by Lian Hearn
After the boredom, the worst thing was knowing nothing. Battles might be fought and lost, warlords might rise and fall—all news was kept from her. Her one consolation was that if Takeo were dead, she felt Fujiwara would tell her, taunting her with it, taking pleasure in his death and her suffering.
She knew Fujiwara continued to have his plays performed and wondered sometimes if he had written her own story as he had once suggested. Mamoru frequently accompanied him on his visits and was reminded to study Kaede’s expressions and copy them. She was not permitted to watch the dramas, but she could hear snatches of words and chanting, the sounds of the musicians, the beating of a drum. Occasionally she would catch a phrase that she was familiar with and the play it came from would take shape in her head and she would find herself suddenly moved to tears by the beauty of the words and the poignancy of the emotions.
Her own life seemed just as poignant, just as moving. Forced to contemplate the tiny details of her present existence, she began to seek ways to capture her own feelings. Words came to her one by one. Sometimes it took her all day to select them. She knew little of formal poetry, other than that which she had read in her father’s books, but she collected words like golden beads and strung them together in ways that pleased her. She kept them secret inside her own heart.
She came to love above everything the silence in which the poems formed themselves, like the pillars in the sacred caves of Shirakawa, drip by drip from the limy water. She resented Rieko’s chatter, a mixture of malice and self-importance expressed in commonplaces, and Fujiwara’s visits, his contrived artificiality, which seemed the complete opposite of the unadorned truth that she sought. Apart from Fujiwara, the only man she saw was Ishida. The physician came every few days and she enjoyed his visits, though they hardly spoke to each other. When she started looking for words, she stopped taking the calming teas; she wanted to know her feelings, no matter what the anguish.
Next to the room that gave onto the garden was a small household shrine with statues of the Enlightened One and the all-merciful Kannon. Not even Rieko dared to prevent Kaede from praying, and she knelt there for many hours until she entered a state where prayer and poetry became one and the everyday world seemed full of holiness and significance. She meditated often on the thoughts that had disturbed her after the battle of Asagawa and Takeo’s persecution of the Tribe, and wondered if this state of holiness that she brushed against might bring an answer on how to rule without resorting to violence. Then she chided herself, for she could not see how she would ever rule again, and she had to admit that if she were to wield power she would seek revenge on all those who had inflicted suffering upon her.
Lamps burned day and night before the shrine, and often Kaede lit incense and let its heavy fragrance fill her nostrils and permeate the air around her. A small bell hung from a frame, and from time to time she would feel the impulse to strike it sharply. The clear note echoed through her rooms and the maids exchanged glances, careful not to let Rieko see them. They knew something of Kaede’s history, pitied her, and increasingly admired her.
One of these girls in particular interested Kaede. She knew from the records that she had copied for Takeo that several Tribe members were employed in Fujiwara’s household, almost certainly unknown to him. Two men, one of them the estate steward, were paid from the capital; presumably they were spies placed there to report back to the court on the exiled nobleman’s activities. There were two servants in the kitchen who sold snippets of information to whoever would pay them, and another woman, a maid, whom Kaede had tentatively identified as this girl.
She had little to go on beyond the fact that there was something indefinable about her that reminded her of Shizuka and that the girl’s hands were similar in shape. Kaede had not missed Shizuka when they had first separated; her life had been completely taken up with Takeo. But now, in the company of women, she missed her acutely. She longed to hear her voice and yearned for her cheerfulness and courage.
Above all, she longed for news. The girl’s name was Yumi. If anyone knew what was happening in the outside world, it would be one of the Tribe, but Kaede was never alone with her and was afraid to approach her even indirectly. At first she thought the girl might have been sent to assassinate her, for some motive of revenge or to punish Takeo, and she watched her without seeming to, not out of fear but rather with a sort of curiosity: how it would be done, what it would feel like, and if her first response would be relief or regret.
