The Harsh Cry of the Heron

by Lian Hearn

  The spring weather, the prospect of returning home, the joy of riding through the awakening countryside all added to his sense of well-being. Tenba had wintered well, hardly losing any weight or condition. His winter coat had been brushed away by the horse boys, who treasured him as much as Takeo did, and his black body gleamed like lacquer. His joy to be out on the road, heading in the direction of his birthplace, made him prance and cavort, nostrils flared, mane and tail streaming.

  “BUT WHAT HAPPENED to your face?” Kaede asked when they were alone, tracing the faint marks with her fingers.

  Takeo had arrived that morning. The air was still cool, the wind fresh; the roads had been muddy, often flooded. He had gone straight to the old house, where Chiyo and Haruka had greeted him with delight, had bathed, and eaten with Kaede, Ishida, and the little boys. Now he and Kaede sat in the upstairs room, the shutters open, the sound of the river in their ears, and everywhere the smells of spring.

  How can I tell her? He looked at her with concern. She was so close to her time, no more than three or four weeks away. He recalled what Shigeko had said: You should tell Mother. You should have no secrets from her. Tell her everything.

  He said, “I rode into a branch. It’s nothing.”

  “It looks like a scratch from an animal. I know, you grew lonely in Yamagata and found a passionate woman!” She was teasing him in her pleasure at having him home.

  “No,” he replied, more seriously. “You know I have told you many times, I will never lie with anyone but you.”

  “For the rest of your life?”

  “For the rest of my life.”

  “Even if I die before you?”

  He laid his hand gently over her mouth. “Don’t say such things.”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her close for a while without speaking.

  “Tell me everything,” she said finally. “How was Shigeko? I rejoice to think of her as Lady Maruyama now.”

  “Shigeko is fine. I wish you could have seen her at the ceremony. She reminded me so much of Naomi. But I realized, watching them together, that Hiroshi is in love with her.”

  “Hiroshi? It’s not possible. He has always treated her like a little sister. Did he tell you so?”

  “Not in so many words. But I have no doubt that is why he has avoided marriage.”

  “He hopes to marry Shigeko?”

  “Would it be such a bad thing? I believe Shigeko is very fond of him.”

  “She’s still only a girl!” Kaede said, sounding as if she was angered at the idea.

  “She is the age you were when we met,” Takeo reminded her.

  They stared at each other for a moment. Then Kaede said, “They should not be together in Maruyama. It is expecting far too much of them!”

  “Hiroshi is much older than I was! I am sure he has much more self-control. And they are not expecting their lives to end hourly.”

  Our love was a blind passion, he was thinking. We hardly knew each other. We were possessed by the intense madness that the constant expectation of death induces.

  Shigeko and Hiroshi know each other like brother and sister. It is not a bad foundation for marriage.

  “Kono hinted at a political alliance through marriage with the Emperor’s general, Saga Hideki,” he told Kaede.

  “It is an idea we cannot dismiss lightly,” she said, giving a deep sigh. “I am sure Hiroshi would make a fine husband, but such a marriage would be throwing Shigeko away, and bringing us no advantages that we do not already have.”

  “Well, she will come with me to Miyako; we will meet Saga and decide then.”

  He went on to tell her how matters stood with Zenko, and they decided Hana should be invited to spend the summer in Hagi. She would be able to spend time with her sons and keep Kaede company after the birth of the child.

  “And I expect you are now fluent in the new language,” Takeo said.

  “I have made progress,” Kaede said. “Both Don Carlo and your sister are good teachers.”

  “Is my sister well?”

  “Yes, mainly. We have all had colds, but nothing serious. I like her—she seems a good person, and clever, despite having no education.”

  “She is like our mother,” Takeo said. “Do the foreigners correspond with Hofu or Kumamoto?”

  “Yes, they write often. Dr. Ishida sometimes helps them, and naturally we read everything.”

  “You understand it all?”

