He stepped forward but felt a restraining arm.
"Get dressed," Father said in a calm voice to the two in the cottage. "We will meet you out here." He closed the door and looked at Hiroki. "I am very sorry for you, my son, but we must remain calm."
"She was to be my wife!" Hiroki said, restraining his voice from a shout. "This is not to be borne!"
How could Father stay so calm after what he had just seen?
"The marriage is impossible now, that is certain. But how did you learn—?"
"I overheard Cho telling the Mazaki servants while I was in their garden."
The servants! The servants know! Hiroki screamed to himself. They would be laughing at him. How could he bear this loss of face?
"My heart bleeds for you, Hiroki," Father said. "But none of this can be undone. So we must find the best way to deal with it. Whatever we do, we must not let it distract us from our Greater Purpose. Calm yourself."
Hiroki clenched his jaw and said nothing.
How long has this been going on?
Matsuo and Meiko, his only brother and his bride-to-be—how could they do this to him? How could they betray and humiliate him so? What had he ever done to them to deserve this?—
How long have I been a fool?
This could not be forgotten. This could not be swept out the door like so much household dust. This could not go unatoned. There had to be payment. The scales would have to be balanced somehow.
Father had told him to be calm. So he calmed himself. He let the heat of his grief and rage cool.
And turn to ice.
* * *
"What will we do?"
Meiko clutched her kimono tightly around her. Despite the heat in the closed room, she felt cold. Matsuo had his shorts back on and was shrugging into his shirt. His face was grim in the dimness.
"We will do what we have to do. We have no choices that I can see. We will step outside and 'face the music,' as the Americans say. Then you will return to your home and I ..."
She waited but he did not go on. Suddenly she was terrified. "You will what?"
"I can no longer live as an honorable man after bringing such disgrace to my family..." His voice trailed off again.
"You can't be thinking of..." Her lips refused to form the word… seppuku.
He turned his face away.
Meiko crushed both hands over her mouth. The thought of Matsuo cutting open his belly—she felt her gorge rise.
"No!"
He rose to his feet. "What else is there for me to do?"
"You can't!" she said, rising in front of him and clasping her arms around him. "You're not a samurai! You don't have to make amends to your daimyo! This is a family matter!"
He led her toward the door.
"Matsuo, speak to me!"
He said nothing. He opened the door and in the stream of light she saw his stony expression. She wanted to scream. Then she saw Hiroki and the baron staring at her with equally stony faces. The weight of their disapproval almost drove her to her knees. She felt vulnerable and dirty, like some loathsome thing that had been dragged out from under a rock to cower before them naked and squinting in the unaccustomed light. The shame and revulsion overcame her and she fled, sobbing as she ran home.
* * *
Matsuo sensed what Meiko was feeling and longed to run after her. But that would be a luxury he did not deserve. Now he had to face his father and brother. As he bowed low to them, he saw that Father's face was impassive with, yes, a trace of hurt in his eyes, but the true depth of whatever he was feeling was almost perfectly hidden. Hiroki, however, was a different story. Although usually adept at hiding his feelings, his brother radiated cold rage. Matsuo knew with a sick feeling that not only had he disgraced himself and his family, but he had poisoned forever his relationship with his brother.
He saw only one honorable course open to him.
"If you will wait for me here," he said before either of them could speak, "I will return with the means of rectifying this matter."
Without waiting for a reply, he hurried away to his room. Once there, he went directly to the table where Nagata's daisho rested and lifted both swords from the katana-kake. He held them, one in each hand, and felt the power of their former owner coursing through them.
Help me be strong in this, he prayed to the swords.
He shuddered. Did he have the courage? Could he do this to himself? Failing would only bring further dishonor.
He ran into Father and Hiroki in the garden just outside the house.
"I thought that was your intent!" Father said sternly. "I forbid it!"
"But, Father—"
"Give me those!" he said, holding out his hand.
Didn't he understand? While Matsuo hesitated, his father took a step closer with his hand still outstretched. With a mixture of reluctance and relief, he gave the swords over. But the look of disappointment that flashed across Hiroki's face at that instant hurt him as much as a sword thrust to his belly.
"I will have no more thoughts of seppuku from you," Father said. "This matter does not warrant such drama."
"Father," he said, bowing and cursing the relief that flooded through him, "I have dishonored the family."
"That is true. Your behavior today was shameful. But fortunately it remains a private matter between the two families. And the dishonor is shared equally by both families, for Count Mazaki's daughter is no less culpable than my son."
Matsuo bowed again, speechless with gratitude that Father could find some light in the sea of darkness that had engulfed him.
"We must also take into account the fact that although engaged to your brother, she was not yet your brother's wife. Had she been, your transgression would be truly unforgivable. I hold it as true in my heart that you would have held your brother's wife sacred, and that..." He sighed. He seemed to hesitate here and glance at Hiroki. "That it never would have happened if the marriage had not been delayed so long."
Matsuo bowed again, awed by his father's compassion and wisdom, but aware of the pain hidden in his voice.
"But the factors I have mentioned serve only to blunt the dishonor you have done to the family. They in no way mitigate the wound you have inflicted upon your own brother."
