Autumn Bridge (41 page)

“He didn’t,” Genji said. “He was trying to kill Emily. Hanako prevented it.”

“Emily?” Farrington said. “Why Emily?”

“Anti-foreign sentiment is very high,” Genji said. “It has affected even those among my most trusted retainers.”

Farrington could not accept the explanation. Since the opening of Japan by Commodore Perry more than a dozen years ago, there had been numerous attacks and assassinations suffered by the Western community. Not a single one had been directed against a woman. The warrior conceit of the samurai made such an act even more deplorable to them than to Westerners. That a samurai of the exalted rank of lord and general would stoop to the slaughter of a defenseless Western woman for political reasons was simply inconceivable. And Emily was not just any Western woman, she was one who enjoyed the patronage and protection of Taro’s own Great Lord. As terrible as Genji’s given reason was, the truth was likely even uglier.

Only the direct order of his lord could have compelled Taro to commit a crime so rife with dishonor. The entire journey to Cloud of Sparrows Castle must have been part of the subterfuge designed to bring Emily here, away from any possible Western observation, and murder her. This led inexorably to the question of why Genji would wish such an end. To even contemplate potential causes was abhorrent in the extreme. Innocent as she was, and more helpless than she realized in the various abodes of her despotic host, the possibility of Emily’s unwitting victimization could not be ignored. Was he already too late to save her from a fate worse than death? And if so, what was he to do now?

“Some in the West have insisted on viewing the samurai as the knights of Japan,” Smith said. “If what you say is true, your code of chivalry is not as it should be.”

Genji bowed. “It is difficult to disagree with your assessment.”

The two women who had assisted Emily came out of the room where she now rested. They bowed to Genji and departed, carrying bloodstained clothing.

“May I ask you gentlemen to wait here for Emily? When she has recovered sufficiently to seek company, I think she will find the presence of her countrymen comforting.”

“Of course, sir,” Smith said.

Farrington silently bowed assent. His thoughts turned to uncovering Genji’s motives for inviting Smith and him along. Had they been intended to be witnesses? If so, for what purpose? To testify that Genji had done his utmost to save Emily, though tragically he had failed? Hanako’s brave defense of her friend had thwarted that plan. Did it mean that all three of them — Emily, Smith, and himself — were now at risk?

Smith said, “May we agree to a temporary truce?”

“Yes, we may.” Farrington extended his hand and Smith took it. “Let us concentrate our efforts on easing Emily’s suffering.” He wondered whether he should share his concern about their possible danger, but decided against it. It would require too much explaining, and explanations could quickly lead into very discomforting speculation.

Genji went looking for Kimi. He found her in the garden with Goro, turning soil for a new planting. As they worked, they were having, not quite a conversation in the usual sense, but an exchange of words that served to connect them as a conversation might connect others, or as singing united celebrants at a festival.

“Kimi.”

“Goro.”

“Kimi.”

“Goro.”

So rapt were they in their work, they didn’t notice his arrival.

“Kimi.”

“Goro.”

“Kimi,” Genji said.

“Lord Genji,” Kimi said.

She dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead against the dirt. Goro followed her example exactly, except that instead of saying his name, he said hers.

“Kimi.”

“Sshhh!”

What a wondrous land Japan was, that even an idiot did his best to behave as he should in the presence of a Great Lord. Genji didn’t know whether to laugh or weep.

“You and Goro have performed a great service for me. I am grateful to you.”

At the mention of his name, Goro raised his head enough from the dirt to peer up at Genji.

He said, “Kimi.”

Kimi reached over, roughly took both of Goro’s hands in hers, and pressed them against his mouth.

“Keep them there and be quiet,” she said. Bowing again to Genji, she said, “I’m sorry, sir lord. He tries, but it’s difficult for him.”

“It is easy to overlook a minor breach of etiquette in one who has helped save the life of a friend.”

“Thank you, sir lord.”

“I know why he did so. You told him to. But why did you decide to risk your life?”

Kimi kept her head down and remained silent.

“Please. I will not be upset no matter what your reason.”

Reluctantly, Kimi said, “People say you can see the future, sir lord.”

“And you believe them?”

In a tiny voice, she said, “Is it permitted?”

