Shogun_ A Novel of Japan Part 93

"Of course we are on your side, Sire. But we cannot order Lord Kiyama or Lord Onoshi to do anything-"

"Fortunately I can order my Christian."

"Sire?"

"I can order the Anjin-san freed. With his ship. With his cannon."

"Beware of him, Sire. The Pilot's diabolically clever, but he's a heretic, a pirate and not to be trust-"

"Here the Anjin-san's a samurai and hatamoto. At sea perhaps he's a pirate. If he's a pirate, I imagine he'll attract many other corsairs and wako wako to him-many of them. What a foreigner does on the open sea's his own business, to him-many of them. What a foreigner does on the open sea's his own business, neh? neh? That's always been our policy. That's always been our policy. Neh?" Neh?"

Alvito kept quiet and tried to make his brain function. No one had planned on the Ingeles' becoming so close to Toranaga.

"Those two Christian daimyos daimyos will make no commitments, not even a secret one?" will make no commitments, not even a secret one?"

"No, Sire. We tried ev-"

"No concession, none?"

"No, Sire-"

"No barter, no arrangement, no compromise, nothing?"

"No, Sire. We tried every inducement and persuasion. Please believe me." Alvito knew he was in the trap and some of his desperation showed. "If it were me, yes, I would threaten them with excommunication, though it would be a false threat because I'd never carry it through, not unless they had committed a mortal sin and wouldn't confess or be penitent and submit. But even a threat for temporal gain would be very wrong of me, Sire, a mortal sin. I'd risk eternal d.a.m.nation."

"Are you saying if they sinned against your creed, then you'd cast them out?"

"Yes. But I'm not suggesting that could be used to bring them to your side, Sire. Please excuse me but they ... they're totally opposed to you at the moment. I'm sorry but that's the truth. They both made it very clear, together and in private. Before G.o.d I pray they change their minds. We gave you our words to try, before G.o.d, the Father-Visitor and I. We fulfilled our promise. Before G.o.d we failed."

"Then I shall lose," Toranaga said. "You know that, don't you? If they stand allied with Ishido, all the Christian daimyos daimyos will side with him. Then I have to lose. Twenty samurai against one of mine. will side with him. Then I have to lose. Twenty samurai against one of mine. Neh?" Neh?"

"Yes."

"What's their plan? When will they attack me?"

"I don't know, Sire."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

"Yes-yes I would."

I doubt it, Toranaga thought, and looked away into the night, the burden of his worry almost crushing him. Is it to be Crimson Sky after all, he asked himself helplessly? The stupid, bound-to-fail lunge at Kyoto?

He hated the shameful cage that he was in. Like the Taik and Goroda before him, he had to tolerate the Christian priests because the priests were as inseparable from the Portuguese traders as flies from a horse, holding absolute temporal and spiritual power over their unruly flock. Without the priests there was no trade. Their good will as negotiators and middle men in the Black Ship operation was vital because they spoke the language and were trusted by both sides, and, if ever the priests were completely forbidden the Empire, all barbarians would obediently sail away, never to return. He remembered the one time the Taik had tried to get rid of the priests yet still encourage trade. For two years there was no Black Ship. Spies reported how the giant chief of the priests, sitting like a poisonous black spider in Macao, had ordered no more trade in reprisal for the Taik's Expulsion Edicts, knowing that at length the Taik must humble himself. In the third year he had bowed to the inevitable and invited the priests back, turning a blind eye to his own Edicts and to the treason and rebellion the priests had advocated.

There's no escape from that reality, Toranaga thought. None. I don't believe what the Anjin-san says-that trade is as essential to barbarians as it is to us, that their greed will make them trade, no matter what we do to the priests. The risk is too great to experiment and there's no time and I don't have the power. We experimented once and failed. Who knows? Perhaps the priests could wait us out ten years; they're ruthless enough. If the priests order no trade, I believe there will be no trade. We could not wait ten years. Even five years. And if we expel all barbarians it must take twenty years for the English barbarian to fill up the gap, if the Anjin-san is telling the whole truth and if-and it is an immense if-if the Chinese would agree to trade with them against the Southern Barbarians. I don't believe the Chinese will change their pattern. They never have They never have. Twenty years is too long. Ten years is too long.

