Grass for His Pillow

by Lian Hearn

  “Inuyama?”

  “No, the real capital, where the Emperor lives.”

  “He is a nobleman, then?”

  “I suppose he must be. He speaks differently from people round here. I can hardly understand him. He seems a very erudite man. Father liked talking to him about history and the classics.”

  “Well, if he ever calls on Father again, perhaps I will seek his advice.” Kaede was silent for a moment. She was fighting weariness. Her limbs ached and her belly felt heavy. She longed to lie down and sleep. And somewhere within herself she felt guilty that she was not grieving more. It was not that she did not suffer anguish for her mother’s death and her father’s humiliation, but she had no space left in her soul for any more grief, and no energy to give to it.

  She looked round the room. Even in the twilight she could see the matting was old, the walls water-stained, the screens torn. Ai followed her gaze. “I’m ashamed,” she whispered. “There’s been so much to do, and so much I don’t know how to do.”

  “I almost seem to remember how it used to be,” Kaede said. “It had a glow about it.”

  “Mother made it like that,” Ai said, stifling a sob.

  “We will make it like that again,” Kaede promised.

  From the direction of the kitchen there suddenly came the sound of someone singing. Kaede recognized Shizuka’s voice, and the song as the one she had heard the first time she met her, the love ballad about the village and the pine tree.

  How does she have the courage to sing now? she thought, and then Shizuka came quickly into the room carrying a lamp in each hand.

  “I found these in the kitchen,” she said, “and luckily the fire was still burning. Rice and barley are cooking. Kondo has sent men to the village to buy whatever they can. And the household women have returned.”

  “Our sister will be with them,” Ai said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Yes, she has brought an armful of herbs and mushrooms that she insists on cooking.”

  Ai blushed. “She has become half-wild,” she began to explain.

  “Let me see her,” Kaede said. “Then you must take me to Father.”

  Ai went out, Kaede heard a few words of argument from the kitchen, and seconds later Ai returned with a girl of about nine years old.

  “This is our older sister, Kaede. She left home when you were a baby,” Ai said to Hana, and then, prompting her, “Greet your older sister properly.”

  “Welcome home,” Hana whispered, then dropped to her knees and bowed to Kaede. Kaede knelt in front of her, took her hands, and raised her. She looked into her face.

  “I was younger than you are now when I left home,” she said, studying the fine eyes, the perfect bone structure beneath the childish roundness.

  “She is like you, lady,” Shizuka said.

  “I hope she will be happier,” Kaede replied and, drawing Hana to her, hugged her. She felt the slight body begin to shake, and realized the child was crying.

  “Mother! I want Mother!”

  Kaede’s own eyes filled with tears.

  “Hush, Hana, don’t cry, little sister.” Ai tried to soothe her. “I’m sorry,” she said to Kaede. “She is still grieving. She has not been taught how to behave.”

  Well, she will learn, Kaede thought, as I had to. She will learn not to let her feelings show, to accept that life is made up of suffering and loss, to cry in private if she cries at all.

  “Come,” Shizuka said, taking Hana by the hand. “You have to show me how to cook the mushrooms. I don’t know these local ones.”

  Her eyes met Kaede’s above the child’s head, and her smile was warm and cheerful.

  “Your woman is wonderful,” Ai said as they left. “How long has she been with you?”

  “She came to me a few months ago, just before I left Noguchi Castle,” Kaede replied. The two sisters remained kneeling on the floor, not knowing what to say to each other. The rain fell heavily now, streaming from the eaves like a curtain of steel arrows. It was nearly dark. Kaede thought, I cannot tell Ai that Lord Arai himself sent Shizuka to me, as part of the conspiracy to overthrow Iida, or that Shizuka is from the Tribe. I cannot tell her anything. She is so young, she has never left Shirakawa, she knows nothing of the world.

  “I suppose we should go to Father,” she said.

  But at that moment she heard his voice calling from a distant part of the house. “Ai! Ayame!” His footsteps approached. He was complaining softly. “Ah, they’ve all gone away and left me. These worthless women!”

