessed the virility of a young man.
He lay with her nearly every night since they had been married, and she did her duty to please him. He told her she was beautiful, and that he honored her, but she knew there was an underlying need that went beyond her. On their wedding night, she had concealed her loss of virginity by pricking herself with a pin, hoping the flow of blood would be enough to deceive him. He had been pleased to see the blood on their bed clothes. When he did not challenge her about it, a tremendous weight of anxiousness lifted from her heart.
Today she tried not to let her husband see the pervasiveness and persistence of her despair, so she bowed and smiled at him. “Good morning, husband. I trust you slept well.”
“Yes, I slept well. The morning was not too cold for you? You went to the temple this morning?”
“Yes, but the weather was not too cold. Shall I make you some tea?”
“Certainly. Tea would be good.”
She bowed again and began to warm some water for tea over the brazier of coals. As they waited, he said, “Did you speak to the nuns?”
And there it was. The underlying need that drove his physical lust for her. In spite of all their nights together, Kazuko was not yet with child. There was, as yet, no heir. Every mornin
g he tried to find out if she was pregnant, asking politely, in a roundabout way. She asked the nuns at the temple to pray for her fertility every time she visited. She sometimes felt that once she produced an heir, her husband would have no further use for her, and then she would be even lonelier. But perhaps she was being unreasonable. Tsunetomo was kind to her, and he was a gentle, if insistent lover. He had gone to great lengths to make her happy when she first arrived, showering her with gifts. He attributed her despair and sadness to missing her home. He had no idea of the truth of her pain. He had thrown parties and banquets for her, hiring entertainers to provide her with spectacle, all at great expense, and she had been incapable of enjoying any of them, even though she tried to put on a pleasing face.
These days, Kazuko wished that her womb would bear fruit. She wanted a baby. Perhaps a baby would fill the void of loneliness in her belly. She worried that she was barren, and she prayed that it not be so. Some days, she feared that her indiscretion before her marriage had displeased the gods, who then left her barren. Her indiscretion. It was the single most spectacular night of her life. Must she now be punished for one night of true happiness?
“Yes,” she said, “I spoke to the nuns. As always, they are praying on my behalf.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. I spoke to a healer yesterday and asked him for a remedy, something to increase fertility.”
“Thank you, husband. You are always thinking of me. I am sorry you have to go to so much trouble.”
“It was nothing. And you’re no trouble at all. You brighten my life, Kazuko. I look forward to seeing you every day.”
She blushed, and a small, fleeting warmth stirred in her belly. It lasted for only a few heartbeats before being quenched by the cold heaviness in her spirit. Was that what it was like to feel good? She tried to remember; it seemed so long since she had.
“For years I have missed the wisdom and kindness of a woman in my house. You are like a breath of spring air, like a freshet bubbling from the earth. You make me happy.” He reached over and laid his hand on hers. She felt the thick calluses, rough on her skin, as he squeezed gently.
Tears welled in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I did not wish you to cry. I only want you to be happy with me.”
She dabbed at her eyes and said, “I am sorry, husband. You make me happy. You are a kind man.”
He said, “You are a good wife to say so, but I can see the unhappiness in you. Sometimes I see you from afar, when you forget that anyone might be watching. Do you miss your home? Your father?”
She saw the opportunity to lie and took it. She nodded and looked at him apologetically. “I am sorry, husband.”
“It’s quite all right,” he said. “It is only natural for a young woman to miss her home. But you are a good wife to me.”
“Thank you, husband.” Tears burned in her eyes, because she knew what was troubling her, knew the source of her longing, her aching need that all the kindness in the world could only diminish, never erase.
A look of true concern and compassion creased his brow. He moved around the table next to her and took her in his arms. She allowed her head to rest against his firm chest and let the tears come. His body was stiff against her, unaccustomed to the display of softer emotions. She could sense his discomfiture, his uneasiness, but she also sensed that he knew what she needed and was doing his best to give it to her.
After a time, the blackness in her spirit began to fade, like the coming of a cloudy dawn. She looked up into his face, and he looked down into hers. She kissed him. His eyes widened with surprise, then he responded to her kiss.
After a moment, she pulled away. “Am I too bold? Too unladylike?” Only one thing could make her aching loneliness go away, if only for a little while.
“No.” Then his arms squeezed her close to him.
* * *
Hatsumi sat in her chambers, a couple of walls removed from her mistress’s rooms. Kazuko and her husband were having breakfast, and Hatsumi did not like to intrude. She sat waiting for one of the servants to come with her breakfast. She had called them once already, but they had brought nothing yet. She gathered her robes to cover her feet better. The air in the room was chilled with winter, in spite of the brazier of glowing coals on one side of the room.
“Where is that Moé? Silly girl,” she muttered.
Hatsumi did not like to be kept waiting. She enjoyed her superior position as the lady’s chief maidservant. And Lord Tsunetomo was much wealthier than Lord Nishimuta. He had more land in his fief, and the cultivation was better. And the tea produced in his area, newly cultivated with plants from China, was considered superior to tea produced anywhere else in the land. The tea was Hatsumi’s favorite thing about living on Lord Tsunetomo’s estate. If only Moé was not so slow about bringing it.