There's no escape from that reality. Or the worst reality of all, the specter that secretly petrified Goroda and the Taik and is now rearing its foul head again: that the fanatical, fearless Christian priests, if pushed too far, will put all their influence and their trading power and sea power behind one of the great Christian daimyos daimyos. Further, they would engineer an invasion force of iron-clad, equally fanatic conquistadores armed with the latest muskets to support this one Christian daimyo-like they almost did the last time daimyo-like they almost did the last time. By themselves, any number of invading barbarians and their priests are no threat against our overwhelming joint forces. We smashed the hordes of Kublai Khan and we can deal with any invader. But allied to one of our own, a great Christian daimyo daimyo with armies of samurai, and given civil wars throughout the realm, this could, ultimately, give this one with armies of samurai, and given civil wars throughout the realm, this could, ultimately, give this one daimyo daimyo absolute power over all of us. absolute power over all of us.

Kiyama or Onoshi? It's obvious now, that has to be the priest's scheme. The timing's perfect. But which daimyo? daimyo?

Both, initially, helped by Harima of Nagasaki. But who'll carry the final banner? Kiyama-because Onoshi the leper's not long for this earth and Onoshi's obvious reward for supporting his hated enemy and rival, Kiyama, would be a guaranteed, painless, everlasting life in the Christian heaven with a permanent seat at the right hand of the Christian G.o.d.

They've four hundred thousand samurai between them now. Their base is Kyushu and that island's safe from my grasp. Together those two could easily subjugate the whole island, then they have limitless troops, limitless food, all the ships necessary for an invasion, all the silk, and Nagasaki. Throughout the land there are perhaps another five or six hundred thousand Christians. Of these, more than half-the Jesuit Christian converts-are samurai, all salted nicely among the forces of all daimyos daimyos, a vast pool of potential traitors, spies, or a.s.sa.s.sins-should the priests order it. And why shouldn't they? They'd get what they want above life itself: absolute power over all our souls, thus over the soul of this Land of the G.o.ds-to inherit our earth and all that it contains-just as the Anjin-san has explained has already happened fifty times in this New World of theirs.... They convert a king, then use him against his own kind, until all the land is swallowed up.

It's so easy for them to conquer us, this tiny band of barbarian priests. How many are there in all j.a.pan? Fifty or sixty? But they've the power. And they believe believe. They're prepared to die gladly for their beliefs, with pride and with bravery, with the name of their G.o.d on their lips. We saw that at Nagasaki when the Taik's experiment proved a disastrous mistake. Not one of the priests recanted, tens of thousands witnessed the burnings, tens of thousands were converted, and this "martyrdom" gave the Christian religion immense prestige that Christian priests have fed on ever since.

For me, the priests have failed, but that won't deter them from their relentless course. That's reality, too.

So, it's Kiyama.

Is the plan already settled, with Ishido a dupe and the Lady Ochiba and Yaemon also? Has Harima already thrown in with them secretly? Should I launch the Anjin-san at the Black Ship and Nagasaki immediately?

What shall I do?

Nothing more than usual. Be patient, seek harmony, put aside all worries about I or Thou, Life or Death, Oblivion or Afterlife, Now or Then, and set a new plan into motion. What plan, he wanted to shout in desperation. There isn't one!

"It saddens me that those two stay with the real enemy."

"I swear we tried, Sire." Alvito watched him compa.s.sionately, seeing the heaviness of his spirit.

"Yes. I believe that. I believe you and the Father-Visitor kept your solemn promise, so I will keep mine. You may begin to build your temple at Yedo at once. The land has been set aside. I cannot forbid the priests, the other Hairies, entrance to the Empire, but at least I can make them unwelcome in my domain. The new barbarians will be equally unwelcome, if they ever arrive. As to the Anjin-san ..." Toranaga shrugged. "But how long all this ... well, that's karma, neh?" karma, neh?"

