“Sachie, prepare tea for Shizuka while I sit for a few moments and think of what I want to say,” Naomi requested, but before Sachie could move, Mari called quietly from the doorway.
“Lady Maruyama, Harada Tomasu has something to tell you. May I bring him here?”
Shizuka had gone still. “Who is Harada?” she whispered.
“He was one of Shigeru’s retainers,” Naomi replied. “You have nothing to fear from him.” Harada was the former Otori warrior who had once taken a message from her to Shigeru and had arranged their first meeting. She held him in great affection for that reason, and also because she had spoken to him many times about his beliefs. “Can he have brought a message from Hagi?” Her hands were trembling against the delicate pottery of the tea bowl, sending tiny ripples across the surface of the tea.
She called to Mari. “Yes, bring him at once.”
Mari bowed and left, and returned after a little while with Harada.
Naomi greeted the one-eyed man warmly. He looked thinner and more spare, as though the fire of his conviction was consuming him from within.
“Lady Maruyama, I feel I must go to Hagi and see Lord Otori.”
“What has happened?” she said with some alarm.
“I have had no news of Lord Otori for months,” he replied. “As far as I know, he is well. But I have a strong feeling I should take some information I’ve heard recently to him.”
“Can you tell me what it is?”
“There is a peddler who travels from Inuyama; he has been to Hagi often too. He is one of us and brings news of our people from the East and the Middle Country. The year before last, for the first time he went beyond the capital into the mountains-he will return there this summer. He let slip that there is a boy there who looks like one of the Otori.”
She stared at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“It may be nothing important. An illegitimate son…?”
“Lord Shigeru’s?” she said in a forced voice.
“No, no, I would not suggest that. The boy must be fifteen or sixteen, nearly fully grown. But from the Otori, definitely.” His voice trailed away. “I am making too much of it: I thought Lord Shigeru would like to know.”
Shizuka had been kneeling quietly to one side. Now she said, “Lady Maruyama, may I ask this man a question?”
Naomi nodded, grateful for the interruption. He is too old to be Shigeru’s son, she was thinking in a mixture of relief and disappointment. But maybe they are related in some way.
“Did he notice anything else?” Shizuka said, her voice compelling. “He speaks of a facial likeness, no doubt. Did he see the boy’s hands?”
Harada stared at her. “As a matter of fact, he did.” He glanced at Naomi and said, “Lady Maruyama?”
“You may speak in front of her,” Naomi said.
“He noticed them because the boy is one of us, one of the Hidden,” Harada said quietly. “But he wanted to hold the sword. And his hands were marked across the palm.”
“Like mine?” Shizuka said, holding out her hands palm upward.
“I suppose so,” Haruda said. “The peddler took a liking to the family, and now he is worried about them. So many of us are dying in the East.”
They all stared at Shizuka’s hands, at the straight line that almost seemed to cut the palm in half.
“What does it mean?” Naomi asked.
“It means I have to go to Hagi at once,” Shizuka replied, “no matter how dangerous it is, and inform Lord Shigeru. You need not go,” she told Harada. “I must go! I must tell him this!”
The idea came to Naomi that she would present him with this boy; it seemed like a gift, to replace the child she had had to kill. She saw the hand of God in it. This was the message Shizuka must take for her. Amazed and grateful, she rose to her feet.
“Yes, you must go to Hagi and tell Lord Otori. You must go at once.”
46
Shigeru’s days were spent in overseeing his estate-the sesame crop had indeed proved successful-and his nights in sorting out the information Shizuka brought him about the Tribe. Chiyo had long since decided she was a woman from the pleasure district and approved wholeheartedly, while at the same time appreciating the need for secrecy and for the visits to be kept from Shigeru’s mother. She made sure they were left alone.
For years Shigeru had been leading many different lives, all separate from each other, all kept secret from each other. He developed a liking for deception, his whole life a series of pretences, a game that he knew he played with flair and skill. The tragedies of his life had hardened him-not to make him less compassionate toward others but certainly toward himself, leading him to a detachment from self-concern that gave him a sense of freedom. There was no trace of self-pity in his nature. Many people wanted him dead, but he would not succumb to their malevolence or take on their hatred. He embraced life more wholeheartedly and took pleasure in all its joys. Fate could be said to have dealt with him harshly, but he did not feel like a victim of fate. Rather, he was grateful for his life and all that he had learned from it. He remembered what Matsuda had said to him after the defeat: You will learn what makes you a man.
It had been a harder battle than Yaegahara, but it had not ended in defeat.
“I THINK I have found your Kikuta nephew.” Shizuka hardly waited for him to greet her or to take her safely inside the house before she whispered the news. It was almost the end of the sixth month. He had not expected visitors during the plum rains, but now that they were nearly over, he had been hoping daily that she would come.
“It has been such a long time!” he said, astonished by his pleasure in seeing her, astounded by her words. She herself was trembling with emotion.
“I had been worried about you,” he went on. “I had heard nothing from you for so long, and I have not seen Kenji this year.”
“Lord Shigeru, I don’t think I will be able to come again. I am afraid I am being watched. I came now only because this news was so important. And because I have been in Maruyama.”
“Is she well?”
“She is now, but last year… after your meeting at Terayama…”
She did not need to explain it to him; it was what he had feared each time they met.
“No!” he said. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead. Small spots danced in front of his eyes. He heard Shizuka speak as if from a great distance.
“She asks you to forgive her.”
“I should be asking for her forgiveness! All the difficulty of choice, the suffering was hers! I did not even know about it!” He felt rage such as he had not felt in years sweep through him. “I must kill Iida,” he said, “or die myself. We cannot continue living like this.”
“That is why I came to tell you about this boy. I think he is your nephew and Isamu’s son.”
Shigeru said, “Who is Isamu?”
“I have told you about him. His mother did work in the Hagi castle when your father was young. She must have been your father’s lover. She was married to a Kikuta cousin. Isamu, who was born in the first year of the marriage, turned out to have unbelievable Tribe skills, but he left the Tribe. No one ever does that. And then he died, but no one will say why. I think the Tribe killed him-that’s the usual punishment for disobedience.”
“And would be for you,” Shigeru said, amazed again at her fearlessness.
“If they ever find out! That’s why I can’t come to you anymore. I don’t think there is much more I can tell you anyway. You have your records now. You know more about the Tribe than any outsider ever has. But now this boy has appeared, among the Hidden in the East. The village is called Mino. He has an Otori look and Kikuta hands: he can only be Isamu’s son.”
“He is my nephew!” Shigeru said with a sort of wonderment. “I can’t leave him there!”