The Harsh Cry of the Heron
Page 13
“Even more than usual. And there have been developments in the East that I must tell you about. I need to plan my response very carefully. Perhaps I should even travel to Miyako. We will talk about it later. How is Lord Matsuda? I am hoping for his advice too.”
“He is still with us,” Makoto replied. “He hardly eats, hardly even appears to sleep. He seems already half in the next world. But his mind is as clear as ever, maybe even clearer, like a mountain lake.”
“I wish mine were,” Takeo said, as they turned to walk back to the temple. “But it is more like one of those fish ponds—tens of ideas and problems mill and thrash around in it, each fighting for my attention.”
“You should try to still your mind each day,” Makoto observed.
“The only meditation skills I have are those of the Tribe—and their purpose is somewhat different!”
“Yet I have often observed that the skills innate in you, and other members of the Tribe, are not so unlike those that we have acquired through self-discipline and self-knowledge.”
Takeo did not agree—he had never seen Makoto or his disciples use invisibility, for example, or the second self. He felt Makoto saw his skepticism, and regretted it.
“I don’t have any time for it, and besides I have had little training or teaching in those ways. And I don’t know if it would help anyway. I am involved in government…at least, if not, at present, in war.”
Makoto smiled. “We pray for you here all the time.”
“I suppose it makes a difference! Maybe it is your prayers that have maintained peace for nearly fifteen years.”
“I am sure it is,” Makoto replied serenely. “Not just empty prayers or meaningless chanting, but the spiritual balance we hold here. I use the word ‘hold’ to indicate the muscle and strength it requires; the strength of the archer to bend the bow or of the beams in the bell tower to support the weight of the bell.”
“I suppose I believe you. I see the difference in those warriors who follow your teaching—their self-discipline, their compassion. But how will this help me deal with the Emperor and his new general, who are about to order me to go into exile?”
“When you have told me everything, we will advise you,” Makoto promised. “First we will eat, and then you must rest.”
TAKEO DID NOT think he would sleep, but after they had eaten the frugal midday meal of mountain vegetables, a little rice, and soup, it began to rain heavily again. The light became dim, greenish, and suddenly the idea of lying down seemed irresistible. Makoto took Sunaomi to meet some of the young students; Jun and Shin sat outside, drank tea, and conversed quietly.
Takeo slept, the pain receding as if dissolved by the steady drum of rain on the roof as much as the spiritual calm that had enveloped him. He dreamed of nothing, and awoke with a renewed sense of clarity and purpose. He bathed in the hot spring, remembering how he had soaked in this same pool in the snow when he had fled to Terayama all those years ago. When he had dressed again, he stepped onto the veranda just as Makoto and Sunaomi returned.
The boy had been touched by something, Takeo realized. His face was alight and his eyes were shining.
“Lord Miyoshi told me how he lived in the mountain, alone, for five years! The bears fed him, and on freezing nights curled up against him to keep him warm!”
“Gemba is here?” Takeo questioned Makoto.
“He returned while you were sleeping. He knew you were here.”
“But how did he know?” Sunaomi demanded.
“Lord Miyoshi knows these things,” Makoto replied, laughing.
“Did the bears tell him?”
“Very likely! Lord Otori, let us go and see the Abbot now.”
Leaving Sunaomi with the Arai retainers, Takeo walked with Makoto past the refectory, where the youngest monks were clearing away the bowls from the evening meal, across the stream that had been diverted to flow past the kitchens, and into the courtyard in front of the main hall. From within this hall, hundreds of lamps and candles glowed around the golden statue of the Enlightened One, and Takeo was aware of the silent figures who sat in meditation within. They followed the boardwalk across another branch of the stream into the hall that held the Sesshu paintings, and looked out onto the garden. The rain had lessened, but night was falling and the rocks in the garden were no more than dark shadows, barely discernible. A sweet fragrance of blossom and wet earth pervaded the hall. The waterfall was louder here. On the far side of the main branch of the stream, which raced along one edge of the garden and away down the mountain, stood the women’s guest house where Takeo and Kaede had spent their wedding night. It was empty; no lights shone from it.
