"Yes?"
"I don't know what your plans are for the rest of the evening," de Gier whispered, "but the old man has to get out of this." His whisper was cold and fierce and Dorin jumped.
"Don't fuss, man," he hissed back. "Of course he'll get out of this. This is a party, isn't it? A jolly party! We are with friends, aren't we?"
De Gier didn't have a chance to answer. Dorin had banged his plate on the table and stalked off, his face twitching and his arms swinging.
The daimyo came back and got into the conversation, and wandered off again, taking Ahboombah. The commissaris watched the pair move across the hall. The dancer's long hand, each tapered finger ending in a long curved silver nail, rested on the daimyo's shoulder and her face was bent down to his head, her cheek touching a bristling tufted eyebrow.
Maybe I don't have to get all that drunk, the commissaris thought, but shook his head despondently. He would have to get drunk and afterward he would be ill. Headache, thirst, cramps most probably, diarrhea if the worst came to the worst. But he cheered up again. He could always take a bath, the Japanese baths had done wonders so far, his legs didn't hurt much anymore.
The daimyo turned up again, offering delicacies. Giant shrimps fried in batter and some pieces of squid floating in a thick dark gravy.
"Tomorrow," the daimyo said. "Tomorrow we can talk quietly, while we walk and look at things. Kono wants to show off his birds. He has some new pheasants, very wonderful creatures, and there are swans too now, black Australian swans. His birds are his pride, just as my bears were mine once, but they are too old now, and they never wanted to breed."
"I saw your bears," the commissaris said, "when we came in, in a cage near the gates. A peacock was sitting on the cage's roof and I saw a bear's face, in between the tail feathers of the peacock. A sight of great beauty. You do live in splendor, sir."
"I live in my dream," the daimyo said, "and the dream changes, not always in the way I want to change. But now that my years are catching up with me I try to live with the change and not to force it anymore, as I used to. And the dream is about to finish. I will be leaving this place and I am getting used to the thought."
"Where will you go?" the commissaris said, and took a bite of seaweed. He kept the slimy substance in the front of his mouth and chewed softly.
"I think I will find myself a small house, maybe on an island in the Inland Sea. A house with a vegetable garden; I've been enjoying growing things lately. Why don't you come and see me then? You can stay with me and perhaps we can do some traveling and you can tell me what you see and I will experience my country through your eyes. It will be an adventure we can share."
"Yes," the commissaris said, and swallowed, trying not to shiver.
"But that time hasn't come yet," the daimyo said sadly. "For the time being we are driven by our own plans. Although…" He cut his sentence, leaving Yuiko in the middle of a word. "Perhaps you will understand me better later tonight. I will be acting in a little play, a Noh play. The Noh plays are true Japanese, the only art form which we didn't import from China."
"A play?" the commissaris asked. "What about?"
"About a bad man. I will be the bad man. He is bad because he doesn't know what is good. A very complicated theme, but I will try to act simply. I will dance and sing and the yakusa will sing too and the musicians will accompany us. They are getting ready now, there they are already; I will have to go and change."
The commissaris walked over to de Gier and they found their way to the stage together.
"How are things, sergeant?"
De Gier smiled uncertainly. "Very good, sir, too good, perhaps. I can hardly stand it. I keep on seeing the helicopters taking off. I saw helicopters exercise in Holland once. They have heavy machine guns mounted on bars protruding from the sides of the cockpit, fed by ammunition belts that swing out. Slow machines, ponderous, but you can't defend yourself against them, for they can move in any direction. And each helicopter filled with those nasty little men, destructive apes. They will break and burn everything here. There'll be nothing left, a smoldering heap of rubbish, and then they will raise themselves and take off again."
The commissaris was carrying a bowl of ice cream. "I don't really want this, sergeant, why don't you eat it?"
"Thank you." De Gier began to eat.
"But you look cheerful enough," the commissaris said.
"That's the point I was trying to make, sir. The music is excellent and that dance got me too. It's as if everything fits exactly tonight. I am, in fact, completely happy, but 'happy' is such a ridiculous word."
The commissaris patted him on the back. "You are doing very well, sergeant. Keep it up for a while. We'll see what all this will lead to, and in the meantime we can live for the moment."
Dorin caught up with them. "I don't think they are armed," he said, "but we'll have to watch it, there must be a store of arms in the castle."
"They'll be drunk in an hour," the commissaris said pleasantly. "We'll have to drink with them, you too, Dorin. The daimyo is a sensitive and intelligent man. If we show any reluctance he'll know immediately."
A shrill shriek erupted from the stage and the lights dimmed and disappeared, changing the hall into a large black hole. Three lanterns appeared from behind the dragon screen, carried by the bartenders, who had changed into black kimonos. They formed a half circle and waited, raising their lights.
A man's voice sang, a deep voice, mouthing sad words. A wide-shouldered shape jumped into the weak light. Short drum taps punctuated the song. A flute trembled through the percussion, high and thin, detached notes modulating into a glass-sharp trill.
"The daimyo," Dorin said, pointing at the actor. "He is much better than I thought he would be. I know the piece too. It has to do with a warrior who has lost his lord and is trying to find a new base for his life. A difficult piece and written in such antique language that most of its implications are obscure. It ends badly, that much is certain. I think he loses his mind, a strange piece to use for a party."
A second shape became visible, threatening the singer.
"Ahboombah," de Gier said, "with a mask and a white wig."
The woman leaped around the daimyo and stopped directly in front of him, her hands raised. The mask had been cut in an expression of sneering fury, with drawn lips and triangular gleaming teeth. The head began to shudder and the white hair spread in a broad fringe. The daimyo retreated slowly and the woman followed him, bending her arms and threatening him with quivering long bent nails. Other actors appeared and attacked the daimyo, who tried to defend himself but had to cover his face to lock the vision out. The flute accentuated the threat, but changed back into a soft alluring melody, and the daimyo appeared to rest. The enemy regrouped and attacked afresh and the demons of fear won, forcing the daimyo into an abject kneeling posture that shifted into total surrender as he dropped to the ground. The lanterns shuffled back toward the screen and disappeared behind it.
The hall was lit again, and the musicians struck up a gay throbbing tune while the bartenders wheeled the bar into the center of the hall.
The change had been too quick for the commissaris. He was still hunched up, staring at the spot where the daimyo had been destroyed a moment ago.
"My word," the commissaris mumbled. He was glad to hear de Gier's cough next to him, and looked up. "What did you think of that, Rinus?"
"That's the way I felt the night of the accident," de Gier said softly. "Why do you think he did that, sir?"
The commissaris shook his head.
"Something to do with that Jin-gi, sir?"
"Perhaps. He certainly did show us his soul. A strange man, sergeant."
"What did you think of the play?" Dorin asked politely.