She knew the sentence of death the Tribe had passed on Takeo, made more stringent by the rigors with which he had pursued them in Maruyama. She did not expect any sympathy or support from them. And yet there was something in the girl’s demeanor that suggested she was not hostile to Kaede.
As the days grew shorter and cooler, winter garments were brought out and aired, summer ones washed, folded, and put away. For two weeks Kaede wore the in-between season robes and found herself grateful for their extra warmth. Rieko and the maids sewed and embroidered, but Kaede was not allowed to take part. She did not particularly like sewing—she had had to struggle with her left-handedness to become deft at it—but it would have helped fill the empty days. The colors of the thread appealed to her, and she was enchanted by the way a flower or bird came alive against the heavy silk fabric. She gathered from Rieko that Lord Fujiwara had ordered all needles, scissors, and knives to be kept from her. Even mirrors had to be brought to her only by Rieko. Kaede thought of the tiny needle-size weapon Shizuka had fashioned for her and hidden in her sleeve hem and the use she had put it to at Inuyama. Did Fujiwara really fear that she might do the same to him?
Rieko never let Kaede out of her sight, except when Fujiwara paid his daily visit. She accompanied her to the bathhouse and even to the privy, where she held the heavy robes aside and afterward washed Kaede’s hands for her at the cistern. When Kaede’s bleeding began, Fujiwara ceased his visits until she had been purified at the end of the week.
Time went past. The plum tree was bare. One morning the moss and the pine needles had a glimmer of frost. The onset of the cold weather brought a wave of sickness. First Kaede caught a cold; her head ached and her throat felt as if she had swallowed needles. The fever brought disturbing dreams, but after a few days she recovered, apart from a cough that troubled her at night. Ishida gave her willow bark and valerian. By that time Rieko had caught the cold; it seemed to have increased in virulence, and the older woman was far more ill than Kaede had been.
On the third evening of Rieko’s illness there came a series of small earth tremors. These and the fever sent Rieko into a state of panic. She became almost uncontrollable. Alarmed, Kaede sent Yumi to fetch Ishida.
Night had fallen by the time he arrived; a silver three-quarter moon hung in an intensely black sky, and the stars were icy points of light.
Ishida told Yumi to bring hot water and he brewed a strong draft and had the sick woman drink it. Gradually her writhing lessened and her sobs quietened.
“She’ll sleep for a while,” he said. “Yumi may give her another dose if the panic returns.”
As he spoke the ground shook again. Through the open door Kaede saw the moon quiver as the floor beneath her lifted and subsided. The other maid gave a squeal of fright and ran outside.
“The ground has been shaking all day,” Kaede said. “Is it a warning to us of a severe earthquake?”
“Who knows?” Ishida replied. “You had better extinguish the lamps before you go to bed. I’ll go home and see what my dog is doing.”
“Your dog?”
“If he’s asleep under the veranda, there’ll be no big quake. But if he’s howling, I’ll start getting worried.”
Ishida chuckled and Kaede realized it had been a long time since she’d seen him in such a good mood. He was a quiet, self-contained, conscientious man guided by his duty to Fujiwara and his calling as a doctor, but she felt something had happened to him that night to penetrate his calm exterior.
He left them, an
d Yumi followed Kaede into the sleeping room to help her undress.
“The doctor seems cheerful tonight,” Kaede remarked. It was so pleasant not to have Rieko listening to her every word that she felt like talking just for the sake of it. The robe slid from her shoulders, and as Yumi lifted her hair to free it, Kaede felt her breath against her ear and heard her whisper.
“That’s because Muto Shizuka came to see him.”
Kaede felt the blood drain from her head. The room seemed to whirl around her, not from an earth tremor but from her own weakness. Yumi held her to support her and lowered her onto the sleeping mat. She brought out the night robe and helped Kaede put it on.
“My lady must not get cold and fall sick again,” she murmured, taking up the comb to attend to Kaede’s hair.
“What is the news?” Kaede said quietly.
“The Muto have made a truce with Lord Otori. The Muto master is with him now.”
Just hearing his name spoken made Kaede’s heart bound so strongly, she thought she would vomit.
