by Nogami Yaeko
“Hello, Father. Sorry I was out when you came home.” Kisaburō put both hands in front of his knees and bowed deeply. It was his usual polite greeting, but judging from his wide, dim eyes, his pale complexion, and the reddish stain on his upper cheek, he must have been drinking heavily.
Rikyū told him he had something he wanted to talk about, but he would rather do it tomorrow.
“I’m not drunk at all!” Kisaburō insisted. “And I have something to tell you. Will you listen to me first?”
“Well, what is it, then?”
“Oh, you’re going to listen to me? Mother, will you go to another room?”
“What did you just say?” The unexpected words from her son surprised her and made her angry. “I think it’s a good idea if I stay here.”
“No, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Why? There’s nothing you can say that isn’t my concern, too.”
“You don’t want to hear this.”
Rikyū stared at his son’s young, beautiful, drunk face, slightly golden from the candle reflecting off the gold screen. Pale and upset, he gave his wife the eye. Riki quietly left the room.
“All right,” Rikyū said to his son, “what do you want to talk about?”
“Is it true that Sōji-san was executed?”
That was the last question Rikyū had expected. He was stunned into silence at first, then calmly answered that it was true. “But it happened a while ago. It’s not a good topic for conversation.”
“I heard that Sōji-san’s relatives are angry with you more than Kampaku-sama. They think you could have helped Sōji-san somehow. Why would they think so? How did things end that way? What was Sōji-san blamed for? You must have known exactly what was happening. Is there something you did that made his relatives so upset with you? I want to be clear about it.”
The older Kisaburō got, the less he spoke to his father. But when he wanted to talk, he could be more outspoken than anybody—especially today, when he was encouraged by the alcohol.
Rikyū had never told anybody about Sōji’s death in Odawara. He tried not to even think about it, not for Sōji’s sake but for his own. The tragedy of Sōji’s final days pierced Rikyū like a spear, and every reminder of it hurt just as much as it had that day.
In a flash he was back at the castle, getting the whispered news from Ōmura Yūki. He rushed off to the place where Sōji lay. The body was at the corner of Mount Ishigaki Castle, head severed from the neck, ears and nose sliced off. The middle of his pitted face was a swath of bloody flesh. It looked out of place, as if red paper had been pasted on a face that was already shrunken and purple. Flies had begun to swarm around the bloody flesh.
Sōji’s right eye was still open, staring vacantly upward like the eye of a bird that has been shot and killed. Rikyū bent down and tried to close it, but the cold eyelid wouldn’t obey Rikyū’s finger. It was as if the head was still Sōji, consciously resisting, struggling to say the ten thousand words that he couldn’t express while he was living.
15
The regret still tormented Rikyū. If only he hadn’t told Hideyoshi that Sōji had escaped from Odawara; if he hadn’t forced Sōji to go to the castle to see Hideyoshi; if he had just let Sōji keep his promise and return to Genan … In the end, he kept coming back to the same answer: he had had no choice but to do exactly as he had done.
But in his heart, Rikyū couldn’t deny his deeper fears. If he had kept Sōji’s return a secret and Hideyoshi had found out, Rikyū’s own life might have been in danger. Sōji had been worried about Hideyoshi’s mood, but he had gone to the castle obediently because he didn’t want to cause any trouble if his presence was revealed. Had he seen Rikyū’s fright beneath the calm facade? Was that why he had gone to see Hideyoshi? The thought tormented Rikyū even more than the sorrow over his friend’s death.
With all those complex emotions brewing in his heart, Rikyū didn’t want to talk about Odawara, and he especially didn’t want to be reminded of Sōji. But now his son was sitting there, asking to hear about it. If Rikyū lifted the heavy lid on his heart and exposed everything, Kisaburō might feel sympathy for his father’s agony and fear. But Rikyū couldn’t do it.
It wasn’t just his position as the head of the family. Kisaburō had been getting more and more difficult to handle. Rikyū knew Kisaburō was more sensitive than his brothers, and he could admit to himself that maybe he had spoiled his youngest son. But he couldn’t stop thinking of Kisaburō as a child.