Matsuo knew that too well. He could not bring himself to meet his brother's eyes.
* * *
Hiroki could hardly believe his ears. What was Father saying? Why was he diluting Matsuo's guilt, intimating that he shared part of his brother's shame? He felt as if he were going to explode. The injustice of Father's defense of Matsuo, his all-too-clear attempt to preserve the younger brother's status in the family at the expense of Hiroki's honor and face, only increased the pressure building within. But he could say nothing.
Father said, "And there is one more reason—an overwhelming reason—why you must banish all thoughts of seppuku." He paused, then said: "Chu."
Hiroki saw a puzzled look cross Matsuo's face, a look that must have mirrored his own.
"You have a special knowledge that will be of vital importance to the Emperor in the near future. And that future draws nearer every day.”
Matsuo frowned. “I don’t—”
“Word has come from Tokyo that tomorrow morning an ultimatum will be presented to the Chinese garrison in Peking to leave the area. If they refuse—and there is no question in my mind that they will—Japan will declare war. Once that happens you can rest assured that Britain and the US will not let it pass unchallenged."
He watched his father lay a gentle hand on Matsuo's shoulder. The gesture felt to Hiroki like a slap in the face. He wanted to shout, I am the injured party. He is the transgressor. Why this show of tenderness?
"That is when your American experiences will begin to bear fruit. Now and in the coming years, the Emperor, through the Imperial Council, will be calling on you more and more. You must not deny him your special knowledge by so ungrateful a gesture as seppuku. Your Emperor needs you. You must be there for him. It i
s chu!"
Hearing once again about Matsuo's great value to the Emperor made Hiroki want to vomit. All he had heard from his brother so far about the United States were timid words of caution. Is that what Japan could expect from Matsuo Okumo's vaunted American expertise? If so, Japan would be better off if he did commit seppuku.
And Hiroki would gladly act as his dear brother's second, standing ready to deliver the beheading stroke after he had slit his belly.
* * *
Meiko leaned against the outer wall of her house, panting. She fought to catch her breath but it eluded her. She had to compose herself. She could not walk into the house in this state. She had to be calm.
What to do now? The question echoed endlessly in her mind. How to tell Father? How to let him know without reversing the gains he had made with his health? She knew she had to break the news to him before Baron Okumo did. But how? How could she make those words come out of her mouth? She could tell Mother. She would swoon, Meiko was sure, but after that, she might be able to help.
But as concerned as she was with her family, her worry for Matsuo swallowed everything else. The look on his face when she had left him—she felt sure he would try seppuku if someone didn't stop him.
She straightened and pushed herself away from the wall, still hot from the sun. She had to know about Matsuo, had to know he was safe and alive before she could even think about anything else.
As she rounded the corner of the house, she saw Kikou crossing the garden. She called her over.
"I have an errand for you," she told the servant girl. "I want you to go to the baron's house and find the younger Okumo-san." Kikou's eyes widened. Meiko would never have sent a servant to find Matsuo in the past, but there was nothing left to hide now. And she had to know. "Say nothing to him. Merely see that he is well and then come directly back to me. I will be waiting right here."
The girl hurried off. And Meiko paced.
* * *
"I hope someday your brother will be able to forgive you," Father was saying. "I do not expect him to be able to do so now, and would not ask him to try. Still, it is my hope that before long the two of you will be able to bury today in your pasts and share a brotherly trust and love again."
Matsuo glanced at Hiroki but saw only cold, steely anger in his face. Without a word, Hiroki turned his back on him and walked toward the house.
"I fear, however," Father said in a low voice as he watched Hiroki go, "that you have inflicted a wound that may never heal." He turned his stern gaze on Matsuo. "You have wounded me as well, my son. I never dreamed you would disappoint me so."
The cut of those words was as painful as anything he could inflict upon himself with the wakizashi.
Cho came running at Father's call. Matsuo watched him hand the swords to the servant, saying, "Return these to their katana-kake."
Then he too walked off, leaving Matsuo alone with Cho.
Still clutching the swords, the servant dropped to his knees before Matsuo.
"It is all my fault, Okumo-san," he said with a sob.
"What do you mean?" Matsuo asked, angry and disheartened that the servants already knew what had happened.
"I saw you and Miss Mazaki. I whispered it to the other servants. Your brother must have overheard. It is all my fault. I should have my tongue cut out."
For an instant, Matsuo was ready to agree with him, then saw the tears on the man's face. He clapped his hand gently on a quaking shoulder.
"It is my fault, Cho. No one else's."
But Cho did not seem to be listening as he rose and carried the swords back to the house. Matsuo looked up to the clear, blue, perfect sky. It had started out with the promise of a lovely day, and had progressed into an utterly glorious day. Yet now all was tainted. Why? Why did this have to happen?
And Meiko—what terrors must she be going through. He ached to run to her but fought the urge. He had to stay away, even though they needed each other now more than ever before, if only to give comfort. He did not know how long he stood there.
A scream of horror split the air. Matsuo spun. It seemed to have come from the house, from the north wing. He ran inside and found Kazuko standing in the hall with her hands clasped over her face, her fingers digging into her forehead.