Japan was a country with many levels to everything, including beliefs. Just as peasants could not even dream of entering the presence of the Shogun or the Emperor, so certain beliefs were not to be contemplated by them. Many, like everyone in Yamanaka Village, followed the teachings of Honen and Shinran, who explained in simple terms the way of Amida Buddha and the path to Sukhavati, the Pure Land. Lords like Genji followed the Zen Patriarchs, who pointed wordlessly to a way beyond the Buddhas, a way incomprehensible to simple farmers and townsfolk. Perhaps believing in Lord Genji’s prophetic powers was allowed only for samurai and nobles. She tried not to tremble, with little success.

Genji laughed. It was not a derisive laugh, or a cruel one. It sounded very merry.

“Your head is your own, Kimi. You can believe whatever you wish to believe. I warn you, however, there are better things to believe in than my prophetic power. Seeing the future is not quite what people seem to think it is.”

So he did have the power! He had as much as said so. Kimi was so excited she wanted to jump up and down. How lucky they were. With uncertainties all around, their lord could see what was to come. Well, Lord Genji wasn’t exactly their lord. Lord Hiromitsu ruled Yamakawa Domain. But Mushindo Monastery had been a hereditary outpost of Lord Genji’s clan for almost six hundred years, and Lord Hiromitsu deferred to Lord Genji in everything, so Lord Genji really was their lord in fact, if not quite in name.

“Thank you, sir lord,” Kimi said.

“Your thanks are premature. I have not yet granted you a reward. And it is not necessary to address me as both ‘sir’ and ‘lord.’ One or the other will do.”

“Yes, lord. Thank you, but a reward is not necessary.”

“Nevertheless, you will receive it.”

“Yes, lord. Thank you.”

“So what will it be?”

“Lord?”

“Your reward. It is already granted. All that is left is that you name it.”

Once again, Kimi began to tremble. Name her own reward! How could she dare such a thing? Yet how could she refuse? To do one was to display an acquisitiveness that would surely and deservedly bring harsh punishment down on her head. Who was she to take greedy advantage of the generosity of a Great Lord?

To do the other was to disobey his command, an act of brazen defiance meriting death — not only hers, but that of every one of her relatives, perhaps even her entire village.

What if she asked for just a small reward? That could easily have the same result — death! Asking for too little was an insult to the dignity of the lord. Did she think him incapable of rewarding her magnificently?

The shivering of her body became so violent it threatened to choke off her breath. What a terrible fate it was to be born a peasant. How much worse to be one who attracted the attention of a lord. Whether one pleased him or angered him, the result was the same. Doom. She began reciting the
nembutsu
in her heart so that when she was decapitated, Amida Buddha would take her instantly to the Pure Land. She didn’t realize she was vocalizing her prayer until Lord Genji spoke.

“
Namu Amida Butsu
,” he said, repeating her words. “Are you asking Amida Buddha for guidance?”

“Lord” was all Kimi could say.

“We may be waiting for some time. It has been my experience that gods and Buddhas are rarely in a hurry to answer supplicants. Are you of a religious nature?”

“Lord.”

“Of course,” Genji said, “or you would not have taken it upon yourself to restore this monastery.”

He was quiet for so long, Kimi was finally emboldened to lift her head from the ground. He was looking thoughtfully at the restored residential wing.

“May I make a suggestion?” Genji said. “Accept appointment as Abbess of this establishment. I will see to it that you receive the necessary funds and workers to speed up the restoration. Henceforth, Mushindo will be an abbey instead of a monastery.”

“Would that be proper, lord?” Kimi feared contradicting him, but she also feared the wrath of the mystical protectors of the hall. “Does it not require the act of the Chief Abbot of the Mushindo Order to make such a change?”

Genji smiled. “I am the Chief Abbot, by inheritance through successive generations, from the original foundation of this place. And in the beginning, it was an abbey, not a monastery. Old Abbot Zengen made the change. I hereby change it back, Reverend Abbess.”

“Lord, I know nothing of the Mushindo teachings.”

“I am not at all sure there is that much to know. It has always been an obscure and variant sect. When Head Monk Tokuken comes down from the mountains, you may ask him for tutelage. Until then, I authorize you to practice nembutsu, or whatever else seems appropriate.”

“If Mushindo becomes an abbey,” Kimi said, “will it be only for women?”

“Yes.” He looked at Goro. “Ah, I see. A caretaker’s hut will be built just outside the walls, so your assistant can continue in that capacity.”