Matsuda was already in the hall, leaning against thick cushions, which were propped up against two silent, unmoving monks. He had appeared old when Takeo had first met him; now he seemed to have passed beyond the confining borders of age, even of life, and to have entered a world of pure spirit.
Takeo knelt and bowed to the ground before him. Matsuda was the only person in the Three Countries whom he would so honor.
“Come closer,” Matsuda said. “Let me look at you. Let me touch you.”
The affection in his voice moved Takeo deeply. He felt his eyes grow hot as the old man leaned forward and clasped his hands. Matsuda’s eyes searched his face; embarrassed by the threatening tears, Takeo did not return his gaze but looked beyond him to where the incomparable paintings stood.
Time has not moved for them, he thought. The horse, the cranes—they are still as they were, and so many who looked on them with me are dead, flown away like the sparrows. For one screen was empty, the legend being that the painted birds were so lifelike they took wing.
“So the Emperor is concerned with you,” Matsuda said.
“Fujiwara’s son, Kono, came ostensibly to visit his father’s estate but in reality to inform me that I have incurred the Emperor’s displeasure—am a criminal, in fact; I am to abdicate and go into exile.”
“I am not surprised the capital is alarmed by you.” Matsuda chuckled. “I am only surprised it has taken them so long to start threatening you.”
“I believe there are two reasons. One is that the Emperor has a new general who has already brought much of the East under his control and must now fancy himself strong enough to provoke us. The other is that Arai Zenko has been in touch with Kono—again ostensibly concerning the estate. I suspect Zenko has been suggesting himself as my successor.”
He felt the anger begin to simmer again, and knew at once that Matsuda and Makoto saw it. At the same time, he was aware of another person in the hall, sitting in the shadows behind Matsuda. This man leaned forward now, and Takeo realized it was Miyoshi Gemba. They were almost the same age, yet like Makoto, Gemba did not seem to have been marked by the passage of time. He had a smooth, rounded look to him, relaxed yet powerful—not unlike a bear, in fact.
Something happened to the light. The lamps flickered and a bright flame leaped before Takeo’s eyes. It hovered for an instant, then shot like a falling star out into the dark garden. He heard the hiss as the rain extinguished it.
His anger vanished in the same moment.
“Gemba,” he said. “I am glad to see you! But have you been spending your time here learning magic tricks?”
“The Emperor and his court are very superstitious,” Gemba replied. “They have many soothsayers, astrologists, and magicians. If I accompany you, you may be assured we will be able to match them in their tricks.”
“So I should go to Miyako?”
“Yes,” Matsuda said. “You must confront them in person. You will win the Emperor over to your side.”
“I will need more than Gemba’s tricks to persuade him. He is raising an army against me. I am afraid the only sensible response is with force.”
“There will be some contest of a small nature in Miyako,” Gemba said. “Which is why I must come with you. Your daughter should also come.”
“Shigeko? No, it is too dangerous.”
Like Gemba, Matsuda spoke these words with complete certainty.
“We will not discuss this?” Takeo questioned. “We will not consider all the alternatives, and reach a rational conclusion?”
“We can discuss it if you like,” Matsuda said. “But I have reached the age where long discussions tire me out. I can see the end we will reach eventually. Let’s go straight to it.”
“I must also seek my wife’s opinion and advice,” Takeo said. “As well as that of my senior retainers, and my own general, Kahei.”
“Kahei will always favor war,” Gemba said. “Such is his nature. But you must avoid outright warfare, especially if the warriors from the East have firearms.”
Takeo felt a prickle of unease around his scalp and neck. “Do you know that they have?”
“No, I am just assuming they soon will have.”
