Sano didn’t know whether he could do it.
How would it be to feel such love for his lord that he would give up his family and dedicate his life to revenge?
In his deepest heart Sano admitted that he didn’t love the shogun. He didn’t know whether he could follow the Way of the Warrior that far. He felt caught between admiration for Oishi, who had proved himself truer to Bushido than most samurai ever did, and antagonism toward Oishi for exposing his own fears and self-doubts.
“Fill in the gaps in your story,” Sano ordered.
“In the summer of the year after Lord Asano died, I went looking for his other retainers,” Oishi said. “I gathered forty-six of them together, including my son.”
Could Sano lead his own son down the same dangerous path that Oishi had led Chikara? That hardly bore imagining. But it was a son’s duty to follow his father. Sano and Masahiro came from a long line of fathers and sons who’d marched into battle together. But would Sano bring Masahiro in on an illegal vendetta, a crime? Shouldn’t a father protect his child?
“I told my comrades that it was time to avenge Lord Asano,” Oishi went on. “We formed a conspiracy. It took almost six months to set our plans. Then we walked to Edo, which took us another two months. When we got here, we rested for a few days. Then we went after Kira.”
Sano saw a battle raging during a snowstorm, as if Oishi’s memory had brought the scene into the room. He blinked to dispel the vision. He got a firm grip on his objectivity. “You left something out.”
An annoyed frown crossed Oishi’s face. “What?”
“Your mistress. Okaru. She loved you and cared for you and bedded other men to support you. You left her behind in Miyako. Or so you thought. She’s here in town.”
Oishi’s slanted eyebrows flew up in alarm. “No. She can’t be.”
“Why aren’t you happy to hear that the woman you love is near?” Sano asked.
Oishi massaged his jaw with his fingers. Sano sensed that Oishi wanted time to think about how this development might affect him.
“She followed you to Edo,” Sano said.
“How do you know?” Oishi asked.
“She wrote a letter to my wife.” Sano explained what the letter had said, then mentioned Reiko’s visit with Okaru.
Oishi spat out his breath, shook his head. “She thought she could save me. She’s so naïve, and so wrong.”
“Maybe not wrong. As you must have guessed by now, there’s some confusion about what to do with you and your comrades.” Sano told Oishi about the controversy in the government, the formation of the supreme court. He watched Oishi massage his jaw harder. “Whether you live or die depends on whether I find evidence to prove that your actions were justified even though you broke the law.”
“What does this have to do with Okaru?” Oishi asked.
“Okaru is a witness in my investigation. She’s offered the first evidence in your favor.”
Distrust narrowed Oishi’s eyes. “What evidence?”
“She told my wife that the vendetta isn’t as simple as it appears.” Sano had a distinct, puzzling impression that this prospect of a reprieve disturbed Oishi although it should please him. “She said you told her so.”
Oishi sat perfectly still and calm, but Sano perceived shock reverberating through him like a gunshot in a tunnel. “What else did Okaru say I said?”
“Nothing else.” Was that relief Sano saw in Oishi’s hooded eyes? “She claims you refused to explain what you meant. Perhaps you would explain it to me now.”
“I can’t.”
Sano was incredulous because Oishi didn’t jump at the chance to put his actions in a better light. “Not even to save yourself and your comrades?”
“I actually don’t remember saying that to Okaru.” A crestfallen grin flexed Oishi’s thick mouth. “I was drunk most of the time I was with her. I did a lot of incoherent rambling. She must be mistaken.”
“My wife says Okaru seemed sure of what she’d heard.”
Oishi thrust out his jaw; belligerence flared his nostrils wider. “The vendetta is exactly what it seems: Kira destroyed Lord Asano. My comrades and I destroyed Kira. We abided by the samurai code of honor. It’s as straightforward as that.”
But Sano detected a fissure in Oishi’s conviction. “I don’t believe you. If you were being so straightforward and honorable, you would have all committed
seppuku
to atone for breaking the shogun’s law. Why did you ‘await orders’ instead?”
“It seemed like the right thing to do,” Oishi said stubbornly.
Increasingly mystified, Sano said, “What kind of orders were you expecting?”
Silence descended, like a fog that was invisible but nonetheless hid the truth about the case, a truth that Sano suspected was stranger than he could imagine.
