The Ronin’s Mistress si-15

by Laura Joh Rowland

  “I’m grateful to you, Lady Reiko, for reuniting Oishi and me,” Ukihashi said. “At least we parted in love instead of anger.”

  Reiko bowed. “I thank you for your help. Without it, my husband couldn’t have guided the affair to a peaceful ending.” Before she left, she asked, “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes,” Ukihashi said, even though tears filled her eyes and Reiko knew she was grieving for her son and husband. “The priests at Sengaku Temple have been very kind. They send me a portion of the alms they collect. My daughters and I don’t need to work anymore.”

  Lady Wakasa’s voice drew Reiko back to the present. “What a lucky break for your husband-Yanagisawa lying down and playing dead. Never thought I’d see the day.”

  But Reiko couldn’t feel any better about Yanagisawa than she did about the forty-seven ronin. They at least had decided their own fate. Yanagisawa had been struck by the worst catastrophe a parent could imagine, his child’s death. Reiko wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

  “I’ll consult my astrologer about an auspicious date for the miai.” Lady Wakasa departed.

  The miai was just a formality. The families were already acquainted, and Reiko liked the Todo daughter, a pretty, sweet, intelligent girl. Masahiro was as good as betrothed. At least Reiko could be glad about that. But unfinished business hung over her like a cloud.

  When she’d come home after the incident at the palace, she’d found that Okaru had left. Reiko hadn’t seen Okaru since. She wondered what had become of the girl and felt guilty about the way she’d treated her. And although the tension between Reiko and Masahiro had eased, she knew he missed Okaru.

  Lieutenant Tanuma entered the room. “There’s a visitor asking to see you. It’s Okaru. She’s down at the castle gate.”

  Reiko was surprised; it seemed as if her thoughts had summoned the girl. “Bring her in.”

  Soon Okaru arrived. “Lady Reiko!” Arms flung wide, she smiled as if they’d parted on the friendliest terms. “I’m so happy to see you again.” She knelt and bowed.

  “I’m happy to see you looking so well,” Reiko said, relieved because Okaru had apparently not suffered since she’d left. In fact, Okaru was lovelier than ever. Her cheeks were as rosy as the cherry blossoms printed on her new kimono. “Where have you been?”

  “Goza and I went back to the inn. The proprietor let us stay because nobody knows we’re there.” Okaru smiled ruefully. “I’ve learned my lesson about talking to news-sellers.”

  “But how…?”

  “How can we afford it? Oh, Goza has a job at a teahouse that has women’s sumo wrestling matches.” Okaru added, “She was wrestling the night your father was attacked.”

  That was one more mystery solved. Here was Goza’s alibi, and the reason for the blood on her clothes, which Masahiro had told Reiko about.

  “We couldn’t tell you because women’s sumo was against the law then, and we were afraid she would get in trouble,” Okaru explained. The government periodically issued edicts against sumo, which were later rescinded.

  “Why does Goza have tattoos on her wrist?” Reiko asked. Masahiro had told her about that, too.

  “She was arrested for stealing food when she was a child. But soon she won’t need to steal or work to support herself and me anymore. Because-” Okaru paused, sparkling with glee. “I’m getting married!”

  Reiko was astonished. A short time ago Okaru had been in love with Oishi and heartbroken because he’d jilted her. Now she’d found someone else. “Who is he?”

  “His name is Jihei. He has his own furniture shop. He’s rich, and handsome, and not too old.” Okaru bubbled, “He’s so good to me! We’re so much in love! I’m so happy!”

  “How did you meet him?” Reiko asked, impressed by Okaru’s fast work.

  “His shop is near the inn, and he saw me that day when the crowd was hounding me. He thought I was so beautiful, he fell in love at first sight. He couldn’t forget me. After I went back to the inn, I peeked inside his shop one day, and he saw me, and he rushed out and introduced himself, and I fell in love with him, too.” Okaru blushed and giggled.

  Reiko wondered if a love match made in such haste could bring lasting happiness. Then again, many arranged marriages didn’t. “Well. I’m glad you’ll be settled comfortably.” But she couldn’t help thinking of Oishi, forgotten so soon.