  “It is very hard. Even if I know every word, I still cannot grasp the meaning. I have to be very careful not to alert Don Carlo—he takes an intense interest in everything I say, and weighs every word. He writes a lot about me, my influence over you, my unusual power as a woman.” She fell silent briefly. “I think he hopes to convert me to his religion, and reach you through me. Madaren must have told him about your birth into the Hidden. Don Carlo almost thinks you are a fellow believer and will allow him to preach and Don João to trade freely in the Three Countries.”

  “Trade is one thing, desirable as long as we control it and it is on our terms. But I will not allow them to preach, or to travel.”

  “Did you know there are already foreigners in Kumamoto?” Kaede inquired. “Don João received a letter from one of them. They were business acquaintances, it seems, back in their homeland.”

  “I suspected it.” He told her about the mirror he had been shown in Maruyama.

  “I have one the same!” Kaede called for Haruka, and the maid brought the mirror, wrapped in a heavy silk cloth.

  “Don Carlo gave it to me,” Kaede said, unwrapping it.

  Takeo took it and looked in it with the same sense of unfamiliarity and shock.

  “It worries me,” he said. “What else is being traded through Kumamoto that we do not know of?”

  “Another good reason to have Hana here,” Kaede said. “She cannot resist showing off her new acquisitions, and will boast of Kumamoto’s superiority. I am sure I can induce her to tell me more.”

  “Is Shizuka not here? I would like to talk to her about this matter, and about Zenko.”

  “She left as soon as the snow melted, to go to Kagemura. I have been worried about Miki in this bitter weather, and Shizuka had things to discuss with the Muto family.”

  “Will Miki return with her?” Takeo was seized by longing to see his youngest daughter.

  “It is not yet decided.” Kaede patted the small lion dog that lay curled beside her. “Kin will be glad when she comes back—he misses the girls. Did you see Maya?”

  “I did.” Takeo was not sure how to go on.

  “You are concerned for her too? Is she all right?”

  “She is all right. Taku is teaching her. She seems to be learning self-control and discipline. But Taku has become enmeshed in some kind of infatuation with the girl.”

  “With Sada? Have all these young men gone mad? Sada! That is the last person I would have expected Taku to lose his head over. I did not think she cared for men—she looks like a man herself.”

  “I should not have told you,” Takeo said. “Do not let it distress you. You must think of your health.”

  Kaede laughed. “I am more astonished than distressed. As long as they are not distracted from their work, let them love each other. What harm does it do? That sort of passion cannot be halted—it will burn itself out eventually.”

  “Ours did not,” Takeo said.

  Kaede took his hand and placed it on her belly.

  “Our son is kicking,” she said, and he felt the child move strongly within her.

  “I don’t really want to speak of it,” he said. “But we must come to a decision about the hostages that we still hold in Inuyama, the Kikuta who attacked you last year. Their father was himself killed by the family last year, and I do not believe the Kikuta will ever negotiate with me. Justice demands that they be put to death for their crime. I think it is time to write to Sonoda. It must be seen to be according to the law, not as an act of revenge. Maybe I should be there to witness it
—I am considering asking it to be done when I go through Inuyama on my way to the capital.”

  Kaede shivered. “It is a bad omen for a journey. Tell Sonoda to do it himself—he and Ai are our representatives in Inuyama. They can witness it on our behalf. And do it immediately. There must be no more delay.”

  “Minoru will write this afternoon.” He was grateful to her for her decisiveness.

  “Sonoda has written recently, by the way. Your retinue of messengers has returned to Inuyama. They were received by the Emperor himself, and shown considerable honor. They were accommodated by Lord Kono all winter, and he speaks nothing but praise of you and the Three Countries.”

  “His attitude did seem changed toward me,” Takeo said. “He knows how to be charming, how to flatter. I do not trust him, but I must still go to Miyako as if I did.”

  “The alternative is too terrible to consider,” Kaede murmured.

  “You understand very well what that alternative is.”