Alvito was thanking G.o.d fervently for His mercy and favor at the unexpected reprieve. "Thank you, Sire," he said, hardly able to talk. "I know you'll not regret it. I pray that your enemies will be scattered like chaff and that you may reap the rewards of Heaven."

"I'm sorry for my harsh words. They were spoken in anger. There's so much...." Toranaga got up ponderously. "You have my permission to say your service tomorrow, old friend."

"Thank you, Sire," Alvito said, bowing low, pitying the normally majestic man. "Thank you with all my heart. May the Divinity bless you and take you into His keeping."

Toranaga trudged into the inn, his guards following. "Naga-san!"

"Yes, Father," the youth said, hurrying up.

"Where's the Lady Mariko?"

"There, Sire, with Buntaro-san." Naga pointed to the small, lantern-lit cha house inside its enclosure in the garden, the shadowed figures within. "Shall I interrupt the cha-no-yu?" cha-no-yu?" A A cha-no-yu cha-no-yu was a formal, extremely ritualized Tea Ceremony. was a formal, extremely ritualized Tea Ceremony.

"No. That must never be interfered with. Where are Omi and Yabu-san?"

"They're at their inn, Sire." Naga indicated the sprawling low building on the other side of the river, near the far bank.

"Who chose that one?"

"I did, Sire. Please excuse me, you asked me to find them an inn on the other side of the bridge. Did I misunderstand you?"

"The Anjin-san?"

"He's in his room, Sire. He's waiting in case you want him."

Again Toranaga shook his head. "I'll see him tomorrow." After a pause, he said in the same faraway voice, "I'm going to take a bath now. Then I don't wish to be disturbed till dawn except ..."

Naga waited uneasily, watching his father stare sightlessly into s.p.a.ce, greatly disconcerted by his manner. "Are you all right, Father?"

"What? Oh, yes-yes, I'm all right. Why?"

"Nothing-please excuse me. Do you still want to hunt at dawn?"

"Hunt? Ah yes, that's a good idea. Thank you for suggesting it, yes, that would be very good. See to it. Well, good night ... Oh yes, the Tsukku-san has my permission to give a private service tomorrow. All Christians may go. You go also."

"Sire?"

"On the first day of the New Year you will become a Christian."

"Me!"

"Yes. Of your own free will. Tell Tsukku-san privately."

"Sire?"

Toranaga wheeled on him. "Are you deaf? Don't you understand the simplest thing anymore?"

"Please excuse me. Yes, Father. I understand."

"Good." Toranaga fell back into his distracted att.i.tude, then wandered off, his personal bodyguard in tow. All samurai bowed stiffly, but he took no notice of them.

An officer came up to Naga, equally apprehensive. "What's the matter with our Lord?"

"I don't know, Yoshinaka-san." Naga looked back at the clearing. Alvito was just leaving, heading toward the bridge, a single samurai escorting him. "Must be something to do with him." him."

"I've never seen Lord Toranaga walk so heavily. Never. They say-they say that barbarian priest's a magician, a wizard. He must be to speak our tongue so well, neh? neh? Could he have put a spell on our Lord?" Could he have put a spell on our Lord?"

"No. Never. Not my father."

"Barbarians make my spine shake too, Naga-san. Did you hear about the row-Tsukku-san and his band shouting and quarreling like ill-mannered eta?" eta?"

"Yes. Disgusting. I'm sure that man must have destroyed my father's harmony."

"If you ask me, an arrow in that priest's throat would save our Master a lot of trouble."

"Yes."

"Perhaps we should tell Buntaro-san about Lord Toranaga? He's our senior officer."

"I agree-but later. My father said clearly I was not to interrupt the cha-no-yu cha-no-yu. I'll wait till he's finished."