  Tears misted Okaru’s eyes. “I’ll never forget Oishi, though.” She smiled sadly. “If not for him, I wouldn’t have come to Edo, and I wouldn’t have met Jihei. In a way, he brought us together. I visited his grave at Sengaku Temple, and I thanked him and prayed for his spirit. Have you been there?”

  “Not yet,” Reiko said. “My husband is taking me today.”

  “Before I say good-bye, I want to thank you for your kindness,” Okaru said. “You helped me when I had no one else to turn to.”

  “It was nothing,” Reiko said, glad that Okaru didn’t bear her any grudge.

  “There’s something I’d like to ask…?”

  “What is it?”

  “Masahiro was kind to me. May I say good-bye to him?”

  “Of course.” Reiko didn’t think it could hurt. “He’s outside.”

  As soon as Okaru had left, Chiyo arrived for a visit. “Did you hear that?” Reiko asked.

  Chiyo nodded. “I couldn’t resist eavesdropping.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think that although many people have suffered because of the forty-seven ronin business, Okaru has managed to land on her feet.” Chiyo spoke with annoyance and admiration.

  “She certainly has.” Reiko added ruefully, “You were right about her being trouble.”

  “But you were right to act on Okaru’s information about the vendetta,” Chiyo hastened to say. “Discovering the truth is important, no matter the cost.”

  They smiled at each other. Reiko was glad that Okaru hadn’t permanently come between them. Their friendship had weathered a difference of opinion and emerged stronger because each could appreciate the other’s viewpoint.

  * * *

  Masahiro heard Okaru call his name and saw her tripping toward him beneath the cherry trees. His heart soared. Ever since she’d left, he’d felt a hollow ache inside. He’d thought of looking for her, but his shame about what had happened while she was here had stopped him. He wasn’t only bothered by his mother catching them together; he felt guilty because of Goza, the tattoos, the bloody clothes, and the fact that he’d delayed telling his parents about them because he’d wanted to protect Okaru. It was his first, upsetting taste of divided loyalty. Now he was glad he hadn’t gone after Okaru, because although she smiled and held out her arms, he could tell that she didn’t feel the same way about him as he did about her.

  She wasn’t in love with him, and she never would be.

  “Hello! Do you remember me?” Okaru said gaily.

  Masahiro was so downcast that all he could do was nod. She thought he was a child, like Akiko and Taeko and Tatsuo, who were running and playing nearby.

  “I felt bad because I left without saying good-bye to you,” Okaru said.

  She’d come to say good-bye now, Masahiro realized. The ache inside him grew. “Where are you going?” he managed to say.

  “Not far. I’ll be staying in Nihonbashi.” Dimples wreathed Okaru’s face. “I’m getting married.”

  The news was like a stab to his heart. All his vague dreams about Okaru died for good. While she rambled on about her fiance, the house she would live in, and the children she hoped to have, Masahiro was struck by how far apart the few years’ difference in their ages put them. Okaru was a grown woman, while he was still a boy. Sadness filled him, but he also felt relief. He wasn’t ready for marriage, or housekeeping, or even love. He had too many other things to do first. And although he still desired Okaru, they weren’t meant for each other. He could accept that they belonged to different worlds.

  “It would be nice if you would come and visit me,” Okaru said.


  “Yes.” But Masahiro knew he would never see her again. That was as it should be.

  After a pause, Okaru said, “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry about … what happened.”

  Masahiro felt his cheeks flame.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. I was so unhappy, I needed somebody, and you were there.” Okaru seemed ashamed, too. “I’m sorry I upset your mother.”

  To her, the embrace that had caused him so much excitement and pleasure had been nothing but a mistake. But Masahiro could accept that, too. “It’s all right,” he said.

  “I’m glad you’re not mad at me. I’ll never forget how you protected me from Oishi’s wife.” Okaru smiled fondly. “You’re my hero.” Then she took a closer look at him, and surprise raised her eyebrows. She frowned as her gaze held his.

  Masahiro heard a thought, as clear as if she’d spoken it: If things were different … His heart was suddenly lighter.

