On a typical evening during the summer rainy season, Jinbei came to tell Ken’ishi of a visitor, Otomo no Ishitaka. Ken’ishi was deep in his study of Chinese military history, as he usually was late into the night, but he had not met Ishitaka in several weeks.
Ishitaka’s face was pale and taut as he settled himself with Ken’ishi.
Jinbei said, “May I offer tea, Lords? Saké?”
Ishitaka said, “It is a night for tea.”
Jinbei bowed and departed.
Ken’ishi said with a smirk, “No saké?”
“I must keep a clear head.” There was nothing boisterous in the tightness of Ishitaka’s mouth. He clutched something in a tight fist against his belly.
“Something must be very serious,” Ken’ishi said. “Perhaps word of Yuri?”
Ishitaka nodded. “Her father has dragged her away to Kamakura. A messenger came today with this letter for me.” He opened his hand, revealing a crumpled piece of rice paper. The ink had run with the sweat of his palm. “She is...with child. The child is mine.”
Ken’ishi took a deep breath and bowed his head. “This is very dangerous ground, my friend.”
Ishitaka swallowed hard. “I have considered all the possibilities I can imagine ten thousand times since I read the letter. Perhaps there might be one I have missed. I seek your wisdom, Ken’ishi.”
“My wisdom! Ishitaka, you have chosen your sage poorly. In matters of love, I am the greatest of fools.”
“What am I to do?”
Ken’ishi sighed. “A peasant-born tavern wench is carrying the heir to the Otomo line. Unless Lady Kazuko produces an heir, that is. There has been talk that Lord Tsunetomo would adopt you as his son to ensure a clear succession. Most people look upon that idea with favor. Except now...”
“Now I have produced a bastard child by a peasant girl. I have shamed my family.”
“Does your father know?”
Ishitaka shook his head. “I must tell him.”
“Even if your father does not disown you, even if your uncle still chooses to adopt you, what will happen if Yuri comes forward with her child? Peasants have no legal standing when making such claims. She could be killed outright for attempting to dishonor the house of Otomo, her child sent to live as an orphan among the unclean.”
Jinbei returned with a tea service.
“And the threat to her life would make her claim all the more credible, would it not? Ah, but I don’t want any of that.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to find her, save her from her father, and claim my child.”
“The Otomo clan might well cast you out for that. You could be disowned, cut off. A ronin’s life is nothing to be wished for. And with a family to support.”
“She says...she says...” Ishitaka choked on the rest of his utterance.
“May I read the letter?” Ken’ishi asked.
Ishitaka handed it over.
Ken’ishi smoothed it out. The script was inexpertly brushed, written in women’s script, without Chinese characters, relating what Ishitaka had already conveyed. She ended the letter with: “In a life filled with cruelty and death, you are the only kind man I have ever known. I wish nothing more than for you to be the father of my child. When Father discovers my condition, it may not go well for me. I wait at the shrine to Kannon every day and pray that you will deliver me.”
Ken’ishi handed the letter back. “Your father is a wise, fair man. So is Lord Tsunetomo.”
“But this could jeopardize my adoption. I cannot bear to bring this shame to my family.”
“How would this be different if Yuri were still here? You brought shame on your family by bedding her, knowing this might be the result.”
Ishitaka’s eyes glistened.
“I am sorry,” Ken’ishi said. “That was too harsh of me. The only honorable course for you that I can see is to confess this to your father, state your wishes, and accept the consequences. You would hardly be the first samurai who took the life of a ronin for a woman.” The thought of his own father, secluding himself in the wilds of northern Honshu to live the life of a farmer, made him wonder if his mother had played a role in that decision. He knew little of his father, and even less of his mother.
Ishitaka released a deep, shuddering breath. “If she were here, I could show them how beautiful she is, show them my child, and they would love him. Or her, I care not which.”
“If the child is a girl, your situation will be simplified. She could not be the heir.” Something niggled at Ken’ishi’s thoughts, however. “Do you know her father’s name? Lord Otomo may order him to return.”
“Or her father may kill her to save himself the shame.”
“But do you know his name?”
Ishitaka licked his lips. “She never told me.”
The kami buzzed with warning behind Ken’ishi’s ears. “It could be a simple oversight. It could be the girl was afraid of her father, but...something here does not smell right. Do you not feel it yourself?”
“All my thoughts now are to know she is well, and the baby.”
Ken’ishi nodded. Nevertheless, the worry remained. Without her father’s name, there was no way to track them down.
Ishitaka said, “When my sisters died of fever, my parents were left with only me. They were happy for a son, but Mother doted on my sisters. This knowledge will destroy her.”
“Is your mother frail?”
“No. She is very hale and vigorous.”
“Is she weak minded?”
“As I said, she is strong, a true samurai’s wife.”
“If you were to die in battle, what would she do?”
“I’m sure she would weep for me.”
“But she would be a warrior’s wife.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Then knowledge of any of this will cause her pain, but not destroy her. And you must accept that. You have already defied what you knew to be the wishes of your parents. But you have undergone your rite of manhood. You are young. You have much time to make recompense. If the barbarians come again, they will not care where your little warrior has been.”
