Lord Asano opened his robe with hands that shook violently. His ragged breathing was the only sound in the cool, quiet night. As Oishi looked down at Lord Asano, he wasn’t sure he could perform his part in the ritual. But it would be his last service for his beloved lord, and perform it he must. Hoping that Lord Asano’s last words would give him strength, Oishi glanced at the poem.
More than the cherry blossoms,
Inviting a wind to blow them away,
I am wondering what to do
With the remaining springtime.
Tears almost blinded Oishi. That his master wouldn’t live to see the rest of the spring! Justice had been meted out with terrible efficiency. This morning Lord Asano had drawn a sword inside Edo Castle. This afternoon the shogun had ruled that Lord Asano must die tonight.
Lord Asano reached for the sword. He grasped the hilt in both hands, the weapon pointed at his abdomen. The blade wavered. Straining to hold it still, he looked up at Oishi.
A memory seized Oishi. In the Asano clan stronghold of Ako Castle, the previous Lord Asano lay dying. His family and top retainers watched him draw his last breath. Oishi looked across the bed at Lord Asano’s son, the eight-year-old boy who had just become daimyo. The boy turned solemn, frightened, pleading eyes on Oishi, his special friend among his father’s men. Oishi nodded, telling the new Lord Asano that he would be there to guide him and protect him for his whole life. I will do right by you. And Lord Asano nodded, reassured.
Twenty-two years later, Oishi saw the same pleading in Lord Asano’s eyes. Love and heartache flooded Oishi. He nodded. Lord Asano nodded, turned away, and sat straighter. Uttering a loud cry, he thrust the blade into his gut.
Oishi beheaded Lord Asano before he could feel any pain. Blood spattered the poem. The audience gasped. Cherry blossoms fell. Oishi gazed down at the corpse of his master, and rage burned through his grief. He silently vowed, I will do right by you.
By the next month, the government had dissolved the house of Asano, officially wiping the clan out of existence. Family members huddled inside Ako Castle while Oishi and the thousands of other retainers massed atop the walls and watched troops marching toward the castle. The men clamored in outrage: “We’ll fight!”
“Don’t be fools!” Oishi shouted. “There are too many of them! We’ll be slaughtered! We must live to avenge Lord Asano!”
Although the men grumbled, they allowed Oishi to herd them from the castle. They stood beside their horses, their possessions in the saddlebags. Oishi led out the Asano family, thankful that Lord Asano’s wife needn’t see this. She was in Edo, where the law forced daimyo wives to reside as hostages to their husbands’ good behavior. So were Oishi’s own wife and children. Oishi helped the Asano family into oxcarts piled with the few belongings they were allowed to keep. The women and children sobbed.
So did many retainers as they watched the army arrive. This was the worst day of their life, every samurai’s worst nightmare. Oishi couldn’t believe it was happening to him. He stared in mute shock as troops filed into the castle and filed out carrying furniture, trunks of money, and priceless heirlooms. No one in the Asano group could bear to watch, but everyone stayed until the next day, when the loot was borne off to Edo to be received by the shogun and the army was gone except for a platoon that occupied the castle. Then they faced the terrible moment they’d been dreading.
They were homeless, destitute. The retainers were ronin, stripped of honor, utterly humiliated. They turned to Oishi, even though he was no longer their superior.
“Where are we going to go?” they cried.
“To Edo,” Oishi said. “We have work to do there.”
But as the procession moved down the highway, it shrank. Some men stayed at teahouses in the villages to find comfort in drink and the arms of prostitutes. Some went off to seek their fortunes alone. Suicides drastically thinned the ranks. The procession left a string of graves in its wake. Oishi arrived in Edo with only a hundred men left. The government seized the Asano estate in Edo. Oishi put Lady Asano in a Buddhist convent and moved his family to lodgings in the Nihonbashi merchant quarter. Then he began a campaign to get the house of Asano reinstated. He wrote letters to government officials. He called in every favor. Nothing worked. His contacts said the shogun couldn’t change his mind because that would make him look weak, and he would never reinstate the house of Asano. They told Oishi to make the best of his new life as a commoner.
