SI2 Bundori (1996)

by Laura Joh Rowland

  Three days after the capture, Sano had appeared before Magistrate Ueda to present the evidence against the accused. While the shogun smiled delightedly and a curious crowd gathered outside the hall’s barred windows, Sano described how he’d identified Chūgo as a suspect, then tricked him into revealing himself as the killer.

  “A later search of Chūgo’s house revealed a list of the names and whereabouts of Araki and Endō clan members,” Sano continued. “I also found the mate to the death’s-head sword given me by the witness whose confidential statement you just heard. And I found deeds to three houses-one in Nihonbashi, the others near Yoshiwara and Zōjō Temple -all under different aliases. Chūgo’s financial records prove that he bought them with money borrowed from Matsui Minoru. When I searched the houses, I found boards, spikes, face paint, incense, and traces of blood.”

  Magistrate Ueda, dignified in his black garments, sat upon the dais, flanked by secretaries who recorded the proceedings. “The case seems sufficient,” he said. To the courtroom attendants: “Bring in Chūgo Gichin.”

  Sano heard Chūgo coming before the guard captain reached the hall. From the mob outside came angry calls for the Bundori Killer’s blood, and above the commotion rose Chūgo’s wild rantings. The guard captain had gone completely mad during his stay in Edo Jail.

  The main door flew open, and the attendants dragged in the cursing, thrashing defendant. The shogun, his retinue, and the rest of the audience gasped and murmured. Sano stared, amazed at the change in Chūgo.

  Stripped of swords, armor, and Tokugawa crests, Chūgo wore a torn, filthy cotton kimono. His wrists were tied behind his back and iron shackles hobbled his legs. His eyes rolled; his teeth were bared in a fierce grimace.

  “May demons destroy all you who would stop me from honoring my ancestor as a samurai should!” he shouted, trying to throw off his escorts.

  The attendants dumped him on a mat on the shirasu-the “white sand of truth” that covered the floor before the magistrate’s dais. Not until they’d administered several hard kicks did he kneel and cease cursing, and even then, an angry, animal growl rumbled in his throat. Though Sano couldn’t forget Chūgo’s terrible crimes, he could pity the once proud warrior.

  “Chūgo Gichin, you are charged with the murders of four men: Kaibara Tōju, hatamoto to His Excellency; the rōnin Tōzawa Jigori; the priest Endō Azumanaru; and an eta,” Magistrate Ueda said. “You are also accused of ordering two attacks on Sōsakan Sano: one by a mercenary swordsman in Nihonbashi; the other at Edo Castle. What have you to say in your own defense?”

  “They were not murders,” Chūgo snapped. “They were acts of war. Of vengeance. The Endō and the Araki killed my lord Oda Nobunaga, and for that they deserved death by my hand!”

  Obviously unable to distinguish his victims from the long-dead traitors or himself from General Fujiwara, he flung a wild glance at Sano. “I had to act before Kaibara, the last member of the Araki clan, died. Then I decided to kill every last Endō. That cursed sōsakan tried to stop me, so I hired an assassin to kill him. And if someone else hadn’t already had him beaten, I would have!”

  Magistrate Ueda frowned. “Then you deny the last charge, but not the others?”

  “Deny what I’ve done?” Chūgo’s laugh resembled a dog’s howl. “Why? I want the world to know that General Fujiwara is at last avenging his lord’s murder!”

  Exclamations swept the audience. Sano, though shocked by the extent of Chūgo’s delusion, was relieved that his confession would shorten his path to justice.

  “Silence.” Magistrate Ueda’s raised hand quieted the room. “Then, Chūgo, you do not repent of the crimes to which you have confessed?”

  “Repent? Pah! A samurai doesn’t apologize for doing his rightful duty by his master.”

  There was a fresh outcry from the audience, which Magistrate Ueda also silenced. “Then I am sorry to say that I must deny you the privilege of committing seppuku to which your rank entitles you. Instead you will be beheaded at the public execution ground immediately, and your remains displayed as a warning to would-be criminals.”

  Sano closed his eyes as the guards dragged Chūgo from the hall. The awful spectacle of disgrace poisoned his satisfaction at seeing his investigation successfully concluded, a killer brought to justice. Through his horror, he heard the shogun’s high, excited voice:

  “Ahh. A marvelous show. Well done, sōsakan!”