“We had no expectations. But maybe we did right to wait,” Oishi said with a glimmer of amusement. “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”
Sano felt irate because Oishi was playing with him and he had no idea what the game was. Vexed by his own conflicted feelings toward the man, he stood. “Very well. Don’t answer my questions if you don’t want to. I can ask your comrades.”
“Go ahead.” Oishi stood, too; he’d regained the composure he’d lost while talking about Okaru. “They’ll corroborate my story. The vendetta is exactly what you see.”
12
“
ARE YOU READY
to go?” Masahiro asked Reiko as she sat at her dressing table.
“Not quite.” Reiko anchored her hair in place with combs. “We have to get some food to take to Okaru.”
Chiyo came into the room with a stack of lacquer lunch boxes that gave off the delicious aroma of miso, fried dumplings, and grilled fish. “Here it is.”
“Good,” Masahiro said. “Can we go now?”
He jittered with impatience to see Okaru again. She’d been on his mind since yesterday, and he’d been so excited about this second visit that he’d hardly slept last night.
At last he and Reiko and Chiyo emerged into the cold, clear day. The women climbed into the palanquin with the lunch boxes. Masahiro mounted his horse. The guards assembled. The bearers shouldered the palanquin’s poles. Masahiro rode ahead of the procession, so deep in thought that he didn’t notice the city sights he usually enjoyed.
He’d never been interested in girls. They giggled too much. They talked about boring things like clothes, and they had silly quarrels. He was too busy with important things to pay attention to them. But Okaru was different. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. She’d stirred up unfamiliar, exciting feelings in him. When he’d told his mother why he wanted to help Okaru, he hadn’t been completely honest. Yes, Okaru was poor and helpless and he felt sorry for her; and yes, he did want to pass on the kindness that had been shown to him; but there was more to it than that. He didn’t know exactly what.
When he and his companions neared the inn, a crowd was gathered outside. People pressed up against the gate, peering over one another’s shoulders. As Masahiro dismounted, and the women climbed out of the palanquin, he heard the crowd shouting, “Let us in! We want to see the
r
ō
nin
’s mistress!”
“Do they mean Okaru?” Masahiro asked.
“It would seem so,” Reiko said. “But how did they find out that she’s here?”
A panel in the gate opened to reveal the innkeeper’s face. “This is private property,” he shouted. The crowd booed. “Go away!”
Reiko called to him, “We’re friends of Okaru. We visited her yesterday. Don’t you remember?” She stood on tiptoe and waved over the crowd. “She’ll want to see us.”
“Yes, I remember,” the innkeeper said, “but I can’t open the gate for you, because everyone else will get in, too.”
Masahiro began pushing people away from the gate. Reiko’s guards held the crowd back while the innkeeper let Masahiro, Reiko, and Chiyo carry the lunch boxes to the guest quarters. Reiko knocked on Okaru’s door.
“Who is it?” Okaru called.
The sound of her voice sent a shiver of anticipation through Masahiro. After Reiko identified herself, Okaru flung open the door and exclaimed, “Oh, Lady Reiko! Thank the gods you’ve come back!” She wore a deep pink kimono; her hair was studded with gold butterfly combs. She looked even more beautiful than she had yesterday. She smiled at Masahiro and said, “Hello.”
Too shy and confused to answer, Masahiro could only stare.
“Okaru!” loud voices called. “Okaru!”
Faces cropped up above the fence as men from the crowd pulled themselves onto it. The men pointed and shouted, “There she is!”
Okaru cringed like a fawn cornered by a hunter. Reiko hurried Okaru, Chiyo, and Masahiro into the room and shut the door. Okaru sank to her knees and said, “Those people have been bothering me all morning. I’ve been so scared.”
“Why are you alone?” Reiko asked. “Where’s your servant?”
“She went out to get us something to eat. We can’t afford the meals here.”
“We’ve brought food,” Reiko said. She and Chiyo unpacked the boxes.
“Oh, how wonderful!” Okaru fell upon the food. “You’re so kind!”
Her fingers wielded the chopsticks so quickly yet so gracefully. Her perfect little teeth shone as she took each bite of dumpling, pickle, and rice cake. Her soft lips glistened. She licked them with her delicate pink tongue. Masahiro was captivated.
“How did those people find out that you’re Oishi’s … fiancée?” Chiyo asked.
“Yesterday I told the maids who cleaned my room. They brought a friend of theirs—a man who writes news broadsheets. I talked to him. This morning they said he’s been selling my story all over town.” Chagrined, Okaru said, “I was flattered until those people came and started demanding to see me, as if I were a freak at a peep show.”