She opened her mouth to call again when she heard someone coming down the hallway. A vague silhouette appeared on the shoji screen and knelt outside. A breathless voice called softly, “I am sorry, mistress. I am too slow.”
Hatsumi let the surliness emerge in her voice. “Well, come then. I’m waiting.”
The shoji slid aside and the young servant girl entered the room carrying a tray with Hatsumi’s breakfast, a bowl of rice and some pickled plums. Moé was perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old. Her face would have been pretty, Hatsumi thought, except that her eyes were crossed and she had a large mole on her nose. She set the tray down in front of the older woman and bowed deeply.
“Haven’t you forgotten something?”
The girl’s eyes widened as she cast about almost frantically.
“The tea.” Hatsumi’s voice dripped with derision.
Moé gasped. “I am sorry, mistress! I will return immediately!” She leaped to her feet and ran from the room.
“Stupid girl,” Hatsumi muttered, just loud enough for Moé to hear before she was gone. Part of her pitied the poor girl, but that part was overpowered by annoyance at the girl’s ineptitude. Hatsumi would not touch her breakfast until the tea came, so she waited impatiently, fidgeting, looking about the small chamber.
Her gaze meandered across the room, resting upon a beautiful bundle of neatly folded cloth resting on a shelf. The bundle was a new robe of lovely forest-green silk, brightly embroidered. It was a gift from Yasutoki. The day before, a servant had brought her the robe, and bundled inside was a slip of paper with only Yasutoki’s name, and no explanation. She had not yet worn it; she was saving it for a special occasion, because it was beautiful, and expensive, and she could not determine why he had given her such a gift. She had never received a gift from a man. Was he making advances toward her? What were his intentions? The thought that a man might be interested in her filled her with a distasteful mixture of exhilaration and revulsion. Being the object of someone’s desire was an exciting thought, but the ultimate goal of that desire involved an act that filled her with a horror she could not contemplate. Forever burned into her memory were the smell of Hakamadare’s foul breath, the taste of his spittle, and the tearing agony of his demonic organ. She had once longed for the touch of a man, imagined what love must be like, but no longer. It seemed that love, the act of love, would be forever lost to her. Besides, Yasutoki must know what had happened to her. He had been at Lord Nishimuta’s castle when they returned. How could he be interested in her after she had been so fouled? Still, why else would he send her such a luxurious gift?
The tug-of-war in her belly was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching quickly. The door slid open quickly, revealing Moé carrying another tray, this one laden with a teapot and cup. She was breathing heavily as she entered and prepared to pour the tea. Hatsumi noticed that the girl’s hands were shaking as she turned over the teacup and placed some dark emerald leaves in the pot.
Hatsumi said nothing, just watched her impatiently.
The girl sensed Hatsumi’s impatience and worked with speed and efficiency. She poured hot water into the teapot over the s
hredded tea leaves, then placed the lid on the teapot, gently swirled the water in the pot, then poured the bright green tea into the waiting cup.
Then some noises came from the direction of her mistress’s chambers, heavy breathing and small rhythmic cries, building. “You may go, Moé,” Hatsumi said. “That will be all.”
Moé bowed and stood up quickly. In the act of standing however, her knee bumped the small table. The teacup jumped into the air and overturned, spilling hot tea into Hatsumi’s lap. Moé froze, staring in horror.
Hatsumi jumped to her feet with a sharp cry, staring at the wet stain on her robe. “Stupid twit!” she snarled. She picked up the teapot and dashed the steaming hot water into the girl’s face.
Moé squealed in pain and covered her eyes with her hands. Hot water dripped from her chin. Soggy tea leaves clung to her face and hair. Her eyes were squeezed shut in pain. She spun and ran blindly from the room, her squeal receding. Hatsumi felt a pang of remorse. She hoped the girl was not blinded. She would be useless now if that was the case. Lord Tsunetomo might be displeased with her harming one of his servants. But the girl deserved punishment. Clumsy girls were worse than useless. She must learn to be more careful. Hatsumi felt obliged to teach her properly. Would the other servants hate her now? If they did, it would not matter. They must still obey her.
She sat down at her breakfast table again, but as she considered eating, she noticed that her stomach felt like a swirling pit of blackness, like a strange void. And her hunger was gone. Strange. The noises coming from her mistress’s chamber had subsided, leaving a heavy, encumbered silence in the air. Why did the air seem so oppressive now?
* * *
Yasutoki kept his manner cordial, even though the man sitting across the writing desk from him was his enemy. Tsunemori, Lord Tsunetomo’s younger brother, had been a thorn in his side for longer than he cared to consider. No matter how Yasutoki tried to put Tsunemori at ease, all the better to wheedle information from him, the more impregnable the wall Tsunemori built between them. Tsunemori, it seemed, would not fall victim to Yasutoki’s manipulations, and that made him dangerous to Yasutoki’s plans. Such powers of perception made Tsunemori a dangerous man indeed.
Heart of the Ronin Page 22