“Where is he?”
“At the coast, at Shuho. He surrendered to Lord Arai.”
She could not imagine what had been happening to him. “Will he be safe?”
“He and Arai formed an alliance. They will attack Hagi together.”
“Another battle,” Kaede murmured. A storm of emotion raced through her, making her eyes grow hot. “And my sisters?”
“They are well. A marriage has been arranged for Lady Ai, to Lord Akita’s nephew. Please don’t cry, lady. No one must ever find out that you know these things. My life depends on it. Shizuka swore to me that you would be able to conceal your feelings.”
Kaede fought to keep the tears from falling. “My younger sister?”
“Arai wanted to betroth her to Lord Otori, but he says he will not consider marriage until he has taken Hagi.”
It was as if a hidden needle had slipped into her heart. It had not occurred to her, but of course Takeo would marry again. His marriage to her had been annulled; he would be expected to take another wife. Hana was an obvious choice, sealing the alliance with Fujiwara, giving Arai another link to the Maruyama and Shirakawa domains.
“Hana is only a child,” she said dully as the comb raked through her hair. Had Takeo forgotten her already? Would he happily accept her sister who looked so much like her? The jealousy that had racked her when she imagined Makoto with him now returned a thousandfold. Her isolation, her imprisonment, struck her with renewed force. The day I hear he is married I will die, if I have to bite out my own tongue, she swore silently.
“You may be sure Lord Otori has his own plans,” Yumi whispered. “After all, he was riding to rescue you when Arai intercepted him and drove him back to the coast. Only the typhoon prevented his escape then.”
“He was coming to rescue me?” Kaede said. The jealousy abated a little, washed away by gratitude and a faint glimmer of hope.
“As soon as he heard of your abduction he set out with over a thousand men.” Kaede could feel Yumi trembling. “He sent Shizuka to tell you he loves you and will never give you up. Be patient. He will come for you.”
A sound came from the next room, a sort of feverish cry. Both women went still.
“Come with me to the privy,” Kaede said, as calmly as if she had said no other words all evening beyond “Hold my robe” and “Comb my hair.” She was all too aware of the risks Yumi took by bringing her this message, and feared for her safety.
Yumi took a warm cloak and wrapped it round her. They stepped silently onto the veranda. It was colder than ever.
“It will freeze tonight,” the girl remarked. “Shall I order more charcoal for the braziers?”
Kaede listened. The night was still. There was no wind and no dog howling. “Yes, let’s try to stay warm.”
At the entrance to the privy she slipped the fur robe from her shoulders and gave it to Yumi to hold. Squatting in the dark recess where no one could see her, she let herself feel joy. The words were beating in her brain, the words the goddess herself had spoken to her:
Be patient. He will come for you.
THE FOLLOWING DAY Rieko was a little better; she rose and dressed at her usual time, even though Kaede begged her to rest longer. The autumn wind blew more coldly from the mountain, but Kaede felt a warmth she had not known since her capture. She tried not to think about Takeo, but Yumi’s whispered message had brought his image intensely to the forefront of her mind. The words he had sent to her beat so loudly inside her head, she was sure someone would hear them. She was terrified of giving herself away. She did not speak to Yumi or even look at her, but she was aware of a new feeling between them, a kind of complicity. Surely, Rieko with her cormorant eyes could not miss it?
Sickness made Rieko short-tempered and more malicious than ever. She found fault with everything, complained about the food, sent for three different types of tea and found all of them musty, slapped Yumi for not bringing hot water fast enough, and reduced the second maid, Kumiko, to tears when she expressed her fear of earthquakes.
Kumiko was normally lighthearted and cheerful, and Rieko allowed her a certain leeway that the other maids would never have enjoyed. But this morning she sneered at her, laughing in contempt at the girl’s fears, ignoring the fact that she herself shared them.