Instead, Oishi turned his attention to his next duty. One day he walked to Kira’s estate. He was so consumed by murderous rage that he could feel his heart burning black. Kira had brought about Lord Asano’s destruction. Oishi must make Kira pay.
But Kira evidently expected the Asano ronin to try to kill him. Guards ringed the estate. Oishi saw Kira come out, accompanied by fifty soldiers. Oishi kept surveillance on Kira long enough to know that he never let down his guard. Revenge seemed impossible.
Oishi fell into a state of deep despair. He began drinking because wine eased his pain. He frequented teahouses and stayed out all night. The change in him infuriated his wife.
“You’re disgusting! What’s the matter with you?” Ukihashi demanded. She’d once been a pretty, sedate woman, but losing her home, her social status, and her servants had made her wretched and shrill. “I know you’re upset, but what about us?” She waved her hand at their two little daughters and their fourteen-year-old son. The children sat by a cold hearth, eating millet, the food of poor people. “Have you forgotten that you have a family to support?”
“Shut up!” Oishi couldn’t bear her criticism. “Leave me alone.”
They quarreled every day until Oishi said, “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving.”
“Good riddance,” Ukihashi said bitterly.
Oishi made Chikara go with him. He divorced his wife before he left Edo. It was summer, more than a year after Lord Asano’s death. He and Chikara went to Miyako. They earned their rice by working as bodyguards for a merchant, living behind the shop. Oishi continued drinking. At the Ichiriki teahouse he met a beautiful young prostitute named Okaru. With her he found the first pleasure he’d experienced since Lord Asano’s death.
After too many drunken binges, his employer threw him out. Oishi couldn’t afford to pay Okaru. He couldn’t ask his son for the money, because Chikara hated Okaru, hated that Oishi had broken up their family. Father and son became estranged.
Okaru said, “You needn’t pay me anymore. I love you. I’ll take care of you.”
Oishi loved her, too; she made him feel young and hopeful again. He moved into her lodgings. Okaru continued to entertain her customers. Oishi lived on her. She pampered him, but he couldn’t make peace with his circumstances. One day he got so drunk that he collapsed on the street. Passersby jeered. A man stood over him and said, “Oishi-san? Is that you?”
His square, pugnacious face was vaguely familiar. Oishi couldn’t recall his name but recognized him as a merchant from Satsuma.
“Why are you lying in the gutter? What happened?” Catching a whiff of liquor, the Satsuma man recoiled in disgust. “The rumors are true, then. You’ve become a bum.”
He announced, “This is Oishi Kuranosuke, former retainer of Lord Asano. He doesn’t have the courage to avenge his master’s death. Faithless beast!” He trampled on Oishi and spat in his face. “You are unworthy of the name of samurai!”
A crowd joined in the taunting, kicking, and spitting. The pain brought Oishi to his senses. Something within him shifted, like fractured ground settling back into place after an earthquake. That day was the last time he ever drank. That day he vowed to fulfill the promise he’d made to Lord Asano. That day he began his journey toward vengeance and redemption.
* * *
“You know the rest,” Oishi said to Sano.
They gazed at each other across Lord Hosokawa’s desk, like two generals across a battlefield. “Not quite,” Sano said. “It’s a long way from a gutter in Miyako to a slaughter in Edo.”
>
Once more he’d become thoroughly engaged in Oishi’s tale, against his will because it had taken him to places he didn’t want to go. He’d always wondered how he would handle the most extreme situations a samurai could face. What would it be like to assist in the ritual suicide of someone he loved as much as Oishi had apparently loved Lord Asano?
Sano didn’t know whether he could do it.
How would it be to feel such love for his lord that he would give up his family and dedicate his life to revenge?
In his deepest heart Sano admitted that he didn’t love the shogun. He didn’t know whether he could follow the Way of the Warrior that far. He felt caught between admiration for Oishi, who had proved himself truer to Bushido than most samurai ever did, and antagonism toward Oishi for exposing his own fears and self-doubts.
“Fill in the gaps in your story,” Sano ordered.
“In the summer of the year after Lord Asano died, I went looking for his other retainers,” Oishi said. “I gathered forty-six of them together, including my son.”