  “Indeed: to attack and defeat Zenko quickly in the West and prepare for war against the Emperor in the East. Think of the cost. Even if we can win two such difficult campaigns, we bring war on two-thirds of our country—and on a personal level destroy our own relatives and deprive Sunaomi and Chikara of their parents. Their mother is my sister, and I love her and her sons dearly.”

  He drew her close to him again, and touched his lips to the nape of her neck, still scarred after all those years, still beautiful to him.

  “I will never let that happen, I promise you.”

  “But there are forces at work that even you, my dear husband, cannot control.” She nestled against him. Their breath rose and fell in unison.

  “I wish we could stay here like this forever,” she said in a low voice. “I feel completely happy now, at this moment; but I am afraid of what the future holds.”

  NOW EVERYONE WAS waiting for the child to be born, but before Kaede went into seclusion Takeo wanted to have at least one meeting with the foreigners to clarify matters between them, reach some mutually satisfactory agreement on trade, and remind them who was the ruler of the Three Countries. He was concerned that during his absence, when Kaede was preoccupied with the infant, the foreigners would look to Kumamoto to grant them access to other districts and other resources.

  The days grew warmer; ginkgo and maple leaves unfurled, brilliant and fresh. Suddenly cherry blossoms were everywhere, splashes of pure white on the mountainside, deep pink in the gardens. Birds returned to the flooded rice fields, and the noise of frogs filled the air. Aconite and violets flowered in the woods and gardens, followed by dandelions, windflowers, daisies, and vetch. The first cicadas were heard, and the fluting call of the bush warbler.

  Both Don Carlo and Don João came, with Madaren, to the meeting, which was held in the main room of the house, looking out over the garden, where the stream and the waterfalls splashed and the red and gold carp swam lazily in the pools, leaping occasionally for spring insects. Takeo would have preferred to receive them in the castle with elaborate ceremony and a greater display of wealth, but he felt Kaede should not be put to the stress of going there, and they were both of the opinion that she should be present to help explain exactly what both parties meant.

  It was a difficult task. The foreigners were more importunate than they had been previously. They were tired of being confined to Hagi, impatient to start real trade and, though they did not state it so baldly, to start making money. Madaren was made more nervous by Takeo’s presence, seemed to dread offending him, yet at the same time to want to impress him. He himself was less than comfortable, suspecting that the foreigners, for all their protestations of respect and friendship, looked down on him, knowing that Madaren was his sister—did they know? Had she told them? Kaede had said they knew he was born into the Hidden…. The interpretation slowed the discussions down; the afternoon dragged on.

  He asked them to state clearly what they hoped to be granted within the Three Countries, and Don João explained that they hoped to establish regular trade. He praised the beautiful products, the silk, lacquerware, mother of pearl, and the celadon and porcelain imported from Shin. All of these, he said, were much sought after and highly prized in his own distant country. In return, he could offer silver, glassware, cloth from Tenjiku, aromatic woods and spices, and, naturally, firearms.

  Takeo replied that all of this was perfectly acceptable—the only condition being that trade was to be conducted solely through the port of Hofu and under the supervision of his own officials, and that firearms were to be imported only with his or his wife’s permission.

  The foreigners exchanged glances when this was translated to them, and Don João replied, “It is customary among our people to be allowed to travel and trade freely wherever we choose.”

  Takeo said, “Maybe someday that will be possible. We know that you can pay well with silver, but if too much silver comes into our country, the value of everything must go down. We must protect our own people, and take things slowly. If trade with you turns out to be profitable to us, we will expand it.”

  “On these terms it may not be to our profit,” Don João argued. “In which case we will leave altogether.”

  “That may be your decision,” Takeo agreed politely, knowing inwardly that it was most unlikely.

  Don Carlo then raised the issue of religion, and asked if they would be allowed to build a temple of their own in either Hofu or Hagi, and if the local people might join them in their worship of Deus.

