The Ronin’s Mistress si-15

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “But he’s right.” Lord Asano sobbed. “I am a disgrace. He taunts me and goads me to defend myself, and I can’t, and he laughs. He says I should put myself out of my misery.”

  Lady Asano was horrified, and furious at Kira. “The old devil! Don’t listen!”

  Lord Asano didn’t speak of Kira again. He let Oishi drag him to the lessons every day, even though he couldn’t eat or sleep. He was a wreck, his eyes red, his face twitching, his body trembling. Every day he came home looking worse.

  Until the day he didn’t come home.

  That was the day Oishi brought Lady Asano the terrible news: Lord Asano had drawn his sword and attacked Kira inside Edo Castle.

  Lady Asano was allowed to see her husband one last time before he committed seppuku that evening. “Why did you do it?” she cried.

  “I couldn’t take any more,” Lord Asano said. Triumph shone through his misery. “At least I defended my honor.”

  * * *

  “Instead of destroying Kira, my husband destroyed himself,” Lady Asano told Reiko. Sitting in the bare, cold chamber of the convent where she’d been consigned to live out her life, she said bitterly, “Kira won.”

  “Not for good,” Reiko pointed out. She now understood why Lady Asano had lusted for Kira’s blood. She sympathized with Lady Asano because she herself felt the same toward Chamberlain Yanagisawa, who tormented her own husband. Reiko tasted the fear that Sano would someday crumble as Lord Asano had. “Kira got his just deserts.”

  “That’s some consolation.” Lady Asano smiled but quickly sobered. “I’ve confessed my husband’s secret-that he was weak and Kira got the best of him. I’ve dishonored his memory.” She appealed anxiously to Reiko. “Will it save Oishi and the other ronin?”

  Reiko had begun to think that Kira was the villain in the case and the forty-seven ronin should be pardoned. “I’ll tell my husband about it. He’ll tell the supreme court. We’ll see.”

  She would see whether it led to a verdict that the shogun thought was satisfactory, and whether Sano would regain his status or be permanently separated from their family.

  * * *

  Sano consulted the top expert on samurai clan lineage, an old historian. The historian said, “Lord Asano and Kira’s brother-in-law, Lord Uesugi, are related by several marriages, but Lord Uesugi died before Lord Asano was born. I’ve heard the rumor that Kira poisoned Lord Uesugi, but it faded a few years after Lord Uesugi’s death. I would be surprised if Lord Asano cared what had happened to a distant relation he’d never met.”

  The story that Kajikawa, the keeper of the castle, had told Sano seemed to amount to nothing. If Sano wanted dirt on Kira, he had to dig in other ground.

  He located Kira’s three former subordinates and two pupils whom Kira had been instructing in etiquette up until the day before his murder. They were in the chamber where the shogun would hold his New Year banquet. The subordinates were samurai in their forties, each the type of conscientious man who kept the government running but would never rise into its upper ranks. They huddled together, arguing about some point of court procedure. The pupils were young officials from the shogun’s retinue, who would have some part in conducting the banquet. They stood about looking bored. Sano gathered the five men for a talk about Kira.

  “What kind of person was he?” Sano asked.

  The onus of answering fell upon a man named Mimura, the new master of ceremonies. Pale, thin, and anxious, he didn’t seem happy to be saddled with his role of elected spokesman or his predecessor’s duties.

  “Kira-san was very dedicated to his job,” Mimura said. His companions nodded.

  “How was Kira to work with?” Sano probed.

  “He was strict about details.”

  Sano gathered that no one here had liked Kira. “Did he take bribes?”

  Mimura paused, torn between his duty to answer honestly and his reluctance to malign his dead superior. “They weren’t excessive.”

  “Is that true of the bribes he took from you?” Sano asked the pupils. They assented, nervously. “Did he treat you well?”

  Put on the spot, one of them echoed Mimura: “He was strict.”

  Sano turned to Kira’s subordinates. “What happened between Kira and Lord Asano? Why did Lord Asano attack Kira?”

  “We wouldn’t know,” Mimura said. “We weren’t there.”

  “Had Kira ever done anything that could be considered corrupt?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  The five men looked everywhere but at Sano or one another.