Could Sano lead his own son down the same dangerous path that Oishi had led Chikara? That hardly bore imagining. But it was a son’s duty to follow his father. Sano and Masahiro came from a long line of fathers and sons who’d marched into battle together. But would Sano bring Masahiro in on an illegal vendetta, a crime? Shouldn’t a father protect his child?
“I told my comrades that it was time to avenge Lord Asano,” Oishi went on. “We formed a conspiracy. It took almost six months to set our plans. Then we walked to Edo, which took us another two months. When we got here, we rested for a few days. Then we went after Kira.”
Sano saw a battle raging during a snowstorm, as if Oishi’s memory had brought the scene into the room. He blinked to dispel the vision. He got a firm grip on his objectivity. “You left something out.”
An annoyed frown crossed Oishi’s face. “What?”
“Your mistress. Okaru. She loved you and cared for you and bedded other men to support you. You left her behind in Miyako. Or so you thought. She’s here in town.”
Oishi’s slanted eyebrows flew up in alarm. “No. She can’t be.”
“Why aren’t you happy to hear that the woman you love is near?” Sano asked.
Oishi massaged his jaw with his fingers. Sano sensed that Oishi wanted time to think about how this development might affect him.
“She followed you to Edo,” Sano said.
“How do you know?” Oishi asked.
“She wrote a letter to my wife.” Sano explained what the letter had said, then mentioned Reiko’s visit with Okaru.
Oishi spat out his breath, shook his head. “She thought she could save me. She’s so naive, and so wrong.”
“Maybe not wrong. As you must have guessed by now, there’s some confusion about what to do with you and your comrades.” Sano told Oishi about the controversy in the government, the formation of the supreme court. He watched Oishi massage his jaw harder. “Whether you live or die depends on whether I find evidence to prove that your actions were justified even though you broke the law.”
“What does this have to do with Okaru?” Oishi asked.
“Okaru is a witness in my investigation. She’s offered the first evidence in your favor.”
Distrust narrowed Oishi’s eyes. “What evidence?”
“She told my wife that the vendetta isn’t as simple as it appears.” Sano had a distinct, puzzling impression that this prospect of a reprieve disturbed Oishi although it should please him. “She said you told her so.”
Oishi sat perfectly still and calm, but Sano perceived shock reverberating through him like a gunshot in a tunnel. “What else did Okaru say I said?”
“Nothing else.” Was that relief Sano saw in Oishi’s hooded eyes? “She claims you refused to explain what you meant. Perhaps you would explain it to me now.”
“I can’t.”
Sano was incredulous because Oishi didn’t jump at the chance to put his actions in a better light. “Not even to save yourself and your comrades?”
“I actually don’t remember saying that to Okaru.” A crestfallen grin flexed Oishi’s thick mouth. “I was drunk most of the time I was with her. I did a lot of incoherent rambling. She must be mistaken.”
“My wife says Okaru seemed sure of what she’d heard.”
Oishi thrust out his jaw; belligerence flared his nostrils wider. “The vendetta is exactly what it seems: Kira destroyed Lord Asano. My comrades and I destroyed Kira. We abided by the samurai code of honor. It’s as straightforward as that.”
But Sano detected a fissure in Oishi’s conviction. “I don’t believe you. If you were being so straightforward and honorable, you would have all committed seppuku to atone for breaking the shogun’s law. Why did you ‘await orders’ instead?”
“It seemed like the right thing to do,” Oishi said stubbornly.
Increasingly mystified, Sano said, “What kind of orders were you expecting?”
Silence descended, like a fog that was invisible but nonetheless hid the truth about the case, a truth that Sano suspected was stranger than he could imagine.
“We had no expectations. But maybe we did right to wait,” Oishi said with a glimmer of amusement. “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
Sano felt irate because Oishi was playing with him and he had no idea what the game was. Vexed by his own conflicted feelings toward the man, he stood. “Very well. Don’t answer my questions if you don’t want to. I can ask your comrades.”
“Go ahead.” Oishi stood, too; he’d regained the composure he’d lost while talking about Okaru. “They’ll corroborate my story. The vendetta is exactly what you see.”