“The circumstances surrounding Sōji’s death were complicated,” he told Kisaburō calmly. “If you have been hearing rumors, then I should explain everything to you. But tonight, you are drunk, and I’m very tired.”
It wasn’t an evasion. The hours on horseback hadn’t been a pleasure ride. In the time they had been talking, the candle’s wick had gotten longer, and the red, wavering flame reminded him of his weariness.
Kisaburō insisted that he wasn’t drunk anymore, but said that if Rikyū didn’t want to talk, he could wait until later. Although Kisaburō denied it, he knew that he really was drunk. In his mind, the boldness lent by the alcohol mixed with a sense of his own cunning. By purposely coming home drunk, he could openly make this charge against his father when he could never have done it sober. “But there’s one thing I have to know tonight,” he continued, pressing his advantage. “Did you personally have anything to do with Sōji-san’s death? No matter how many people in the world talk about you, if you tell me that you didn’t do anything to make Sōji-san’s family angry, I’ll feel easy. I want to hear that, and I want to feel better. Let me hear it. Please let me feel better.”
At that moment, a strange illusion rose in his vision. Like the front and back of a leaf, Kisaburō’s pale face and Sōji’s noseless, earless head were juxtaposed in Rikyū’s mind.
“Please, let’s not talk about it anymore,” Rikyū begged him. “You can see that I’m too tired for this conversation. We don’t have to do it tonight. Besides, everyone knows what happened. I was serving tea to the imperial messenger, and therefore I couldn’t be there for Sōji. Everything happened while I was somewhere else. I wonder often what would have happened if I was there, but the more I think about it, the more I feel sorry for Sōji. I don’t know if I could have helped him or not.”
Rikyū spoke as if he was addressing the illusion rather than the son who was sitting right in front of him. “No matter what, after all, we are dealing with Kampaku-sama.”
That last word finally broke Kisaburō’s relentless, searching stare. In their world, that one word was enough to justify any action, no matter how unreasonable, just as people accepted a natural disaster.
Kisaburō understood death, but he didn’t like Rikyū’s attitude. It sounded to Kisaburō like his father was making excuses. Still, he didn’t press him any farther. Kisaburō’s intoxication was fading, and suddenly his father, who had always been a bastion of strength, looked weak and withered.
Whenever Rikyū returned to Sakai from a long trip, he was greeted with a constant flow of guests, from formal visitors to close friends, members of the nayashū, and relatives. Sometimes his married daughters brought their children to see him. But Torigai Yahei, who usually came to see him as soon as he got home, was absent this time; he was still in Kyōto.
The shorter Rikyū’s stays at home, the busier he got, and this time he could only stay in Sakai for two days before leaving for Ōsaka Castle. Kisaburō didn’t ask about Sōji again.
Katsu, Rikyū’s middle daughter, stayed at the house a few days after Rikyū’s departure. Once her father was gone, she had a long talk with her mother about Kisaburō’s potential marriage. Because Katsu’s husband had mediated the arrangement, they had a personal stake in the outcome, and she was concerned that it wasn’t going anywhere.
“Hasn’t he said anything about it to you?” she asked her mother.
“If we push him too much, he’ll just refuse, and that will be the end of it. This match is too rare an opportunity t
o lose. I want him to say yes, so I have to be patient about it.”
“Didn’t you ask Father to talk to him?”
“Well …” Riki told her about the night that Kisaburō had come home drunk and forced her to leave the room. She didn’t want to listen by the door, so she didn’t know what they talked about. But when she saw Rikyū later, he was pale, and he said the long trip had worn him out. Thinking about it made her chest tight. “Sometimes when Kisaburō gets into one of his moods, he goes too far and says things to hurt his father.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Katsu interrupted, focused on her own problem. She told her mother that if her father couldn’t convince Kisaburō to accept the match, she would take care of it herself. “Today is as good a day as any. I’ll go talk to him.”
“But it all depends on the way you talk to him.”