  “This is serious,” Sano said. “Forty-seven lives depend on the supreme court, which will base its verdict on the results of my investigation.” The thoroughness of his investigation could determine how well the verdict was received, which in turn would determine his own fate. That made Sano impatient toward these tight-lipped witnesses. “If you know anything that could pertain to the vendetta, it’s your duty to tell me. Do you understand?”

  The men nodded, but no one coughed up any more information.

  Sano perceived something big hidden beneath their caution, like a whale swimming just below the surface of the ocean. He sensed that although each man knew it was there, each wasn’t sure whether the others did. And none wanted to name it.

  * * *

  After Hirata finished his talk with Toda the spy, he headed toward Kira’s mansion, to get information about Kira from what was left of his household.

  Hirata crossed the Ryogoku Bridge. In the entertainment district on the other side, visitors braved the cold to patronize stalls that sold shogazake, red-bean cakes, and barley-sugar candy. Troupes of itinerant actors abounded. They came to town every New Year season; when they left, they would take the evil spirits of the old year with them. Dressed in colorful costumes and masks, they performed plays in exchange for a few coins. Hirata paused to watch a troupe whose leader wore the mask of a lion with snarling mouth and wild yellow mane. He juggled three red balls while his legs pranced beneath his tattered red robe. An audience clapped.

  Suddenly Hirata felt his stalker’s aura, the mighty, terrifying pulse. The juggler in the lion mask tossed one of his balls high, high up. As Hirata looked around for the source of the aura, the ball landed in the juggler’s hand, ignited with a loud bang, and burst into orange flames. The audience cheered, thinking it was magic, part of the act. The juggler screamed. His other balls dropped. He hurled the fiery orb away from him. It soared above the audience and vanished in a puff of smoke.

  Hirata stared, amazed.

  The juggler’s sleeve had caught fire. His robe went up in flames. Shrieking, he ran and stumbled, a burning lion on a rampage.

  Cries erupted from the audience. Hirata jumped from his horse, whipping off his coat as he ran. He beat the coat against the flames while the juggler rolled in the snow. After the fire was out, people flocked around the burned man. He sat up and ripped the mask off his head. He was a young fellow with bushy hair and a good-natured face. He held out his hands, looked at them, then patted his body. Everyone exclaimed, because he wasn’t burned at all. The fire had left not one charred patch of skin or fabric.

  The juggler jumped up and bowed, happy to take credit for the best performance of his life, even if he didn’t know how it had happened. The audience showered him with coins.

  The aura thrummed close behind Hirata, so powerfully that it felt like a roll of thunder hitting his back. He turned. A man came striding toward him and stopped within arm’s reach. He was a samurai, his shaved crown bare to the winter day. His aura stirred up a wind that keened around him and Hirata. He wore a dark brown coat and flowing black trousers over his tall, muscular physique. He had a square jaw and features so strong and regular that he could pose for a portrait of the ideal samurai. But his perfection was animated by a left eyebrow that was higher than the right. It and a twinkle in his eyes gave him a rakish appearance.

  Hirata was rattled by the scene he’d just witnessed, and stunned to find himsel
f face to face with his stalker. “Who are you?” He gestured toward the juggler, who was busy picking up coins. “Did you do that? Why have you been following me around? Who’s the priest with the birds? And the soldier I saw when I found the poem?” Hirata ran out of breath. He was shaking with anger and fear.

  The samurai’s left eyebrow rose higher, in amusement. “My name is Tahara.” His voice had a curious quality that was at once smooth and rough, that brought to mind a stream flowing over jagged rocks. When Hirata started to repeat his questions, Tahara lifted his hand. Hirata felt the words die on his tongue, as if they were flies that Tahara had just swatted.

  “We’ll talk when the time is right,” Tahara said.

  His eyes were deep and dark and fathomless behind the twinkle. Hirata’s head ached from the pounding of Tahara’s aura against his mind. Then Tahara turned to walk away.