Ken’ishi sipped his tea and waited. Ishitaka stared into his own teacup as if the leaves in the bottom might offer a solution.
The lamp slowly burned down, dimming the room. Frogs sang amid a patter of fresh rain on the roof. The air moistened afresh.
“I must think on this,” Ishitaka said. “Perhaps if I pray to the gods and buddhas, they will send me an answer.”
“Perhaps,” Ken’ishi said. “Remember this, however. You are my friend. I know you to be a good and honorable man. I trust your judgment.”
Ishitaka gave him a wan smile. “Thank you, Ken’ishi. Good night.”
“When you dance, the hand holds the fan and the foot takes a step. When you do not forget everything, when you go on thinking about performing with the hands and the feet well and dancing accurately, you cannot be said to be skillful. When the mind stops at the hands and feet, none of your acts will be singular. If you do not completely discard the mind, everything you do will be done poorly.”
—Takuan Soho, “The Mysterious Record of Immovable Wisdom”
The following evening, Ken’ishi was riding back from yabusame training through town when he spotted a band of performers near the town’s central wooden bridge. He spurred Storm to a quicker pace along the irrigation canal. Could they be the same performers as those Kaa had joined at the New Year festival?
Nearing, he caught a glimpse of Kaa’s guise as the Raggedy Man, tattered clothing spinning wildly as he cavorted to gong and flute. A throng of townspeople surrounded the performers, clapping and dancing with glee.
As Ken’ishi reined up outside the throng, he bid Storm to remain still and threw himself into the crowd. “Stand aside!”
The throng parted for him.
The performers, with their cymbals and flutes and rhythm sticks, their rainbow attire and gap-toothed grins, all moved tog
ether in a chaotic clump. And then with impressive feats of tumbling acrobatics, they formed a great tower of interlocking bodies that brought peals of laughter and applause from the audience. Ken’ishi searched the troupe for the Raggedy Man, but he was gone.
His cheeks heated. His old master was making a fool of him. Kaa had often taunted the boy who would become Ken’ishi with tales of becoming invisible.
One by one, the performers tumbled free of the tower and landed with great aplomb. A wizened old man with a long nose came forward. “Have we offended, samurai?” The mocking tone in his voice put Ken’ishi’s teeth on edge.
“The Raggedy Man,” he said. “I saw him here not a moment ago. Where is he?”
“We are all raggedy men here, samurai,” the man said. The other performers tittered and banged their instruments.
“Perhaps you think I do not know him. He goes by another name, Kaa.” Ken’ishi raised his voice. In that moment, he hatched a plan. “I will always be in his debt, but I will not be made a fool! Tell him to show himself to me. I challenge him! If he has the courage!”
The old man’s expression flickered with a succession of outrage and amusement. “If we encounter such a man, we will relay your august message.” The others snickered anew.
Ken’ishi laid a hand on his sword. “I’ll not be mocked by the likes of you. Now, clear out!”
The old man’s grin widened.
Ken’ishi turned to the crowd. “Everyone! Go home!”
The townspeople began to disperse, trading glances.
He turned back to the performers, who were gathering up their instruments and accouterments. Ken’ishi stood with his arms crossed as the performers hurried across the bridge to vacate the area and the townspeople filtered away.
But then the touch of the kami whispered up the back of his neck. There, in the deepening dusk, were a multitude of footprints of the crowd and the performers. The footprints of the crowd were of geta and zori and the bare feet of children. The footprints of the performers were...three-toed and clawed, with a single, rear-facing claw. Like those of birds. In the performers’ area, the earth bore no impressions of human feet.
The whisper of other worlds raised the hair on his arms. Even so, these beings—they must all of them have been tengu—would know his old teacher. Kaa might well have been watching the whole affair from hiding. He would receive the message indeed.
* * *
Kazuko took her place behind the screen via a small door in the corner. The room was a small chamber near their quarters, usually used for private meetings. Tsunetomo, Tsunemori, and Lady Yukino had just seated themselves in a circle, and two servants were pouring tea.
Kazuko’s screen sat just off to the side of the circle. None of them would be able to see her. The thick bandage plastered to her cheek, held in place by a kerchief wrapped around her head and tied under her chin, distracted her whenever she spoke.
She hated it. And she was coming to hate what lay beneath it.
“Please forgive me, Brother and Sister,” Kazuko said, addressing them both honorifically as elders, even though she held the higher rank. “My wound is still too fresh.” She could just see their outlines in the lamplight through the gauzy rice paper screen. “I insisted on the screen.”
Lady Yukino said, “After all you’ve been through, my lady, we would expect nothing else.” Her voice, normally measured, serene, and elegant, carried a brittleness this evening.
The bonds of family were strong between the two brothers, and Kazuko greatly admired Lady Yukino. The two Otomo couples occasionally met for meals or tea, but those events were always carefully planned, not impromptu. Tonight’s abrupt request for a visit over tea bespoke something of great weight brewing. Unfortunately, she could not see their faces through the screen, only vague silhouettes.