“Leave it to me.” Katsu had her father’s sturdy build and her mother’s beautiful, distinctive face. Whenever she walked into a room, she outshone every other woman there. She was proud of her beauty and paid a lot of attention to fashion and her clothing. And if she wanted something, she kept pushing until she got her own way. She had always been the most selfish of her sisters, but also the most straightforward. She’d refused many good matches from various families of the nayashū, but when she had fixed her attention on the monk from Honnōji Temple, he had ended up leaving the monk’s life to marry her.
Kisaburō had always gotten along with Katsu better than any of his other sisters, even though she was four years older. Maybe they sensed in each other a similarity of temperament. But now he was indifferent to her.
Kisaburō was sitting in the mud-walled warehouse, which was covered with wood on the outside. The room had been rearranged so that the window on the western wall could be opened wide to let in the light and air. Behind the warehouse was an empty space where the laundry was hung out to dry. The sun streamed in through the four tall, paper-covered sliding doors. The room had a distinctly different atmosphere from any other room in the house. In the alcove was a small scroll with a painting of autumn scenery and mountain water. On the other side of that wall he had hung a jabisen and a small black European hat made of woven cloth. He never wore it; he hung it there to give an exotic taste to the room.
Katsu came in, but paid more attention to the jabisen than to her brother, who was sitting vacantly in front of the small desk. “You finally bought it. I heard it was quite expensive.”
“They’re not as expensive as they used to be.” He looked up. The jabisen was small, but its body was covered with snakeskin, which gave it an interesting tone.
“I’ve heard that people are having lessons at Daikumachi now. It’s absurd that you can hear the sound of a jabisen at a Noh actor’s studio.”
“What’s wrong with that? I practice there.” Kisaburō knew she was there to talk about Daikumachi, and he wasn’t going to give any ground.
“I know that,” she responded with her typical straightforwardness. “But I also know that you haven’t forgotten how to behave like a proper gentleman. If you want to practice, there are other places to do it. Our uncle’s house is still a Noh actor’s studio whether he’s there or not, and a jabisen is still a commoner’s instrument, even if it’s popular. It’s different from the Noh drums and flutes. People who don’t care a bit about their reputation can be forgiven, but I’m disappointed that you don’t even think about it.”
Kisaburō knew what Katsu was implying—that because he spent so much time with Ochika, she’d brought him down to her unrefined level. Usually he ignored Katsu’s jibes, but her condemnation of Ochika provoked him. He cast a glance at her chest. “You’re hardly one to talk.”
She looked down. Emerging from under her thick, dark hair was a thin gold chain that hung around her neck. The crucifix lay glittering on top of her fashionable, brightly-flowered kimono. Katsu touched the necklace with her white, slender fingers, puzzled.
Kisaburō could see that she didn’t understand what he was saying. “Sister, you’re not Christian, are you?”
“So? What’s the point?”
“You’re wearing that cross just because it’s trendy.”
“This is an accessory. Besides, there’s no rule that you can only wear one if you’re Christian. I also have an icon of Mary.”
“It’s no stranger than our uncle, a Noh actor, also practicing jabisen at Daikumachi.”
“It’s not the same thing.” But even as she said it, the logic got tangled up in her mind. She realized that the argument about the jabisen was a distraction from the topic she had come to discuss. She reverted to her old tactic from when they used to argue as children—when she seemed likely to lose, she would yield to him as if it were a gracious act by an older sibling. “Anyway, I’m not here to talk about Daikumachi or the jabisen. I have more important things to discuss.”
“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t need to hear it.”
Katsu sailed on as if he hadn’t said anything. “I ask you, Kisa-chan. Surely you don’t think you’ll be offered this kind of lucky chance again, do you?”
“I hope not.”
“How can you say such a thing? You really don’t know how much we care about you. Our father is going to be seventy next year. Every time Mother and I talk about this, she cries and says that she wants to see you married while he is still alive. And you must be aware that this marriage arrangement was only possible because of our father’s reputation.”