12
“Are you ready to go?” Masahiro asked Reiko as she sat at her dressing table.
“Not quite.” Reiko anchored her hair in place with combs. “We have to get some food to take to Okaru.”
Chiyo came into the room with a stack of lacquer lunch boxes that gave off the delicious aroma of miso, fried dumplings, and grilled fish. “Here it is.”
“Good,” Masahiro said. “Can we go now?”
He jittered with impatience to see Okaru again. She’d been on his mind since yesterday, and he’d been so excited about this second visit that he’d hardly slept last night.
At last he and Reiko and Chiyo emerged into the cold, clear day. The women climbed into the palanquin with the lunch boxes. Masahiro mounted his horse. The guards assembled. The bearers shouldered the palanquin’s poles. Masahiro rode ahead of the procession, so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the city sights he usually enjoyed.
He’d never been interested in girls. They giggled too much. They talked about boring things like clothes, and they had silly quarrels. He was too busy with important things to pay attention to them. But Okaru was different. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She’d stirred up unfamiliar, exciting feelings in him. When he’d told his mother why he wanted to help Okaru, he hadn’t been completely honest. Yes, Okaru was poor and helpless and he felt sorry for her; and yes, he did want to pass on the kindness that had been shown to him; but there was more to it than that. He didn’t know exactly what.
When he and his companions neared the inn, a crowd was gathered outside. People pressed up against the gate, peering over one another’s shoulders. As Masahiro dismounted, and the women climbed out of the palanquin, he heard the crowd shouting, “Let us in! We want to see the ronin’s mistress!”
“Do they mean Okaru?” Masahiro asked.
“It would seem so,” Reiko said. “But how did they find out that she’s here?”
A panel in the gate opened to reveal the innkeeper’s face. “This is private property,” he shouted. The crowd booed. “Go away!”
Reiko called to him, “We’re friends of Okaru. We visited her yesterday. Don’t you remember?” She stood on tiptoe and waved over the crowd. “She’ll want to see us.”
“Yes, I remember,” the innkeeper said, �
�but I can’t open the gate for you, because everyone else will get in, too.”
Masahiro began pushing people away from the gate. Reiko’s guards held the crowd back while the innkeeper let Masahiro, Reiko, and Chiyo carry the lunch boxes to the guest quarters. Reiko knocked on Okaru’s door.
“Who is it?” Okaru called.
The sound of her voice sent a shiver of anticipation through Masahiro. After Reiko identified herself, Okaru flung open the door and exclaimed, “Oh, Lady Reiko! Thank the gods you’ve come back!” She wore a deep pink kimono; her hair was studded with gold butterfly combs. She looked even more beautiful than she had yesterday. She smiled at Masahiro and said, “Hello.”
Too shy and confused to answer, Masahiro could only stare.
“Okaru!” loud voices called. “Okaru!”
Faces cropped up above the fence as men from the crowd pulled themselves onto it. The men pointed and shouted, “There she is!”
Okaru cringed like a fawn cornered by a hunter. Reiko hurried Okaru, Chiyo, and Masahiro into the room and shut the door. Okaru sank to her knees and said, “Those people have been bothering me all morning. I’ve been so scared.”
“Why are you alone?” Reiko asked. “Where’s your servant?”
“She went out to get us something to eat. We can’t afford the meals here.”
“We’ve brought food,” Reiko said. She and Chiyo unpacked the boxes.
“Oh, how wonderful!” Okaru fell upon the food. “You’re so kind!”
Her fingers wielded the chopsticks so quickly yet so gracefully. Her perfect little teeth shone as she took each bite of dumpling, pickle, and rice cake. Her soft lips glistened. She licked them with her delicate pink tongue. Masahiro was captivated.
“How did those people find out that you’re Oishi’s … fiancee?” Chiyo asked.
“Yesterday I told the maids who cleaned my room. They brought a friend of theirs-a man who writes news broadsheets. I talked to him. This morning they said he’s been selling my story all over town.” Chagrined, Okaru said, “I was flattered until those people came and started demanding to see me, as if I were a freak at a peep show.”
The Ronin’s Mistress si-15 Page 9