  Okaru’s smile turned wistful. “I guess I should be going.” She bowed. “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,” Masahiro said.

  Okaru hesitated, then held out her hand. Masahiro hesitated, then reached for it. Their fingers clasped, then let go. The soft warmth of her skin lingered on his as Okaru walked away through the rain of falling cherry blossoms.

  “Masahiro!” Taeko called. “Try and catch me!”

  And now he was running, laughing as he chased Taeko. It felt good to be so carefree. Masahiro spared a moment to wonder if he would fall in love again someday. Would he be lucky enough that the girl he fell in love with would fall in love with him, too?

  He thought he probably would.

  * * *

  “Shh, don’t cry,” Hirata crooned to his baby daughter. He rocked her in his arms. “Papa’s here.”

  The baby squalled, her little fists waving, her feet kicking inside the blanket wrapped around her. Hirata smiled. It was amazing how much one could love such a tiny, new person.

  Midori bustled into the room. “She’s hungry. Give her to me.”

  Hirata handed the baby over. “She’s also wet,” he said, holding out the damp sleeve of his kimono. “It’s amazing how much water such a tiny person can make.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” Midori said. “You have visitors.”

  When Hirata went into the reception room, there were Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano. They bowed politely. “Hello,” Tahara said with his rakish smile.

  Chilling fear and fuming anger beset Hirata. “What are you doing here?”

  “Now, now, is that any way to greet your guests?” Kitano’s eyes crinkled in his scarred, paralyzed face.

  “We haven’t seen you in a while,” Tahara said, “so we decided to stop by.” Deguchi watched Hirata through heavy-lidded eyes, inscrutable. “Have you been avoiding us?”

  Hirata had. Whenever he’d felt their aura, he’d walked in the opposite direction. Whenever he’d seen them around town, he’d pretended not to notice them. He hadn’t wanted to talk to them until he’d made sense of the incident at the palace. But no matter how much he mulled it over, he ended up with the same questions that only they could answer.

  “We thought it was time for another talk,” Kitano said.

  “I agree,” Hirata said, “but not here.” He didn’t want them in his house.

  They went to the castle’s herb garden. The plots were green with new spring plants, the air scented with mint, coriander, and honeysuckle. Bees hummed; butterflies flitted.

  “Did you know that Yoritomo would pick up the branch?” Hirata demanded. “That if it hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have tried to attack Kajikawa and he would still be alive? Or that if he hadn’t, the shogun might have died?”

  Tahara, Deguchi, and Kitano exchanged unreadable glances. “Not exactly,” Tahara said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hirata said, vexed by their obtuseness.

  “The rituals tell us what to do,” Kitano said. “Not always the specifics or the results.”

  “Did you want Yoritomo to die?” Hirata pressed. “Why? What are you up to?”

  “It was meant to be,” Tahara said. “Our mission is to see that destiny is fulfilled.”

  “Without knowing how? Or who’ll get hurt?” Hirata was incredulous. “Shouldn’t you figure out what’s going to happen first, and then decide what’s best to do?”

  Tahara shrugged. Deguchi shook his head, calm and radiant. Kitano said, “That’s not how it works.”

  Hirata folded his arms. “Well, I won’t even consider joining your society until you tell me more about these rituals and what your plans are.”

  “When you join us, you’ll be told,” Tahara said.

  “I’m supposed to take an oath of loyalty to the society, swear that it’s my top priority, that I’ll keep its business a secret, and that I’ll abide by all its decisions, based on nothing?”

  “Based on what you’ve witnessed,” Tahara said.

  Hirata laughed. “That’s insane!”

  “That’s how it works,” Kitano said.

  “This is your last chance,” Tahara said. “Are you in or out?”

  Hirata had known the answer to that question when Tahara had previously invited him to join the secret society. He owed his complete loyalty to Sano and the shogun. Bushido forbade him to put anything else ahead of them. If he tried to juggle his duty to them with commitment to the secret society, his interests would conflict sooner or later. Yet he couldn’t quite turn Tahara down flat.

  “What if I’m out?” Hirata said.

