Authors: Eiji Yoshikawa
"Then you prefer the tales of fighting—heroes and battles?"
Yoritomo gave him a long searching look, a look without guile, but it gave Munekiyo an uneasy feeling that the boy was reading his thoughts, and he hastily averted his eyes. Munekiyo's glance traveled to the narrow aperture where Ariko was probably listening, and he felt his heart pounding unaccountably as he waited for the answer.
Yoritomo, in a jacket of pale mauve silk and trousers of the same color, shading to a deep purple at the ankles, sat cross-legged on a cushion, staring before him. After a long pause he suddenly replied:
"The sutras—I like those books best which tell about the Buddha, if you happen to have some."
"I believe I have a few—but what makes you prefer such melancholy reading?"
"Somehow—I like them. It must be because my mother, who is dead now, often took me with her on pilgrimages to famous temples; I once even visited the monk Honen and heard him speak on the scriptures."
"So—"
"And so, I think when I grow up I would rather become a monk than a warrior. But now—"
The boy looked down suddenly. It was clear that he had already been schooled to that code which teaches the highborn warrior to expect only death at the hands of his captors.
There had never been such a thronging of carriages across the Gojo Bridge as was seen this spring when dense crowds, numberless vehicles of every kind, and horses wove their way toward Rokuhara.
Lately Kiyomori had begun to weary of this unending stream of visitors. Though his court rank still required him to welcome each titled comer with suitable courtesies, the rest—turncoats and fawning office-seekers—he turned away without ceremony; Rokuhara it seemed was now a flowering paradise for those gadflies and wasps who swarmed unceasingly at its gates.
"This is just too much!" Kiyomori exploded. He had changed impatiently from his court robes one evening and joined the family circle.
"Tokiko, what a large family we've begotten in the meantime! And to think that the years have crept up on me, leaving me with only an old wife to keep me company and to pour my wine. What an unromantic moon this is in spite of the plum blossoms!"
Kiyomori rarely drank so heavily, but tonight he was sodden with wine, determined to find oblivion in sleep.
"Tokiko, come play to me!"
"I? How ridiculous to ask such a thing of me!"
"Woman, you have no refinements at all! Play me something on the harp, or the lute."
"But have you not always said you abhorred imitating the aristocrats?
"It all depends on the time and the place. Music is to please the ear. It soothes the mind. An excellent thing, indeed! Bring me my lute and let me play for my old wife and my children."
Tokiko brought out the lute that Councilor Shinzei had given him long ago, and Kiyomori began awkwardly plucking at a tune, when a servant appeared, announcing hesitantly:
"The honorable Yorimori, my lord, is anxious for a word with you. He has been waiting for some time and wishes to see you at your leisure."
Kiyomori frowned. "Yorimori? What does he want? Ask him to come here."
The servant left, but reappeared almost immediately.
"He begs to see you alone."
"A bad habit of his. ... I dislike these confidential talks— all this secretiveness—"
Kiyomori pushed aside the lute pettishly. "Very well—I'll be there shortly," he flung at the servant, and strode from the room, bristling with ill humor.
The still waters below the open window in a distant room of the house mirrored the light from a single lamp.
"Yorimori, when you go home try to dissuade our good mother. It is better if she didn't try to interfere in a matter as grave as this. Do you understand me? Women have invariably been behind every instance of misgovernment—and wars."
"But—"
"Yes? Why do you look at me like that? Are you disappointed?"
"I understand."
"Of course you do. It's all as it should be."
". . . but let me speak for myself."
"Did I forbid you to?"
"But all you've done is rant at me without letting me say anything. I am here only to tell you what Mother said and to plead in her behalf. And you—"
"And I have simply been telling you that no argument will induce me to spare Yoritomo. I have nothing more to say."
"That's just it. Those are hard words—saying that Mother is interfering and that it is more in keeping for her to be coddling her grandchildren, or else tending the flowers in her chapel. Am I to tell her that?"
"Yes, repeat me word for word. Hard words they may be, yet what else can I say, when she, a Heike, talks of saving a Genji."
"I still can't understand what angers you so. Did you not pardon General Narichika merely because Shigemori begged you to?"
"That was done out of gratitude for his kindness to Shigemori when he first entered the Court. What has Yoshitomo's son ever done for our mother or for you?"
"Nothing, but she is a devout follower of Buddha and begs you to show mercy to that child."
"Mercy?—Are you saying that I have no feelings at all?"
"That I did not."
"Fool that you are! Tell our mother just one more thing— that Kiyomori finds it hard enough curbing his heart. By sparing Yoritomo am I to leave our clan exposed to endless threats? Are we to face nothing but wars hereafter?"
"I have had my say and will not bring up this matter again."
"Better not come on another such fool's errand."
Late that night Yorimori rode away with a heavy heart. His mother waited up for him, anxious to hear the answer.
"It was useless. He refused to listen to me. What's more, he was in an ugly mood, as though he bore a grudge, and he was most immoderate in his language."
"Was I the cause of this?"
"No, he seemed to find fault with me as well."
"I'm afraid that is one of his shortcomings."