In the peace and quiet of the little house, Buntaro fastidiously opened the small earthenware tea caddy of the T'ang Dynasty and, with equal care, took up the bamboo spoon, beginning the final part of the ceremony. Deftly he spooned up exactly the right amount of green powder and put it into the handleless porcelain cup. An ancient cast-iron kettle was singing over the charcoal. With the same tranquil grace Buntaro poured the bubbling water into the cup, replaced the kettle on its tripod, then gently beat the powder and water with the bamboo whisk to blend it perfectly.

He added a spoonful of cool water, bowed to Mariko, who knelt opposite him, and offered the cup. She bowed and took it with equal refinement, admiring the green liquid, and sipped three times, rested, then sipped again, finishing it. She offered the cup back. He repeated the symmetry of the formal cha-making and again offered it. She begged him to taste the cha himself, as was expected of her. He sipped, and then again, and finished it. Then he made a third cup and a fourth. More was politely refused.

With great care, ritually he washed and dried the cup, using the peerless cotton cloth, and laid both in their places. He bowed to her and she to him. The cha-no-yu cha-no-yu was finished. was finished.

Buntaro was content that he had done his best and that now, at least for the moment, there was peace between them. This afternoon there had been none.

He had met her palanquin. At once, as always, he had felt coa.r.s.e and uncouth in contrast to her fragile perfection-like one of the wild, despised, barbaric Hairy Ainu tribesmen that once inhabited the land but were now driven to the far north, across the straits, to the unexplored island of Hokkaido. All of his well-thought-out words, had left him and he clumsily invited her to the cha-no-yu cha-no-yu, adding, "It's years since we ... I've never given one for you but tonight will be convenient." Then he had blurted out, never meaning to say it, knowing that it was stupid, inelegant, and a vast mistake, "Lord Toranaga said it was time for us to talk."

"But you do not, Sire?"

In spite of his resolve he flushed and his voice rasped, "I'd like harmony between us, yes, and more. I've never changed, neh?" neh?"

"Of course, Sire, and why should you? If there's any fault it's not your place to change but mine. If any fault exists, it's because of me, please excuse me."

"I'll excuse you," he said, towering over her there beside the palanquin, deeply conscious that others were watching, the Anjin-san and Omi among them. She was so lovely and tiny and unique, her hair piled high, her lowered eyes seemingly so demure, yet for him filled now with that same black ice that always sent him into a blind, impotent frenzy, making him want to kill and shout and mutilate and smash and behave the way a samurai never should behave.

"I've reserved the cha house for tonight," he told her. "For tonight, after the evening meal. We're ordered to eat the evening meal with Lord Toranaga. I would be honored if you would be my guest afterwards."

"It's I who am honored." She bowed and waited with the same lowered eyes and he wanted to smash her to death into the ground, then go off and plunge his knife crisscross into his belly and let the eternal pain cleanse the torment from his soul.

He saw her look up at him discerningly.

"Was there anything else, Sire?" she asked, so softly.

The sweat was running down his back and thighs, staining his kimono, his chest hurting like his head. "You're-you're staying at the inn tonight." Then he had left her and made careful dispositions for the whole baggage train. As soon as he could, he had handed his duties over to Naga and strode off with a pretended truculence down the river bank, and when he was alone, he had plunged naked into the torrent, careless of his safety, and fought the river until his head had cleared and the pounding ache had gone.

He had lain on the bank collecting himself. Now that she had accepted he had to begin. There was little time. He summoned his strength and walked back to the rough garden gate that was within the mother garden and stood there for a moment rethinking his plan. Tonight he wanted everything to be perfect. Obviously the hut was imperfect, like its garden-an uncouth provincial attempt at a real cha house. Never mind, he thought, now completely absorbed in his task, it will have to do. Night will hide many faults and lights will have to create the form it lacks.

Servants had already brought the things he had ordered earlier-tatamis, pottery oil lamps, and cleaning utensils-the very best in Yokose, everything brand-new but modest, discreet and unpretentious.

