Cloud of Sparrows (51 page)

You told me you’ve been herding cattle, boy.

Yes, sir. That’s what I said, and that’s what I’ve been at.

Uh-huh. That’s what you’ve been at is what I’ve heard, and more. Might you have neglected a small detail about your herding?

I’m not sure what you mean, sir.

You can cut the sir shit, Ethan. The detail I mean, and you know it, is you’ve been herding cattle attained by hangable means.

They can only hang me once. Highway robbery’s hangable, and if they want me for that, they’ll come soon enough anyway. And there’re those two fools I had to shoot in here. That’s hangable, too.

Why, you’ve grown up to be a rustler, a highway robber, and a fast gun, boy.

Ethan waited, expecting a lecture.

Cruz said, You’ve done me proud. Make me feel like my life’s had some kind of reason after all. Sure don’t get any reason mongering whores, let me tell you.

Cruz offered his hand to shake.

I’m the father of Ethan Cruz. Well, stepfather. Close enough. Goddamn. Sometimes things turn out all right after all.

That night, Cruz gave Ethan the .36 Colt off his own hip.

Many favor the .44 Army model. Heavier bullet, surer kill, they reason. But there is a singular virtue to the .36 for a man who has the wherewithal to perfect his aim. It’s half a pound lighter than the .44. You can draw it that much faster. One day, when it’s the other man down and dying, you’ll remember me with a special fondness.

Ethan felt his chest tighten. He wanted to tell Cruz he’d remember him with a special fondness, .36 Colt or no .36 Colt, but he didn’t. Ethan wasn’t a man of many words. So all he said was, What if you need it? It won’t do you any good on my hip.

Ethan could see by the smile on Cruz’s face and the wetness that sprang up in his eyes that he took his meaning without it being said. Cruz was the man of many words that Ethan wasn’t, but on this occasion, he didn’t discourse on it as he might have. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all for a while. He just sat there smiling.

Then he said, Need it for what? I'm not getting into any gunfights. Cruz showed him his derringer. This is more than enough for this old gambling whoremonger. Any shooting be done, be done at a range so close it be no range at all.

When Jimbo returned to the monastery, most of it was gone. Charred ruins lined a huge pit where the meditation hall had been. The ashes of funeral pyres were everywhere. All that remained intact were the outer walls, the bathhouse, the abbot’s solitary meditation room, and the temporary prison hut Sohaku’s men had constructed for Shigeru.

Most of the village children seemed to be here, playing in the wreckage and speculating on the bits and pieces they found.

“Look. Here’s someone’s forearm bone.”

“No it’s not. It’s just a piece of wood.”

“Arm. See? The knob at the end.”

“Horrible. Throw it away.”

“Be careful. Here comes an outsider.”

“That’s the one who was with Lord Genji. The one with two guns.”

“It isn’t him. It’s another.”

“Run! He’s going to kill us!”

“Jimbo,” Goro said, smiling and shuffling forward. “Jimbo, Jimbo.”

“No, Goro, don’t. It’s not Jimbo. Come away, quickly.”

Kimi said, “It
is
Jimbo.” She went running up to him, her eyes wide with surprise. “Why are you dressed like that?”

“I have to do something I can’t do in the other clothes.” He looked at the pit. It looked like all the powder in the adjacent armory had exploded at once. “What happened?”

“There was a great battle while you were gone—”

“Hundreds of samurai died—”

“Lord Genji was trapped—”

“Jimbo, Jimbo, Jimbo—”

“—Shigeru’s head in a box—”

“—muskets on the walls—”

“—mounted samurai charged—”

“—covered in blood from head to toe—”

Not all the jumble of information was clear. He heard enough to know the outsider with Lord Genji was named Su-ta-ku and had survived the battle. As soon as the fighting ended, he had searched the ruins of Mushindo for Jimbo. A woman of unbelievable beauty, certainly a famous geisha, had asked Kimi if she knew where Jimbo was, and Kimi had told the lady he had gone into the mountains to meditate. The lady had then spoken to Su-ta-ku in his own language. Kimi didn’t know what she had said.