“Again it is Zenko who has betrayed me.”
“Takeo, my old friend, if you introduce any new invention, be it weapon or whatever, if it is effective its secret will be stolen. This is the nature of men.”
“So I should not have allowed the development of the firearm?” It was something he often regretted.
“Once you had been introduced to it, it was inevitable that you would develop it in your quest for power and control. Just as it is inevitable that your enemies will use it in their struggle to overthrow you.”
“Then I must have more and better firearms than they do! I should attack them first, take them by surprise, before they can arm themselves.”
“That would be one strategy,” Matsuda observed.
“Certainly what my brother, Kahei, would advise,” Gemba added.
“Makoto,” Takeo said. “You are very silent. What are your thoughts?”
“You know I cannot advise you to go to war.”
“So you will not advise me at all? You will sit here and chant and play tricks with fire, while everything I have worked to achieve is destroyed?” He heard the tone of his voice and fell silent, half-ashamed of his own irritation and half-alarmed that Gemba might dissolve it in flame again.
There was no showy trick this time, but the profound silence that followed had an equally powerful effect. Takeo felt the combined calm and clarity of the three minds and knew that these men supported him completely but would make the utmost effort to prevent him from acting rashly or dangerously. Many of those around him flattered him and deferred to him. These men would never do either, and he trusted them.
“If I am to go to Miyako, should I go immediately? In the autumn, when the weather is better?”
“Next year, perhaps, when the snows melt,” Matsuda said. “You do not need to be in a hurry.”
“That gives them nine months or more to raise an army!”
“It also gives you nine months to prepare for your visit,” Makoto said. “I believe you should go with the greatest splendor, taking the most brilliant gifts.”
“It also allows your daughter time to prepare herself,” Gemba said.
“She turned fifteen this year,” Takeo said. “She is old enough to be betrothed.”
The thought disturbed him—to him she was still a child. And who would he ever find suitable to marry her?
“That may also be to your advantage,” Makoto murmured.
“In the meantime she must perfect her horse riding, using the bow,” Gemba declared.
“She will have no chance to display those skills in the capital,” Takeo replied.
“We will see,” Gemba said, and smiled in his enigmatic way. “Don’t worry,” he added, as if noticing Takeo’s renewed irritation. “I will come with you, and no harm will befall her.”
And then he said with sudden astuteness, “The daughters that you have deserve your attention more than the sons you do not have.”
It felt like a rebuke, and it stung, for he took pride in the fact that his daughters had had all the education and training of boys, Shigeko in the way of the warrior, the twins in the skills of the Tribe. He pressed his lips firmly together and bowed again before Matsuda. The old man gestured to him to come closer and wrapped his frail arms around him. He did not speak, but Takeo knew suddenly that Matsuda was saying farewell to him, that this would be their last meeting. He drew back a little so he could look into the old priest’s eyes. Matsuda is the only person I can look in the face, he thought. The only person who does not succumb to the Kikuta sleep.
As if reading his thoughts, Matsuda said, “I leave behind not one but two worthy—more than worthy—successors. Don’t waste your time grieving for me. You know everything you need to know. Just try to remember it.”
His tone held the same mixture of affection and exasperation that he had used when teaching Takeo the use of the sword. Again Takeo had to blink back tears.
As Makoto accompanied him to the guest house, the monk said quietly, “Do you remember how you went alone to Oshima, to the pirates’ lair? Miyako cannot be more dangerous than that!”
“I was a young man then, and fearless. I did not believe anyone could kill me. Now I am old, crippled, and I fear far more—not for my own life in particular, but for my children and my wife, and for my land and people, that I will die leaving them unprotected.”
“That is why it is best to delay your response—send flattering messages, gifts and promises. You know, you have always been impetuous; everything you do is done in haste.”
“That is because I know my life is short. I have so little time to achieve what I have to.”