  He came into the room and stopped short when he saw Kaede.

  “Who’s there? Do we have visitors? Who’s come at this time of night in the rain?”

  Ai stood and went to him. “It’s Kaede, your oldest daughter. She has returned. She’s safe.”

  “Kaede?” He took a step toward her. She did not stand but, remaining where she was, bowed deeply, touching her forehead to the floor.

  Ai helped her father down. He knelt in front of Kaede. “Sit up, sit up,” he said impatiently. “Let us see the worst in each other.”

  “Father?” she questioned as she raised her head.

  “I am a shamed man,” he said. “I should have died. I did not. I am hollow now, only partly alive. Look at me, daughter.”

  It was true that terrible changes had been wrought in him. He had always been controlled and dignified. Now he seemed a husk of his former self. There was a half-healed slash from temple to left ear; the hair had been shaved away from the wound. His feet were bare and his robe stained, his jaw was dark with stubble.

  “What happened to you?” she said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice. She had come seeking refuge, looking for the lost childhood home she had spent eight years mourning, only to find it almost destroyed.

  Her father made a weary gesture. “What does it matter? Everything is lost, ruined. Your return is the final blow. What happened to your marriage to Lord Otori? Don’t tell me he is dead.”

  “Through no fault of mine,” she said bitterly. “Iida murdered him.”

  His lips tightened and his face paled. “We have heard nothing here.”

  “Iida is also dead,” she went on. “Arai’s forces have taken Inuyama. The Tohan are overthrown.”

  The mention of Arai’s name obviously disturbed him. “That traitor,” he muttered, staring into the darkness as though ghosts gathered there. “He defeated Iida?” After a pause he went on, “I seem to have once again found myself on the losing side. My family must be under some curse. For the first time I am glad I have no son to inherit from me. Shirakawa can fade away, regretted by no one.”

  “You have three daughters!” Kaede responded, stung into anger.

  “And my oldest is also cursed, bringing death to any man connected with her!”

  “Iida caused Lord Otori’s death! It was a plot from the start. My marriage was designed to bring him to Inuyama and into Iida’s hands.” The rain drummed hard against the roof, cascading from the eaves. Shizuka came in silently with more lamps, placed them on the floor, and knelt behind Kaede. I must control myself, Kaede thought. I must not tell him everything.

  He was staring at her, his face puzzled. “So, are you married or not?”

  Her heart was racing. She had never lied to her father. Now she found she could not speak. She turned her head away, as if overcome by grief.

  Shizuka whispered. “May I speak, Lord Shirakawa?”

  “Who is she?” he said to Kaede.

  “She is my maid. She came to me at Noguchi Castle.”

  He nodded in Shizuka’s direction. “What do you have to say?”

  “Lady Shirakawa and Lord Otori were married secretly at Terayama,” Shizuka said in a low voice. “Your kinswoman was witness, but she also died at Inuyama, along with her daughter.”

  “Maruyama Naomi is dead? Things get worse and worse. The domain will be lost to her stepdaughter’s family now. We may as well hand over Shirakawa to them too.”

  “
I am her heir,” Kaede said. “She entrusted everything to me.”

  He gave a short mirthless laugh. “They have disputed the domain for years. The husband is a cousin of Iida’s, and is supported by many from both the Tohan and the Seishuu. You are mad if you think they will let you inherit.”

  Kaede felt rather than heard Shizuka stir slightly behind her. Her father was just the first man of many, an army, a whole clan—maybe even all the Three Countries—who would try to thwart her.

  “All the same, I intend to.”

  “You’ll have to fight for it,” he said with scorn.

  “Then I will fight.” They sat for a few moments in silence in the darkened room with the rain-drenched garden beyond.

  “We have few men left,” her father said, his voice bitter. “Will the Otori do anything for you? I suppose you must marry again. Have they suggested anyone?”

  “It is too early to think of that,” Kaede said. “I am still in mourning.” She took a breath, so deep that she was sure he must hear it. “I believe I am carrying a child.”