“You would have been wiser to keep your business private,” Chiyo said.
Masahiro sensed that Chiyo didn’t like Okaru.
Okaru hung her head. “I realize that now, but they were so interested, and so kind. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
“In the future, don’t be so frank with strangers,” Reiko said.
Masahiro agreed that Okaru should have kept quiet, but his mother and Chiyo shouldn’t blame her; she was too innocent to know that not everyone could be trusted.
Okaru nodded humbly. “Thank you for your advice.” She finished eating and said, “I’m so worried about Oishi. Have you any news of him?”
“My husband has put him under house arrest,” Reiko said, and explained about the supreme court.
Breathless with relief, Okaru clasped a hand to her bosom. “At least he’s still alive.”
A pain as sharp as a stab pierced Masahiro’s heart. Somehow, it hurt to see how much she loved Oishi. Masahiro was beginning to dislike Oishi, even though yesterday he’d admired the man as an example of samurai honor. Everything had seemed so simple then. The world had turned into a strange, confusing place overnight.
“Is there a chance that Oishi will be pardoned?” Okaru said eagerly.
“Perhaps only a small one,” Reiko said. “Many important people are in favor of condemning all of the forty-seven
r
ō
nin
to death. My husband is investigating the case. Everything depends on what he learns. I told him what you said Oishi told you about the vendetta. He promised to take it into account. But it would help if you could remember anything else Oishi said.”
Okaru shook her head sadly. “I’ve tried and tried, but I really don’t remember.”
The door slid open, pushed so hard that it crashed against its frame. A woman stumbled into the room. She was breathing hard; she brought with her a stale, sour smell. Tall and very thin, she wore a baggy coat and had long, gray-streaked hair twisted carelessly in a knot. Her face was square, her fine features emaciated.
“Which one of you is Okaru?” Her eyes, red and watery from the cold, blazed with anger.
Everyone stared at her in surprise. Reiko said, “Who are you?”
The woman’s gaze settled on Okaru. She advanced on the girl, who leaned back, intimidated. She ignored everyone else. Masahiro thought she seemed angry, satisfied, and sad at the same time. “My name is Ukihashi. I’m Oishi’s wife.”
Shock parted Okaru’s lips. “What—why—?”
As Ukihashi gazed down at Okaru, her expression turned to disgust. “Merciful gods, you’re less than half his age.” The anger in her eyes flared. “You stole my husband!”
“No,” Okaru said in a faint voice. “I didn’t—”
“Don’t pretend to be so innocent,” Ukihashi shouted. “You seduced him. But he’s as guilty as you are.” Fists clenched, she spat her words into Okaru’s face. “Because of him, I’ve come down in the world. Once I was as pretty as you are, but look at me now!” She flung out her arms. She wore ragged gloves, her fingers bare. Her face had dry, scaly patches of skin; her lips were cracked and raw. Her padded coat was faded, stained, ripped, and leaking feathers.
“I’m sorry.” Okaru looked so ashamed that Masahiro felt bad for her. “But, you see, Oishi had already divorced you by the time he met—”
Ukihashi slapped Okaru’s face. “You evil little whore!”
Okaru yelped in pain. Ukihashi grabbed the front of her robe, hauled her to her feet, and shook her, spewing curses. “Help!” Okaru cried.
Masahiro rushed to Ukihashi and tried to pull her off Okaru. But Ukihashi was stronger than she looked. Hauling Okaru across the room, she towed Masahiro along.
“Stop!” Reiko ordered.
Ukihashi dragged Okaru out the door and began hitting her. “Thief! You couldn’t get a man of your own, so you took mine!”
She shoved Okaru. The girl screamed, fell off the veranda, and landed in the snow. Ukihashi wrenched free of Masahiro, pounced on Okaru, and clawed at her eyes. Okaru struggled, crying, “Leave me alone, you crazy woman!”
Men watching over the fence cheered. The inn’s other guests came out of their rooms to see what was happening. The proprietor rushed over and said, “She climbed the fence. I couldn’t stop her.” He wrung his hands as the two women fought. “Will someone please break it up?”
Masahiro waded into the snow. Ukihashi had Okaru on the ground under her knees. He pulled on Ukihashi while she mashed snow into Okaru’s face. Okaru squealed. Ukihashi turned on Masahiro and shrieked, “Stay out of this!”