In answer to the children’s demands, he told them about his timeless meditation, the moisture turning to ice in his clothing, the visitation of three angels sent by Maitreya, the Buddha of Future Times, proclaiming the eternal happiness of the village children, for they were all to be reborn in Sukhavati, the Pure Land of Amida, the Buddha of Compassionate Light.

That night, after the children were gone, he walked through the altered grounds of the monastery. Stark had been here. He would be back. Was Jimbo a better gunfighter than Stark? Once, maybe. Not now. He hadn’t been practicing, and Stark certainly had. Stark would drop him before he had his gun clear of his holster.

That would be too easy. Jimbo would take him from ambush. Stark was too angry and too grieved to be as careful as he should. An ambush would work.

It was some days back in Edo before Emily was sufficiently recovered for Stark to leave. The process was speeded by Genji’s encouraging her to take an active part in the design of the chapel for the rebuilt Quiet Crane Palace. There were still dark circles under her eyes, and her lightness of spirit had yet to return. That would take more time. The horrendous carnage she had seen at such close quarters wasn’t easily forgotten. Still, she was smiling once again.

“Must you really go back to the monastery so soon?”

“Yes, Emily, I must.”

She looked at the .44 on his hip and the .32 tucked into his belt and didn’t ask any other questions. “You’ll come back?”

“I intend to.”

Emily suddenly put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He could feel her tears on his neck. “Be careful, Matthew. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.”

Genji sent Taro and a contingent of five samurai to escort Stark. They understood that they were to allow Stark to proceed to Mushindo alone once they reached the village. He spoke no Japanese and they spoke no English. They rode in silence.

Stark thought the silence would suit him, but it did not. Memories came. He couldn’t keep them away. His hatred of Cruz was not as strong as his love for Mary Anne.

Mary Anne said, This is the happiest day of my life, Matthew, I swear it is.

Mine, too, he said.

He stood with Mary Anne, Becky, and Louise in the shade of ironwoods on land he lawfully owned. I thought I’d build our cabin here. Over there, a garden. Flowers and vegetables. Range the herd there.

Becky said, Where’s the pigs going to be?

No pigs, Stark said.

Becky blinked in disbelief.

No pigs, she said to Louise.

No pigs, Louise said.

Mary Anne looked at Stark.

Why, those are the very first words she’s ever spoken.

No pigs? Stark said.

Mary Anne nodded. No pigs, she said.

No pigs, Louise said.

No pigs, Becky said, laughing.

Soon they were all laughing. They laughed so much, they couldn’t keep standing. Later, they all sat under the ironwoods and just smiled and smiled.

Louise never became exactly what you’d call a talker. That was Becky’s specialty. But she did say a word or two from time to time after that. Sometimes the shape of a cloud would make her speak, or the presence of the wind, or its absence. Sometimes she’d have a short conversation with an ironwood or a passing deer. And when she was happy, which was often, Stark would hear her mumbling to herself, No pigs.

If he kept thinking about them, his thoughts would slow his hand down and tighten his shoulders and Cruz would shoot him dead without half trying. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. He could just about see them before his eyes, smiling, laughing, talking.

Stark tied his horse to a tree and walked toward the monastery with the .32 in his left hand and the .44 in his right. He wasn’t going to a quick-draw contest. This wasn’t iaido with guns. He would find Ethan Cruz and kill him. That’s all. He had to be careful. Cruz could be anywhere. Stark wished he had a shotgun.

The little troop of children followed Kimi over the back wall of Mushindo.

“Be quiet,” she whispered. “We’ll be punished if we’re caught.”

One of the other little girls put her hand over Goro’s mouth. “Quiet.”

Goro nodded. When the girl removed her hand, he put his own hand over his mouth.