He stripped off his kimono, laid down his swords, and began to clean. First the tiny reception room and kitchen and veranda. Then the winding path and the flagstones that were let into the moss, and finally the rocks and skirting garden. He scrubbed and broomed and brushed until everything was spotless, letting himself swoop into the humility of manual labor that was the beginning of the cha-no-yu cha-no-yu, where the host alone was required to make everything faultless. The first perfection was absolute cleanliness.

By dusk he had finished most of the preparations. Then he had bathed meticulously, endured the evening meal, and the singing. As soon as he could he had changed again into more somber clothes and hurried back to the garden. He latched the gate. First he put the taper to the oil lamps. Then, carefully, he sprinkled water on the flagstones and the trees that were now splashed here and there with flickering light, until the tiny garden was a fairyland of dewdrops dancing in the warmth of the summer's breeze. He repositioned some of the lanterns. Finally satisfied, he unlatched the gate and went to the vestibule. The carefully selected pieces of charcoal that had been placed punctiliously in a pyramid on white sand were burning correctly. The flowers seemed correct in the takonama takonama. Once more he cleaned the already impeccable utensils. The kettle began to sing and he was pleased with the sound that was enriched by the little pieces of iron he had placed so diligently in the bottom.

All was ready. The first perfection of the cha-no-yu cha-no-yu was cleanliness, the second, complete simplicity. The last and greatest, suitability to the particular guest or guests. was cleanliness, the second, complete simplicity. The last and greatest, suitability to the particular guest or guests.

He heard her footsteps on the flagstones, the sound of her dipping her hands ritually in the cistern of fresh river water and drying them. Three soft steps up to the veranda. Two more to the curtained doorway. Even she had to bend to come through the tiny door that was made deliberately small to humble everyone. At a cha-no-yu cha-no-yu all were equal, host and guest, the most high all were equal, host and guest, the most high daimyo daimyo and merest samurai. Even a peasant if he was invited. and merest samurai. Even a peasant if he was invited.

First she studied her husband's flower arrangement. He had chosen the blossom of a single white wild rose and put a single pearl of water on the green leaf, and set it on red stones. Autumn is coming, he was suggesting with the flower, talking through the flower, do not weep for the time of fall, the time of dying when the earth begins to sleep; enjoy the time of beginning again and experience the glorious cool of the autumn air on this summer evening ... soon the tear will vanish and the rose, only the stones will remain-soon you and I will vanish and only the stones will remain.

He watched her, apart from himself, now deep in the near trance that a cha-master sometimes was fortunate enough to experience, completely in harmony with his surroundings. She bowed to the flower in homage and came and knelt opposite him. Her kimono was dark brown, a thread of burnt gold at the seams enhancing the white column of her throat and face; her obi the darkest of greens that matched the underkimono; her hair simple and upswept and unadorned.

"You are welcome," he said with a bow, beginning the ritual.

"It is my honor," she replied, accepting her role.

He served the tiny repast on a blemishless lacquered tray, the chopsticks placed just so, the slivers of fish on rice that he had prepared a part of the pattern, and to complete the effect, a few wild flowers that he had found near the river bank scattered in perfect disarray. When she had finished eating and he, in his turn, had finished eating, he lifted the tray, every movement formalized-to be observed and judged and recorded-and took it through the low doorway into the kitchen.

Then alone, at rest, Mariko watched the fire critically, the coals a glowing mountain on a sea of stark white sand below the tripod, her ears listening to the hissing sound of the fire melding with the sighing of the barely simmering kettle above, and, from the unseen kitchen, the sibilance of cloth on porcelain and water cleaning the already clean. In time her eyes wandered to the raw twisted rafters and to the bamboos and the reeds that formed the thatch. The shadows cast by the few lamps he had placed seemingly at random made the small large and the insignificant rare, and the whole a perfect harmony. After she had seen everything and measured her soul against it, she went again into the garden, to the shallow basin that, over eons, nature had formed in the rock. Once more she purified her hands and mouth with the cool, fresh water, drying them on a new towel.