Kaede retreated from the unpleasant atmosphere and went to sit in her favorite place, looking out over the tiny garden. The sun was just barely shining into the room, but in a few weeks it would no longer clear the outer walls. Winter would be gloomy in these rooms—but surely he would come for her before winter?
She could not see the mountains, but she imagined them soaring into the blue autumn sky. They would be snowcapped by now. A bird settled suddenly on the pine tree, chirped loudly, and then flew away again over the roof, a flash of green and white in its wings. It reminded her of the bird Takeo had painted so long ago. Could it be a message for her—a message that she would soon be free?
The women’s voices rose behind her. Kumiko was crying: “I can’t help it. If the house starts to shake, I have to run outside. I can’t bear it.”
“So that’s what you did last night! You left Her Ladyship on her own, while I was asleep?”
“Yumi was with her all the time,” Kumiko answered, weeping.
“Lord Fujiwara’s orders were that there must always be two of us with her!” The sound of another slap echoed through the room.
Kaede thought of the bird’s flight, the woman’s tears. Her own eyes grew hot. She heard footsteps and knew Rieko stood behind her, but she did not turn her head.
“So Lady Fujiwara was alone with Yumi last night. I heard you whispering. What were you talking about?”
“We whispered only so as not to disturb you,” Kaede replied. “We spoke of nothing; the autumn wind, the brilliance of the moon, perhaps. I asked her to comb my hair, accompany me to the privy.”
Rieko knelt beside her and tried to look into her face. Her heavy scent made Kaede cough.
“Don’t bother me,” Kaede said, turning away. “We are both unwell. Let us try to spend a peaceful day.”
“How ungrateful you are,” Rieko said in a voice as tiny as a mosquito’s. “And what a fool. Lord Fujiwara has done everything for you and you still dream of deceiving him.”
“You must be feverish,” Kaede said. “You are imagining things. How could I deceive Lord Fujiwara in any way? I am completely his prisoner.”
“His wife,” Rieko corrected her. “Even to use such a word as prisoner shows how you still rebel against your husband.”
Kaede said nothing, just gazed at the pine needles etched against the sky. She was afraid of what she might reveal to Rieko. Yumi’s message had brought her hope, but the reverse side of hope was fear: for Yumi, for Shizuka, for herself.
“You seem changed in some way,” Rieko muttered. “You think I can’t read you?”
“It’s true I feel a little warm,” Kaede said. “I believe the fever has re
turned.”
Are they at Hagi yet? she thought. Is he fighting now? May he be protected! May he live!
“I am going to pray for a little while,” she told Rieko, and went to kneel before the shrine. Kumiko brought coals and Kaede lit incense. The heavy smell drifted through the rooms, bringing an uneasy peace to the women within.
A few days later Yumi went to fetch the food for the midday meal and did not return. Another maid came in her place, an older woman. She and Kumiko served the meal in silence. Kumiko’s eyes were red and she sniffed miserably. When Kaede tried to find out what was wrong, Rieko snapped, “She has caught the cold, that’s all.”
“Where is Yumi?” Kaede asked.
“You are interested in her? That proves my suspicions were right.”
“What suspicions?” Kaede said. “What can you mean? I have no feelings about her one way or the other. I simply wondered where she was.”
“You won’t be seeing her again,” Rieko said coldly. Kumiko made a strangled sound as if she were muffling a sob.
Kaede felt very cold, and yet her skin was burning. She felt as if the walls were closing in on her. By evening her head was aching fiercely; she asked Rieko if she would send for Ishida.
When he came she was appalled at his appearance. A few days earlier he had been merry; now his face was gaunt and drawn, his eyes like shriveled coals, his skin gray. His manner was as calm as ever and he spoke to her with great kindness, but it was obvious something terrible had happened.
And Rieko knew about it; Kaede was sure of that from her pursed lips and sharp eyes. Not to be able to question the doctor was torture; not to know what was happening in the household around her or in the world outside would surely drive her mad. Ishida gave her tea brewed from willow bark and bade her good night with unusual intensity. She was sure she would never see him again. Despite the sedative, she spent a restless night.