Autumn Bridge (44 page)

Snared in the lustful reactions of his bodily self, Smith’s eyes lingered a moment too long in a carnal stare, and were met by a startled look in Emily’s as she raised them. He spoke quickly and trusted his words to disguise his emotions.

“You see no moral in the story because you are not among those in need of it. ‘They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick.’ ”

“Amen,” she said, but she still looked at him doubtfully.

He hoped it was the applicability of his claimed moral that she questioned, and not the expression she had caught on his face.

A large tent, usually employed by lords on hunts to provide a modicum of comfort, had been pressed into service for Emily’s picnic. Genji, Smith, Farrington, and Emily rode their horses at a leisurely walk. A troop of servants followed on foot with the necessities.

“There,” Emily said. “That’s just the place.” She pointed to a pleasant meadow not far from the shore. The projection into the sea of nearby Cape Muroto shielded it from the wind.

Genji could not bring himself to disappoint her by telling her where they were. She had experienced enough slaughter and tragedy firsthand. She did not need to know of more. Indeed, the shock of knowing could set back the excellent progress she had made in recent weeks.

This meadow had been the site of a massacre of his clan’s enemies. That had been nearly six hundred years ago, true, but unpleasant mementos of the event still surfaced occasionally. He hoped no one — and especially Emily — would encounter anything of the sort today. He had not needed to tell the servants anything, of course. When Emily had pointed to the meadow, no expression on their faces betrayed their knowledge. As soon as their lord confirmed her choice, they quickly and unobtrusively examined the area before pitching the tent and laying out the furnishings for the meal. Respect for the dead would have compelled another location. For Genji, respect for the living took precedence. Besides, he could not think of a single meadow, knoll, or stretch of beach within a day’s ride of his castle suitable for a picnic that was not also an ancient killing ground. At least this one had witnessed a victory.

“This is indeed a most pleasant location,” Smith said as they waited for the servants to complete their tasks. “I am surprised you do not use it more.”

“Lord Genji’s is a race of warriors,” Farrington said. “Picnics and such light entertainments are not their highest priority.”

“In truth,” Genji said, “our free time is abundant. There has been no war in Japan for more than two hundred fifty years. However, thanks to the Alternate Residency Law, we have been compelled to spend our idle hours in Edo. We have wasted much time indoors there.” He looked around at the meadow and smiled. “It would have been nice to enjoy the benefits of nature more.”

“No war,” Farrington said, “but neither has peace reigned.”

“Unfortunately true,” Genji said. “We give swords to a million men and burden them with an exaggerated sense of history, honor, and duty. We demand that they be ready to kill and die in the next instant. Then we tell them to be quiet and behave themselves. Not quite the perfect formula for harmony.”

“Must we talk of violence?” Emily said.

“We need not,” Smith said to her. “Come, let us help the servants arrange the furnishings and let the soldiers trade war stories.”

It was an accepted aphorism among the samurai that the outsiders were easily understood because they displayed their innermost thoughts so blatantly on their faces, unlike, presumably, samurai. Genji thought about how shallow a prejudice that was as he watched Smith and Farrington engage in luncheon conversation with Emily. Something was definitely occurring beneath the surface with both men, well below the surface, and he had no idea what it was. It did not involve their usual suggestions of criminality and immorality relating to the late American Civil War. This was something else, neither addressed nor alluded to, but there nonetheless.

Only Emily, as always, was entirely herself, without guile or dissemblance. She seemed to have recovered from the shock of Hanako’s death, if not the loss. There was no recovery from such a loss. There was only acceptance or denial.

One of his earliest memories of his grandfather was of their meeting moments after his mother’s death. He was very aware of Lord Kiyori’s reputation as a fierce warrior, and so did his best to behave as a warrior, too. He kept his posture erect, and fought back his tears. He thought he was doing quite well.

His grandfather said, Why aren’t you crying?

Samurai don’t cry, Genji said.

His grandfather frowned. He said, Villains don’t cry. Heroes cry. Do you know why?

Genji shook his head.

It is because villains’ hearts are full of what they have gained. Heroes’ hearts are full of what they have lost.

And Lord Kiyori surprised Genji by falling heavily to his knees. Tears flowed from his eyes in great profusion. His nose ran in a most undignified manner. Audible sobs racked his body with convulsions. Genji ran to comfort him, and his grandfather said, Thank you. They held each other and wept shamelessly. Genji remembered thinking, I must be a hero, for I am crying, and my heart is full of loss.

He had not cried as much as he should have since then. Perhaps that meant he was not quite the hero he liked to think he was.

Looking at Emily, he hoped that her present sorrow would later vivify her memories with joy.

