by Walt Mussell
Chapter Eight
Sen stared at Nobuhiro, her hands clenched on the obi wrapped around her waist. The afternoon sun warmed the back of her neck, and cast her shadow in front of her, almost reaching to where Nobuhiro stood. The shadow seemed to inch closer to Nobuhiro with each passing second.
She yearned to do the same.
A fan seller dressed in a light brown kimono with crosshatch markings appeared from the other end of the alley, carrying a pole over his shoulder with fans hanging upside down behind him. The man passed quickly, the fans behind him creating a small breeze. Then it was just the two of them again. Being alone with him was her biggest fear.
She wiped her hand across her mouth as she tried to regain her composure. She was no readier to talk with Nobuhiro now than when she had first seen him in the street.
The long silence grew awkward, but her thoughts turned to her family. “My mother is ill?”
Nobuhiro hesitated, then nodded slowly. “She has been sick for two days and doesn’t seem to be improving. Your father thinks she’ll be fine. I’m certain seeing you will improve her spirits.”
A hot flush filled her cheeks and she looked at the ground. Why am I feeling this way? He only said that Mother’s spirits would improve at seeing me. Wouldn’t any mother feel the same? Why did hearing his voice make it feel like a compliment?
“I’ll take the basket,” he said.
“The basket?”
He pointed to the bamboo basket that she held in front of her. She had forgotten that she had brought it out of the restaurant. The light weight suggested he still had shopping to do. She handed it to him, feeling the brush of his hand against hers.
“Itai,” she said, bringing her finger to her mouth as she sucked on it. She’d pricked her finger against a sharp edge of bamboo. Her tongue provided a salve to the stinging pain.
“I’m sorry. I must have caused that. Are you hurt?” he asked.
She removed her finger from her mouth. The tip of her finger bore a red spot. She pressed against the side and a small drop of blood rose on her skin. She brought her finger back to her mouth.
“I’m fine,” she said, embarrassed at her overreaction. She had endured far worse. “Do you have many places to go?”
Nobuhiro didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared and opened his free hand as if to take her pain into his palm. He shook his head and returned his hand to his side. “Your father suggested squid, but I need to pick up vegetables first.”
They left the alley and made a few quick purchases, then walked a few hundred yards toward the fish market area. Sen tried to talk with Nobuhiro. He had offered his hand after the incident with the horseman, but she had refused. He appeared to do it again here but then pulled back. She wanted to reach out to him but couldn’t. They were walking together, but they might as well be alone.
The open storefronts, busy with activity, provided a welcome distraction. At one store, an oil seller measured oil through a funnel strainer hanging from his wrist. Farther down, at the front of another establishment, a young girl cut long sticks of incense on a table, while an older woman negotiated with a customer. The fragrances of sandalwood and licorice reached out to her. Across the street, a needle seller passed in front of a much wider store with a deep back. The store offered various cloths. Taxes were paid on store width at the street entrance. This cloth merchant must be rich.
The salty smell broke through her musings. They had arrived. She scanned the various offerings, looking for a place that advertised squid. It was her mother’s favorite food, which explained why her father had mentioned it to Nobuhiro. Father would welcome her presence at home, if only because Sen would take over all the kitchen duties.
They found a good place and Sen scrutinized the squid left in the tank. There wasn’t a great selection. However, she hadn’t seen any other stores advertising squid, meaning they didn’t sell it or else had sold off their catch for the day. She picked one and then motioned to the proprietor, a thin, bald man in his fifties with a triangular face and a scar on his temple that blended in with the creases. He wore a gray kimono, stained with ink spots.
The man bowed to Sen and Nobuhiro. He acknowledged Nobuhiro as a familiar face, then looked at Sen briefly, with eyes that seemed to fill with tears. Did he recognize her from childhood? Did he know Haru, and did he see a resemblance?
The old man nodded again, grabbed a hook, and retrieved a choice squid. Once out, the animal emitted a long stream of water that splashed Nobuhiro in the face and chest and then splashed on her.
Sen covered her mouth and tried not to laugh as Nobuhiro wiped the water from his eyes. He chuckled as he dried himself off. His reaction and his smile drained the tension out of her. He was a good man.
“Sumimasen,” the shop owner said as he grabbed a towel and offered it to Nobuhiro.
Nobuhiro dried his face and laughed again. “Don’t worry. It was an accident.” His smile widened in a sage-like expression. “Besides, I will have my revenge later.”
He continued to clean himself off, pulling his dark blue kimono open to wipe his chest. Like many men, he wore a white cloth underneath his kimono and around his torso. It kept the stomach warm and thereby maintained health. However, his chest was totally bare. Water dripped slowly along his upper body. She licked her lips and stared. Her heartbeat sounded in her ears. She pressed her lips together and struggled to regain herself.
Nobuhiro smiled at her and it melted her resolve. “Shall we go?”
They turned for home. A long walk still. They were half a ri away. With her wearing geta, it would take over thirty minutes. Her palms grew wet. Thirty more minutes alone with him. Could she keep her mind where it belonged?
Nobuhiro broke the silence. “Do you enjoy living at the castle?”