  Now that same voice recalled Sano to the present. “Yes, this is an accomplishment that must be entered into the nation’s official history.” Tokugawa Tsunayoshi’s face brightened with inspiration. “Since you are a historian, you yourself shall have the privilege of chronicling your, ahh, miraculous deeds for the castle archives.”

  Heads nodded; murmurs of approval came from the guests.

  “This is a great honor, and I thank you, Your Excellency.” Sano tried to infuse his voice with enthusiasm. Here at last was the fulfillment of his promise to his father. Sano took pride in his deed; his samurai spirit basked in the shogun’s praise. But Sano still felt as though his heart had been torn from his chest, leaving behind a vast, aching emptiness that grew larger and hurt more with each passing day.

  Aoi had vanished, apparently for good.

  After conveying Chūgo to Edo Jail, giving statements to the police and magistrate, and reporting the success of his investigation to the shogun, Sano had rushed to the Momijiyama to see Aoi- only to find another woman installed as chief shrine attendant and unable to tell him more than that Aoi had disappeared, leaving no explanation.

  Frantic with grief and bewilderment, Sano had spent the past month searching for her, to no avail. Then, this evening, as he dressed for the banquet, he’d found the note hidden among his ceremonial robes.

  My dearest,

  Please forgive me for leaving without saying good-bye. I had no choice. With each passing year, my enslavement to the Tokugawa has grown harder to bear. When we met, my spirit had been dying little by little. It would have gone on dying, if not for you, who restored my hope, happiness, and desire to live.

  But now Chamberlain Yanagisawa has ordered me to kill you. Rather than obey, I have fled, in the hope that I can join my family and escape with them before the troops come for us. Perhaps fate will spare your life and mine, even if we can’t spend them together.

  I beg you not to pursue me, or tell anyone of our liaison. To reveal the full extent to which I’ve betrayed my master would only endanger me more.

  Don’t be angry with me, or blame yourself for what is entirely my own decision. Instead, remember me as I will you:

  With eternal love,

  Aoi

  The message closed with the crude sketch of a veiled female figure facing a mountain range. Sano, remembering their conversation the night of his beating, understood that Aoi had taken the perilous step of making her dream a reality. Disguised as a nun, living on roots and nuts and the alms of strangers, she was making her way toward Iga Province. Despite her attempt to absolve him of guilt, Sano knew he’d provided the final impetus for her action.

  He’d saved lives by stopping Chūgo’s killing spree, but endangered the woman he loved by winning her affection and letting her forsake her duty. Guilt embittered Sano’s misery. Despite the ninja’s renowned ability to survive, he pictured Aoi hunted down, tortured, slain. And he could do nothing to prevent it. He couldn’t even thank her for her help, to which he owed much of his success, or for the gift of his life, which she’d purchased with her own.

  Then Sano gasped in surprise. The characters of the note were fading. Written in magic ninja ink, they vanished, withdrawing from him as their writer had. Soon Sano held a blank sheet of paper.

  As blank as his life was without Aoi.

  Now, as the shogun praised his courage, Sano faced the hardest task of all: to stay at his post instead of following his heart and going after the woman he loved but couldn’t save. He wanted to dash from the room, mount his horse, and gallop wildly in
to the night, shouting Aoi’s name. He wanted to search every road, village, forest, and field between Edo and Iga Province until he found her. Yet her wishes and his own duty forbade him.

  In his misery, Sano saw his life stripped of illusion. The castle was a luxurious prison. The shogun for whom he’d almost sacrificed his life, who now rambled drunkenly upon the dais, was merely the chamberlain’s puppet. Bushido was cruel; a place in history an empty reward. Heartbreak had shown him the truth of Dr. Ito’s words.

  The shogun’s high, merry voice cut into Sano’s thoughts. “Ahh. Let us also rejoice in Sōsakan Sano’s engagement to Magistrate Ueda’s daughter.”

  Except for Chamberlain Yanagisawa, who narrowed his eyes and compressed his lips, the assembly cheered. Sano woodenly exchanged nods with Magistrate Ueda. His change in fortune had induced the magistrate to bestow upon him Reiko’s hand. Sano valued the match that his father had desired for him, and an association with a man he respected. But he would gladly give it up for one brief moment with Aoi, to again know the exhilarating joy of ishin-denshin-their precious, unspoken soul-to-soul communication.