She saw him looking in her direction and smiled. At the very moment he returned her smile with one of his own, a mysterious drama between Smith and Farrington commenced and compressed its entirety into the span of less than ten heartbeats.

It began with Farrington. An odd expression, perhaps combining anger and distress, tightened the muscles of his face as he glanced in Genji’s direction, eyes rather too bright for friendliness.

Smith, catching the look, gave the appearance of momentary confusion, his brow bunching, his mouth turning down in a slight frown.

Farrington, turning away from Genji, looked at Emily, and his gaze softened into a profound sadness.

Smith, who had continued to watch Farrington, was now seen by Farrington to be doing so, and Farrington’s reaction was unexpected. He blushed and looked down.

This apparently caused Smith to experience a sudden and shocking epiphany, for his eyes grew extremely wide and his mouth dropped open.

“You—” he said, and that was all he could or was willing to say, before he came out of his seat and launched himself at Farrington with intentions that were clearly violent.

Two of Genji’s bodyguards restrained him before he could do anything. It was not clear to Genji whether Smith had been about to strike Farrington with his fists or was about to draw his revolver and shoot him. It was clear that, in either case, Farrington had not planned resistance or defense of any kind.

“Unhand me,” Smith said.

“Give me your word that you will behave peacefully,” Genji said.

“You have it.”

Smith apologized to Genji and Emily without explanation for his outburst, and turned his attention away from Farrington. Though Farrington attempted to resume his conversation with Emily, she was far too shocked by the outburst to respond. The picnic was effectively at an end.

What had occurred? Genji had not the slightest idea. The supposedly scrutable nature of the outsiders was just that: supposition, not reality.

Smith stood first, bowed abruptly, and strode off across the meadow to where his horse was tied. Halfway there, he stepped on something that made a loud crunching sound. Two servants looked toward Genji with horrified expressions, and bowed apologetically, as if it were their fault. Smith, still distracted by the recent incident, paid no attention.

When Genji looked down where Smith had trod, he saw the right orbit and cheekbone of a skull, sitting amidst the whitened fragments that Smith’s boot heel had created of its matching remnant.

Smith avoided Farrington as completely as he could thereafter. It was not difficult, for Farrington avoided him in an identical manner. Smith’s embarrassment was acute. He wished he had not discerned Farrington’s thoughts about Emily and Genji. He wished even more fervently that he had not attacked him. Not only was that a disgraceful lapse of gentlemanly self-discipline, it also served to confirm his suspicions, since Farrington made not even the slightest effort to defend himself. Only someone ashamed of his own thoughts would act in that way.

It was now all very clear to Smith.

Farrington believed Taro, ever the loyal vassal, had attacked Emily on Genji’s orders, and had done so because Emily’s condition, not yet apparent, would soon render her a dangerous liability to him. That condition was the result — indeed, could only be the result — of an immoral, completely unacceptable intimacy. This was true whether the intimacy resulted from Emily’s consent or from force or deception on Genji’s part. Lord Saemon’s unexpected and, for Genji, untimely intervention had saved her life. But only for the time being. Her condition made it imperative that she perish, and soon. Because of this, Farrington remained in attendance upon Emily. Though he no longer wished her to be his bride, as an officer and a gentleman he felt compelled to protect her from further assassination attempts by her host.

Such was Farrington’s reasoning.

It was so tortured and ridiculous, Smith would have been unable to restrain his laughter had he heard Farrington enunciate these thoughts instead of discovering them by his own sudden inspiration. Emily’s innocence was obvious and undeniable. No such pretense could be maintained for so long. Even more than her religion, her character would never allow her to descend from the highest morality. As for Genji, Farrington credited him with a degree of lustful deviousness and ungovernable passion that would only exist, if at all, in the Forbidden City of the Manchus or the seraglio of the Turkish Sultan, not in this martial land.

Smith’s own feelings about Emily were unaffected by Farrington’s delusions. But knowing them had caused Smith to look at her in another light, and in that light, he thought he had seen something, and it shocked him even more than Farrington’s contorted imaginings. Had he glimpsed the truth or only a delusion of his own?

Smith found Emily in a room adjacent to the rose garden. The doors were open to allow the passage of the mild breeze and to permit a view of the flowers. Several scrolls of Japanese writing were open in front of her. She looked at neither the scrolls nor the flowers, but gazed thoughtfully up at the tower on the other side of the garden.

Smith said, “Even when you are not among the urns, your thoughts seem to be there. Are you so sure you are not suited for a life of religious contemplation?”

“If my prospects continue to evaporate as they have of late, that may indeed be my best choice.”

“What do you mean?”

“Robert has returned to Edo.”

“Recalled by the ambassador, no doubt.”

“So he said.”

“What other reason would there be? He is devoted to you, as I am.”

“Do you really think so?”