An innocent question, but unfortunately no easy answer. “People are nice. Everyone treats me well and I’m learning my duties.”
“That’s good. May I ask you something about it?”
She hesitated. What could he want to know that he would feel the need to ask permission? “Yes.”
“Why did you go to the castle instead of coming home?”
A question she’d asked herself often since her arrival. The answer still troubled her.
“I tried to go home, to live with my parents. However, Lord Akamatsu advised me against it. He obtained a position at the castle for me.”
“It must have been difficult.”
“It was. Your brothers made the arrangements. We arrived in Himeji late at night. Your brothers met us outside of town, provided provisions for Lord Akamatsu and his wife, and escorted me to the castle.”
Nobuhiro’s eyebrows arched together. “My brothers? So that’s how they knew you when you bumped into us. They didn’t mention it. What did they say?”
“They fought together. I know little else.”
“Why did Lord Akamatsu not want you to go home?”
Sen recalled that night a month ago, when she had arrived. Lord Akamatsu still wore the same golden kimono that he had worn the day he had lost his castle, the only thing he had been allowed to keep other than his swords. The once fine garment carried several marks of restitching. He had lost everything material in his life.
However, his faith was unshaken.
Sen brushed a tear from her eye. “He was concerned about me. About the edict. ‘No one knows how closely the ban against our faith will be enforced,’ he said. ‘If the authorities are strict? If they suspect you of practicing your beliefs, they may take your parents’ home away from them. They could also force your parents to renounce you. If you live at the castle, your parents are safe.’ I appreciated his concern. It was all he had left to give.”
She glanced at others on the street. Nobuhiro’s limp and his status as a swordsmith’s apprentice made him stand out. Many here would recognize him. Would they remember her, too? Before Lord Akamatsu left, he had called her a child of Himeji and said that people would welcome her. None o
f these people had seen her in ten years. If they recognized her, would they, like Nobuhiro, wonder why she hadn’t returned home?
Why had fate forced her to reside at Nobuhiro’s home and him to reside at hers?
She looked at Nobuhiro. The pain on his face from the time she had first met him seemed etched into him like a scar from a sharp blade. “Do you miss it?”
He stopped, and his eyes shot a puzzled gaze at her. “What?”
“Living in the castle.”
Nobuhiro sighed and looked away as he wiped some perspiration from his forehead. “The castle, not so much, but I do miss my brothers. I was close to them growing up.”
“It shows. They care for you.”
He shrugged, slowly, as if held down by an unseen weight. She waited for an answer, but none came.
They walked the next few minutes in silence, leaving the storefronts behind them. A light wind glanced off Sen’s face, filling her with the scent of the earth. Alongside the road, many men worked hard in the rice fields, buttressing the large square areas with raised dirt. Of course. It was late April. How could she have forgotten? The Good Harvest Festival must have been two or three days ago.
Childhood images again rose in her mind. Images of walking with her mother and Haru to the shrine every year to watch the festival that predicted the impending rice crop. Riders dressed in blue, green, and red costumes circling the field, praying for a good yield. Lots of rice cakes to eat. It was a happier time than now.
“Do you miss living at home?” Nobuhiro asked.
The riders vanished back into her childhood, replaced by the hardworking men at the side of the road. “Excuse me?”
“Do you miss living at home?”
“Yes, but not like I expected. Haru had the responsibility of finding a husband to bring into the family. I served the Akamatsu house so that I might be prepared to be a good wife for someone else’s family. Lord Akamatsu and my father were acquainted for many years. It was a proper arrangement.”
“And now?”
She bit her lip. “I have been away from home for over ten years. Things have changed much. My parents have changed much. I have changed much. I have no regrets, other than memories I can’t revisit.”
His mouth tightened. “My father has not changed. He is the same harsh man I remember.”
She tilted her head. Chills and warmth clashed within her. The vision of the man who had reprimanded her for talking with his sons clashed with that of the man who had sent her home to care for her ill mother. Something was missing. “Was he always that way?”
He paused and gritted his teeth, but then his lips softened. “No. Not always. I remember him being much calmer and gentler when I was younger.”
“What do you think changed him?”
Nobuhiro shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“What does your mother say?”
He turned his eyes away and stared at the houses before answering. “My mother died when I was young. I remember her being sick often and my father being by her side.”
An ill mother. A man grieving a lost wife. Maybe that explained why he allowed her to visit home. “Could that be the reason for the way he treated you?”
“I don’t know. I was young then. I remember losing my mother, then crying about it. After that, he was always harsh to me, compared to my brothers.”
“What did your father do?”
Nobuhiro slowed. His eyes smoldered. “He told me, ‘Samurais don’t cry.’”
Sen saw the sad little boy inside Nobuhiro. He was much different from the happy daughter she had been. “What did your brothers say about it?”
He stared into space. “They . . . agreed with me but could do nothing to help. Why?”
She thought hard. She had begun to care about Nobuhiro for several reasons. He worked for her family, and her parents respected him. Nobuhiro’s brothers possessed a loyalty to Lord Akamatsu. Enough to meet them all in the middle of the night. Enough to obtain her a position at the castle. Enough to oversee her safety. They were good men.