  The shogun spoke about the match’s propriety and offered his blessings for its success. Then he said, “But enough of speeches.” He laughed and clapped his hands. The music resumed. “Come, ahh, let us enjoy ourselves!”

  Sano accepted a sake decanter from a servant and reluctantly rose to perform the courtesy he’d been avoiding all night. Approaching Chamberlain Yanagisawa, he knelt, bowed, proffered the decanter, and said, “Honorable Chamberlain, please permit me.”

  Ritual dictated that the chamberlain raise his cup and bow. This Yanagisawa did with characteristic elegance, but his expression was frigid, and as Sano poured the liquor, Yanagisawa’s hand trembled as though he longed to throw it in Sano’s face.

  “I won’t forget, sōsakan,” he said in a vicious murmur meant only for Sano’s ears. He downed the sake, grimacing as if the taste sickened him, then bowed to the shogun. “If you will excuse me,” he said, and swept from the room.

  Sano knew the chamberlain would never forgive him for causing, albeit unintentionally, his terrifying abduction. Nor would he forget that because of Sano, the shogun had enjoyed a joke at his expense. Above all, Yanagisawa would never forgive him for witnessing his humiliation, or for rescuing him. These last had won Sano the powerful chamberlain’s permanent enmity. From now on, whatever he did, Yanagisawa would thwart him at every turn. With his spirit broken over Aoi’s departure, this prospect was more than Sano could stand. His position had lost its meaning for him and presented a challenge to which he no longer desired to rise.

  The party dragged on and on. Sano’s face grew stiff from the strain of smiling; his throat ached with grief as he forced polite conversation and false laughter from his mouth. Not even drink could numb his emotions. He took some pleasure from seeing Hirata, with an air of suppressed rapture, fill the shogun’s cup.

  Bringing happiness to someone he esteemed didn’t ease the howling anguish inside Sano. When dawn came, he could bear his pretense of enjoyment no longer. The shogun was snoring on the dais; the few guests not also asleep were engaged in drunken, senseless merriment. No one would miss Sano. He went home, got his horse, and rode out through the castle gate. Where was Aoi? To go to her now… Imagining the joy of seeing her again, he forgot the prohibitions that kept them apart.

  A cry disturbed the summer morning’s humid hush: “Sōsakan-sama!”

  Sano turned and saw Hirata galloping down the promenade after him. His senses returned. He couldn’t leave his post, and he couldn’t endanger Aoi further. Grief drew cords of pain tighter around his chest; the emptiness within yawned wider and blacker.

  “Are you all right?” Hirata asked, catching up. “Where are you going?”

  Sano rode faster to get away from him. “I just need some fresh air,” he lied. “I’m going for a ride-alone.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Hirata obviously sensed that something was wrong, although he couldn’t know what. Now he stuck by Sano, secure in his new status and concerned enough about his master’s welfare to disobey an order.

  Too tired and dispirited to argue, Sano let him come. Together they rode north out of the city, where the murders had ended with Chūgo’s arrest, and the fire and riots in the accompanying storm. As they journeyed through the tranquil, awakening streets, Sano saw that the ravaged areas had already been rebuilt. The Bundori Killer might never have stalked the city.

  In the Asakusa temple district, Sano dismounted outside a minor temple. “Wait here,” he told Hirata.

  Entering the gate, he crossed the small precinct and passed through another gate leading to the cemetery, where the cherry trees were in full leaf now. A sprinkling of dry, brown fallen blossoms mingled with the gravel on the paths. The air was heavy with summer’s rich, fecund fragrance, but underneath it, Sano smelled autumn’s incipient decay. The sounds of temple bells, priests’ chants, and the clack of pilgrims’ wooden shoes seemed muted, distant: part of the living world that encompassed this memorial to death.

  Sano knelt before the grave monument, a square, upright stone shaft topped with a pagoda roof, where an urn hidden in the hollow pedestal held his father’s ashes. Evidence of his own and his mother’s faithful visits stood ranged around it: flowers; a decanter of sake and a bowl of dried fruits to nourish his father’s spirit; prayers printed on wooden stakes. But even here, Sano felt no sense of his father’s presence. In his despair, he spoke aloud:

  “Otōsan. I’ve done what you asked.” His voice shook with his effort not to weep, but he didn’t care; there was no one to hear him. “Why isn’t the fulfillment of duty enough to make me happy?”