  Tahara nodded, acknowledging his implicit threat-that Hirata would decline to join the secret society and oppose its actions. Tahara’s expression became a degree less genial. “Let’s just say that you don’t want to make enemies of us.”

  They would destroy anyone who opposed them, Hirata understood; and they had the power to stand against all outsiders. But if Hirata were inside their society, he would learn how they divined what actions to take. He would have a say in what they did. Somebody had to control them, and who better than he? Furthermore, he must protect Sano, the shogun, the regime, his family, and all of Japan from these dangerous men.

  These noble goals fit with a motive that was more personal. If Hirata joined the society, he would gain access to the rituals, spells, and secrets that would raise his mystical martial arts expertise to a new level. He wanted this with a fierce longing that overpowered his reservations.

  “Well, then,” Hirata said. His excitement and his eagerness to be initiated into the secrets of the cosmos warred with his dread that this was a decision he would live to regret. “I’m in.”

  * * *

  Noisy crowds streamed in and out through the arched gate of Sengaku Temple. Sano and his troops escorted Reiko in her palanquin through a new marketplace where booths sold noodles, dumplings, rice cakes, dried fruit, sake, and dishware. Peddlers hawked candles, prayers written on wooden stakes and paper strips, and incense. When Sano dismounted, a tout from a theater pressed a playbill into his hand. Such heavy clouds of incense smoke hung over the temple buildings that it looked as if they were on fire.

  “I didn’t know there was a festival today,” Reiko said, climbing out of her palanquin. She was bright-eyed and gay, relieved because Sano had told her the good news that she’d won the shogun’s favor by killing Kajikawa, and that the shogun had demoted Yanagisawa and promoted Sano.

  “There isn’t a festival,” Sano said. He was happy because Reiko had told him the news about Masahiro’s betrothal. “This is in honor of the forty-seven ronin.”

  Inside the temple precincts, Sano and Reiko squeezed past peasants, merchants, beggars, and squadrons of samurai. Pilgrims, who carried walking sticks and banners from their home villages, besieged the worship hall. Around the well where Oishi and his men had washed Kira’s head, prayer stakes were stuck in the earth amid layers of coins. Sano and Reiko joined a long line outside the cemetery. When they finally got through the gate, the small gr
aveyard was so jammed that they could hardly move. Smoke from incense vats formed a sweet, pungent, suffocating atmosphere. Where Oishi and his men had once stood, bloodstained and awaiting orders, now there were stone tablets that marked their graves.

  Lord Asano, in his tomb, was no longer alone. His loyal retainers had come to join him. His disgrace had been obliterated by acclaim for them. Visitors bowed to the grave tablets; they stroked the stone lantern at which the forty-seven ronin had laid Kira’s head; they tied paper prayer strips to the stone fences, where thousands of strips already fluttered. They left offerings on the bases of the tablets, which were already covered with rice cakes, cups of sake, and cherry blossoms. Adulation swelled the voices that murmured in awe, chanted prayers. Samurai wept.

  Reiko was crying, too. “They’re heroes,” she said.

  “Yes,” Sano said. The public had settled the issue. “Even though they broke the law.” Or perhaps because they’d broken the law. The public loved renegades. “Even though they had to die.” Had they not died, opinion would have still been divided about them. They would have been excoriated, persecuted; and as ronin, they would have worn the mantle of disgrace even though they’d avenged their master. Death shielded them from censure. But in spite of his cynical thoughts, Sano felt tears sting his own eyes. It was impossible not to be moved by the spectacle of such reverence for the highest acts of loyalty and atonement that a samurai could perform. Even though he was uneasy about his own role in the business.

  He looked at the playbill in his hand. Its heading read, The Forty-Seven Loyal Retainers; it was illustrated by a crude drawing of samurai in battle and listed a cast of famous actors. Oishi and his men had caught the fancy of the theater world. They were famous, on their way to becoming immortalized.

  “Where is Oishi’s grave?” Reiko asked.

  They found it in a corner of the cemetery. It was a stone tablet flanked by vases of flowers and enclosed on three sides by a wooden cage. As Sano and Reiko paid their silent respects to Oishi, a fashionably dressed man elbowed through the crowd.