“Thank you, Lord Genji,” Kimi said, a great weight lifted from her. Surely he read minds as well as saw the future. Now Goro and Kimi and the other runaway girls truly had a home to call their own. No one would bother them. They were protected by the Great Lord of Akaoka.

“You are most welcome, Reverend Abbess,” Genji said, going to his knees and bowing low to her, as if she were a real abbess. “Remember to consult the sacred texts and find an appropriate clerical name for yourself. When one enters the Buddha’s Way, one must be reborn.”

“Yes, lord. I will.”

“Good.”

Kimi kept bowing for a long time. When she looked up, Lord Genji was gone. In the excitement of the moment, she had forgotten to tell him about the scroll.

Two weeks ago, while searching for bullets in the field outside the walls, she had chanced upon a large, loose stone. It was one of four that had formed the foundation for an old building long gone. The scroll was under that stone, in a waxed box that had withstood the weather for many years, perhaps even centuries. She had looked in the box and found the scroll, but hadn’t looked at the scroll itself. She was curious, but she was also illiterate, so there really was no point in opening it. She had intended to give it to Lady Hanako, but Lady Hanako was dead. She couldn’t give it to Lord Genji earlier because that other lord was here then, a lord she had never seen before. She hesitated to show anything in front of him. There was something about his manner, the movement of his eyes, the quality of his smile, that reminded her of the toads that hid in the mud during the rainy season, only their eyes showing as they lurked for bugs.

It was too late to give it to Lord Genji now. He was back with his samurai and they would ask her what she wanted, and it might not be good to tell them what she had. It might be something secret only Lord Genji should know about. If Lord Taro could betray him, who knew about the other samurai? Now that she was abbess, she had to act prudently. She would wait for the right moment and give the scroll to Lord Genji then.

She heard a muffled voice at her side. Goro still had both his hands across his mouth where she had put them.

“You can put your hands down now, Goro.”

“Kimi,” Goro said.

“Goro,” Kimi said.

“Kimi.”

“Goro.”

“Kimi.”

The Japanese community in the city was very small, barely more than a handful, so when two new shipborne arrivals turned out to be countrymen, everyone knew. They were not merchants, scholars, or farmers. Their samurai nature was quite obvious by their demeanor despite their efforts to affect Westernized clothing and the lack of the characteristic two swords, which they could not openly display in America anyway.

It was duly reported to Mr. Stark, the representative in San Francisco of Lord Genji of Akaoka, that two Japanese men had recently arrived, were clearly samurai, and were asking many questions about Lady Heiko, the young boy, Makoto, and Mr. Stark. The report was not made directly to Mr. Stark, of course, since he did not speak Japanese. As usual, Mrs. Stark received the information. She thanked her informants and pressed a reward on them despite their protestations that such was unnecessary. They were happy to be of service to Lord Genji, who while not exactly present, was the closest Great Lord in their proximity. America was not Japan, and here in California they did not owe allegiance to any lord anywhere. It seemed prudent, however, to follow the traditional forms of behavior until it was incontrovertibly clear that they were no longer necessary. Everyone knew of someone who had prematurely believed a new era had dawned, failed to render proper respect, and gotten separated from his head. While nothing like this had happened in America, why take foolish risks?

Within a week, the new arrivals were gone. All assumed they had moved on across the continent via the newly finished transcontinental railroad, or had gone north or south by ship, to Canada, or Mexico, or points beyond.

Coincidentally, two bodies washed onto the shores of San Francisco Bay about the same time. Or rather, what appeared to be the remains of two bodies. What the sharks had not eaten had deteriorated in the sea, and separation of the various parts made it impossible to determine identity or cause of death. The undertaker employed by the city for such tasks was able to say that there were most likely two bodies, since the arms and the one leg did not match the partial torso, unless it had been an individual disproportionate enough to be employed in a circus sideshow. He was also able to say with some assurance that they were both male, if they were indeed two, or in the alternative, women of very masculine appearance. Beyond that, he could only speculate. He guessed that they were either Mexican, Chinese, Indian, or possibly Irish, Negro, or German, but definitely not Hawaiian. The undertaker had a single experience with a Hawaiian, who had been brutally murdered by numerous bullets, multiple stab wounds and ferocious bludgeoning in a hotel room in the city some six years earlier, and assumed all Hawaiians were similar, meaning of exceptional size. The present remains were not nearly big enough to be Hawaiian. Of this he was certain, though of nothing else.