  Footsteps crunched on the path behind him. Sano started, then turned and saw a strange samurai.

  “Who are you?” he blurted. “What do you want?”

  The samurai regarded Sano with a sad smile. “Don’t you recognize me, Ichirō?”

  And now, with a staggering shock, Sano did. The voice-young and vibrant instead of old and quavery; the strong body not yet wasted by illness; the proud spirit not yet crushed under the hardship and shame of living as a rōnin. The features, so like his own. This stranger was his father-not old, sick, and feeble as Sano had last seen him, but with his life still ahead of him.

  “Otōsan!” Awed, Sano bowed. “I’ve prayed so often for you to come. But you never did, until now. Why?”

  The spirit’s warm, firm hands grasped Sano’s shoulders, raising him to his feet. Of equal height, they stood face to face, and in his father’s eyes Sano saw the look of forbearing patience he remembered so well.

  “My son, I never left you,” the spirit said. “Haven’t I spoken to you through the lessons you learned from me? Am I not present in your thoughts? Do I not live through you, my flesh and blood?”

  Seeing the truth of his words, Sano had no answer. As they strolled the cemetery together, he again sought his father’s wisdom. He told the spirit about his successful murder investigation, and the loss that had robbed his achievement of satisfaction and his existence of all joy.

  “Father, what will I do, how can I live?”

  “Your struggle is one that all samurai inevitably face, Ichirō.” The spirit’s far-gazing eyes contemplated the distance. “The struggle to understand right and wrong, good and evil. To do what is right and good and avoid doing that which is wrong and evil.”

  Somewhere in that oblique remark, Sano knew from experience, there was a message for him. “And how does a samurai know what’s right?” he asked hesitantly, reduced to the role of ignorant young pupil by this spirit that appeared no older than he.

  The spirit’s reproachful glance told Sano he’d missed the point, as he had so often during childhood lessons. “Better you should ask how a samurai makes himself follow the path of right rather than the one that leads to wrong.”

  Sano waited, chastened but expectant.

  “Although a samurai may at first be mo
tivated to do right by the shame he feels when doing wrong, if he does that which is right often enough, then it will become a natural habit. In doing right, he will find the satisfaction of fulfilling his destiny, and of knowing he has mastered the most difficult part of Bushido.”

  They’d reached the cemetery gate, and the spirit halted. “This is where we part, my son. But I am always with you.”

  “Otosan!” Sano clutched his father’s arm. “Don’t go!”

  His hand closed on empty space. The spirit had vanished.

  “Sōsakan-sama?”

  Sano turned to see Hirata standing in the open gate. “Gomen nasai-I’m sorry to bother you,” Hirata said with a trace of his old hesitancy, “but you were gone so long, and I was worried… ”

  “I’m fine.” Sano spoke the lie through the fresh grief at his father’s abrupt departure. The combination of liquor, exhaustion, and longing must have produced his waking dream, but now it was over, and he was more alone than ever. “Let’s go.”

  Yet as they left the temple and mounted their horses, Sano felt more at peace than when he’d arrived. His father’s elusive spirit had finally appeared to him, when he needed it most. The encounter hadn’t removed his pain, but had given him insight that illuminated this troubled period of his life. He now saw the resemblance between his pledge to his father and lord and Chūgo Gichin’s to General Fujiwara and Oda Nobunaga. Both represented attempts to do right, to embrace Bushido. Chūgo had avenged the betrayal of a ruthless warlord by committing crimes that had led to his own death. And Sano, who had risked his life serving a weak, self-indulgent despot, must continue to do so, no matter what the cost to himself. His own bundori-the war trophy he’d earned during the investigation-was his better understanding of what it meant to be a samurai. He had struggled, and despite his anguish, could admit he’d found satisfaction in performing well, in doing right. He must continue to do right- because the habit was already an integral part of him-until the act of doing right brought him happiness.

  Someday.

  Hirata was waiting beside him. “Where are we going now, sōsakan-sama?”