"What's wrong? Did you scream?"
The maid spread her hands and gaped at him. "Okumo-san! You're alive!"
"Of course I'm alive. What made you think—?"
"Kikou screamed and said you were dead. That you had committed seppuku."
"Kikou? From Count Mazaki's house? What was she doing here?"
"I do not know. I was afraid to look in your room."
A sickening thought suddenly occurred to Matsuo. He brushed by Kazuko and hurried up the hall. Hiroki and Father were coming from the other end. Matsuo turned into his room and stopped abruptly at the entrance.
A man lay facedown on a blood-soaked futon before the mounted daisho. Matsuo had never seen so much blood. Could it all be from one man? Steeling himself against the revulsion welling up in him, he stepped forward and touched the man's shoulder. Even though he could feel still-warm flesh through the fabric, Matsuo knew he was dead. He lifted a limp, unexpectedly heavy shoulder. With the short black hair and the loose kimono, it could have been anyone, but Matsuo knew who it was without looking. Even so, he sprang back in horror when he actually saw the face above the slit throat.
"Cho."
Father and Hiroki rushed into the room then. They turned the body over without ceremony.
"Who has done this?" Father cried.
"He did it himself."
"With your daisho?"
Matsuo shook his head sadly. No, Cho would never think to defile those swords with his peasant blood. He pointed to the bloody knife in Cho's lifeless hand.
"There's the weapon. And look—he even brought his own futon so he wouldn't sully the floor with his blood."
"But why?" Father said.
Matsuo was too choked with grief to speak, but Hiroki had no such problem.
"He left my brother a message," he said, then strode from the room.
"I forgave him, Father. I told him that."
"But he could not forgive himself." Father's voice was anything but gentle. "He saw something he should not have seen. Because of it, he could not go on as a member of this household. And since there was no other place for him, he could not go on living."
Then he too turned and left.
Miserable and alone, Matsuo stood with his hands on the swords of the daisho as the weeping servants tended to Cho's body behind him. His whole life seemed to be crumbling before his eyes—a trust broken, a reputation defiled, a betrothal sundered, a good man's life snuffed out. By all the gods, what else would happen before this black day ended?
* * *
Meiko had heard the scream from the Okumo house and waited in the lengthening shadows of the garden with her heart thudding madly in her chest. She prayed that it wasn't Matsuo.
It can't be Matsuo! It simply can't be!
But when Kikou stumbled into the garden, gasping, tears streaming down her face, Meiko knew something terrible had happened. She leaped to meet the servant girl.
"Kikou, what—?"
"He's dead!" she screamed.
Meiko felt her knees give way and she slumped onto a seat. "You must be mistaken!"
"I saw him! His room was open as I passed and I looked in and saw him on the floor! And the blood! Oh, the blood!"
No! No! No!
Feeling as if she had been stabbed through the heart, Meiko forced herself to her feet and staggered away from the sobbing Kikou. She stumbled toward the bay, her mind numb, her feet following the path out of habit.
Matsuo gone. It didn't seem possible. Never to see him again, even from afar, or hear his voice, or his rare laugh. A world without Matsuo was unthinkable. A dark world. A world she had no desire to live in.
The bathers were gone, the beach in shadow. To her right the Okumo dinghy n
osed into the sand with the rising tide lapping against her stern. On impulse she pulled the boat into the water and hopped inside. She dropped the rudder and centerboard, then raised the sail. Soon she was underway. The breeze had swung around and was coming off the land. Tears slid down her cheeks as she looked back and bid her home farewell. She knew what she had to do, knew it was best for all concerned. And now with the decision made, she felt a great sense of peace sweep through her.
She let the sail drag the boom all the way out to starboard, and ran before the wind. Due east. Into the Pacific.
* * *
Head down, Matsuo plodded along the beach. He needed to be away from the house and had remembered the sailboat, so he had come down to secure it against the tide. It was gone. He looked around in the deepening dusk and saw someone standing at the water's edge not far away. He approached and recognized one of the Mazaki servant girls.
He called to her: "Have you seen our sailboat?"
The girl turned toward him, then took a sudden step backward.
"What's wrong with you?" he said.
She screamed and began to run. Matsuo bolted after her, catching her easily. She wailed with fear as he gripped her arm and halted her flight.
"Stop that!" he shouted. "You know me! I won't hurt you!"
"Okumo-san! You are dead! I saw you!"
Matsuo was nonplussed for a moment, then remembered the scream earlier when Cho's body was discovered.
"That wasn't me.” But it should have been. "That was Cho."
Her hands flew to the sides of her head. "Oh, no! I told her it was you!"
"Who? Meiko?"
"Yes! Oh, please don't be angry!"
Poor Meiko! She would be blaming herself.
“Where is she?"
"I saw her take the sailboat."
Fingers of ice clamped around Matsuo's heart. He looked out at the dark, empty expanse of the bay, searching frantically, futilely for a patch of white.
"How long ago?"
"Over an hour. I was waiting for her when you spoke to me."
Black Wind Page 22