HE FELL ASLEEP thinking about this sense of urgency that had driven him most of his life, and dreamed that he was in Yamagata, the night he had climbed into the castle and put an end to the suffering of the tortured Hidden. In his dream he moved again with the infinite patience of the Tribe, through a night that seemed endless. Kenji had taught him how to make time slow down or speed up at will. He saw in his dream how the world altered according to his perception, and he woke with the feeling that some mystery had just eluded him, but also with a kind of elation, and miraculously still free from pain.
It was barely light. He could hear no sound of rain, just birds beginning to call, and the drip of the eaves. Sunaomi sat upright on his mattress, staring at him.
“Uncle? You’re awake? Can we go and see the houou?”
The Arai retainers had stayed awake outside all night, though Takeo had assured them Sunaomi was in no danger. Now they leaped to their feet, helped their young lord put his sandals on, and followed him as Takeo led him to the main gate. This had been unbarred at dawn and was deserted—the guards had gone to eat breakfast. Passing through it, they turned to their right and took the narrow track that led along the outer walls of the temple grounds and up the steep slope of the mountain.
The ground was rough and stony, often slippery from the rain. After a while, one of the men picked Sunaomi up and carried him. The sky was a clear, pale blue, the sun just rising over the eastern mountains. The path leveled out and led through a forest of beech and live oak. Summer wildflowers carpeted the floor, and bush warblers called their morning song, echoing and answering each other. Later it would be hot, but now the air was perfect, cooled by the rain, and still.
Takeo could hear the rustle in the leaves and the flap of wings that indicated the presence of the houou in the forest ahead. Here among the broad-leaved trees was a stand of paulownia, which the birds favored for nesting and roosting, though they were said to feed on bamboo leaves.
Now the path was easier and Sunaomi demanded to be put down, and to Takeo’s surprise ordered the two men to wait there while he went ahead with Lord Otori.
When they were out of earshot, he said confidentially to Takeo, “I did not think Tanaka and Suzuki should see the houou. They might want to hunt them or steal their eggs. I’ve heard a houou’s egg is very valuable.”
“Your instinct is probably righ
t,” Takeo replied.
“They are not like Lord Gemba and Lord Makoto,” Sunaomi said. “I don’t know how to put it. They will see, but they will not understand.”
“You put it very well,” Takeo replied, smiling.
A curious fluting call came from above them in the canopy, followed by a harsh cry in answer.
“There they are,” Takeo whispered, feeling as always the sense of astonishment and awe that the presence of the sacred birds aroused in him. Their call was like their appearance, beautiful and strange, graceful and clumsy. The birds were both inspiring and somehow comical. He would never get used to them.
Sunaomi was staring upward, his face rapt. Then one bird burst out from the foliage and fluttered to the next tree.
“It is the male,” Takeo said. “And here comes the female.”
Sunaomi laughed in delight as the second bird swooped across the clearing, its long tail silky, its eyes bright gold. Its plumage was made up of many colors, and as it landed on the branch one feather fluttered down.
The birds were there for no more than an instant. They turned their heads toward each other, called again, each in its distinct voice, looked briefly but intently toward Takeo, and then flew away into the forest.
“Ah!” Sunaomi gasped and ran after them, staring upward so that he missed his footing and fell facedown in the grass. When he stood, the feather was in his hand.
“Look, Uncle!”
Takeo approached the boy and took the feather. Once Matsuda had shown him a houou’s feather, white pinioned, tipped with red. It had come from a bird that Shigeru had seen when he was a boy, and had been preserved at the temple ever since. This feather was deep gold in color, apart from the pure white quill.
“Keep it,” he said to Sunaomi. “It will remind you of this day, and of the blessing you received. This is why we seek peace always, so the houou will never leave the Three Countries.”
“I will give the feather to the temple,” Sunaomi said, “as a pledge that I will return one day and study with Lord Gemba.”
This boy has such fine instincts, Takeo thought. I will bring him up as my son.