  Hirata said, “Wait.” His voice felt thick and slow in his throat; its pitch sounded strangely low. People around him moved sluggishly, as if through water. Their voices echoed like bells rung under the sea. Tahara walked with an easy gait, but he flashed across space with the speed of lightning. His image flickered along the entertainment district and across the Ryogoku Bridge. Hirata watched the receding figure grow smaller until he could no longer see Tahara. The aura faded. Hirata blinked, breathed deeply, and looked around. The world had regained its usual noises and bustling motion.

  “What’s going on?” he said. His voice felt and sounded normal. The ache in his head was gone. But so was the man who could have answered his question. Hirata would have to wait for the right time-whenever that was.

  * * *

  After he went to the palace kitchens to order the food for the shogun’s party, Masahiro couldn’t resist sneaking home to see Okaru.

  He hurried through the castle, afraid that Yoritomo would point out his absence and get him in trouble. His heart beat fast with anticipation as he slipped through a back door of his family’s mansion. He didn’t want to run into anyone who would ask him why he was home early. He reached the private quarters unnoticed and tiptoed down the corridors.

  “Masahiro!”

  The sound of his name, called in a high, girlish voice, startled him so much that he jumped and yelped. He turned and saw Taeko.

  “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that!” he hissed.

  Her smile faded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

  “Never mind,” Masahiro whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Taeko said. “And why were you tiptoeing?”

  “It’s none of your business. Go away.”

  Taeko’s lip quivered. She turned and fled.

  Masahiro felt bad because he’d hurt her, which he hadn’t meant to do. Then he heard someone singing quietly. The voice was feminine and off-key but sweet. Masahiro followed the singing to the bath chamber. Steam scented with a floral fragrance seeped from the open door. Okaru sang, missing the high notes. Masahiro heard scrubbing and splashing. He knew it was rude to spy on people while they bathed, but he cautiously peeked.

  Okaru crouched naked on the slatted wooden floor, half turned away from him. Her long hair was pinned up in a knot. She scrubbed her arms with a cloth bag of perfumed rice-bran soap. Her skin gleamed wetly. Her bottom was slim but rounded. When she raised her arm to wash under it, Masahiro saw the curve of her small breast, and the nipple like a pink bud.

  He’d seen naked women before-the housemaids who opened their robes to fan themselves on hot days, the peasant girls who dived for shellfish at the beach-and he’d never thought anything of it. But the excitement that had been growing inside him ever since he’d met Okaru now surged with a force like thunder. Such a strong, strange desire gripped him that he could hardly breathe.

  Oblivious to him, Okaru soaped her chest and stomach; she twisted around to scrub her back. When she washed between her legs, her singing lapsed into a little purr of pleasure. His body’s quickening need dizzied Masahiro. Bewildered by what was happening to him, he was terrified that Okaru would catch him spying on her, but he couldn’t stop.

  Okaru rose, lifting a bucket of water. As she poured the water over herself, she turned. Masahiro stood open-mouthed, watching the water cascade down her breasts. His gaze followed its spill. Her pubis was shaved, the cleft between her legs clearly visible.

  Masahiro’s excitement soared. Still unaware of his presence, Okaru stepped into the sunken bathtub. Masahiro heard footsteps. Cousin Chiyo came walking around the corner. She saw him, smiled, and started to speak. He sprang away from the bath chamber. Guilty shame flushed his face. Chiyo stopped, puzzled. Her glance moved from him to the bath chamber. She saw Okaru and said sharply, “Okaru-san. When you take a bath, please close the door.”

  Masahiro heard Okaru say “Oh, I’m sorry” and Chiyo slide the door shut. He ran like a burglar caught in the act.

  21

  When Reiko arrived home from her trip to the convent, Chiyo met her on the veranda and said, “May I speak to you?”

  “Of course,” Reiko said. “You can come with me to take Okaru to see Oishi. We can talk on the way there.”

  Chiyo seemed to search for words. “I must talk to you alone. Now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, then, let’s go inside,” Reiko said, “so you don’t catch cold.”

  “Out here is better.”

  “All right, now I’m curious,” Reiko said. “What is it?”

  Chiyo said haltingly, “It’s about Okaru.”

  “Has she done something to upset you?” Reiko wasn’t pleased to think that her friend’s dislike of her guest had worsened. She shouldn’t have left them alone together.