They hid behind the fallen timbers of the meditation hall and watched the abbot’s hut. The new outsider was coming from the village. Jimbo was probably in the hut meditating. When the stranger came, Jimbo would come out to meet him. They were dressed very much alike. What did they plan to do? Whatever it was, they would surely do it together.

Jimbo stood completely motionless in the shadow of a tree and watched Stark approach the monastery. He was twenty yards away with his back toward Jimbo, a gun in each hand. When Stark went through the gate, Jimbo quietly put down the shotgun he held. He’d already removed the shells and put them in his pocket. Now he followed Stark.

Just inside the gate, Stark moved to the side, keeping his back against the wall. He thought he heard something move in the wreckage. Cruz could be there. Or he could be inside the hut, the bathhouse, the cell. Or he could be behind them. Or under them. Or obscured in any shadow. He checked his guns again. They were both cocked. He stepped away from the wall and walked slowly toward the wreckage. Someone was definitely there. It had to be Cruz. Stark hoped Cruz, if he really was there, had only pistols like he did. If he had a carbine or, worse, a shotgun, he would cut Stark down before Stark was close enough to do him harm.

Stark moved forward. He had no choice.

“Not another move, Stark.”

Stark felt the cold metal touch of a gun barrel against the back of his neck.

“Drop the guns or die.”

Jimbo knew Stark wouldn’t disarm. Not now. Not after hunting him so long and coming so far and finally finding him. Not even if finding him meant it was Cruz’s gun—because it was Cruz he thought he’d found—against his head instead of the other way around. Not even if it meant he would die instead of Cruz. He had come looking for death. If it couldn’t be Cruz’s, his own would do.

“Any other than you drop the guns,” Jimbo said, saying what Cruz would say, “I blow your head off.”

Stark did exactly what Jimbo expected him to do. He dove to one side and spun around as he fell, firing both guns even before he had a clear shot. Jimbo had him in his sights all the way. His heart was calm, his hand was steady, his aim undistorted by emotions. He pointed the barrel of his .36 slightly to the right of Stark and fired less than half a heartbeat before Stark’s heavy .44 bullet tore through his chest.

“Jimbo!”

This time it wasn’t Goro, but Kimi. Horrified, she leaped to her feet and started running toward Jimbo. The other children were close behind, Goro with his hand still over his mouth. But when Stark stood, they stopped and dropped to their knees, bowing respectfully. In the village, Lord Genji’s samurai had told everyone Stark was the equal of a lord, and must be so honored. They pressed their foreheads to the earth even as they held each other and cried.

Jimbo saw nothing but sky and felt nothing bodily at all. At first, he thought he was adrift from his physical being, that this was the very moment before his consciousness dissolved back into the void. Then he saw Stark.

Stark stood over Cruz. It seemed as though he’d spent his whole life looking for him. Now he’d found him. He’d shot him. The eyes looking up at Stark were clear. There was no pain showing in the face.

Jimbo wanted to tell Stark his family hadn’t suffered, he’d shot them clean when he’d found them and they’d died right away. This is what he wanted to say, but the bullet had torn his heart and his right lung and he didn’t have a voice left. It was just as well. Telling the lie was more a mercy to himself than to Stark. Stark didn’t want words from him, he wanted revenge, and he’d gotten it. Now it was up to Stark to find what he really needed. Jimbo wished God’s grace for Matthew Stark, and Buddha’s compassion, and the protection and guidance of the ten thousand gods. He would have smiled, but he knew it would be misunderstood, so he kept the smile in his heart.

Stark pointed his .44 at Cruz’s left eye and the .32 at Cruz’s right, and fired three times with the .44 and four times with the .32. He would have fired more if there had been more bullets left in his guns. But after three and after four, the hammers he kept cocking fell on spent cartridges. When he finally stopped pulling the triggers of his empty guns, he was looking at a dead body with blood, shattered bone, and gore where a face should have been. He holstered the .44, tucked the .32 back in his belt, and walked away.

The children kept their heads bowed to the ground until Stark was gone. Then they ran toward Jimbo, only to stop short when they saw what was left of him.