Tsunemori said, “Lady Kazuko, we have every hope for your full recovery. Your bravery is a credit to your sex, and a boon to my elder brother.”
“Thank you for your kind words,” Kazuko said. “My strength returns day by day.”
Tsunetomo took a sip of his tea. “I am immeasurably proud of my wife. Have you seen the skull? It is monstrous indeed.” The skull was hoisted now upon the point of a lance over the practice ground of Barrack Six, a trophy of Ken’ishi’s former unit, and a symbol of martial prowess and valor. It had been purified and blessed by both Shinto and Buddhist priests before Tsunetomo would allow it within the castle.
“I have seen it,” Tsunemori said. “The thing seems to be looking at me whenever I pass. I have beheld a thousand heads, but never had such a feeling.” Like Lady Yukino, there was a tightness in his voice, urgent news waiting for pleasantries to pass before it could come out. Coming straight to business was rude without first filling the room with harmony. But would harmony make this unknown news any easier to bear?
Tsunetomo mirrored her thoughts. “Our get-togethers outside of clan business are always enjoyable, but there is something amiss, I think. Something serious.”
Lady Yukino dabbed a sleeve to her face. Was that the sound of a sniffle?
Tsunemori said, “Ishitaka has been...very foolish. We must apologize for his behavior, Brother. He has dishonored our house. We are so sorry.”
Both Tsunemori and Yukino bowed to Tsunetomo, then to Kazuko. Kazuko returned the gesture with a burgeoning sense of dread and curiosity. Ishitaka was a good-hearted young man, if still over-exuberant in his youth.
Tsunetomo returned the gesture, then eased back as he did when preparing for difficult news, as if he were fashioning himself into a bulwark that would stand against any tide. “What has happened?”
Tsunemori said, “Ishitaka is gone, departed. On his way to Kamakura.”
“Is this some sort of stunt?” Tsunetomo said. “Why Kamakura? Does he intend to speak to the barbarian emissaries? The bakufu? I have given no leave to make such a journey.”
“Nor did I, Brother. His purpose is... He went alone. To meet a...” Tsunemori seemed to squeeze out the next words, “…a merchant’s daughter. He got her with child.” The last words were a barely intelligible garble of desperation and fury.
The weight of shame filled the room like a choking blanket.
“I knew he had a plaything in town,” Tsunemori said, “but that is hardly uncommon.”
The trouble with playthings was that they were most often discarded when the amusement abated. Kazuko’s heart went out to Lady Yukino. That the girl was a merchant’s daughter was worse than if she had been born in the mud of a rice paddy. As merchants made nothing, produced nothing, only profited from the efforts of others, they were superior to only whores, gravediggers, and actors in the celestial order.
Tsunetomo said, “But why not just discard her? An occasional bastard is also hardly uncommon. Send her a few pieces of silver to support the child and be done.”
“The young fool!” Tsunemori said. “He says he loves her and wants to raise the child as his own. He may as well have said he wants to marry a common whore!”
A sob slipped free of Lady Yukino.
Tsunetomo said, “This is a grave impropriety. It reflects badly, especially here on the eve of the Council of Kyushu Lords in Dazaifu. What did you tell him of your wishes?”
“I told him to discard her. Claim the child as a bastard if he must, even as distasteful as that notion is, but send the girl away. It was as far as I could go. The house of Otomo is a warrior house! We will not embrace a merchant’s daughter. But he would have none of that. He told me her father might harm her when he discovers she’s with child. I told him that would be the simplest solution for everyone.”
“Now, Brother,” Tsunetomo said, admonishment in his tone, “fairness and charity to the lowest people, even merchants, is part of the Way. They serve us, and we protect them.”
Tsunemori grunted and scratched his chin. “Perhaps it was impolitic of me to say such a thing, but the moment was hot. Merchants are simply a different kind of whore, always chasing their
profit and gold. Bah!”
Tsunetomo said, “I was not aware of any merchants in town trading with Kamakura. Having too many dealings with the northerners sits ill with Kyushu men. He must not be particularly wealthy, or Yasutoki would have informed me. He does well keeping an eye on the merchants and their activities. Alas that he were here. We might have a bit more information on this merchant and his daughter. Did Ishitaka give the merchant’s name?”
“I pressed him, but he shut his lips like a clam.”
Lady Yukino cleared her throat softly. “My lords, if I may speak? My chief concern is for my son’s welfare. A mother learns to bear the wanton cruelties of her thoughtless children when they are young. It is through those that she redirects their path to goodness, to realign them with the Way. I cannot bear the thought of never seeing my son again. He was one breath short of declaring himself ronin before he stormed out. My husband was one breath short of disowning him.”
Tsunemori grunted again. “I’m of a mind to do that still, except...”
Silence stretched for several moments, and then Kazuko realized all three of them had just glanced at her screen. Kazuko’s voice wavered just above a whisper. “Except that Ishitaka…may become the heir.” Her shoulders slumped. Her head bowed.
Tsunetomo said, “My wife, we must not give up hope that the gods will bless us with a son.”
Spirit of the Ronin Page 21