"Even so, he had no excuse for being quite so abusive."
"And he showed no sign of relenting about Yoritomo?"
"It would be wiser not to bring up this matter again, Mother. You will only rouse needless suspicion and anger him even more."
Only a few days remained until the 13th of February. Munekiyo had not yet told Yoritomo of the fate that awaited him on that day. He saw the boy daily, and every day strengthened his attachment to Yoritomo and increased his feelings of pity.
Yoritomo, who seldom asked for favors, one day begged his guard to bring Munekiyo, who soon appeared.
"Munekiyo, bring me a hundred small pieces of cypress wood and a small knife."
"Cypress wood and a knife? What will you do with them?"
"I have just counted the days and it is almost the forty-ninth since my father died. As my daily task I want to carve prayer tablets for him, and to offer them at some temple for the repose of his soul."
"So many days already?" Munekiyo replied, deeply moved by Yoritomo's request. "Much as I wish to do what you ask, a prisoner is not permitted to have such a thing as a knife. I'm afraid you cannot do more than recite the prayers."
Munekiyo, none the less, returned the next morning with a hundred small pieces of cypress wood, and Yoritomo was engrossed daily in the task of inscribing his father's posthumous Buddhist name on them.
When Ariko heard all this from Munekiyo, her heart was wrung with pity, and she was more determined than ever to save Yoritomo. Virtue, she believed, never went unrewarded, and the Heike had nothing to lose by an act of mercy; Tadamori's soul too would gain merit. After reasoning thus with herself, she was supremely confident of the duty that lay before her, and called for her carriage and drove straight to Rokuhara.
When he heard that his stepmother had arrived, Kiyomori set his jaw.
Ariko's serving-woman soon brought a message, saying that her mistress wished to see him in her oratory.
Kiyomori assumed a sulky air, not usual with him, and greeted his stepmother morosely.
"Kiyomori, in the name of mercy, will you not listen to me?"
He boldly anticipated her next words. "About Yoritomo— Yoshitomo's son, wasn't it?"
"Yes, the other night—"
"Yorimori already told me, but—"
"Is it not possible?"
"Impossible. This is a matter so serious that I must ask you not to interfere."
Kiyomori was elated by his blunt refusal; this was, in fact, the first time he had defied Ariko. But when he saw her quietly wipe away a tear, Kiyomori's heart suddenly gave way; he averted his eyes in confusion.
A deep sigh escaped her lips. "If it must be so—with your father dead—now that he is gone—"
Ariko's halting speech stung him to impatience, and Kiyomori retorted coldly: "You wrong me—as usual."
"If your father were alive, I doubt that you would speak to me as you do. Kiyomori, when I think of your future, I can only grieve for you."
"You do me an injustice. Have I not always honored you as though you were my own mother? When did I ever give you cause for grief? I only begged you to hold your tongue in this matter."
"And you still refuse to listen to me?"
"But think of it! What difference does it make if scores of men, General Narichika and the like, are given their freedom? With a warrior's son such as Yoritomo, it's an entirely different matter."
"Are you not also a warrior's son?"
"All the more reason to do away with him. I know too well what that means. The leopard's cub does not change its nature. Fondle it and hold him in your arms now; he'll bare his claws and fangs in time."
"He grieves for his dead father and already speaks of becoming a monk—the poor child!"
"Mother, let us not have any more of this. Go to the women's quarters. I would rather have you coddling your granddaughter."
"Surely, you love your children?"
"I do — to foolishness."
"Yoritomo is Yoshitomo's son. And remember, there is a life after death. Do you not fear the world to come?"
"More of your Buddhist preachings?"
"Ah, well, I have said enough." Ariko replied, turning her back on Kiyomori to face her husband's tablet on the altar, and mumbling something under her breath.
Kiyomori's disagreement with his stepmother only served to increase the incompatibility that had always kept them apart. Ariko departed that same day in deep dejection, but she was as sagacious as she was purposeful and would not have spoken to Kiyomori if she had doubts of success. Those who knew her, however, scarcely realized the extent to which her religious convictions had taken possession of her.
Instead of returning home, Ariko drove straight from Rokuhara to the Valley of Little Pines, not far off, where Shigemori lived, and stayed to talk with him until late into the night.
Shigemori, unlike his father, Kiyomori, had always got on well with his grandmother, with whom he had been a favorite even as a child.
"Shigemori, will you also try to persuade your father?"
Shigemori readily agreed to what his grandmother proposed, and on the following night visited Munekiyo in secret, asking him to let him speak with Yoritomo.
Yoritomo was seated at a small writing-desk, inscribing the name-tablets for his father. There was no trace of heat in the room — not even a taper to give light; only a shaft of moonlight slanting in through the small window high up shed some radiance for him to see by. Yoritomo laid down his writing-brush to peer up at the visitor, who stood in the doorway silently.
Shigemori thought he detected a flicker of alarm in the boy's face and, approaching him, said very gently: "What are you doing, Yoritomo?"
"These are for my dead father."
"Do you miss him — your father?"
"No."
"You must have thoughts of avenging him."