  His eyes turned again to her, peering through the gloom. “Shigeru gave you a child?”

  She bowed in confirmation, not daring to speak.

  “Well, well,” he said, suddenly inappropriately jovial. “We must celebrate! A man may have died but his seed lives. A remarkable achievement!” They had been talking in lowered voices, but now he shouted surprisingly loudly. “Ayame!”

  Kaede jumped despite herself. She saw how his mind was loosened, swinging between lucidity and darkness. It frightened her, but she tried to put the fear aside. As long as he believed her for the time being, she would face whatever came afterward.

  The woman Ayame came in and knelt before Kaede. “Lady, welcome home. Forgive us for such a sad homecoming.”

  Kaede stood, took her hands, and raised her to her feet. They embraced. The solid indomitable figure that Kaede remembered had dwindled to a woman who was almost old. Yet, she thought she recalled her scent: It aroused sudden memories of childhood.

  “Go and bring wine,” Kaede’s father commanded. “I want to drink to my grandchild.”

  Kaede felt a shiver of dread, as though by giving the child a false identity she had made its life false. “It is still so early,” she said in a low voice. “Do not celebrate yet.”

  “Kaede!” Ayame exclaimed, using her name as she would to a child. “Don’t say such things; don’t tempt fate.”

  “Fetch wine,” her father said loudly. “And close the shutters. Why do we sit here in the cold?”

  As Ayame went toward the veranda they heard the sound of footsteps, and Kondo’s voice called, “Lady Otori!”

  Shizuka went to the doorway and spoke to him.

  “Tell him to come up,” Kaede said.

  Kondo stepped onto the wooden floor and knelt in the entrance. Kaede was conscious of the swift glance he gave round the room, taking in in a moment the layout of the house, assessing the people in it. He spoke to her, not to her father.

  “I’ve been able to get some food from the village. I’ve chosen the men you requested. A young man turned up, Amano Tenzo; he’s taken charge of the horses. I’ll see that the men get something to eat now, and set guards for the night.”

  “Thank you. We’ll speak in the morning.”

  Kondo bowed again and left silently.

  “Who’s that fellow?” her father demanded. “Why did he not speak to me to ask my opinion or permission?”

  “He works for me,” Kaede replied.

  “If he’s one of Arai’s men, I’ll not have him in this house.”

  “I said, he works for me.” Her patience was wearing thin. “We are in alliance with Lord Arai now. He controls most of the Three Countries. He is our overlord. You must accept this, Father. Iida is dead and everything has changed.”

  “Does that mean daughters may speak to their fathers so?”

  “Ayame,” Kaede said, “take my father to his room. He will eat there tonight.”

  Her father began to remonstrate. She raised her voice against him for the first time in her life. “Father, I am tired. We will talk tomorrow.”

  Ayame gave her a look that she chose to ignore. “Do as I say,” she said coldly, and after a moment the older woman obeyed and led her father away.

  “You must eat, lady,” Shizuka said. “Sit down; I’ll bring you something.”

  “Make sure everyone is fed,” Kaede said. “And close the shutters now.”

  Later she lay listening to the rain. Her household and her men were sheltered, fed after a fashion, safe, if Kondo could be trusted. She let the events of the day run through her mind, the problems she would have to deal with: her father, Hana, the neglected estate of Shirakawa, the disputed domain of Maruyama. How was she going to claim and keep what was hers?

  If only I were a man, she thought. How easy it would be. If I were Father’s son, what would he not do for me?

  She knew she had the ruthlessness of a man. When she was still a hostage in Noguchi Castle, she had stabbed a guard without thinking, but Iida she had killed deliberately. She would kill again, rather than let any man crush her. Her thoughts drifted to Lady Maruyama. I wish I had known you better, she thought. I wish I had been able to learn more from you. I am sorry for the pain I caused you. If only we had been able to talk freely. She felt she saw the beautiful face before her, and heard her voice again. I entrust my land and my people to you. Take care of them.