Kisaburō, who had been staring out the window, turned his head and shot her an angry look at that last line. But the light in the late autumn wasn’t bright enough for Katsu to see Kisaburō’s reaction. She kept talking. She pointed out that if Kisaburō wanted, he could be the successor to a wealthy moneylender whose status was almost equal to a lord’s. She concluded that he was too inexperienced in the ways of the world to really understand the opportunity he was being given.
Katsu thought that she knew the ways of the world very well. She told Kisaburō that if he really wanted to see this girl before committing to the match, there was a way that he could do it. Matsuya Hisamitsu was a wealthy merchant whose family had been studying tea for generations. He was known for owning some very famous Chinese utensils, and he was a good friend of Rikyū’s. The Gotō family was distantly related to the Matsuya family. “He’s very happy about this match. He could arrange a tea gathering and invite both you and Gotō’s daughter. You remember that my husband was invited by Matsuya to go to tea with our father last spring, don’t you? You could also be invited, and have Gotō’s daughter come and join you.”
Kisaburō sat leaning against the wall where the jabisen was hanging, sitting with one knee pulled up. He put his right hand on his cheek and watched her mouth move with amusement. Her rouge was a very bold color for her age, and as her lips moved flashes of her indigo purple teeth showed through. It amused him to look at them. Katsu was beautiful, and she thought she was being smart, but she had no idea what Kisaburō was really thinking. She thought he was being quiet because he had finally seen the logic of her argument, and she kept talking, eager to convince him.
“Gotō-san has to find a groom for his precious daughter. He could have asked anybody. Their relatives could adopt someone, and that would be more convenient for them. But they chose you, and Matsuya-san will help you because you are our father’s son. If the match is made, try not to disgrace your father’s name. Why don’t you try to feel like a new man?”
It was the mention of Rikyū that made him speak, finally, as if something was torn out of him. “What are you talking about? Spinning your absurd tales. Do you really think I’ll go along with this?”
“What do you mean, absurd tales?” Katsu flinched at her brother’s attack, but forced herself to remain calm. “Well, before you say that, think about it a minute. If you refuse this marriage, you won’t get another chance, not with someone of Gotō-san’s rank.”
“They want Rikyū’s son, not
me.”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Not at all.”
If he were not the son of the well-known tea master Rikyū, if he were just an ordinary young man in Sakai, would the Gotō family be so happy for him to be the heir of a wealthy moneylender? Would Matsuya in Nara be so enthusiastic about the arrangement?
When he was at home, in public, or in the tearoom, he couldn’t just be himself. There was always someone hovering over him. Just as the sun sometimes made the shadows of the trees and the rocks larger and darker than the original, Kisaburō was living with a shadow that was larger than life. When he was a child, he had been naughty, lively, tough, talkative, and amiable. But since he had become a young man and had had the front of his head shaved, his inner self had changed along with his appearance. He wanted to be anybody but Rikyū’s son. He just wanted to be himself. But if he agreed to this marriage, he would be thrust into the mold of that shadow and become the thing he detested.
The way his sister was trying to persuade him only repulsed him more. He felt as if she was trying to physically push him into that mold, and it only made him more defiant. His anger flared, and suddenly he hated his sister. But no matter how upset he got with her, he couldn’t deny what was really behind it.
He rearranged his kimono, trying to put his thoughts in order, and then sat still. “Go away,” he said sharply.
“What? Why?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just leave, now. I’m not going to accept this match, and we don’t have anything else to talk about. Go away, or I’ll leave myself.”
Kisaburō started to stand up, but Katsu was faster. Her beautiful face drew tight with anger, and she blocked the sliding paper door that was his only way out. It was a familiar tactic, another one she’d used since childhood.
Kisaburō sat down again. He wasn’t prepared to push his sister out of the way by force. Seeing that, Katsu came and sat close to him.
“Kisa-chan.” Katsu’s big eyes had lost their charm, and her lips were trembling, but she brought her voice under control and stayed calm. “You say there’s nothing left to talk about, but I have something to say to you. If you really don’t want this match, I’ll decline it for you. But if you think we don’t know why you’re doing this, you’re wrong. We know exactly what’s making you say these things.”