  “This isn’t in regard to me.” Chiyo sounded unusually formal, constrained. “I don’t think Okaru is good to have around the children.”

  “Because of her station in life?” Reiko couldn’t help being offended by Chiyo’s prejudice.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Chiyo hastened to say, then faltered. “It’s her manners.”

  “Even if Okaru’s manners aren’t perfect, I don’t think they’ll rub off on Masahiro or Akiko.”

  “I’m afraid she’ll be harmful to them … in other ways.”

  Reiko began to lose her patience. “She wouldn’t hurt them. Why, I saw her playing with Akiko yesterday, and she was so gentle and kind.”

  “It’s not Akiko that I’m most worried about.”

  “You’re worried about Masahiro?” Reiko was confused. “He can take care of himself.”

  “Perhaps not as well as you think,” Chiyo murmured.

  Before Reiko could ask Chiyo to say exactly what she meant, Okaru came out the door. Her lovely young face was bright with eagerness. “Oh, good, you’re back!” she said to Reiko. “Can we go and see Oishi now?”

  Hirata walked up to the house, followed by Sano. Sano greeted everyone, then said to Reiko and Hirata, “The supreme court convenes in a few moments, and I have to testify. If you’ve got any new information for me, tell me now.”

  Reiko cast a mystified glance at Chiyo, who gazed helplessly back at her. Whatever Chiyo was trying to tell her would have to wait.

  * * *

  Sano arrived in the palace to find the supreme court already seated. Once again Inspector General Nakae headed the row of Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s seven cronies, who included Lord Nabeshima and Colonel Hitomi. Magistrate Ueda headed the row of seven men facing them, with old Minister Motoori and Finance Superintendent Ogiwara. They had already begun to discuss the case, and Sano could see that the acrimony had grown.

  “Greetings, Sano-san,” Magistrate Ueda said. “Have you anything new to report?”

  Sano knelt at the end of the rows and bowed. “Quite a bit.”

  “May it help us settle our differences before something regrettable happens,” said Inspector General Nakae, the squattest, surliest pumpkin in his patch.

  Chamberlain Yanagisawa sauntered into the room. Sano felt a quick, hot leap of anger. The judge
s looked surprised. Magistrate Ueda addressed Yanagisawa in a voice that cloaked displeasure and hostility in politeness. “My apologies, but I must ask you to leave, Honorable Chamberlain. The supreme court’s proceedings are private and no outsiders can be present unless asked to testify.”

  Yanagisawa smiled. “You shall make an exception for me.” His tone said that he outranked the judges, and anyone who objected to his behavior would pay. He seated himself at the head of the two rows. Magistrate Ueda compressed his mouth in exasperation. Yanagisawa said with mocking courtesy, “Proceed with your report, Sano-san. I’m all ears.”

  Sano thought that Yanagisawa couldn’t resist interfering with his work for the supreme court. Or perhaps Yanagisawa wanted to influence the verdict. But he might just be curious about how the court was progressing. At any rate, Sano couldn’t disobey an order from the shogun’s second-in-command.

  Fortified with the information that he and Hirata and Reiko had collected and shared earlier, Sano began his testimony with the story that Kajikawa had told him about Lord Asano’s botched attempt to kill Kira.

  “I’ll allow open discussion,” Magistrate Ueda said.

  “So Kajikawa changed the statement he gave during the investigation into the attack,” Superintendent Ogiwara said in his theatrical voice. “Back then, he said Lord Asano gave no indication of why he attacked Kira. Now he says that Lord Asano called Kira corrupt.”

  The inspector general grimaced as he scribbled notes. “But did he really? If so, Kajikawa should have said so back then.”

  Sano could tell that Magistrate Ueda and Superintendent Ogiwara welcomed the news that Lord Asano’s attack might have been justified, but Inspector General Nakae and his side didn’t. Sano glanced at Yanagisawa. The chamberlain wore his smoothest countenance, but Sano knew he was displeased because Sano had unearthed new evidence.

  Lord Nabeshima, seated beside the inspector general, scornfully discredited the castle keeper’s evidence. “There’s nothing to support the theory that Kira did anything wrong.”