Christian or not, Nobuhiro was a decent man, too.
She allowed herself to glimpse his face. His warm look and soft brown eyes pulled at the walls of her heart, opening it to possibilities she hadn’t considered. She focused on his quivering chin. “I ask because of the look on your face. When you speak of him, you do it in angry terms. Yet your face shows depression and sadness.”
“Yes, I guess it does,” Nobuhiro said, his voice light in tone but carrying weight. “The biggest challenge is the future. What did you do when Lord Akamatsu’s castle was taken?”
She bit her lip. She had spoken enough about her faith. “I worked hard to busy myself, to find work that would allow me to return. It was difficult day-to-day. I also prayed.”
“Prayed?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes, I prayed. It provided me comfort.”
Nobuhiro tilted his head. “What did Lord Akamatsu do?”
She closed her eyes. “He used his contacts to provide for his people, helped them return home. His hair turned gray these last few months.”
Nobuhiro shook his head. “It does not seem like this new religion helped you. Lord Akamatsu lost his castle and lands. You lost your position. You can’t even return home to serve your family?”
She broke into a wide grin. “Lord Akamatsu arranged it so I could find a new position. He was able to depend on friends, good friends who cared about his welfare. Those friends assisted him and his wife. They also helped me.”
“It does not make sense. If this God of yours is powerful, then I do not see much help.”
She winced at Nobuhiro’s reply. How could she explain it to him? What could she say?
A warmth enveloped her. “I do not always understand what will happen. But I’m at least in Himeji. Somehow, I will find a way to help my family.”
“Your parents are happy you’re closer to home. I know that from things your father has said. I see little else. No proof of a God.”
She thought back to the first time she heard the word of God. It had been difficult for her to listen and there had been many Christians around. When she finally opened her heart, the missionary had called it a “leap of faith.”
How could she convey this to Nobuhiro?
“The choice I made was my own. It was not easy, but it was the best thing for me.”
He shook his head. “Maybe for you, but my life is too difficult.”
Her chest dropped into her stomach. “You’re thinking about it?”
He shook his head. “This God of yours cannot help me reconcile with my father. What does He know about being a samurai? Does this God of yours understand the sacrifice of family?”
Sen bit back her tongue. Pushing Nobuhiro on this issue would only push him away.
The long walk was over. They had reached home. The bushes in the front appeared overgrown. Absent were the vases Sen’s mother put out each spring. She had always been so detailed. Spring was her favorite time of year.
She took the food from Nobuhiro and they exchanged bows. She found herself staring again, lost in those gentle eyes that always seemed to carry pain behind them. “Thanks for escorting me home.”
“You’re welcome.”
“May I ask you one thing?”
“Yes.”
Looking to see if anyone was close, she kept her eyes on the narrow dirt street. No one was near. Still, she leaned in to whisper. It was best to adhere to Lord Akamatsu’s advice. “I know you don’t believe, but would you mind if I prayed for you?”
Nobuhiro exhaled and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t believe it would do any good. No power can help me with my father. But you may do as you wish.”
He turned and walked away. Sen stepped to the entrance but stopped before knocking. No knocking. Just enter. As her mother had suggested before.
She glanced back at her escort, who had already turned toward the shop. His limp was more pronounced than at the beginning
of their trip home. He must be tired. His limp was physical, but he also carried a heavy burden.
Lift the burden.
Lift the responsibility.
Lift the man.
And his spirit would rise with it.
Chapter Nine
Sen cleared the breakfast dishes, taking the trays back to the kitchen area. Her mother relaxed on the floor with the low table still in front of her. The color in her cheeks was pinker than it had been for the last few days. She had even been up early to help cook. However, she tired quickly.
“How are you feeling?” Sen asked.
“You fuss over me too much. I have been ill. I’m not dying.”
“How often did you fuss over me when I was sick growing up?”
“That’s different. I’m your mother. I’m allowed to fuss.”
Sen reached for the pot hanging over the fire in the hearth on the floor, adding the hot water to her mother’s cup. “I know, but I’m happy to see you’re doing well.”
“I can take care of myself, but being sick is worth it to have you here.”
Her mother’s words cascaded slowly over her like water flowing through the fountain at a Buddhist temple. She had enjoyed the few days she had been here, but her mother’s improving health meant Sen would be returning to the castle soon.
And her time to inquire about the church was running out.
The church.
In deference to her mother’s illness, Sen hadn’t mentioned the church. Today was the time. She knelt next to her mother, handing her the cup, then sat back on her knees. Respectful daughter. Dutiful daughter.
Loving daughter.
“Mother, can we talk?”
Her mother took a sip and set the tea on the table, closing her eyes and clasping her hands in her lap. “What is it?”
Sen breathed slowly as her heartbeat throbbed in her head. “Last time I was here, I asked you about a local church. I know you know something. Please tell me.”
Her mother glanced away as she sipped more tea. Her mouth then tightened into a flat line. She parted her lips, licking them slowly before shutting them again. “My precious daughter. Why must you know?” she said in a please-don’t-ask-me tone.