  “Our people are allowed to worship as they please,” Takeo replied. “There is no need for special building. We have provided you with accommodation. You may use a room there. But I advise you to be discreet. Prejudices still exist, and the practice of your religion must remain a private affair. It must not be allowed to disrupt the harmony of society.”

  “We had hoped Lord Otori would recognize ours as the one true religion,” Don Carlo said, and Takeo thought he heard a deeper fervency come into Madaren’s voice as she translated.

  He smiled, as if dismissing the idea as too absurd even to discuss. “There is no such thing,” he replied, and saw that his words disturbed them.

  “You should return to Hofu,” he said, thinking he would write to Taku. “I will arrange a ship with Terada Fumio—he will accompany you. I will be away most of the summer, and my wife will be fully occupied with our child. There is no reason for you to stay in Hagi.”

  “I will miss Lady Otori’s company,” Don Carlo said. “She has been both pupil and teacher, and excellent as both.”

  Kaede spoke to him in his own language; Takeo marveled at her fluency in the strange sounds.

  “I thanked him and said he, too, had been diligent as a teacher, and hoped he would continue to learn from us,” she said aside to Takeo.

  “He prefers to teach rather than be a pupil, I think,” he whispered, not wanting Madaren to hear him.

  “There are many things in which he is convinced he knows the truth,” Kaede replied as quietly.

  “But where is Lord Otori going for so long, so soon after the birth of your child?” Don João inquired.

  The whole city knew—there was no reason to keep it from them. “I have to visit the Emperor.”

  When this was translated, it seemed to cause the foreigners some consternation. They questioned Madaren carefully, glancing toward Takeo with surprise.

  “What are they saying?” He leaned toward Kaede and spoke in her ear.

  “They did not know the Emperor existed,” she murmured. “They had assumed you were what they call the king.”

  “Of the Eight Islands?”

  “They don’t know about the Eight Islands—they thought the Three Countries were all there was.”

  Madaren said, hesitantly, “Forgive me, but they would like to know if they would be permitted to accompany Lord Otori to the capital.”

  “Are they mad?” He added quickly, “Don’t translate that! Tell them these things have to be arranged months in
advance. It is not possible at this time.”

  Don João insisted. “We are the representatives of the king of our country. It is only right that we should be allowed to present our credentials to the ruler of this land, if it is not, as we had assumed, Lord Otori.”

  Don Carlo was more diplomatic. “Perhaps we should, in the first instance, send letters and gifts. Perhaps Lord Otori would be our ambassador.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Takeo conceded, inwardly determining to do no such thing. However, Don João and Don Carlo had to content themselves with this vague agreement, and after accepting some refreshments from Haruka, they made their farewells, promising to send the letters and presents before Takeo left.

  “Remind them how opulent these gifts must be,” Takeo told Madaren, for usually what the foreigners considered adequate fell far short of what was customary. He reflected with pleasure, tinged with some regret, on the impression the kirin was bound to make. Kaede had ordered the preparation of bolts of beautiful silk, and they were already packed in soft paper wrappings along with the finest examples of pottery, including tea bowls, caddies made of gold and black lacquer. She had also chosen a landscape painting by Sesshu. Shigeko would bring horses from Maruyama and scrolls of calligraphy in gold leaf, iron tea kettles and lamp stands, all designed to honor the Emperor and display the wealth and standing of the Otori, the extent of their trade, the riches of their realm. He doubted anything the foreigners could provide would be worth carrying as far as the capital, even to give to some under-minister.

  He had stepped out into the garden as the foreigners retreated, bowing in their stiff, awkward way, rather than accompanying them to the gate, and did not notice for a moment that Madaren had come after him. It angered him, for he thought he had made it clear that he did not wish to be approached by her, yet he realized that she had been associating closely with his wife all winter and had gained a certain familiarity with the household. He in his turn felt he had certain obligations toward her; he regretted his own coolness, that he did not feel more affection for her, at the same time thinking fleetingly, gratefully, that if anyone saw them they would assume only that she spoke to him as an interpreter, not as his relative.