  I will, she promised. I will learn how. The meagerness of her education depressed her, but that could be remedied. She resolved she would find out how to run the estate, how to speak to the farmers, how to train men and fight battles—everything a son would have been taught from birth. Father will have to teach me, she thought. It will give him something to think about apart from himself.

  She felt a twinge of emotion, fear or shame or, maybe, a combination of both. What was she turning into? Was she unnatural? Had she been bewitched or cursed? She was sure no woman had ever thought the way she did now. Except Lady Maruyama. Holding on to the lifeline of her promise to her kinswoman, she fell asleep at last.

  The next morning she bade farewell to Arai’s men, urging them to leave as soon as possible. They were happy to go, eager to return to the campaigns in the East before the onset of winter. Kaede was equally keen to get rid of them, fearing she could not afford to feed them for even one more night. Next she organized the household women to start cleaning the house and repairing the damage to the garden. Shamefaced, Ayame confided in her that there was nothing to pay workmen with. Most of the Shirakawa treasures and all the money were gone.

  “Then we must do what we can ourselves,” Kaede said, and when the work was under way she went to the stables with Kondo.

  A young man greeted her with a deference that could not hide his delight. It was Amano Tenzo, who had accompanied her father to Noguchi Castle, and whom she had known when they were both children. He was now about twenty years old.

  “This is a fine horse,” he said as he brought Raku forward and saddled him.

  “He was a gift from Lord Otori’s son,” she said, stroking the horse’s neck.

  Amano beamed. “Otori horses are renowned for their stamina and good sense. They say they run them in the water meadows, and they’re fathered by the river spirit. With your permission, we’ll put our mares to him and get his foals next year.”

  She liked the way he addressed her directly and talked to her of such things. The stable area was in better condition than most of the grounds, clean and well maintained—though, apart from Raku, Amano’s own chestnut stallion, and four horses belonging to Kondo and his men, there were only three other warhorses, all old and one lame. Horse skulls were fixed to the eaves, and the wind moaned through the empty eye sockets. She knew they were placed there to protect and calm the animals below, but at present the dead outnumbered the living.

  “Yes, we must have more horses,” she said. “How many mares do we have?”
/>   “Only two or three at the moment.”

  “Can we get more before winter?”

  He looked glum. “The war, the famine . . . this year has been disastrous for Shirakawa.”

  “You must show me the worst,” she said. “Ride out with me now.”

  Raku’s head was held high and his ears pricked forward. He seemed to be looking and listening. He whinnied softly at her approach but continued gazing into the distance.

  “He misses someone—his master, I suppose,” Amano said. “Don’t let it worry you. He’ll settle in with us and get over it.”

  She patted the horse’s pale gray neck. I miss him too, she whispered silently. Will either of us ever get over it? She felt the bond between herself and the little horse strengthen.

  She rode out every morning, exploring her domain with Kondo and Amano. After a few days an older man turned up at the door and was greeted by the maids with tears of joy. It was Shoji Kiyoshi, her father’s senior retainer, who had been wounded and feared dead. His knowledge of the estate, the villages, and the farmers was vast. Kaede swiftly realized he could tell her much of what she needed to know. At first he humored her, finding it strange and slightly comical that a girl should have such interests, but her quick grasp of affairs and her memory surprised him. He began to discuss problems with her, and though she never lost the feeling that he disapproved of her, she felt she could trust him.

  Her father took little interest in the day-to-day management of the estate, and Kaede suspected he had been careless, even unjust, though it seemed disloyal to think it. He occupied the days with reading and writing in his rooms. She went to him every afternoon and sat watching him patiently. He spent a lot of time staring into the garden, saying nothing as Ayame and the maids worked tirelessly in it, but sometimes mumbling to himself, complaining about his fate.

  She asked him to teach her, pleading, “Treat me as if I were your son,” but he refused to take her seriously.

  “A wife should be obedient and, if possible, beautiful. Men don’t want women who think like them.”

  “They would always have someone to talk to,” she argued.